How has country music star Clay Walker navigated life with Multiple Sclerosis? Discover his inspiring story of adapting his treatment plan, prioritizing health, and thriving both personally and professionally.

Overcoming Challenges: Clay Walker’s Journey with Multiple Sclerosis

Clay Walker, the multi-platinum country music star, has been living with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) since 1996. Despite the chronic and often debilitating nature of this condition, Walker has managed to maintain a successful career and a fulfilling personal life. In a candid interview, Walker opens up about his recent “dark time” and how it prompted a change in his MS management approach.

Maintaining a Healthy Lifestyle on the Road

As an entertainer, Walker spends a significant amount of time on the road, which can present challenges for managing his MS. However, he has made it a priority to maintain a healthy lifestyle, both on and off the stage. Walker talks about the importance of nutrition, exercise, and taking the appropriate prescribed medication to help manage his symptoms.

A Terrifying Attack and a Shift in Treatment Plan

A couple of years ago, Walker experienced a severe sensory attack that left him unable to feel anything below his chest. This “dark time” forced him to re-evaluate his treatment plan. After consulting with his doctor, Walker transitioned from daily injections to a medication called Ocrevus, which has helped reduce the frequency of his attacks.

Staying Active and Hiding the Condition from His Family

When Walker is at home, he maintains an active lifestyle with his wife and five children. He is determined to not let his MS define him, and he works hard to hide the condition from his family. Walker shares his gratitude for the mobility he still has and the importance of adapting his activities to his fluctuating abilities.

The Challenges of Temperature Sensitivity

Like many individuals with MS, Walker experiences temperature sensitivity. Extreme cold can exacerbate his symptoms, and he describes feeling like “the tin man trying to walk” when he’s in cold environments. This is just one of the many unique challenges he navigates as he lives with this unpredictable condition.

Advocating for Your Own Health

Walker’s journey with MS has taught him the importance of being his own health advocate. After the terrifying attack, he immediately consulted his doctor to explore alternative treatment options, ultimately finding a medication that has significantly improved his quality of life. This proactive approach is a testament to Walker’s resilience and determination to thrive with his condition.

Inspiring Others Through Resilience and Perseverance

Despite the challenges he has faced, Clay Walker continues to inspire his fans and the MS community with his resilience and perseverance. His story serves as a reminder that with the right treatment plan, lifestyle adjustments, and unwavering determination, individuals living with chronic conditions can achieve remarkable success both professionally and personally.

How has Clay Walker’s MS treatment plan evolved over the years?

Clay Walker’s MS treatment plan has evolved over the years. Initially, he was taking daily injections to manage his condition. However, after experiencing a severe sensory attack a few years ago, he consulted with his doctor and transitioned to a medication called Ocrevus, which is administered as an infusion every six months. This new treatment plan has helped reduce the frequency of Walker’s MS attacks and has made his daily management easier.

What strategies does Clay Walker use to stay active and healthy while on the road?

To maintain a healthy lifestyle while on tour, Clay Walker and his team make sure to stock the tour bus with nutritious foods and keep a piece of exercise equipment called the “T-Rex” attached to the trailers. This allows Walker to do stretches, pull-ups, and other exercises to stay in shape and manage his MS symptoms even when traveling.

How does Clay Walker’s MS impact his relationship with his family?

Walker is determined to not let his MS define him or his relationship with his family. He makes a conscious effort to hide the condition from his wife and five children, not wanting them to see him as someone with a disability. While there are days when he struggles with his symptoms, Walker adapts his activities to what he is capable of, whether it’s playing sports or just standing still and shooting hoops.

What role does temperature sensitivity play in Clay Walker’s MS management?

Temperature sensitivity is a common challenge for individuals living with MS, and Clay Walker is no exception. He describes feeling like “the tin man trying to walk” when he is in cold environments, as the extreme cold can exacerbate his MS symptoms. This is just one of the many unique challenges Walker navigates as he manages his condition while maintaining his active lifestyle and successful music career.

Clay Walker Opens Up About a ‘Dark Time’ That Prompted a Change in How He Manages His Multiple Sclerosis

Multi-platinum country star Clay Walker is known for hit songs like “What’s It To You” and “She Won’t Be Lonely Long” that have spanned his nearly 30-year career, so fans may be surprised to learn that he has been living with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) since 1996, a chronic and often debilitating disease. 

Today, thanks to a successful treatment plan and healthy lifestyle, Walker is thriving both personally and professionally. He released his latest album Texas to Tennessee in 2021, which includes his current single, “Catching’ Up With an Ol’ Memory.”

The Texas native talked to Country Now about his journey with MS, revealing details of the recent attack that changed the course of his treatment, how he triumphantly manages his symptoms as both an entertainer and as a father, and the importance of being your own health advocate. Sitting across from Walker on his bus before a show in Marion, Illinois, you would never know that the “Live Until I Die” singer has managed MS for 26 years. Full of joy and energy, Walker enthusiastically chatted about life on the road and at home.

As an entertainer, touring plays a major role in Walker’s life. “I like to say that I sing for free and they pay me to be away from my family,” Walker laughed. “So travel’s the toughest part of it, but I gotta be honest, I wouldn’t wanna do anything else. I’ve always dreamed of doing this and every day that I get to walk on stage, I literally feel like I need to pinch myself.”

