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Dear Mike Vick:


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You are describing things not in the video. First off there was a good distribution of fans. Certainly enough to produce that level of volume in a DOME. Secondly there is no way to tell from the video how many fans were indifferent to what was going on. You say the dome was full of people who didn't care show us on the video.

Lastly, there was no shortage of media there who would have never let us get away with piping in boos.

It is clear you are not accustomed to accoustics inside of a DOME while Tandy has years under her belt.

If you can't accept the possibility you are wrong you must have an agenda.

ha ha ha, so if she goes to carl from sling blades graduation she knows more about graduating then me?? please bo

doggy i have been all over. indy, nola, detroit, ga dome, super dome. and our dome is by far the quietest (of cheering fans)

super dome is very very loud, as is the rca in indy. detroit was so bad their fans didnt cheer. i would love to hear dallas' new stadium.

my point is i have seen as many games in as many places as i cared to, i know what 1,00 sound like and i know what 60k people do. I also know a recording when i hear one.

i could really care less, but i know what i heard. FACT.

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ha ha ha, so if she goes to carl from sling blades graduation she knows more about graduating then me?? please bo

doggy i have been all over. indy, nola, detroit, ga dome, super dome. and our dome is by far the quietest (of cheering fans)

super dome is very very loud, as is the rca in indy. detroit was so bad their fans didnt cheer. i would love to hear dallas' new stadium.

my point is i have seen as many games in as many places as i cared to, i know what 1,00 sound like and i know what 60k people do. I also know a recording when i hear one.

i could really care less, but i know what i heard. FACT.

Now, you have gone too far. That young man is my nephew. He has spent the last 7 years living a **** I hope you never know.

Diagnosed with Meduloblastoma and brain tumors at the age of 16 - Brain surgery just months before graduating - and still having the guts and ability to walk through that graduation.

He's dying now. There is nothing more they can do for him.

He's 100000 times the person you are - I can tell just by the lousy comment you just made about the bravest - most wonderful man I have ever known.

May God forgive you for your ignorance and lack of humanity.

Here - you can read about him here - this was during his second bout - They aren't treating him now.

Shame on your soul.

With a gentle strength and a warrior’s resolve, Timothy Parks battles the enemy within.

At 6 feet, 4 inches, the fighter cuts an imposing figure. Long and lean, he easily stands a head taller than most people. The challenger he faces today, however, is not like most. Ferocious, unpredictable and relentless, the opponent’s name alone strikes fear in many.

But our fighter is not discouraged. His resolve is too great and the victory too important.

As any seasoned prizefighter will tell you, it’s not the size of the man in a fight that determines the winner; it’s the size of the fight in the man.

Those who know Timothy Parks would say their money is on him.

As a teenager, Timothy beat cancer; now, with a relapse at age 20, he’s determined to conquer it again.

A born winner

From his first breath, Timothy was a fighter. Arriving two months too early and weighing only 3 pounds, the newborn suffered a brain hemorrhage that held the threat of death or mental debilitation.

“The doctors said all of these devastating things could happen, and with the bleed as bad as it was, we thought we could lose him,” recalls Timothy’s mom, Theresa. “But he was a fighter even then.”

The preemie exceeded even doctors’ expectations. “At his check-ups, he was always four to five months ahead in his development,” Theresa says. “He walked at 9 months and ran at 12. He talked in sentences very early and could carry on conversations.”

Timothy had won.

Show no weakness

By senior year in high school, Timothy was a focused student and dutiful son. An honor roll student, he skipped a grade and was scheduled to graduate a year early, at 16. He was active in the school’s Junior ROTC, drill team and color guard programs and held college scholarships—and even an invitation from the U.S. Military Academy. By all accounts, Timothy was an overachiever.

“Bullheaded,” Theresa says teasingly of her son’s determination. “Tell him there is something he can’t do, and watch him prove you wrong.”

It is perhaps that same stubbornness that led Timothy to hide the fact that he was becoming sick.

“He was throwing up everything he ate, but he was keeping it secret because he didn’t want to miss school,” Theresa remembers. “He started losing weight and was always tired. He’d come in from school and go straight to sleep.”

The headaches, nausea and fatigue grew worse.

On a Friday in January 2004, Timothy’s school called. He was too ill to stay in class and certainly not well enough to drive home alone. A doctor in the emergency room diagnosed the sickness as migraines, caused by stress, and Timothy was given a prescription to curb the headaches.

Timothy took the medicine, but his condition worsened over the weekend. “He started stumbling, and his balance was off,” Theresa says. “We knew that something was very wrong.”

