Tony Soprano Made Me Believe In Jean-Paul Sartre

I don’t remember how many years ago it was when I heard “got yourself a gun” playing as James Gandolfini pulled into his suburban New Jersey playground.  What I do remember is being absolutely fascinated with the life of David Chase’s fictional mob boss who fought with the demons that danced in Gandolfini’s character, Tony Soprano’s head.

I didn’t have HBO when the show came out, but I can remember people around me talking about the ducks and how Soprano took care of the ducks.

I can remember thinking, “the hell are the ducks?”

After watching the series for the first time, I never got the connection that Soprano’s therapist, Dr. Melfi, proposed was the reason that Tony worried so much about the water fowl.

“They’re just ducks,” I thought, “who cares?  I’m more worried about the cannoli and the sfogliatelle.”

You know, “leave the gun take the cannoli,” Godfather style.  It’s that part of America that Chase dipped into when he created The Sopranos.  Guns, money, pastry, prosciutto and RICO – all part of what some would consider the lifestyle of a mobster.

I got so caught up in the smoke and mirrors that I missed the point that Chase was trying to make.  It’s a message hidden underneath the bodies that Soprano leaves in his wake, all six and a half seasons worth, even though during the series leaves us clues.

In the second season while talking with Dr. Melfi, Tony produces one of the most prolific existential statements one could expect from the troubled character:

“What’s the point? You go to Italy, you lift some weights, you watch a movie-it’s all a series of distractions til you die.”

I didn’t understand the existentialism the first time I watched the show. Years later, after reading Sartre I get where Tony is coming from. What is the point? All his choices that have been bothering him only matter because he made them matter to him.

At the same time, he’s responsible for his world, whatever happened around him was caused by his decisions. If he hadn’t killed Christopher’s shooter,Matt Bevilaqua, he wouldn’t have had to worry about being fingered for being at the scene.

For all the money and fancy things that Tony has he experiences the pain of a man that doesn’t understand himself. He struggles with a world devoid of happiness. The people that he runs with are just like him-brutal, dark and broken. But this is the only world that he knows and he can’t go into the “witness protection program” because that’s not his life plus he lives by omerta.

Even his family experiences this realization during the series. His mother, Livia, tells her grandson, Anthony, Jr.:

“Why does everything have a purpose? The world is a jungle. And if you want my advice Anthony, don’t expect happiness. You won’t get it. People let you down. And I’m not naming any names, but in the end you die in your own arms.”

Anthony, Jr learns about Friedrich Nietzsche at school which starts a revolt at home when he doesn’t want to be confirmed in the Catholic church.

“God is Dead,” he says.

Tony takes this to Dr. Melfi who tells him:

“When some people first realize that they’re solely responsible for their decisions, actions, and beliefs and that death lies at the end of every road they can be overcome by intense dread.”

There is the good doctor explaining to the world what happens when people read and understand existentialism for the first time. I could be forgiven for confusing Dr Melfi for Sartre, who said:

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.”

Yikes. While there is an ultimate search for truth, the place to start is truly inside of us all. In many ways I think Tony represents so many people’s search for what “it’s all about.” Another person’s world could look so intriguing and something that we may want to get into from the outside but it’s probably not. Things aren’t as black and white as they seem. Scrape away at the paint and you might not like what is underneath.

Then again, should we take our lives to the bright lights of the silver screen with hip hop beats and fancy CGI maybe we would like it better. It could be the perspective that matters. I thought when I first watched The Sopranos that Tony died way too soon. There had to be more things for him to do and more for the viewer to see.

Years later I’m convinced that Tony did what he was supposed to do, he showed that life is short and it’s supposed to be lived to the fullest. We have to ask questions-of ourselves and others-and search for the answers to whatever it is that we want to know. At the end of the day, it is us that answers to ourselves and it is us that are free.

 

 

Understanding The Numbness Of Alabama’s Loss

There’s a lot we can learn from losses – whether they are in the sporting world or in life.

Sometimes we believe that things can get no better.  Whether it is our new car or a trip to see our favorite team we think that everything is wonderful.  We ride around in our car and enjoy the smell of the new seats, the thrill and the experience.  Or even when we go to the game we soak up the sights and the sounds.  

I imagine when the University of Alabama lost to Clemson in the National Championship game they thought the rug had been pulled out from under them.  That new car with the thrill and experience hit a tree. After a season of wins, the final game produced what would be a devastating and disappointing loss.  How could anyone possibly deal with it?