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Touring can also present challenges for maintaining a healthy lifestyle to help manage his MS, but Walker makes it a priority when he’s on the road.   “We keep the bus stocked with things that we need to stay healthy,” said Walker, talking about the importance of nutrition. “We also keep what we call the T-Rex. It’s this apparatus that we hook to the outside of the trailers and we’ll do all kinds of stretches and pull ups and presses. It’s just a great versatile piece of equipment to stay in shape.”

In addition to nutrition and exercise, taking the appropriate prescribed medication has helped Walker tremendously. For years, he was taking a daily injection to manage his MS, but a terrifying attack forced him to re-evaluate his treatment plan.

“A couple years ago, I had my first attack in a lot of years,” revealed Walker. “It was what they call a sensory attack and I couldn’t feel anything below my chest. It was a really tough time. It was a dark time, a scary time.”

Clay Walker

MS occurs when the immune system attacks the area around nerve cells in the brain, spinal cord, and optic nerves, which results in inflammation and damage. Symptoms vary from person to person and can include muscle weakness, fatigue, and vision problems. After the attack, Walker immediately consulted his doctor to find out what other treatment options might be available.

“I used to take a shot every day,” said Walker. “I switched to a medication called Ocrevus, which was something that my doctor had recommended because of the reduced amount of attacks that they saw with the medication.” Ocrevus is the first and only therapy approved for both relapsing MS (RMS) and primary progressive MS (PPMS), given as an infusion every six months. Walker has not had a relapse since starting the new treatment.

“It’s great that medications continue to improve. And I’m the benefactor of that… [it’s] a lot easier than taking a shot every day,” Walker added.

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When the “Dreaming With My Eyes Open” singer isn’t on the road, you can find him at home, keeping up an active lifestyle with his wife Jessica and their five children. For Walker, it’s important that his kids don’t see him as having MS. “I hide it from my kids. I hide it from everybody if I can, but there’s certain times of the day that you’ll struggle or certain days you’ll struggle. And you don’t know the rhyme or reason why it’s like that… There are days that I can run and days that I can’t run so well and so I just make ’em do whatever I feel like I can do,” he laughed. “It might be playing football or soccer or it might just be standing still shooting hoops.”

Walker expressed his gratitude for being able to stay active. “I gotta say that I have a lot of mobility and I’m thankful and blessed for that.”

Although MS is considered one disease, it manifests in different ways for different people, including temperature sensitivity. For Walker, extreme cold can exacerbate MS symptoms. “If I’m in cold, I kind of look like the tin man trying to walk, all my muscles are just spastic and tough.”

Clay Walker; Photo Provided

But if you see Walker in concert, you’d never know that he occasionally deals with those symptoms. He embodies the passion of his music during his high-energy performances, interacting with fans and delivering his songs powerfully. 

Walker’s passion spills over into helping fellow MS patients become their own health advocates, especially when it comes to prescription treatment. “I really think that it’s important for people, particularly people who have MS, to be their own health advocate. To look at it like, ‘Hey, this is my responsibility to take care of myself.’ I do meet people sometimes who are not on any medication,” said Walker. “And that always concerns me because I’ve done so well for so many years taking medication. I hope that anybody who’s reading this understands the importance that this is not a disease you can let go unchecked because the faster you can address the issue, the better chances you have…It’s proven that if you can get on a medication early, that you’re gonna do a lot better over the long run.”

Clay Walker launched a charitable foundation in 2003, Band Against MS (BAMS), which is committed to providing educational information for those living with Multiple Sclerosis, funding programs researching a cure for Multiple Sclerosis, and funding programs helping those living with the disease.  

To learn more, visit https://www.bandagainstms.com/

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Country star Clay Walker thriving despite multiple sclerosis diagnosis, will perform in Colorado Springs |

A young Clay Walker was a fresh, hot face on the country music scene when multiple sclerosis came along and tried to steal his thunder.

Country giant George Jones hired the singer and guitarist from Beaumont, Texas, then 17, to perform at Jones Country Music Park, his country music theme park in Colmesneil, Texas. After hearing his sound check, Jones told him “you’re going to make it in this business.”

At 22, Walker proved Jones right and scored his first record deal. His self-titled debut album dropped in 1993, containing the No. 1 hits “What’s It to You” and “Live Until I Die.”

At 26, several records into his career, he began to experience strange numbness in his limbs, facial spasms and double vision. Doctors delivered the diagnosis: multiple sclerosis, an autoimmune disease that affects the brain and spinal cord. And a grim prognosis: probably a wheelchair in a few years, and death a few years after that. He was understandably devastated.

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Walker refused to give up, though, and embarked on a drastic life change, including a diet overhaul, medication, stress management and stretches and exercises to help strengthen his legs and upper extremities. That was more than 25 years ago.

In 2003, he founded Band Against MS, a nonprofit dedicated to helping those with the disease and funding programs researching a cure.

“It’s different degrees of struggle every day,” Walker said from a recent tour stop. “Some days are pretty hard, others are kind of light. I never know how it’s going to be until I wake up. But I’ve been blessed. I can still walk and ride horses and be active and do the stuff that makes me happy. ”

Walker will perform Tuesday at Cowboys in Colorado Springs. Proceeds will benefit Mount Carmel Veterans Service Center.