On Monday, Timothy underwent a CT scan. Before the family returned home from the doctor’s office, a call on Theresa’s cell phone asked them to come back to discuss the results. Timothy had medulloblastoma, a tumor that arises in the posterior fossa—the lower, rear region of the brain. “I couldn’t believe it,” Theresa says. “I kept thinking, ‘He’s not sick enough for something as serious as a brain tumor.’”

Immediately, Timothy underwent surgery at a local hospital and was referred to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital for treatment.

Battle for independence

The surgery to remove the tumor was successful, and Theresa recalls that Timothy was especially upbeat in recovery. “He was talking, and he wanted to eat,” she says. “It was like he hadn’t just undergone major surgery.”

Seemingly, the hard part was over, and the family turned their thoughts to leaving for St. Jude. But on the third day after the surgery, Timothy’s world changed.

“He woke up screaming bloody murder,” Theresa remembers. “He couldn’t talk; he couldn’t walk; he couldn’t do anything.”

Timothy had developed posterior fossa syndrome, a postoperative disorder that can cause mutism or speech disturbances, decreased motor skills and cranial nerve palsies. Onset typically occurs within 72 hours of surgery, and the syndrome’s cause is unknown. Up to 25 percent of patients who undergo surgeries like Timothy’s develop the condition.

“We can’t pinpoint why some children get it, and some children don’t,” says Amar Gajjar, MD, co-leader of the St. Jude Neurobiology and Brain Tumor Program and co-chair of the Oncology department. “It is hard for parents to see their normally functioning child behave like that. But it’s not like the child doesn’t understand what is going on. The child is still very much aware of what is happening.”

Timothy describes the feeling as being trapped. “I knew what I wanted to do and say because my thoughts were still there, but all I could do was scream,” he recalls.

For the teenager, who excelled so easily, existence became an uncontrollable state of flux. “Before my diagnosis, I was at that point of independence—when you first get your driver’s license and are starting to think about life outside of your parents,” Timothy says. “But with the posterior fossa syndrome, suddenly I was depending on my parents for everything. They had to feed me, bathe me and push me around in the wheelchair.”

Social worker Jeanette Lavecchia met Timothy within his first few days at St. Jude. “He had truly been thrown a curve,” she says. “Having been such a goal-oriented high achiever, it was extremely difficult for him.”

Heart of a champion

Timothy may have been knocked down, but he was determined it wouldn’t be for long.

While undergoing radiation and chemotherapy treatments to beat cancer, he set out to overcome the side effects of the syndrome.

“He had all the therapies—speech, occupational, physical,” Theresa recalls. “He didn’t dwell on it; he just started moving forward.”

The one or two words he could muster eventually grew to sentences and finally to fluid conversations. He traded the wheelchair for a walker and ultimately for a cane.

“He even grew two inches taller while he was on chemo,” Theresa says with a laugh.

Three months after coming to St. Jude, the family was able to return home temporarily for Timothy’s high school graduation. Theresa calls it the moment of triumph. “He had his cane with him when we left the house, but when he crossed the stage, he didn’t have it. He walked through his whole graduation without picking it up once.”

Timothy had won.

Warrior’s spirit

In spring 2005, doctors gave Timothy an 85 percent chance that the cancer would not recur, and he was well enough to start college, requiring only return visits to St. Jude every three months.

Timothy enrolled in classes, adopting an 80-mile daily roundtrip commute and the maximum course load per semester. Within 15 months—and while maintaining exemplary grades—he earned an associate’s degree in psychology. Not one to settle, Timothy enrolled in another university to work on a bachelor’s degree. By 19, he was a second-semester junior with a 3.8 grade point average.

“Despite his illness, he has gone back to college, and he’s taking 18 hours of credit or more a semester,” Gajjar says. “He’s finished the course work and the time he lost initially, but he sets academic goals for himself, and he’s determined to meet them.”

Theresa laughs. “Dr. Gajjar will tell him not to take so many classes, to slow down. I’ll get on him, but when Timmy wants to do something, there is no stopping him.”

Timothy’s perseverance, Theresa says, has been a source of strength for the family even in the bleakest times. It is also what gave a sense of perspective during a recent trip to St. Jude, when they received ominous news. Timothy did not feel sick prior to the visit, and the January 2007 checkup was supposed to be nothing more than routine. Exactly three years to the day of Timothy’s original medulloblastoma diagnosis, two cancerous spots were found on his spine, signaling a relapse.

“It was bad déjà vu,” Theresa says. “Of course, I was in shock, but Timothy just looked at Dr. Gajjar and asked, ‘OK, what do we do to beat it again?’ And I just thought, ‘Yes, that’s the way we have to look at it. We are going to beat it again.’”

