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Who Threw The Curve?'s podcast

Who Threw The Curve?'s podcast

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🎙️ Who Threw the Curve with Robert Ruiz🎙️

Diving deep into the social and political landscapes, Robert Ruiz brings his signature blend of sharp wit and humor to every episode of "Who Threw the Curve." Whether you're a seasoned news junkie or just looking for some fresh perspectives with a side of sarcasm, this podcast has something for everyone. Join us as we navigate the twists and turns of today's most pressing issues, one curveball at a time. Prepare to be informed, entertained, and occasionally outraged—it's all part of the ride.Copyright Who Threw The Curve? Ciencias Sociales
Episodios
  • When a Biblical King Took on Egypt—and Lost Everything

    When a Biblical King Took on Egypt—and Lost Everything
    Oct 6 2025
    Thousands of years ago, a reforming Judean king tried to stand in the path of empire and paid with his life. In 609 BCE, King Josiah confronted Pharaoh Necho II’s northbound forces at Megiddo—the strategic corridor through Judah—and was killed, a blow that turned Judah from independent kingdom into an Egyptian vassal almost overnight. The moment is stark: a local monarch, conviction-first, crushed under the weight of a far larger, highly organized army moving to a different war entirely. It’s one of those rare biblical episodes where the historical and the scriptural tightly interlock. The result was an Egyptian victory and the subjugation of Judah under the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty. What makes the case so compelling is the layered documentation across traditions. The event appears in the Hebrew Bible (2 Kings 23:29–30; 2 Chronicles 35:20–25), the Greek 1 Esdras, and the writings of Josephus—independent textual streams that echo the same core outcome: Josiah dies at Megiddo confronting Egypt. Scholars also note that the terse Hebrew of 2 Kings has been misunderstood in older translations as Egypt moving “against” Assyria; modern readings, aided by external sources, recognize that Egypt and Assyria were allies at the time. Even the word “battle” is a later smoothing—2 Kings itself is minimalist, which ironically strengthens the historical feel of the report. Set against the geopolitical map, Josiah’s stand looks both brave and tragically timed. Necho II was marching to bolster a fading Assyria against the surging Neo-Babylonian Empire, and Judah sat athwart the fastest route to the Euphrates. That same Egyptian military machine would soon be bloodied at Carchemish, where Nebuchadnezzar II defeated Necho’s forces—a rout memorialized in Jeremiah 46 and reflected in the Babylonian Chronicles—underscoring the sheer scale of armies in motion and the stakes that dwarfed Judah’s calculus. In short: Josiah inserted a small kingdom into a collision of giants, and the giants barely noticed. The aftermath inside Judah reads like the ledger of empire. With Josiah gone, Egypt reached back into Jerusalem’s politics: Jehoahaz, who reigned only three months, was seized and taken to Egypt in chains, and Necho installed Jehoiakim as a loyal client. Tribute flowed south, and Judah’s sovereignty narrowed to the tight corridor allowed by Egyptian interests—until Babylon’s ascendancy flipped the balance again. These are not just theological notes; they are the administrative fingerprints of conquest, matching the biblical narrative with the logic of imperial control. Why does this episode still sting? Because Josiah wasn’t just a name in a chronicle; he symbolized reform, hope, a story turning toward renewal. His death at Megiddo is the whiplash moment when ideals met logistics—the cold arithmetic of roads, armies, and empires. The “incredible evidence” isn’t a single artifact; it’s the convergence: terse biblical lines, cross-cultural texts, and the broader historical record all pointing to the same, sobering truth. A courageous king stepped into the road, and the world, vast and indifferent, didn’t stop.Thousands of years ago, a reforming Judean king tried to stand in the path of empire and paid with his life. In 609 BCE, King Josiah confronted Pharaoh Necho II’s northbound forces at Megiddo—the strategic corridor through Judah—and was killed, a blow that turned Judah from independent kingdom into an Egyptian vassal almost overnight. The moment is stark: a local monarch, conviction-first, crushed under the weight of a far larger, highly organized army moving to a different war entirely. It’s one of those rare biblical episodes where the historical and the scriptural tightly interlock. The result was an Egyptian victory and the subjugation of Judah under the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty. What makes the case so compelling is the layered documentation across traditions. The event appears in the Hebrew Bible (2 Kings 23:29–30; 2 Chronicles 35:20–25), the Greek 1 Esdras, and the writings of Josephus—independent textual streams that echo the same core outcome: Josiah dies at Megiddo confronting Egypt. Scholars also note that the terse Hebrew of 2 Kings has been misunderstood in older translations as Egypt moving “against” Assyria; modern readings, aided by external sources, recognize that Egypt and Assyria were allies at the time. Even the word “battle” is a later smoothing—2 Kings itself is minimalist, which ironically strengthens the historical feel of the report. Set against the geopolitical map, Josiah’s stand looks both brave and tragically timed. Necho II was marching to bolster a fading Assyria against the surging Neo-Babylonian Empire, and Judah sat athwart the fastest route to the Euphrates. That same Egyptian military machine would soon be bloodied at Carchemish, where Nebuchadnezzar II defeated Necho’s forces—a rout memorialized in Jeremiah 46 ...
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    2 m
  • Marvel Finally Gives Hawkeye Powers... But Is It Too Late?