“It didn’t affect me negatively,” he said. “It made me more aware of what was really important in life. I don’t take a lot of things for granted anymore. If one of my kids or my wife says, ‘Daddy, come look at the sunset,’ I’m going to get off the couch and go to the porch and look at the sunset with them.”

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His 11th album, “Texas to Tennessee,” dropped last year, and he’s got a new single on the radio, “Catching Up With an Old Memory.” He wrote it during the endless stretches of the pandemic, and calls it a nostalgic-feeling tune about returning to a place where you once spent time with someone special, but instead of letting it make you sad, it’s only reuniting with an old memory.

These days he’s more consumed with the melody of a song than the lyrics: “To me the melody is what has most of the emotion in it. The words flow on top of the melody. I don’t try to force things anymore. I used to count syllables and I’d want an exact rhyme, and now it’s like, ‘let the song tell you what it wants.’ ”

And what the song always wants is to be country. His predilection for the genre stems from two things, he says: his inherent soulfulness and an affinity for blues music. Meld those two together, and you have country blues.

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“When I find those kinds of songs, that’s what I’d call my wheelhouse,” he said. “Country music is the people’s music. It’s not about being cool. It’s about, ‘can I see myself in that song, and can the fans see themselves in that song?’”

It’s all about telling the truth on stage, being transparent, much as he’s been about his diagnosis and health all these years.

“It’s what has sustained my career,” Walker said. “People in general have what I call a tuning fork in their soul. When you hit the tuning fork the wrong way, they know and don’t forget. When you hit it right, it resonates. Nobody’s perfect, but letting people know that piece of it, that you’re not perfect, is refreshing.”

“It’s different degrees of struggle
every day. Some days are pretty hard, others are kind of light. I never know how it’s going to be until I wake up. But I’ve been blessed.” Country star Clay Walker

Read online “Silver Air”, Vladimir Zenkin – Litres

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Senator Lucius Cato was expected by noon. But something delayed the distinguished guest from Alexandria. Most likely – a rest stop in Dathnion, visiting the legate Simeon Ley.

No wonder. The road under the scorching sun for a person weighed down by his middle years, and besides, barely recovered from a severe fever, is not a trifle at all.

But he is unlikely to stay with the legate for the night. The senator conveyed with the orderly that he would certainly arrive today.

His impatience is understandable. Due to a sudden illness, he was forced to postpone his departure from Alexandria for a whole week. Otherwise, he simply would not have arrived.

One can imagine what grief and distress (in addition to the bodily ailment) this absurd delay caused him.

Because the reason for his most urgent presence here was more than serious.

Centurion Obadius Paulinus, the main expectant of the senator, spent most of the day in inactivity and mental confusion.

He couldn’t sit in his commander’s tent; every now and then he went outside: once again inspected the camp of his centuria – is everything in order – looked into the tents, talked with the soldiers, answered questions, mostly about one thing – soon? … He watched how the training was going on the parade ground. I checked the cleanliness around the kitchen shed, warehouses, tents, outhouses … Everything was in perfect order, everyone knew who was coming.

He often glanced from behind the earthen rampart – the fence of the camp – at a wide wasteland, beyond which the sandbank of the sea coast spread out. The road to Dathnion also began there.

Road is a big word; just hard ground nailed by wheeled hooves, a shallow rut that stretched along the coast, past walnut sand washed by waves, past whitish boulders grown into the ground, past layered rocky coastal cliffs, between hills covered on the slopes with sparse grass and dull green prickly tufts of wild rose and tamarisk, along small but pleasant companies of date palms, acacias and oleanders in gentle lowlands.

Two legionnaires loomed in the wasteland, their eyes fixed on the road. When guests appear, they will immediately inform him, he will rush there to meet. The senator should be the first to see him. Sign of respect. Moreover, the guest was not just a senator, but the maternal uncle of Avdiy Paulinus. The last time he saw him was in Rome ten years ago, as a very young contour commander in the legion of Simeon Ley, before going to Syria.

And then – by a whim of fate – far from Rome, a strange meeting on a completely unexpected occasion. Or, maybe, all the same – a little expected? For a senator. His farewell words, there, in Rome… Mysterious words.

Obadiah approached the sentinel platform raised on log pillars and nodded inquiringly at him. He shook his head in response – nothing new.

The camp of his centurion was set up on a gentle hill, from which the surroundings were perfectly surveyed.

Twelve large tents, a commander’s round tent, a canopy for kitchen tables, a leveled, grass-cleared parade ground for combat training and general gatherings.

The camp along the square perimeter was dug in with a ditch, three cubits deep, lined with an earthen rampart, from which uneven, but frequent and well-sharpened stakes, cut down from the surrounding acacias, protruded obliquely.

Not an ideal, but rather serious obstacle for a possible enemy attack. To secure your camp is the first thing; for this, the legionnaires never spared either labor or time.

Hewn poles in two opposite corners; on them – platforms for sentries with canopies. All as prescribed by strict army law.

Obadiah again glanced at the wasteland, at the soldiers on duty there. Are waiting.