Like Alabama, we must learn to deal with the losses in our life.  Though our defeats probably won’t be televised they will hurt none the less.  I think no matter what level of loss, it all affects us differently.  The pain and the depression all take their toll.

I know that whatever came out of Alabama’s loss the players will be stronger in the long run.  Maybe in the hours and days after the game they struggled to find a silver lining- something I’m sure we all can relate to.  After we experience our own devastation it takes time for us to recover.  The amount of time depends on the severity.  

I am no expert in loss and I can’t tell you how to get through the struggle of life.  I know we all have things to go through because just as Sheryl Crow sang, “no one said it would be easy, but no said it’d be this hard.”  

If time heals as they say, it’s only because we forget how much we hurt.  We forget how alone we can feel in that hurt.  How selfish we feel about our hurt.  The idea of sharing our pain sounds easy until we start to open up and then we close down those gates and store those feelings for another day.  I only know the things that hurt me when I was younger don’t now – because I don’t remember what or why they hurt.  I don’t remember the situations and the feelings.  Maybe if I could go back and relive time I would understand.  But who would want to go back and relive pain?

Do you think Alabama wants to go back to feel what the end of the National Championship felt like?  I don’t know about you but anymore it’s getting harder and harder to remember the good and the bad.  Wounds can be so fresh and bring such intensity but yet make us so numb.  Only time will tell how long the numbness lasts.  

Trying To Hit Life’s Curveballs

They say sometimes when things go wrong you just have to suck it up and keep going.  You could be mired in an 0 for 20 slump but you still have to go up to the plate and take a swing.

Then again, what happens if the manager decides to pull you from the lineup?  Isn’t there always someone there trying to take your place?  

I keep hearing coaches in football talk about this “next man up” philosophy.  Ok maybe not so much a philosophy as an idea.  The thought that if someone gets hurt or isn’t doing their job the person behind them is stepping up.  Injury?  No problem get the next person in line.

I guess you could say it’s probably not fair – but you know the old saying fair is that place you go to eat fried foods and ride the rides.  Ok maybe not.  I’d just like to think that we could share a little humility.  Some people plug alone in a position for years and then suddenly its next man up.  I guess that’s the story of life.  

I always thought that Paul Pierce would end his career as a Boston Celtic and in a way it bothered me to see him in so many jerseys.  However the more I think about it, I guess he still had more to give to the game and there were others who saw that.  Sometimes it takes stepping away from a stale situation in order to see that there is something moving in the horizon.  

When Frank Thomas left the Chicago White Sox and went to the Toronto Blue Jays, no one cries for him.  Plenty thought he had been finished for a while.  Unfortunately that’s the climate we live in.  Athletes are just like us, they find themselves in situations where they have to use their talents in the best possible areas.

I don’t think that Thomas and Pierce were happy to leave at first – I’m sure it was a struggle to adopt change.  Everyone has to come to grips with the fact that as the world spins things get off balance.  The more times the Earth goes around the Sun the more likely we are to struggle with our situation.  It’s just human nature to find some sort of problem with something in our lives whatever it may be.  We have to do our best to deal with it – it’s not always easy to do that.

If I knew how to deal with every situation I’m sure I’d write one of those books that would be on the New York Times bestseller list.  I’d be the guru to end all gurus.  But then again maybe that would be a bad idea.  See no two people deal with a situation the same way.  That’s part of being a human.  My philosophy on life and yours probably have differences.  I’m not going to always agree with the way you do things and you aren’t going to agree with me.  But the one thing we can try to do is make the best of whatever comes our way.  It may not be perfect or the thing that we wanted.  In fact I would bet that it’s going to be a curveball rather than the pitch you were looking for.

Volunteering For Basketball Practice

Let me start by saying I’m all about getting paid for doing a job.  Whether you are a bricklayer or a courier or whatever it is that you do, you should get paid to do your 9 to 5.  Or whatever your hours may be.  If your boss says you are to work 6 days a week for 8 hours a day, then that is the job you’ve signed up for and you should get paid for them.

However, when it comes to volunteering, as soon as you agree to help, you can’t back up and say “Hey wait a minute I need to get paid.”

It doesn’t work that way.

Especially when it comes to kids.

If you are a basketball coach and you volunteer to help teach the sport to elementary age kids on Saturday, your off day, you go into that day knowing you aren’t going to get paid.

There’s something about saying, “Yes I know I’m not getting paid but I’m doing it so that these children can learn the game and appreciate the game.”

