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Akram Khan's Giselle: Tamara Rojo and Akram Khan on reimagining a classic | English National Ballet - Duration: 2:30.
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Classic Rock Songs - Best Classic Rock And Roll Love Music 70's 80's 90's - Duration: 2:22:04.
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Chrysler PT Cruiser 1.6i Classic - Duration: 1:00.
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Inside the del Potro classic - US Open 2017 - Duration: 7:30.
Inside the del Potro classic - US Open 2017
The buzz that had been building and building all day was now dead. As the late-afternoon shadow moved over the Grandstand court, a dark cloud seemed to suddenly loom over the match.
The whispers could be heard around the stadium: "Is he going to retire?" "Juan doesn't look so good. " "Ay, dios mio!".
Juan Martin del Potro looked like a walking zombie. He sulked through points with little power behind his usually thunderous strokes.
He crouched over, hands on his knees, at the baseline, peering off into the distance. He – a couple of times – looked as though he was going to be sick right there on the court.
"There's no way he can keep going," came the reverberations.
What was billed to be the outer-court match of the tournament was suddenly a grand dud. Dominic Thiem had the first set in hand, 6-1 in 33 minutes. The second? 6-2 in 34 minutes.
As the Grandstand emcee, it's my job to be courtside for matches on my court to keep up with what's going on and be ready for the on-court interview post-match.
This one was the battle that all of my friends in the tennis media had messaged me about, "You have Delpo-Thiem?!" "Wow!" "It's going to be incredible.".
It felt, instead, like a funeral. I stood silently disappointed, not because I wanted del Potro to win, but because we all wanted a good match. We wanted an epic.
The word was that del Potro was continuing on only for the 8,000-plus fans who had crowded into Grandstand to watch he and Thiem duke it out, a match that almost certainly would have been an Arthur Ashe shoo-in had it not been a day that also included Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer on the docket.
He was sick – had been for a couple of days leading into the match – and he was only doing what he thought to be the right thing to do. He just wanted to be polite.
He didn't want to quit. That's not what Juan does. But then del Potro broke serve for the first time all day to begin the third set.
He sat down in a chair just on the side of the court and made eye contact with former player and ESPN analyst Mardy Fish, seated only a few feet away. Fish's eyes widened, looking surprised. Del Potro just softly smiled.
He'd win that set 6-2, and suddenly the whispers of sorrow and disappointment turned to that of hope. Could he? Would he?.
That's when the atmosphere inside Grandstand took on a life of its own. The crowd was already completely behind the 2009 US Open champion, but now they had reason to cheer other than pride.
The "Vamos! Vamos!" cries grew louder with each crunching forehand off of del Potros racquet, as did the "Olé Olé Olé Olé! Delpo… Delpo!" chants, which stretched on and on, reverberating and growing in their intensity. And then the elongated "Delpooooooo!".
Del Potro had been out on Grandstand for two of his previous matches during this US Open fortnight, both of which were packed, with fervent fans sitting on the edge of their seats screaming his name and willing him on.
The Argentine has always been a fan favorite here and anywhere that he plays, but Monday night was different.
It was a soccer match in which a ragged home team was down 4-0 at halftime and were two men shy of 11, its loyal fans only hoping for a second-half goal just to save face. Something. Anything.
Tennis matches usually take on a story and this one began to feel like a fairy tale – at least if you were among those inside Grandstand cheering on del Potro.
Here's the favorite, beloved in tennis, seemingly not only down and out but sick and sullen on top of it.
As I stood courtside – waiting, if I was needed, to do a post-match on-court interview – I watched as del Potro saved not one but two match points on his serve in the 12th game of the fourth set.
When he held his serve two points later, the crowd roared and he turned to them and roared back. In that moment, the match was seemingly his.
In the seventh game of the final set he came back from love-40 down on serve, Thiem looking over at his camp – including his stone-faced coach Gunter Bresnik – in exasperation. "How is this happening?" said his eyes.
And when the match finished, the entire place shook. Fans in Argentina colors hugged on another. I'm almost certain there were a few tears. Del Potro stood, center court, his arms aloft overhead as he was showered in complete praise.
I couldn't hear myself holler into the microphone, "Ladies and gentlemen! Juan Martin del Potrooooo!". This was one for the ages and everyone knew it.
"I think I deserve the trophy," he joked in his post-match interview. The crowd laughed but everyone agreed, "Si. Si.".
As del Potro made his way from Grandstand to Arthur Ashe Stadium, flocked by security, he was followed like a beloved rock star or favorite politician.
He stopped just outside of Ashe, signed a few autographs and then waved good-bye as he was whisked inside. It was an anticipated classic that lived up to its billing.
In fact, you could have never written it the way it panned out before. "It's a good night," he had said a few minutes earlier to his fans in Spanish on court. "I will always remember this match.".
So will we, Juan Martin.
