It is finished. @stevewaid, one of the most most accomplished print journalists to ever step foot in a NASCAR media, died this afternoon after a long fight with the after effects of cancer. He was 77. In lieu of flowers, please consider donating to @VictoryJunction or @LeavineCancer.

🇺🇸 Most Badass Ballplayers: Combat Veteran Edition #2 Ted Williams Ted Williams, widely regarded as the greatest pure hitter who ever lived, was one badass ballplayer. Born August 30, 1918, in San Diego, California. He made his major league debut with the Boston Red Sox in 1939 and quickly became one of the most feared hitters in baseball. In 1941, at just 22 years old, he hit .406, the last time any player has hit over .400 in a season. He followed that up by winning another batting title in 1942. By the end of the 1942 season, Williams was already a superstar and widely considered the best hitter in the game. Then, after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Williams enlisted in the United States Marine Corps and trained as a pilot. He missed the 1943, 1944, and 1945 seasons, three full prime years of his career, while serving stateside during World War II. When he returned in 1946, there were questions about whether he could pick up where he left off. He answered them immediately, winning the American League MVP award in his first season back. Over the next several years he continued to dominate, winning the Triple Crown in 1947 and another batting title in 1948. When the Korean War broke out, Williams was recalled to active duty as a Marine Corps pilot. In 1952 and 1953 he flew 39 combat missions over North Korea in the F9F Panther jet. He often flew as wingman for future astronaut John Glenn. On one mission his plane was hit by the enemy and caught fire. He made a successful belly landing and jumped out and ran off the wingtip to safety. He was hit by enemy fire at least three times during his tour. After Korea, Williams returned to baseball in 1953 and continued one of the most remarkable careers in baseball history. He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1966. Ted Williams, superstar athlete, answered the call for his country twice. Thank you, Ted! 🫡🇺🇸⚾

June 6th, 1944. The English Channel is angry and half the men in the landing craft are seasick. Diesel fumes mix with saltwater and vomit while rifles are checked for the fifth or sixth time by hands that need something to do. Nobody talks much anymore because the jokes have all been told and the bravado has finally burned away somewhere behind the English coast. You are nineteen years old and carrying more weight than you’ve ever carried in your life. You don’t know it yet, but it’s the most weight you will EVER carry in this life. However long or short it may be. Your rifle rests across your knees. Your life hangs from a few pounds of steel, wood, and training. Somewhere beyond the gray horizon sits a continent that has spent five years tearing itself apart, and in a few minutes you are going to step into the middle of it. Across from you sits another kid. He can’t be much older than you. His jaw is clenched. His knuckles are white around his weapon. Neither of you says a word because there is nothing left to say. Then your eyes drift toward his shoulder. That red numeral catches your eye: “1”. You’ve seen it a thousand times before. In barracks hallways, on training fields, in motor pools, and on long marches. It never meant much beyond belonging to the same outfit. Now it means everything. Because in a few minutes the world is going to ask something terrible of both of you, and there is comfort in knowing that whatever waits on that beach, neither of you will face it alone. The historians will eventually reduce this day to arrows on maps and casualty figures. Politicians will give speeches. Journalists will write books. None of that exists inside the landing craft. What exists is fear, and duty. What exists is the understanding that courage was never the absence of fear. Courage was always charging into the maelstrom anyway. The shoreline emerges through the smoke. You can see flashes now. You can hear the distant percussion of artillery. Men stop checking their equipment because there is no point anymore. Whatever mistakes were made are already made. Whatever prayers were going to be said have already been said. The coxswain throttles down. The boat grinds forward. The ramp is about to drop. Into the abyss. Overlord.

We are saddened and heartbroken to share the news of the passing of Kyle Busch, a two-time Cup champion and one of our sport's greatest and fiercest drivers. He was 41 years old. We extend our deepest condolences to the Busch family, Richard Childress Racing and the entire motorsports community.

Congratulations to @KevinHarvick on being a first ballot @NASCARHall selection after closing out a brilliant career in which he posted 25 Cup Series victories with Ford from 2017-23. #NASCAR

One of the traditions at this MotoGP event is riders getting absurdly low, often leaning 60° , scraping their knees, elbows, and even shoulders on the asphalt while carrying insane speed. Insane.