Maybe it’s because I grew up in Tennessee, the Volunteer State, that I appreciate volunteerism so much.  That’s a sad joke.  However, I have a real big problem with this.

Let’s go back to the beginning.  Let’s say, Coach Smith is the head of the high school boys’ basketball team and the local town comes to him asking for help at the start of the school year.

“Coach Smith we want to have elementary basketball on Saturday mornings in December through February.  Would you be willing to volunteer your time?”

Coach Smith decides that he is going to get his team to come in and help him – therefore this is considered a practice and he is getting paid for his time by the school.

Halfway through December Coach Smith decides that he wants to get paid by the town because volunteering his time is just not good enough – even though he’s getting paid by the school.

I’ve got a huge problem with that.

As a parent who volunteered for three months for six straight years to coach and ref soccer I’m disgusted by this attitude.  Not only did I have to work but I also tried to live a life outside of my commitments as well.  I didn’t ask the soccer organization for money to coach or ref.

I wanted those children to care about the game, I wanted those children to know the rules, I wanted those children to be proud of themselves and I wanted to do it because I could.

I know you might be thinking, “that sounds like you are trying to sound holy.”

It’s simply not the case.

Volunteering to help the soccer organization was the only way for me to give back my knowledge of the game.  It was the only way for me to try and further the sport.  There’s not a lot of opportunities for children to be taught by someone who has studied the rules and I want them to understand as much as I can teach them.

I’ve been saying for a while that people continue to do things for the benefit of themselves.  Whether that is in the form of money or recognition or some gift that they can receive.  I’m tired of the nonsense.  I hate how we’ve become as a culture and a society.  I want the children I’ve taught to be willing to help others because they have seen me do it out of care for other individuals.

To me that’s what it is all about: caring for others.  I am afraid we aren’t taking care of others the way we should.  There’s too much fighting and looking out for one’s self only.  I thought that we had come a long way as humans but the more I look around the more I wonder about us.  The more I wonder about our motives.  I see people that try to do for others get put down while those that are out for themselves climb over them.

This isn’t a zoo and we aren’t in the wild.  We are civilized creatures and it’s time to act like it.  I’m sick and tired of the drama and the petty bullshit.  If you can’t be bothered to help others, then you need to re-examine your priorities.  The only way we are going to go forward is together, no one is bigger or better than the other and some need more help than others and that’s why we have to be there for one another.

Learning Humanity Through Hockey

On the last day of 2016. I found myself deep in thought at 70 miles per hour headed to a hockey rink.  While mounds of snow surrounded the state highway, I bathed myself in one of Canada’s national treasures: The Tragically Hip.  For whatever reason my music shuffled to “We Want To Be It” at the right moment and my mind wandered.

Drip, drip, drip.

I imagined what it would have been like to live in Canada and be traveling an hour, like I was, to play hockey.  All around me were the signs of what I pictured life in parts of our Northern neighbor must look like.  There was snow piled on the side of the road, some cars had snow on them, it was cold and of course my car was full of my hockey gear.

When’d you get so zen?

I thought about Gord Downie and what he must have gone through when he wrote this song – not knowing he would end up with terminal brain cancer.  Downie spent so much of his life introducing Canadians (and non-Canadians) to the culture and history of the country.  Downie introduced me to a little Ontario town known as “Bobcaygeon,” the “Hundreth Meridian” as well as some of the oddest and coolest historical parts of Canada. The legend of Maple Leafs’ player Bill Barilko has always been one of my favorite stories and Downie’s “Fifty Mission Cap” made him mythical.

Drip, drip.

However, driving through New York state isn’t even remotely close to Canada.  I’ll never forget the times I’ve driven on Queen Elizabeth Way in Ontario on the way to Toronto.  I always figured that if I could drive through New York City in rush hour or navigate the East Coast of the United States I could drive anywhere but the QEW is a completely different animal.  First, driving Kilometers is bizarre to me.  I’m so used to Miles Per Hour that when you put that km/h up on the sign, I start questioning my speedometer.  Plus I know that if I speed I’m going to get pulled over because I’m the guy from out of the country. Even if everyone else is blowing past me and trust me, if you drive the QEW they are going to blow past you, I will get pulled over.  Cars will leave you standing still like you aren’t even moving.  I’ve never driven a road like the QEW and I’m not sure there is anything that compares to it.

When you thought all my dreams sucked.