    Marvel Finally Gives Hawkeye Powers... But Is It Too Late?
    Oct 6 2025
    For more than a decade, Hawkeye has been the MCU’s favorite punchline: the purple guy with a bow standing next to gods, rage monsters, and nanotech billionaires. The memes were easy because the contrast was loud—he shoots arrows; they bend reality. So if Marvel is finally handing Clint Barton superpowers, it isn’t just an upgrade—it’s a cultural correction. It says the quiet part out loud: the everyman mattered all along, and now the story is ready to underline it in neon.

    The joke always missed the point. Hawkeye was the control group in a lab flooded with cosmic radiation—the baseline that made everyone else’s chaos legible. He’s the one who keeps score, takes the punch that doesn’t bounce off, and calls home to say he’ll be late. His “power” was never the bow; it was attention: the ability to notice, to choose, to aim under pressure. That’s why his hearing loss landed with weight, why the family farmhouse became sacred—a fragile, human perimeter inside a world that treats people like debris.

    What’s delicious is that comics Hawkeye has already danced with power before—giant-sized Goliath days, trick arrows that bordered on science sorcery, identities that made him more blade than bow. The pattern is familiar: Marvel tests a character by stretching their silhouette, then snaps them back to reveal what actually holds. If Clint gets a new ability now, the smart move isn’t brute force; it’s fidelity. Give him a power that extends his core—perception sharpened into something uncanny, intention made kinetic, aim that bends probability—so his identity scales rather than dissolves.

    Of course, there’s a trade. The charm of Hawkeye is that he bleeds. You juice him up too much and you risk deleting the ordinary courage that made him a North Star for Kate Bishop, for Natasha at her most unmoored, for a team always one catastrophe from breaking. But power can be a mirror as much as a mask. Age, trauma, mentorship—these are not problems a quiver solves. A well-chosen upgrade could turn those themes into text: the cost of being needed, the fear of becoming obsolete, the responsibility of wielding precision when everyone else swings hammers.

    Maybe the mockery was really our discomfort with limits in a genre built on wish-fulfillment. Maybe we needed a guy with a bow to remind us that precision beats noise, that purpose beats spectacle, that choosing a target is braver than spraying the sky with light. If Marvel finally gives Hawkeye superpowers, the reveal isn’t that he was lacking—it’s that we were. We wanted fireworks; he was practicing faith. And now, if the arrows glow a little, it’s only so we can finally see what he was aiming at.
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    3 m
  • The Matrix Might Be Real... But What About Your Mind?

    The Matrix Might Be Real... But What About Your Mind?
    Oct 6 2025
    Mind beyond brain begins with a stubborn fact: experience. Neurons may crackle, blood may surge, but none of that explains the velvet-red of a sunset, the ache of a goodbye, the simple “I am” that watches it all. Call it qualia, the felt texture of being. It’s the part of reality that refuses to be photographed from the outside. You can map my cortex forever and still not touch the warm interior of my morning coffee.

    So what is mind? A byproduct of meat, or something the meat tunes like a radio? The brain clearly correlates with consciousness—damage it and the station garbles—but correlation isn’t identity. Maybe mind is an emergent symphony from neural strings; maybe it’s a fundamental note, a basic property of the universe like charge or spin. Perhaps brain is the instrument, mind the music, and the self the listening that makes it matter.

    Enter the Matrix question: if reality is code, are we just avatars in a cosmic server? The simulation argument says either civilizations never get that powerful, they get there and don’t run sims, or they do—and the number of simulated minds explodes past the “originals.” If that’s true, odds tilt weirdly toward us being rendered, not born. Yet even then, subjectivity doesn’t vanish; it simply runs on a different substrate. Pain still hurts, love still enlarges us, meaning still arrives in the first person.

    Can we test it? Maybe, but every “glitch” we dream up becomes another texture inside the same dream. Déjà vu, pixelated physics, cosmic Easter eggs—cool stories, thin proofs. The deeper lesson isn’t detection; it’s humility about what counts as real. We’re like characters arguing about the author while the plot keeps unfolding, each page as real to us as any universe could ever be.

    Here’s the crux: whether consciousness is beyond brain or blooming within it, whether we’re base-reality citizens or beautifully simulated, the ethical stakes don’t shrink. Attention is still the currency of a life; love is still the only high-yield investment; courage is still the way through fear. Live as if reality is a relationship—between you and the world, you and others, you and the mystery of being aware at all. Matrix or not, the invitation is the same: wake up.
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    2 m
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