A small village could be seen to the left. The wasteland narrowed and emptied into a crooked, narrow street. On both sides stood squat dwellings of oval and rectangular shape without order, built of mud bricks with chopped straw or adobe or wicker branches smeared with clay; with flat roofs and tiny windows underneath. Three or four dozen semi-shacks, semi-houses. Some dwellings are richer, more spacious. Next to them are pens for goats and sheep, fences for poultry, patches of well-groomed land, and small gardens.

The inhabitants of the village are fishermen and farmers: Egyptians, Libyans, Berbers, descendants of the Greeks. When the centuria came here and set up camp, the villagers fearfully expected the worst from the armed Romans. In fact, they had their reasons. But they soon got used to it (Abdiy strictly suppressed looting and violence) and even began to receive some benefit from selling the products of their labor to the legionnaires: goats and sheep, chickens and guinea fowl, caught fish, pistachios, plums, even, in small quantities, not very good, sour guilt.

Obadiah went to the opposite side of the camp. Past the whitish, ash-stained soldiers’ tents, past his brown tent and another, the same, only brand new, recently pitched for an honored guest. Not far from the second observation deck was a covered wagon on wheels.

This imposing, heavy structure, designed for a team of two or even four horses, was not necessary for a simple hiking camp. But the centurion of Obadiah Paulina came here and settled here for a reason that was not at all simple.

The wagon was a strong box, knocked down from wooden boards, sheathed on the outside with thick cowhide, and on the inside with drapery fabric. It was cool in summer and warm in winter. A spacious bed, a table, elegant cabinets for dishes, clothes, and all sorts of things needed for a comfortable home. Two small casement windows on the sides. Sturdy door with external and internal lock.

The van was intended for Simeon Ley’s important guests.

By order of the legate, and the legate, it seems, was also fulfilling someone’s wish (perhaps a senator?), they brought him here from Dathnion. It stood for a long time empty, locked, majestically unnecessary.

But now the van is inhabited.

Obadiah lingered for a short time in front of the door, took a deep breath, trying to dampen his excitement (he was always worried before…). He licked his dry lips, ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it. He pushed the latch and opened the door. Not for the first time today. But again – just like the first time…

Estrl stood right in the doorway and looked at him. Obviously, she approached the sound of the heck.

– Did you interfere? I’m so. .. not for long.

She stepped back into the room, looked away from him, he became calmer. They sat down on a bench next to the table.

– Why do you lock me up every time? You know that I won’t run away. And if I suddenly decide to run away, you will let me out. You said…

– But you don’t want to, do you? Obadiah carefully hid from the answer. “And I don’t want to…really don’t want to.”

“Yes,” she smiled sadly. – But your senator… His arrival doesn’t make me very happy.

She looked up at him again – close eyes, almost unbearable up close.

A slight shiver ran down the centurion’s back.

Within a week he had more or less become accustomed to the expression of those eyes, which changed color from light amber to deep chestnut; sharp, abnormally distinct, and at the same time – semi-real, as if by accident, unstable, briefly connected with someone’s face. Used to. But sometimes…

Everything else in her could be considered ordinary, understandable, attractive, like many young women: a tall, flexible and strong figure, a neat head on a graceful neck, a hot copper wave of hair falling over her shoulders, a matte skin tone , narrow face with a thin and sensitive nose.

Everything except the eyes. It was dangerous to look at them for a long time (Obadius already knew), the feeling of oneself was lost, thoughts crumpled, an alluring madness approached.

– So why are you locking the door?

“Don’t be offended, Estrl,” Obadiah sighed. “Not to keep you out. So that no one enters you … by accident.

– There is constipation inside here. And anyone can open the latch.

– The soldiers won’t do it. On the contrary, they are watching…

– Then why?

– Just…for order. May the senator see tonight that everything is as it should be.

– W-yes, and with me, of course.

– You should be nearby. Always. I know you alone here. I only believe in you. Bye. Do you promise to be there?

– I promise! exclaimed Obadiah.

– When will he finally appear, your senator?

– Very soon. I came in to calm you down. Everything will be fine. Rest. I’ll go meet.

He closed the door. Mechanically he extended his hand to the latch. Didn’t touch her. Forced himself to turn away from the van. I went to the exit from the camp.

Soldiers whiled away the time. Daytime training, compulsory work is over. Who rested, lying in tents; who were engaged in petty daily chores: fixing their armor, mending clothes or shoes, shaving, looking for something in their things. Some played dice, many just chatted with each other, laughed, making offhand military jokes. Everyone was waiting for a quick dinner, a slight smell of boiling porridge and fried meat came from the kitchen sheds. There were stoves for cauldrons and frying pans, around them the cooks of the supper from the contours were performing sacred functions. They were usually led by the head chef.

Obadiah nodded amiably to his legionaries, they eagerly greeted him. They broke away from their affairs, pulled themselves up, but did not jump up in ostentatious subservience. He didn’t like it. He understood them, they understood him. Obadiah Paulinus was a good commander. His centuria was considered one of the best in the legion. Simeon Ley appreciated him, despite his youth and not too accommodating character.

Thirty years is not much for a centurion. But not so little to prove themselves.

Thirty… and ten of them he is on campaigns, away from Rome. The best years of life. Or – not the best?…

How did everything turn out with him?

A moment of remembrance. He flew in and out … while Obadiah slowly walked from the camp to the dusty coast, where two soldiers loomed in anticipation.

