An incredible accomplishment for Canada’s very own Olivia Apps 🇨🇦 @ThePWR Player of the Season 🏆 *** Un accomplissement incroyable pour la Canadienne Olivia Apps 🇨🇦 Joueuse de la saison du @ThePWR 🏆 #RugbyCA | #OneSquad | #EarnedNotGiven

The Mayor of Charlotte is demanding people stop posting this reminder of the lovely innocent Iryna Zarutska butchered by a savage on Charlotte public transit. He was on probation by a liberal activist judge.

Not a single purchaser of crude oil in the world asks nor cares about the carbon footprint of the barrel, instead is 100% focused on accessibility, affordability, and reliability. I do not see how we overcome this massive misunderstanding which underpins all ongoing negotiations.

Looks like @colekeith1 has signed with @DoncasterKnight! Have a great time. @raysrugby @Lerougerugby @ScottStrapp @BCRugbyNews

Toronto citizen recites Taxpayer Land Acknowledgment at City Hall 🤔

Is Kevin Rouet Creating a Coaching/Director Model That Specifically Fits Canadian Rugby? bcrugbynews.com/coaching-upd…

My name’s Daniel, I’m 45, and two weeks ago I learned something about my mother that I’m still ashamed I didn’t see sooner. She’s 80, lives alone in the little tan house she’s been in for half a century. The one with the peeling shutters and the mailbox she still refuses to replace because “it works just fine.” Last Wednesday, she called and said: “Danny… I need help with my grocery list. Can you come? I think I’m forgetting things.” My first instinct? Annoyance. I had deadlines. Kids’ activities. Bills on my desk. A hundred things pulling me in every direction. So I said, “Just tell me what you want. I’ll order it all online.” But she was quiet for a long moment before whispering: “I’d rather you come.” So I did. When I walked into her kitchen, three grocery bags were already sitting neatly on the counter. “Mom… you already shopped,” I said, confused. She waved her hand. “Those are just basics. I still need a few things.” She opened her notebook — the same spiral-bound one she’s used for years — and handed it to me. The list said: • grapes • paper towels • coffee creamer • company And suddenly everything inside me went still. She looked embarrassed, like a kid caught doing something wrong. “I just… didn’t know how else to ask you to come,” she whispered. “You’re always so busy, and I didn’t want to bother you.” That sentence — those ten quiet words — hit harder than anything I’ve felt in years. My mom, the woman who worked two jobs and still made every school concert… the woman who saved every drawing I ever made… the woman who put herself last for decades… felt she had to pretend she needed groceries just to feel worthy of a visit from her own son. I hugged her so tightly she laughed and said, “Oh goodness, you’ll break me.” We never went to the store. Instead, we sat at the tiny kitchen table covered in little sunflower placemats she’s had since the ’90s. We talked about the neighbor’s new dog. About her tomato plant that refuses to grow. About my dad, and how she still forgets he’s not coming through the door sometimes. I stayed longer than I planned. Drank terrible instant coffee. Listened — really listened — the way she used to listen to me. Before I left, she walked me to the door and held my hand for a moment longer than usual. “You made my week, sweetheart,” she said softly. Driving home, I couldn’t shake one thought: How many times did she wait by the window, hoping my car would turn into the driveway? How many afternoons did she tell herself, “He’ll come when he has time,” while the house echoed with loneliness I didn’t notice? I realized that somewhere along the road of adulthood — work, kids, obligations, noise — I started treating her like an errand. Someone to “fit in” when life allowed it. But to her? I was never an errand. I was her world. And all she wanted was an hour with her son in the home where she raised him. 💛 THE LESSON Your parents won’t always tell you they’re lonely. They won’t always say they miss you. They won’t always ask directly. Sometimes they’ll hide it behind a grocery list. Behind a broken lamp. Behind a request that doesn’t really need doing. Go anyway. Sit at their table. Drink the bad coffee. Let them tell you stories you’ve heard a thousand times. Because one day the chair will be empty. The notebook will be closed. The porch light will be off. And you’ll wish you had treated an ordinary Wednesday like the priceless moment it truly was.

Happy 48th Anniversary to the greatest outtake in television history. Tim Conway's Elephant Story from The Carol Burnett Show.

Someone get George Springer a goddamn horse

To those who see only gray hair and gentle smiles, let us reintroduce ourselves. We were the wild hearts of the 1960s and ’70s. Our mini-skirts turned sidewalks into headlines, our boots climbed high, and our jeans carried every dream we dared to chase. Our soundtrack wasn’t background noise — it was rebellion set to music. The Beatles. The Stones. Zeppelin. Janis. Jimi. They gave us rhythm to dance and courage to speak. We rode motorcycles through city streets, sped down highways in Mini Coopers with windows wide open, and danced barefoot in muddy fields where rock ’n’ roll thundered through the rain. No Wi-Fi. No filters. No phones in our pockets. Our stories weren’t uploaded — they were lived: tangled hair, dirty feet, and hearts blazing with change. So when you meet us today, remember: We were fierce before hashtags. We didn’t just dream of change. We became it. Rock on, young ones. We already did.

This is what it means 😍 You can feel the emotion in every corner of the stadium 🥹 #RWC2025 | #NZLvCAN

Did that one impress you much? @ShaniaTwain 👀 🇨🇦 #RWC2025 | #NZLvCAN

That is without question the greatest ever performance by a 🇨🇦Canadian rugby team. Absolutement incroyable. Bring on the #RWC2025 🏆 Final!