Getting to the rink, changing into my hockey gear and getting onto the ice for “sticks and pucks,” I realized that I wasn’t going to have a good day.  One side of the rink was full of 8 to 11 year olds, it seemed were killing it with their hockey coaches.  Center ice was full of younger kids and their fathers going from mini goal to mini goal at top speed.  Each time a kid ran into a goal I couldn’t help but imagine one of them breaking their necks but apparently they were made out of rubber.

Finally at the other end, “my end” so to speak was about five adults including myself. Taking turns shooting at a goal, we all were sizing each up until the oldest adult in a Red Wings jersey, took a cone from behind the boards and put it in the net.

“Four on four,” he shouted before pointing at a couple of the adults and a few of the 8 to 11 year olds.

I dropped down to the ice to stretch under the assumption that I would be picked for one of the teams.  As I stretched I could see one of the other players asking Red Wings jersey if I was playing.

“No he’s not playing,” Red Wings said as I finished stretching.

Was it because I was wearing the blue and white of my Toronto Maple Leafs?

Was it because I wasn’t the best skater?  I stood up, took my stick and puck past the red line near the bench and started puckhandling on my own.  From time to time I would look up and watch the rink, making sure that they knew I was there.  My new “Hamilton” Ribcore stick freshly taped pulled the puck back and forth while I avoided the young kids at center ice.

“Good play Ovie,” Red Wings yelled at one of the young kids on his team.

Apparently those young kids were much better than me or at least Red Wings thought he would rather play with them than me.  What does that say to me?  How should I feel? I come out to get better at hockey and instead of being given the chance to play, Red Wings picks little kids over me.  My heart sank.

I pondered the options: I could take it as an insult and take my puck and go home.  I almost did it too.  I stared at the rink door for a few minutes thinking how easy it would be to just skate over and leave.  If I just left I could avoid the embarrassment of being the adult standing by himself puckhandling.  I wouldn’t have the little kids out there staring at me. I wouldn’t have Red Wings skating past me as close as he could.

However, why should I let Red Wings win?  If I took my puck and went home it meant I drove an hour just to spend fifteen minutes on the ice.  It meant that someone else was going to dash my dreams.  It meant that I’m letting someone else decide whether I’m good or not.  It should be me who decides whether I give up or not.  It should be me who figures out whether I suck or not.  I can’t let Red Wings win.

I was just happy you gave a fuck.

After who-knows-how-long the game ended and I took the puck out to shoot on net.  One of the other adults called me over.

“Hey,” he said, “you are skating on the inside edges.”

“Yeah I know,” I replied, “I have a hard time with my edges.”

“Try these.”

He showed me a couple of skating moves that would force me to work on the outside edge of my blades, something that I went to a month’s worth of lessons to learn.

“I did some of these here in lessons,” I said.

“How long have you tried skating?”

“Since April.”

“I’ve been doing it for 40 years and I still do it wrong.”

If he does it wrong, well damn I’d hate to see doing it right.  This guy was skating backwards like a pro – moving every which way with the puck and smooth on his feet.

“There’s other classes you can take too, you should check them out.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

As the Zamboni came onto the ice, everyone scattered like flies and I was standing alone at the far end of the rink.  Me and the goal at the lonely end of the rink.  I just wanted to join in something but everyone was leaving – so I took the hint.

Might as well be on the moon

I got dressed and was the last one to leave the locker room – the weird guy who wasn’t a regular.  I have to admit if I knew it was going to be like that, maybe I would have reconsidered.  Between feeling like I was crap and being all alone for most of the session I could have been on a different planet.  No, it wasn’t fair, but at the same time I can choose to be better, I can choose to make myself better through work.  I’m not going to get better by taking my stuff and going home.  Had I walked through that rink door when I was left off the team I wouldn’t gain anything.  I would only lose.

It’s kinda lonesome though walking through a giant ice complex not knowing anyone and coming off a training session where you feel like crap.  I realize I’m not the most talented player and I have a lot to gain but the only way I’m going to get better is to play. I can’t help but feel like there’s a hidden message here somewhere.  I’m not sure what it is yet, but maybe in time.

Maybe the wound is too fresh, too raw and too exposed.  Maybe it’s just a matter of flat-out rivalry – Toronto and Detroit but I’d like to think that humanity is bigger than rivalry. Then again every single day we see prejudice, racism and animosity played out all over the world.  There’s no reason for us to let these issues cloud our judgement but we are humans and as such we make mistakes.  I can’t hold a grudge but I can choose to make myself a better hockey player.  I hope that one day they make themselves a better human.