* * *

Years sometimes shine in a moment.

How far away, how unlike him – that pale, thin young man from the eastern outskirts of Rome, where a middle-class plebo lived, mainly artisans, healers, shopkeepers-merchants!..

His father is the owner of a small but well-known pottery workshop: he recruited skillful and enthusiastic workers capable of making very beautiful dishes, ceramic figurines, wall moldings. He himself was an excellent potter and glazer, painted clay crafts with special grace, used red, yellow, blue varnishes, colored glass – a rarity for that time. These products were expensive and sold out willingly, including for the rich, illustrious houses of the patricians: horsemen and nobles.

And one day a slender, well-dressed girl Lucia from the noble house of Catons came into his shop to look at freshly made painted goblets for festive ceremonies. In addition to the cups, she also looked at the tall, dark-eyed, smiling owner, Sid Paulin. She looked too intently, and he looked at her … And soon, despite the discontent of noble parents and relatives, she became the wife of a rootless, although not poor, potter, the owner of a white-toothed smile, and then the mother of the born Obadiah.

And the three of them lived happily and smilingly, and everything was fine, except for the cool attitude towards their small family of the large and arrogant Caton family. They didn’t count. This little thing could not shake their simple calm fret.

But one day the familiar smile disappeared forever from the father’s face. My beloved wife died of a heart disease.

At the funeral, father and son stood aside from the large Caton family. Her parents approached them. They exchanged cold condolences.

Her older brother, senator Lucius Cato, lingered around them. He cast a tenacious glance at the young Obadiah, put a powerful hand on his shoulder.

“Boy, you need it,” he boomed. “I think I took the best from my mother and father. I’m not wrong about people. I suggest a military career. And then we’ll see. School of Legionnaires Svil Magnus. Strongest in Rome and Italy. Fits?

Thus began another life for Obadiah – harsh, ruthless. Almost without smiles. He quickly accepted it and weaned from everything else.

Three years later, on his way to the east as dean of the kontourbenia (eight foot soldiers) with the legion of horseman Simeon Ley, he visited his strict uncle.

“You justify my predictions,” the senator said approvingly. – Reviews about you are good. A brilliant future awaits you. We’ll probably meet again. Far from Rome. Possibly due to special circumstances.

– How so special? – the gallant legionnaire was surprised.

– I don’t know yet. What fate will bring And you … don’t doubt anything. Least of all – in yourself. Everything will be as it should be. There are arbiters of fate, they are always right. Great Rome is always right. This is his power. And your meaning. Penetrate.

Young Obadiah liked it very much – about being right. Rome is always right – what doubts can there be!

This was their last meeting.

And now, after ten years, will soon take place here in Egypt. But now not everything is so certain in it.

By no means the past decade has shaken the unshakable foundations. Only one last week…

Before Egypt he visited Syria, Judea, Samaria, Parthia, Macedonia, Greece…

The Parthian war was measured out to him in full measure.

Two campaigns in the army of the consul-suffent Ventidius Basus – a decisive, cunning and successful commander. A hard battle, a difficult victory in the mountains near the Amair ridge. The great battle of Gindar, where the army of Prince Pakar was defeated, and he himself was killed.

Swinging, fragile line between life and death. The allure of danger. Rage, super-possible tension of forces. A feeling of inseparability with comrades-in-arms who cover you from death, so that you cover them. The Furious Delight of the Winners…

Evil military science: Obadiah went through it in detail and diligently, fastening what he learned with someone else’s and his own blood.

Two years later – the third Parthian campaign, led by the triumvir Mark Antony himself. High titles and self-confidence did not replace his military leadership skills. The campaign failed ingloriously, the capital of Medes Francine was not taken. The Parthians captured the food convoy. The army was left without provisions, in the mountains, in the middle of winter. With heavy losses from cold, hunger, from sudden enemy attacks, the Romans returned. That was another, dark, desperate stage of military science for Obadiah.

He went through the third, even more absurd stage of it – the war of the Romans against the Romans. Triumvir Guy Octavian – against the former comrade-in-arms, the former triumvir, who became an enemy of the state, Mark Antony.

Thanks be to the gods – it did not come to a big land battle. But there was a confrontation between the two armies in Greece on the shores of the Ambroxian Gulf. There was a naval battle at Cape Actions. When the Egyptian ships of Queen Cleopatra suddenly turned back to the south. When Mark Antony abandoned his troops and, for God knows why, hurried to Alexandria. Even the legions loyal to him went over to the side of Gaius Octavian.

Strange, inevitable quirks of war: the lives of thousands of ordinary soldiers often depend on the absurd whims of the powerful.

And then – Egypt, Alexandria. The death of Antony and Cleopatra, the execution of her son-heir Caesarion.

Octavian is the only ruler in the vast expanse of the state.

Departing for Rome, he left three legions to his appointed prefect of Egypt, Cornelius Gallus. Two were stationed in Alexandria, and the third, under the command of Simeon Ley, in the provincial Dathnion.