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How to Tie a Tie: The Nicky Knot - Symmetric Classic Necktie Knot - Duration: 3:25.
Thanks for watching Tied Up in Sydney. I've been sharing with you the
easy-to-follow steps to help you remember how to tie the classic necktie
knots. Thirteen of the aesthetic knots from the 85 ways to tie a tie. I've shown
you the asymmetric necktie knots: the Oriental, the Four in Hand, the Kelvin, the
Victoria, and the Grantchester. The rest of the knots are all symmetric,
meaning they have that equilateral triangular shape that many of you
associate with the Windsor Knot. I'll come a little closer. This is not a
Windsor Knot. This is known as the Nicky Knot. It's also called a self-releasing
Pratt Knot and I'll show you why in just a moment. The key difference between this
and a Windsor is that it's much more slender. It's less bulbous than a Windsor
necktie knot and also your starting position is different. So I'll take it
down and I'll show you what I mean when I say self-releasing. You can simply pull
the tail out from the Knot. From there it just comes right apart.
So self-releasing Pratt Knot. I'll show you how to tie it. With your short hand,
it's going to start with "left out of the diagram" so that means you're starting
with the seam side out. You're not using a ton of fabric either so for me the
tail is a little bit past my rib cage and you need to obviously test that one
out for yourself get the length right. It's going to start left out of the
diagram then Center in. Notice here that I don't change my hands. Okay, right out
of the diagram, left into the diagram, Center out, and you're going to come
through that loop you've just created. Those are the simple steps for your
Nicky knot. Now for me, before I tighten this up, I like to get my dimple in. So I
reach right up inside and I fold that fabric in half and then from the top I
just start to pull this fabric back. That's going to tighten my knot around
my dimple. Pull that fabric through, cinch up, collar comes down,
and you've got your Nicky Knot. Thanks again for watching guys give me a thumbs
up. Love to see your comments down below, and please subscribe
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1975 Renault-Alpine A110 Berlinette Classic Drive - Duration: 13:24.
1975 Renault-Alpine A110 Berlinette Classic Drive
It's tough to get an appreciation for how tiny the Renault-Alpine A110 really is until you see it dwarfed by another small car — like a Ferrari Dino 246 GT.
That's exactly the view I have now, as the nondescript Jersey City garage door rolls up and the overhead lights click on above owner Phil Toledano's small, but impressive, collection of cars.
The A110 has been on my must-drive list for roughly two decades, after having been gifted my first "real" car book from my father sometime around the age of 10.
Back then, in the semi-glossy pages of "The World's Great Cars," the electric blue Alpine stood out with its semi-awkward styling, looking half insect and half spaceship. But the little bug-eyed rally car made a strong impression on me.
Twenty years later, flanked by several great cars in a small urban lockup, it still does. The story of the A110 starts in Dieppe, France, in the late 1940s, when 25-year-young Jean Redele took over his father's Renault dealership.
Though sales of the recently released, rear-engine 4CV were booming, Redele was more interested in racing and performance.
In 1952, he modified a 4CV in his workshop and drove it to a class win at the Mille Miglia, catching the attention of Renault's competition department.
The same year, Redele began marketing aftermarket performance parts for the 4CV, and purchased the rights to manufacture a five-speed conversion kit for the factory three-speed gearbox.
With backing from Renault, Redele took a dramatic leap: to produce a turn-key automobile based on production Renault running gear.
Using the Alpine name in celebration of his last 4CV victory in the 1953 Criterium des Alpes, Redele entered production with the A106, a rear-engine, two-door coupe based on the 4CV chassis that drew heavily from an earlier Michelotti-designed, Allemano-built prototype he had unsuccessfully tried to market in the U.S.
While the styling lost a little in translation from prototype to production, the A106 achieved some success in showrooms and motorsport.
Redele entered the A106 at the Mille Miglia, with his hired drivers earning a podium-class finish in 1956, which led to the availability of special competition suspension and engine parts.
In 1957, Redele introduced a new two-door, rear-engine coupe dubbed A108 that used the more modern mechanicals and suspension from the Renault Dauphine.
Returning to Michelotti for design work, Redele launched the car with two seats and essentially the same chassis as the A106.
But in 1960, a two-seat convertible and 2+2 coupe version were introduced with a new platform that was longer, with a steel backbone design that integrated the front suspension crossmember and the rear engine mounting cradle.
That basic assembly was bonded to the fiberglass body to create a relatively light, strong, and rigid unit-body structure. The new chassis would form the basis for all subsequent A110 models.
Styling remained similar to the A108, the most notable changes being the four-headlight front design and a wider rear end that would accommodate engines of larger capacity than even the 998cc offering in the A108.
The car's appearance was instantly more aggressive, foreshadowing the success it would bring in motorsport. Despite its similarities to the late A108, the A110 was blessed with a number of improvements over its predecessor.
