Allow me to wallow in nostalgia for a second or two. The 737-200 was the first grunty jet I flew - leaving aside the dainty little single seat Vampire and the F28 Kiddy Cart. As most pilots did (or I assume they did) I tended to over-control on the ailerons on late final approach with the result that we wing waggled all the way down to the flare. Only then did the hard runway stop the rocking and rolling caused by my hamfistedness.
Enter Joe Ziskovsky - the meanest toughest mother of Boeing instructor that ever graced this planet. He told me to hold the control wheel ever so lightly "like you were milking a mouse". It worked like a charm, and a quarter of a century later I give the same advice to my students in the simulator - only in less forceful terms that old Joe Z did.
There was this little island in the Central Pacific where they had lots of money and the obese young bloods got smashed on Australian Foster's Ale and had 1500cc Honda Goldwings and other massive motor bikes.
As we opened up the JT8D-17's to 2.18 EPR in the lovely -200, the ground trembled and spectators put their fingers into their ears. At the same time the passengers would be treated to the sight of an islander head down (no crash-hat) roaring down the island road in his Goldwing 50 yards off our wing-tip as he tried to race us. He would be well ahead by the 80 knot call but we had him by the balls by the 50 tonne VR at flap 10.
Mind you, I always wondered how many of these riders nearly ended up in the Pacific Ocean as they negotiated the 45 degree bend in the road just a few yards from the end of the runway!