It’s been a pretty boring two years. There were no major military operations. Cornelius Gallus with the Alexandrian army descended the Nile, put things in order in the restless cities: Memphis, Giza, Luxor…

The third legion remained in the same place. His mounted turmes were sometimes involved in small battles with detachments of Numidian horsemen coming from the desert across the southern border – warlike, but scattered and stupid. From time immemorial, Numidians raided Egypt on horses and camels, robbed villages, killed inhabitants, and took many with them into the desert. With the advent of the Romans, their impudence diminished, attacks became rare and cautious.

Obadiah by that time had become the commander of the centuria; excellent centuria, which was entrusted with important and difficult tasks.

Was this the legate’s last order? Strange command. The second century, reinforced by twenty horsemen, was to reach a lonely village on the seashore, set up a reliable camp there and take under the strictest guard a small date grove in a hollow between the hills. Ensure that no outsider enters there. And if someone suddenly appears there …

* * *

– You, sir, as you knew. They came at the right time.

Obadiah – on a bare coastal wasteland, in front of him – his sentries.

– What?

– Wow, look. Looks like our guests.

A distant bend in the road rut, barely visible on the pale brown hill near the horizon. Light dusty cloud. Slowly moving figures of horse riders.

“Finally!..” the centurion sighed vaguely.

II

They stopped before descending into the hollow. Lucius Cato once again looked around with interest: the evening sea blue in the distance, a bright strip of coastal sand; sad clay rural houses, as if clinging closer to each other in a long gray fear. Pulled ashore, from a stray wave, fishing boats, similar from afar to lentil shells. Very close, on a hill, is the centuria’s camp – sharp, frequent stakes from an earthen rampart. The platform of the sentry is on the pillars, the sentry diligently looks after them.

They have just left the camp to go down to the grove: the senator with Obadiah, behind them, behind them, a few steps away, so as not to interfere with the conversation, are two armed guards. In total, four of them arrived with Cato. Obadiah was a little surprised to himself – why so many? The road from Duthnion is not very long and not so dangerous. I was surprised, but I didn’t ask anything.

The saffron sun almost touched the edge of the hilly horizon. Evening colors thickened in calm calm.

“As soon as he hides,” Obadiah nodded at the sun disk, “twilight immediately sets in. Twilight is short here. Before you look back, it’s already dark.

“I know,” the senator chuckled. – Nothing. We won’t be long.

They went down the hard grass oppressed by the sun to the first palm trees with powerful tuberous trunks, with twigs of branches arching over them. Yellow clusters of maturing dates hung between the branches.

They were met by a sentry on patrol from this side, in full ammunition – in a shoulder plate shell, in a helmet, with a sword and a short pilum spear. Zamer silently saluted his commander and distinguished guest.

“We are on duty with circuits,” explained Obadiy. – Around the grove – four. And four are inside.

– Don’t sleep at night?

– They don’t close their eyes. Change morning and evening. If something happens, they will give a signal with a small pipe. The camp is nearby – we will hear.

– Do you make a fire at night?

– Why? The grove is not dark at night.

– When did our “guest” appear?

– Eight days ago.

– I know that. What time?

– At dawn. The sun has just risen.

– That’s how. ..

Cato stumbled over a ledge of rhizome hidden in the grass, he would have fallen if Obadiah hadn’t supported him by the elbow. He grunted in annoyance, winced painfully.

– I’m not a good walker. The cursed disease took away my strength.

The senator, indeed, did not look quite healthy: his face was gray and puffy; in the whites of the eyes there are remnants of sick yellow and red streaks. Beads of sweat on a steep forehead.

– You are tired from a long journey. Better rest first. And tomorrow morning.

No, my dear nephew. Much precious time has been lost. Tomorrow I meet our “guest”. Until then, I must see this place. Hear all the details from you. All – to one. And comprehend them.

– This event is here … Is it so significant that it required your arrival?

“We have to figure it out,” Lucius Cato smiled sadly. It’s probably much more significant than you think. Maybe even more than I think.

The grove was small – a few dozen trees. But most palms are strong, branchy. Layered, sprawling fans of crowns fenced off the sunset sky; under the branches there was a mottled, loose twilight and even coolness. In addition to palm trees, in places accessible to the sun’s rays, rosehip bushes were visible, oleanders turned pink: low and infrequent – palm trees did not allow them to turn around, they were masters here. In some places, small, prickly ivy spread along the ground – it didn’t matter to him where to grow.

Small flat clearing; in the middle – five especially tall, seasoned trees. They were similar to each other, stood straight and proud, forming a circle between them.

In the circle, in the air, at the height of an elbow from the ground, hung something misty and shining. Light silver haze over green grass. Hosts of the smallest dim light-dust particles; their slow, viscous movement.

It looked a little like tiny drops of water in the sun’s rays. But the sun didn’t get here. But the dust particles were much smaller, more alive. And they shone on their own.

The light shroud smoothly changed its shape: it gathered into a ball, the size of a couple of girths, then stretched upwards, into a ghostly spindle, then turned into an uneven, ragged lump.

Trees on the other side and solitary bushes were vaguely visible through the veil.

Complete silence reigned all around: the voices of birds were inaudible, the rustle of the wind in the branches.

“Silver air,” said Obadiah respectfully. – That’s what we called it. We never take our eyes off him, day or night.

The dull, painfully tired face of the senator has changed. Eyes from under bushy brows lit up with sharp triumph, flaccid cheeks turned pink, breathing became faster. Large nostrils twitched.