Running gear came from the new R8, a rather boxy compact sedan that boasted a number of technological advancements for its class, including four-wheel disc brakes, a durable five-bearing engine, and a sealed-for-life cooling system.
The suspension used R8 double A-arms up front and swing axles at the rear, located with a trailing arm on each side. Early cars had either 956cc or 1108cc R8 units (A110 1000 and 1100), neither producing more than 50 hp.
By 1964, Renault tuning firm Gordini had developed a performance engine with hemispherical combustion chambers that produced roughly 89 hp from the larger engine, and in 1966 came a bored-out 1296cc engine that produced upward of 120 hp to create the A110 1300.
Four-speed transmissions were standard in all models, with an optional five-speed unit available.
With more power, Alpine realized it had a serious sports car on its hands. Starting in 1967, the 1470cc Renault R16 engine (also used in the Lotus Europa) found its way into the A110 1500.
The 1600 model came in 1969 with a displacement increase to 1565 cc, and in 1970 a tuned version with twin Weber 45 DCOE carbs created a whopping 138 hp for a top speed of over 130 mph.
Motorsport-oriented options began to populate order sheets, including integrated rollcages, lighter bodywork, varying gear ratios, and a limited-slip differential.
While the A110's relatively small-displacement engines and short wheelbase weren't ideal for circuit racing, they were perfect for rally racing, where the Alpine's strong chassis and durable mechanicals excelled.
Alpines were regularly entered into a new European manufacturer-based rally championship series from 1970 to '72 and came away with several wins, including an overall victory at the 1971 Monte Carlo rally with driver Ove Andersson.
The height of the Alpine's rally success came in 1973, when factory-backed A110s dominated the season to win the first manufacturer's title in the newly created World Rally Championship series.
A110s were less competitive at road racing events such as Le Mans, where even special aerodynamic bodywork couldn't compensate for a relative lack of power.
The following year, the Lancia Stratos came to rule the WRC roost and even a new fuel-injected 1605cc engine and double A-arm independent rear suspension from the new A310 couldn't keep the little Alpine in winning form.
Still, privateers continued to enter cars, and road-car production continued in 1300 and 1600 form until 1977, when concentration went solely to the larger, more luxurious A310 road car. An era had ended at Alpine.
Back in the garage, while Toledano disconnects the trickle charger and attends to a few other odds and ends, I walk around the little Alpine.
I've never before been so close to one in person, and the advice Toledano gave me in an e-mail the previous week ("bring a shoehorn") seems less of a joke now. I'm invited for my first sit-in, and I hesitantly oblige.
There's no real elegant way to climb into a vehicle that stands just 44 inches tall, but I find the best thing is to slide my right leg in first and across the narrow space that separates seat from steering wheel.
Then, I shift the rest of my body in, sliding across the single-piece bucket seat for which I'm about 20 pounds too large.
Inside there's more space than you'd think; it's comfortable with my legs outstretched slightly to the right, and plenty of shoulder room.
Headroom is limited and, at just under 6 feet, I'm not convinced I'd fit with a helmet on — I barely fit without one.
The gorgeous Veglia Borletti Italian gauges seem out of place in a French car, but Alfa Romeo was partnered with Renault in the mid-century, and built many an R8 in Italy.
The car fires up immediately, and setting off, the steering is light and responsive and the pedals are much the same way.
The gear lever moves through its gates with precision, though the action is rather notchy and the throws from the tall lever are long. The power is certainly adequate, though it never quite pushes me back in the seat.
Really, the A110 wouldn't be too exhausting a car to drive on a long trip, save for the sheer din of that little R8 engine.
The engine in Toledano's car has been bored out to 1440 cc and fitted with twin sidedraft Dell'Orto carbs. Add some cam, and Phil says it's good for around 125 hp.
And this thing is loud. Earplugs are probably a good idea, but then all that glorious sound would be muffled.
The engine note is surprisingly rich for such a small engine, growling rather than rasping, and trying its best to sound larger than it actually is.
When the Alpine is stationary, its rear wheels seem to carry an obscene amount of rear camber, but on the road, it all works. The car feels lively and spirited, with a little hopping over road imperfections.
Tuck the car into a bend, though, and it hunkers down and feels remarkably stable.
One thing the Alpine isn't is daily transportation. It's too noisy and jouncy, too small and rare to be subjected to the morning commute on a regular basis.
But for those early morning weekend drives, when the air is crisp and most of the world is still asleep, there are few cars whose wheel I'd rather get behind.
I'm often afraid to meet childhood heroes, or drive cars I've put on a pedestal for so many years. I know enough to realize reality rarely meets expectations.
When it was time to put the A110 back in the garage and close the door, I had pangs of sadness. It wasn't that the A110 had left me underwhelmed; it was that I didn't own one.
I guess that means I wasn't disappointed.
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