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6 comments

  • matwor
    Below is an article written by Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated. He
    details his experiences when given the opportunity to fly in a F-14
    Tomcat. If you aren't laughing out loud by the time you get to "Milk
    Duds," your sense of humor is seriously broken.

    "Now this message is for America's most famous athletes:





    Someday you may be invited to fly in the back-seat of one of your
    country's most powerful fighter jets. Many of you already have . John
    Elway, John Stockton, Tiger Woods to name a few If you get this
    opportunity, let me urge you, with the greatest sincerity...
    Move to Guam .
    Change your name.
    Fake your own death!
    Whatever you do .
    Do Not Go!!!

    I know.

    The U.S. Navy invited me to try it. I was thrilled. I was pumped. I was
    toast! I should've known when they told me my pilot would be Chip
    (Biff)
    King of Fighter Squadron 213 at Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia
    Beach .

    Whatever you're thinking a Top Gun named Chip (Biff) King looks like,
    triple it. He's about six-foot, tan, ice-blue eyes, wavy surfer hair,
    finger-crippling handshake -- the kind of man who wrestles dyspeptic
    alligators in his leisure time. If you see this man, run the other way.
    Fast.

    Biff King was born to fly. His father, Jack King, was for years the
    voice of NASA missions. ("T-minus 15 seconds and counting ..."
    Remember?) Chip would charge neighborhood kids a quarter each to hear
    his dad. Jack would wake up from naps surrounded by nine-year-olds
    waiting for him to say, "We have a liftoff"

    Biff was to fly me in an F-14D Tomcat, a ridiculously powerful $60
    million weapon with nearly as much thrust as weight, not unlike Colin
    Montgomerie. I was worried about getting airsick, so the night before
    the flight I asked Biff if there was something I should eat the next
    morning.

    "Bananas," he said.

    "For the potassium?" I asked.

    "No," Biff said, "because they taste about the same coming up as they
    do
    going down."

    The next morning, out on the tarmac, I had on my flight suit with my
    name sewn over the left breast. (No call sign -- like Crash or Sticky
    or
    Leadfoot . But, still, very cool.) I carried my helmet in the crook of
    my arm, as Biff had instructed. If ever in my life I had a chance to
    nail Nicole Kidman, this was it.

    A fighter pilot named Psycho gave me a safety briefing and then
    fastened
    me into my ejection seat, which, when employed, would "egress" me out
    of
    the plane at such a velocity that I would be immediately knocked
    unconscious.

    Just as I was thinking about aborting the flight, the canopy closed
    over
    me, and Biff gave the ground crew a thumbs-up. In minutes we were
    firing
    nose up at 600 mph. We leveled out and then canopy-rolled over another
    F-14.

    Those 20 minutes were the rush of my life. Unfortunately, the ride
    lasted 80. It was like being on the roller coaster at Six Flags Over
    Hell. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls, snap rolls, loops, yanks
    and banks. We dived, rose and dived again, sometimes with a vertical
    velocity of 10,000 feet per minute. We chased another F-14, and it
    chased us.



    We broke the speed of sound. Sea was sky and sky was sea. Flying at 200
    feet we did 90-degree turns at 550 mph, creating a G force of 6.5,
    which
    is to say I felt as if 6.5 times my body weight was smashing against
    me,
    thereby approximating life as Mrs. Colin Montgomerie.

    And I egressed the bananas.

    And I egressed the pizza from the night before.

    And the lunch before that.

    I egressed a box of Milk Duds from the sixth grade.

    I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of the G's, I was egressing
    stuff that never thought would be egressed.

    I went through not one airsick bag, but two.

    Biff said I passed out. Twice. I was coated in sweat. At one point, as
    we were coming in upside down in a banked curve on a mock bombing
    target
    and the G's were flattening me like a tortilla and I was in and out of
    consciousness, I realized I was the first person in history to throw
    down.

    I used to know 'cool'. Cool was Elway throwing a touchdown pass, or
    Norman making a five-iron bite. But now I really know 'cool'. Cool is
    guys like Biff, men with cast-iron stomachs and freon nerves. I
    wouldn't
    go up there again for Derek Jeter's black book, but I'm glad Biff does
    every day, and for less a year than a rookie reliever makes in a home
    stand.

    A week later, when the spins finally stopped, Biff called. He said he
    and the fighters had the perfect call sign for me Said he'd send it on
    a
    patch for my flight suit.

    What is it? I asked.

    "Two Bags."



    God Bless America

    _________________________________________________________________
    0
  • spurgemastur
    I've seen it before, but I read it again. It's a good one.
    0
  • stevenrayspeck
    LOL!!! MILK DUDS FROM SIXTH GRADE!!! LOL!!![:D][:D][:D]
    0
  • p3skyking
    [:)][:)]
    Six Flags Over Hell! LOL!
    Sounds like he really went up in an F14.
    0
  • theboogeyman
    I got to "Milk Duds" and I about egressed some Chinese food...from my nose!!! Drinking_trink14.gif
    0
  • Sig220_Ruger77
    [:D][:D][:D]That was good.

    Jon
    0

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