He came close to an amazing phenomenon. The smell in the clearing was fresh and slightly tart, like after a great thunderstorm. Although there have been no thunderstorms here for a long time.

– Is it possible to get through this?

– Yes. We passed.

– So what?

– Nothing special. No obstacle. Smallness tingles the skin. Spirit captures. The head then turns slightly.

– Come on!..

Lucius Cato took a deep breath and stepped into the brilliant veil.

His dark gray hair, short cut, his shoulders in a pomegranate light cloak were sprinkled with myriads of light dust particles; their erratic movement accelerated. He lingered there, swayed slightly, quickly, but with a noticeable effort, came out on the other side.

Obadiah, bypassing the palm trees, hurried to the senator, fearing that he would lose his balance. But he felt fine.

“Like tiny thorns hitting you,” he said. – It doesn’t hurt, but… Not very pleasant.

“Not very well,” agreed Obadiah.

– How long has it been here?

– Forty-fifth day.

– Yes? And eight days ago, a “guest” arose from it.

– That’s right.

– Who saw her appearance. Who can tell?

– Yes, here it is, Dist Sanum – the option of the first circuit. They were just on duty.

Obadiah beckoned one of the three legionnaires standing aside with his hand.

– Detailed. And in order,” ordered the senator.

* * *

The round tent for the distinguished guest stood in the middle of the camp, next to the commander’s tent. A tent was erected near him for the arrival of four guards. A worthy dinner was prepared from the most exquisite products that were found in the storerooms: fried goat meat with white garum sauce, olives in wine must, Lukan sausage, fresh wheat cakes; red perch and halibut baked with quail eggs and hot spices, cold oysters. As well as sweet dates, pears, plums, grapes.

Found an amphora of expensive white wine Pradzion.

The sumptuous table did not please, but slightly upset the guest, as his illness for a long time deprived him of the opportunity to eat fatty, spicy, salty. Most of the food was taken off the table.

Obadiah shared a meal with the senator in his tent, answering countless questions.

The guest was interested in particulars about the stranger: how she eats, how much she sleeps, what she likes, what she fears, what she does alone, what she asks about, how she managed to master our language, whether she wants to go back where she came from.

Obadiah was interested in something else. For a long time he did not dare to ask about it. At the end of the conversation, he asked.

– Excuse my tactless curiosity. She was supposed to show up, right? That’s why – I’m here with my centuria. Did you know she would show up? From the “silver air”…

– Pleasant surprise, isn’t it, dear nephew? – somehow not very seriously, slyly evasively answered Cato. – Could be a man, a woman, a child, an old man, an old woman … some kind of evil witch … A young attractive girl appeared. What more could you want?

– Who is she? Human?

– What do you think? Hehe… You already have a week of communication experience.

“I don’t think so,” Obadiah was slightly offended. “Perhaps she is a god… a goddess of some kind?” Where she came from, do gods live?

Are you asking me? Should you have asked her?

– For some reason, she forgot a lot about the past.

– Forgot? Learn a foreign language in a few days. And forget your life! It’s funny.

– I tried to tell you something. Very confusing.

“He doesn’t want to upset you,” the senator continued in an inappropriately jocular tone. “She likes you, I guess. And she to you? Confess…

* * *

Obadiah left the senator’s tent after midnight. The guest was tired from the road and needed a good sleep.

But the owner had no time for sleep.

He stood for some time between two round identical tents. Before his was a few steps. Obadiah was in no hurry. Breathed the night air; the air became cooler, thanks to the arriving sea breeze. During the day, the breath of the hot Libyan desert dominated here. And at night, the benevolent fresh spirit of the sea often took up.

He lifted his head up – maybe the majestic, incomprehensible stellar peace will slightly dampen the confusion of thoughts, push away anxiety.

Yes… All week long, besides other unexpected feelings, he had a vague anxiety, and today it has become anxiety. No reason…

No. With reason. The reason is in it. anxiety for her. Strange. She is not in danger. Is not it? Why is the senator here? What will happen next?

Obadiah went around the tent and went to the wagon where she was. Every evening, before going to bed, he went to wish her good night. It has already become a habit.

He smiled involuntarily. How many new habits he acquired this week. What habits! How much incredible, huge, new entered his soul! Something is happening to him. Why this anxiety? He was afraid to ask himself.

The darkness of the night was slightly dissipated by burning oil lamps on poles. The wagon, tents, fence, sentry towers were quite distinguishable. The near sentinel from above watched him closely. Obadiah waved his hand in greeting.

Why the deal between Avangard and Czech striker Pavel Zaha failed – 11 September 2019

Dmitry Yerykalov

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Maxim Sushinsky seems to live in the 19th century.

Having decided to change a good part of their legionary brigade in the summer, Avangard hardly imagined that the search for the last fifth foreigner would turn into a long-running series. This one is already reminiscent of Game of Thrones with journalists playing the role of white walkers, and if, after another transfer blunder, the bosses of the Omsk club go Breaking Bad, no one will be surprised. However, the ability of Dr. Lightman from The Theory of Lies will not interfere here either. A painfully confusing story unfolded around the (not) transition of Pavel Zakha to Avangard. Who is lying and who is telling the truth, you can’t immediately tell.