When Football Comes To Town

I’ve turned the sporting world on its head in 2016.  After years of watching football each year I’ve slowly watched less and less to the point I viewed maybe three games in 2016 catching one from start to finish.  The old me would take in a full game at least once a week.  I can’t help but raise some questions.

The questions I have with the sport are philosophical, mental and economical but they are all things that I wrestle with.  I never played, something that at one time I wished I had but as time goes on I’m pretty thankful that I chickened out when the football coach told me I would make a pretty good linebacker.  I think he was drunk when the 140-pound-me was sitting in the lunch room of my high school as he told me I could play.

Yes I’d be awesome as a sled dummy.  Please just run me over.  This was before the days of Will Smith’s “Concussion” and the recognition by the medical community. As well as the family of retired players that blows to the head can cause serious long term damage.  The NFL however, sees dollar signs instead of stop signs and wants whatever cash deliveries it can get – health be damned!

Damned if I’m convinced that they even care about the players feelings either.  One week a player can wear pink shoes to support a worthy cause but the next week their cleats memorialize a respected fallen journalist and that’s a 15K fine.  Nah.  It shouldn’t work that way. Meanwhile guys are jumping into huge vats with the Salvation Army logo on them and that is okay.  Guys are beating their girlfriends and wives, guys are driving drunk, guys are walking around with illegal loaded weapons, guys are doing drugs and making complete asses of themselves.  But we don’t suppose a wide receiver should pay tribute to a man who tried his best to fight leukemia, a disease that we still don’t have a cure for – even though we throw so much money at wars.  Can someone please explain why we can’t cure diseases?

We would still rather fine individuals for protesting or memorializing those who tried to make people’s lives better.  It’s become a circus run by a ring master who is propped up in a bigtop of low to middle class individuals.  The more that these individuals watch, buy and attend these games the more this drama will continue.  The more that these players will get screwed.

In a 2016 Wall Street Journal article, a study showed that the average NFL career is 2 and a half years.  Imagine the punishment these players have taken their WHOLE lives.  Now think about the fact that if these guys come into the league as rookies, they aren’t making millions and millions, and if they get hurt they have to come to a settlement with the team. Can you imagine you’ve spent your entire life training and doing everything to work this job.  What if that is the only skill you have?  What if this job scrambled your brain because of all the hits you took?  The NFL doesn’t care because you weren’t there long enough to matter.  The NFL doesn’t care because it accept the CTE findings.

The January 2017 edition of GQ includes a story about a former Iowa high school football player, Zac Easter, who gave his life for football.  He grew up in a football family, his father was a small college coach, and his two brothers played the game.  He wasn’t the most talented kid but he would never stop moving like that bunny in the battery commercial. Many times he said he got his bell run but he just got right back up – this was before the CTE diagnosis and the focus on pulling kids out when there was even a hint of a concussion.  Through his high school career he had three confirmed concussions before the team doctor forced him to quit his senior season.  Who knows how many he had during practice or when he simply fought the diagnosis because he wanted to go back in and play defense as the star linebacker.

After graduation he struggled with headaches, memory loss and depression.  Zac was convinced he had CTE after reading about it and kept a journal detailing the pain that he experienced.  He also left a semi-last will explaining that he wanted his brain to be left for science so it could be studied to see if he truly had CTE.  He wanted his family to share his story as a warning of what concussions can do.  The power of the first hand account can be haunting but especially so in Zac’s case.

When Zac couldn’t take it anymore he took his own life – something that his family doesn’t understand.  His father drinks to ease the pain, refusing to take counseling and his mother wants to find something to help others.  But what is there?  Ban football?  Not going to happen.  Make kids wait to play?  Kids will not wait to play.  New equipment? This hasn’t stopped anything.  We’ve seen players evolve over the years to become bigger and stronger and faster.  Each year players try to get an edge over the other.  There is a fine line that unfortunately I think we’ve crossed over and I don’t think we’ll get back.

Some would argue that they are adults and they know the risks, but the players start as children and by the time CTE sets in they may as well be children again.  It’s an extremely difficult decision to wrestle with.  But I don’t believe I can do it anymore. There are way too many people who spend their lives with mental problems because of this game that never get help.  We don’t know how to help them.  Is it worth it?  It’s up to us to decide.  Wise men once said “Cash rules everything around me.”  As I grow older I can’t help see this never stops being the case.

Numb To The Reality Of College Football – Go P U!