For a fight as big as Timothy is waging, Theresa is comforted that the family is in expert hands. “Before coming to St. Jude, I thought, ‘This is a children’s cancer hospital; this will be the saddest place I’ll ever be.’ But then you see the happiness and the hope, and know you’re in the best place you could possibly be. I know Dr. Gajjar and everyone is going to do what it takes.”

Timothy was given the option to finish his semester before beginning radiation. He opted to withdraw from school and start treatment immediately because college, Timothy says, will still be there after he has defeated cancer. Eventually, he plans on earning a master’s degree and doctorate in psychology and then returning to St. Jude to work as a counselor. “A lot of people think the word cancer is a synonym for death or the end, and it really isn’t,” he says. “I had cancer before, and I beat it, and now I just have to do it again.”

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Now, you have gone too far. That young man is my nephew. He has spent the last 7 years living a **** I hope you never know.

Diagnosed with Meduloblastoma and brain tumors at the age of 16 - Brain surgery just months before graduating - and still having the guts and ability to walk through that graduation.

He's dying now. There is nothing more they can do for him.

He's 100000 times the person you are - I can tell just by the lousy comment you just made about the bravest - most wonderful man I have ever known.

May God forgive you for your ignorance and lack of humanity.

Here - you can read about him here - this was during his second bout - They aren't treating him now.

Shame on your soul.

With a gentle strength and a warrior’s resolve, Timothy Parks battles the enemy within.

At 6 feet, 4 inches, the fighter cuts an imposing figure. Long and lean, he easily stands a head taller than most people. The challenger he faces today, however, is not like most. Ferocious, unpredictable and relentless, the opponent’s name alone strikes fear in many.

But our fighter is not discouraged. His resolve is too great and the victory too important.

As any seasoned prizefighter will tell you, it’s not the size of the man in a fight that determines the winner; it’s the size of the fight in the man.

Those who know Timothy Parks would say their money is on him.

As a teenager, Timothy beat cancer; now, with a relapse at age 20, he’s determined to conquer it again.

A born winner

From his first breath, Timothy was a fighter. Arriving two months too early and weighing only 3 pounds, the newborn suffered a brain hemorrhage that held the threat of death or mental debilitation.

“The doctors said all of these devastating things could happen, and with the bleed as bad as it was, we thought we could lose him,” recalls Timothy’s mom, Theresa. “But he was a fighter even then.”

The preemie exceeded even doctors’ expectations. “At his check-ups, he was always four to five months ahead in his development,” Theresa says. “He walked at 9 months and ran at 12. He talked in sentences very early and could carry on conversations.”

Timothy had won.

Show no weakness

By senior year in high school, Timothy was a focused student and dutiful son. An honor roll student, he skipped a grade and was scheduled to graduate a year early, at 16. He was active in the school’s Junior ROTC, drill team and color guard programs and held college scholarships—and even an invitation from the U.S. Military Academy. By all accounts, Timothy was an overachiever.

“Bullheaded,” Theresa says teasingly of her son’s determination. “Tell him there is something he can’t do, and watch him prove you wrong.”

It is perhaps that same stubbornness that led Timothy to hide the fact that he was becoming sick.

“He was throwing up everything he ate, but he was keeping it secret because he didn’t want to miss school,” Theresa remembers. “He started losing weight and was always tired. He’d come in from school and go straight to sleep.”

The headaches, nausea and fatigue grew worse.

On a Friday in January 2004, Timothy’s school called. He was too ill to stay in class and certainly not well enough to drive home alone. A doctor in the emergency room diagnosed the sickness as migraines, caused by stress, and Timothy was given a prescription to curb the headaches.

Timothy took the medicine, but his condition worsened over the weekend. “He started stumbling, and his balance was off,” Theresa says. “We knew that something was very wrong.”

On Monday, Timothy underwent a CT scan. Before the family returned home from the doctor’s office, a call on Theresa’s cell phone asked them to come back to discuss the results. Timothy had medulloblastoma, a tumor that arises in the posterior fossa—the lower, rear region of the brain. “I couldn’t believe it,” Theresa says. “I kept thinking, ‘He’s not sick enough for something as serious as a brain tumor.’”

Immediately, Timothy underwent surgery at a local hospital and was referred to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital for treatment.

Battle for independence

The surgery to remove the tumor was successful, and Theresa recalls that Timothy was especially upbeat in recovery. “He was talking, and he wanted to eat,” she says. “It was like he hadn’t just undergone major surgery.”

Seemingly, the hard part was over, and the family turned their thoughts to leaving for St. Jude. But on the third day after the surgery, Timothy’s world changed.

“He woke up screaming bloody murder,” Theresa remembers. “He couldn’t talk; he couldn’t walk; he couldn’t do anything.”