“I don’t even know who it is!” — Maxim Sushinsky, the president of the hawks, responded to a question about Zaha in a conversation with a correspondent of our portal. A few minutes later, already in a conversation with the “Championship”, he called the interest in the Czech “duck”. Curiously, did Sushinsky manage to study the biography of the Czech in the break between two comments? And in it, by the way, there are a couple of interesting lines related to drafts. Sarinia chose him under the first number in the CHL import draft, New Jersey – under the sixth, and in the KHL for some time the rights to the Czech belonged to … Donbass.

getty images

Soon Zaha signed a contract with the Devils, in which he played for the last three seasons. Moreover, for a player who clearly does not justify the advances and from year to year is trampling around the mark of 25 points, the Czech received good money. $2.25 million a year for the next three seasons is, if not a hit, then something very close to it. Avangard, with whom the name of Zaha was associated, did not lose his head and wittily played the situation. If anyone suddenly forgot, a year ago, the signing of a contract between William Nylander and Avangard was preceded by rumors about the possible move of the Swede to Balashikha.

On this, in principle, it was possible to put an end to this story. Sushinsky does not know Zakha, Zakha does not know Sushinsky, Zakha receives a “fat” contract in the NHL, and Avangard does not lose anything, since he did not lead any Zakha and did not try to get it. That’s just an ironic tweet looks like an attempt to put a good face on a bad game. A professional Omsk-Moscow region SMM covers up the strange behavior of his boss. According to journalist Pavel Lysenkov, after the news of Zaha’s signing of a contract with New Jersey, Sushinsky abruptly changed the record.

“Avangard President Maxim Sushinsky said into a recorder to one correspondent: “Because your brother is a lot of **** (talks), I can’t pick another word. They broke the deal for us “,” our colleague assures.

If this record really exists, it means that:

1. Sushinsky lied to journalists. And he did it twice. He did not leave information about interest in Zaha “without comment”. He did not ask me to wait for an announcement on the Avangard official website. He did not say about the interest, which has not yet gone anywhere. Namely, he lied. Some will say that the transfer market in hockey is like the Cold War, where there are documents classified as “top secret” and no one is obliged to disclose them. However, trust in the president of Avangard will now be no less than before. However, even last summer, Sushinsky called the transition of David Dearne from Lokomotiv to Avangard a fiction, and a few days later he was already introducing the Canadian newcomer.

2. Colleagues from Sport Express were not mistaken. In one of the YouTube broadcasts, journalist Igor Yeronko said that Avangard had agreed with the legionary center, and his colleague Alexei Shevchenko named Zakha. It is naive to believe that the journalists of the Russian edition worked in this case for the agent of the Czech forward. But the voiced information about the interest on the part of Avangard is beneficial only to the side of the player. Neither New Jersey, overpaying its prospect, nor Avangard, losing a potential newcomer, needed this. A kind of “espionage” in favor of Zaha is nothing more than an element of conspiracy theory. Rather, a journalist close to the club let it slip. And here you should look for the benefit only in views and citations.

3. Avangard missed another center. Zaha is far from the first potential Omsk rookie to get off the hook. Derrek Brassard signed with the Islanders and Riley Sheian with Edmonton. Oskar Lindberg also planned to stay in the NHL, who was also named among the candidates for the vacancy of the first center of Avangard. However, the Swede unexpectedly turned to Switzerland, signing a contract with Zug. It is difficult to say how substantive interest the Omsk residents had in each of these players, and with whom it came to the stage of negotiations. However, in the bottom line, Avangard is forced to start the season without two centers at once: the same unsigned legionnaire and the injured Denis Zernov.

Vladimir Bezzubov, Sport24

It is possible to understand Maxim Sushinsky’s emotions as a human being. If Avangard really lost its fourth center-legionnaire, the leader’s nerves are quite predictably stretched to the limit. Even the fact that the president of Avangard deceived journalists and fans can be viewed through a different prism. Sushinsky understood that another transfer misfire could seriously hit the prospects of Avangard this season, and blew into the water. There are three months left before the deadline, but it is not a fact that high-quality foreigners will appear on the market in November or December. And it will be even more difficult to fit a newcomer into Bob Hartley’s system.

Avangard exemplifies social networks, organizes large-scale seminars for players on how to behave with the press. Since last season, Bob Hartley has proven himself to be one of the most open coaches in the KHL. Just read what he thinks about the fault of the press in the collapse of the Zaha deal.

“Working with the press is part of the game. When I first came to the NHL, I asked for advice on how to behave with the press, on television, on the radio, what can and cannot be said in an interview. Journalists are also part of our society. As elsewhere, there are those who honestly perform their duties. There are also dishonest people. Rumors in hockey appear every day. Coaches are fired, players are changed. Now social networks have also been added. This is also part of the game. We know what really happened in the situation with Zaha” ,” Hartley said.

Vladimir Bezzubov, photo.khl.ru

That’s why Sushinsky’s behavior looks even more strange. It sharply discords with the image of Avangard as the most open and pro-Western club in the KHL. Rather, Maxim Yuryevich acts in the style of Anatoly Bardin, his former boss at the Omsk club. Blaming the press for the breakdown in negotiations is the simplest and most naive thing a leader can do. In the era of blogs and social networks, the iron curtain is a utopia.