Pink Floyd’s 1979 hit “Comfortably Numb” contains the lyrics

“When I was a child I had a fever
My hands felt just like two balloons
Now I’ve got that feeling once again
I can’t explain you would not understand
This is not how I am
I have become comfortably numb”

I’m not a Pink Floyd fan per se, but every time I hear that song I think of my experiences with sickness.  Every time my temperature spikes I get the same dream and I wake up knowing that I am ill.  I can’t explain the dream, I can’t explain the feeling but I just know that I am not feeling well.  When I hear this song on the radio or on Muzak somewhere I know instantly what Roger Waters and company are getting at.

In many ways this malaise appears in all aspects of life.  We can’t escape the reality that nothing is truly what it seems.  Individually, our experiences may be different but we feel the same.

I believe we’ve come a long way as a society and as humanity but there’s so much more that needs to be done.  I’ve tried to document my sports world.  My background of growing up in a SEC football driven world led me to believe that nothing was bigger than Saturday. Praying to the touchdown gods and the first down saints was what fueled my weeks.  The offseason was a place where you looked in the mirror and asked questions about the team’s focus.  Was it the coach?  Was it the institution?  Was it the players?  Why can’t they win every year?  What is wrong with them?

The answers were not always clear.  Even now I struggle with one question in particular. When it comes to sports there’s one huge question I ask.  If everyone’s ultimate goal is to win a championship, does that mean every losing team’s season is a waste?  Did every other player on every losing team waste their time, energy, sweat and blood for that year because they didn’t win?  We could say that some may never win because they play on a less talented team than others?  Are there a multitude of other reasons?

For all those kids who went to a school like Vanderbilt, just an example, and played a season of college football, did they waste their years of sports?

Some would say that these kids were given the opportunity to continue to play.  Maybe players are stepping on the field for more than just the chance to win.  Maybe they just want the scholarship to get an education.  If they move to the pro level do they just desire that pay check?  Maybe they just want to get some stats.

I guess it’s all up to us what we do things for.  Whether it’s why we go to work or why we do things on a daily basis.  We get in a pattern – a habit – of doing things and we can’t shake our way out of it.  It becomes too simple.  It’s too easy to keep doing the same thing, flipping on football on Saturday because we always did it but we don’t know why we did it.

Or maybe we did it because Saturday was our day to go out and get tanked with the crowd? Hang out with those alumni we went to school with and remember the glory days from times long past.  Think about the years when there were no daily demands and the living was easy.  When we were numb to the outside world.  Maybe even dare I say it comfortably numb to everything.  Our little world revolved around that campus.  Go P U!

Getting older after we left college we never shook that feeling that we should return on game day to keep that old tradition alive.  Again – creatures of habit.  Some of these we never want to think about or break.  Bring the kids to the tailgate and see the drunk alumni grill meat before the game.  Go inside a million dollar plus stadium funded by pledges we can’t afford but because we love the school “so much” we’ll give our last penny.  Inside our coach, signed by some athletic company for millions, drives young men up and down the field for the glory of the school.  Those 18-22 year olds never see a dime for all the cash they bring into the institution even though they can’t afford to go out after the game or even sometimes get a bite to eat.  Because they are on an athletic scholarship they can’t get a job – so don’t even go there.  So much cash floating around the athletic programs to be gobbled up by the school in donations, endorsements, television and bowls but don’t buy the kids a meal if they can’t afford one.  What have we become?

We are so numb to the notion that athletics is so pure that we don’t want to accept the notion that it’s all driven by the mighty dollar.  Good old P U wants to win a championship so they can get exposure and bring more money in to build an even bigger stadium.  If P U could get their stadium sponsored they’d bring in every company they could to slap their logo on the side.  “Welcome to Connecxto Stadium and P U Field.”  It’s not pretty but it pays for all the scholarships P U will say.  Sure it does.  The players can’t have a meal when they are hungry but the alumni giving hundreds of thousands are sitting high up in Connecxto Stadium in a furnished suite watching them beat each other’s brains in for P U glory.  I guess it’s all worth it.

Then again I think we’re all numb to the system.  We know that markets and money are involved in the world around us.  People don’t do things out of the goodness of their hearts – it’s what they can get out of that action.  Unfortunately I’m one of those people who would like to think that people do things for the greater good, but I guess I’ve become numb to the world.  I’ve become numb to the reality that greed takes many forms and one of them is human.  I’m certainly not comfortable with it.