Timothy had developed posterior fossa syndrome, a postoperative disorder that can cause mutism or speech disturbances, decreased motor skills and cranial nerve palsies. Onset typically occurs within 72 hours of surgery, and the syndrome’s cause is unknown. Up to 25 percent of patients who undergo surgeries like Timothy’s develop the condition.

“We can’t pinpoint why some children get it, and some children don’t,” says Amar Gajjar, MD, co-leader of the St. Jude Neurobiology and Brain Tumor Program and co-chair of the Oncology department. “It is hard for parents to see their normally functioning child behave like that. But it’s not like the child doesn’t understand what is going on. The child is still very much aware of what is happening.”

Timothy describes the feeling as being trapped. “I knew what I wanted to do and say because my thoughts were still there, but all I could do was scream,” he recalls.

For the teenager, who excelled so easily, existence became an uncontrollable state of flux. “Before my diagnosis, I was at that point of independence—when you first get your driver’s license and are starting to think about life outside of your parents,” Timothy says. “But with the posterior fossa syndrome, suddenly I was depending on my parents for everything. They had to feed me, bathe me and push me around in the wheelchair.”

Social worker Jeanette Lavecchia met Timothy within his first few days at St. Jude. “He had truly been thrown a curve,” she says. “Having been such a goal-oriented high achiever, it was extremely difficult for him.”

Heart of a champion

Timothy may have been knocked down, but he was determined it wouldn’t be for long.

While undergoing radiation and chemotherapy treatments to beat cancer, he set out to overcome the side effects of the syndrome.

“He had all the therapies—speech, occupational, physical,” Theresa recalls. “He didn’t dwell on it; he just started moving forward.”

The one or two words he could muster eventually grew to sentences and finally to fluid conversations. He traded the wheelchair for a walker and ultimately for a cane.

“He even grew two inches taller while he was on chemo,” Theresa says with a laugh.

Three months after coming to St. Jude, the family was able to return home temporarily for Timothy’s high school graduation. Theresa calls it the moment of triumph. “He had his cane with him when we left the house, but when he crossed the stage, he didn’t have it. He walked through his whole graduation without picking it up once.”

Timothy had won.

Warrior’s spirit

In spring 2005, doctors gave Timothy an 85 percent chance that the cancer would not recur, and he was well enough to start college, requiring only return visits to St. Jude every three months.

Timothy enrolled in classes, adopting an 80-mile daily roundtrip commute and the maximum course load per semester. Within 15 months—and while maintaining exemplary grades—he earned an associate’s degree in psychology. Not one to settle, Timothy enrolled in another university to work on a bachelor’s degree. By 19, he was a second-semester junior with a 3.8 grade point average.

“Despite his illness, he has gone back to college, and he’s taking 18 hours of credit or more a semester,” Gajjar says. “He’s finished the course work and the time he lost initially, but he sets academic goals for himself, and he’s determined to meet them.”

Theresa laughs. “Dr. Gajjar will tell him not to take so many classes, to slow down. I’ll get on him, but when Timmy wants to do something, there is no stopping him.”

Timothy’s perseverance, Theresa says, has been a source of strength for the family even in the bleakest times. It is also what gave a sense of perspective during a recent trip to St. Jude, when they received ominous news. Timothy did not feel sick prior to the visit, and the January 2007 checkup was supposed to be nothing more than routine. Exactly three years to the day of Timothy’s original medulloblastoma diagnosis, two cancerous spots were found on his spine, signaling a relapse.

“It was bad déjà vu,” Theresa says. “Of course, I was in shock, but Timothy just looked at Dr. Gajjar and asked, ‘OK, what do we do to beat it again?’ And I just thought, ‘Yes, that’s the way we have to look at it. We are going to beat it again.’”

For a fight as big as Timothy is waging, Theresa is comforted that the family is in expert hands. “Before coming to St. Jude, I thought, ‘This is a children’s cancer hospital; this will be the saddest place I’ll ever be.’ But then you see the happiness and the hope, and know you’re in the best place you could possibly be. I know Dr. Gajjar and everyone is going to do what it takes.”

Timothy was given the option to finish his semester before beginning radiation. He opted to withdraw from school and start treatment immediately because college, Timothy says, will still be there after he has defeated cancer. Eventually, he plans on earning a master’s degree and doctorate in psychology and then returning to St. Jude to work as a counselor. “A lot of people think the word cancer is a synonym for death or the end, and it really isn’t,” he says. “I had cancer before, and I beat it, and now I just have to do it again.”

what you talking about now?

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what you talking about now?

I am talking about you making assumptions. Assumptions about a "ghost" boo being piped in. Assumptions about me and my personal life. Assumptions about my nephew. Assumptions about getting banned.

And not having facts, proof or even a clue about what you are speaking.

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