Category: Dear Kids

On Plops, Injuries, and Good Things

On Plops, Injuries, and Good Things

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I truly enjoy sharing what thoughts you boys have, even if your future selves might rather I not log your childhood musings quite so publicly.

Dear Boys,

This year, with the pandemic more clearly behind us, and with vaccinations empowering your anti-bodies, taking you to games finally became a possibility. I was delighted to take you, thrilled to have some quality personal time just papa and a boy.

You really liked gummy worms.

That was your major take away from soccer matches: that’s where gummy worms come from.

If there’s one thing you noticed about the play on the field it’s that–sometimes–people plop down.

Owen in particularly seemed taken with the collapses and injuries (both genuine and simulated), and while it seems an odd thing to learn from, I feel like there is a lesson there. (This whole blog could be renamed “odd things to learn from” but I digress)

On a blustery summer’s day, Owen and I watched the Loons play the Houston Dynamo, only to see winger Franco Frangapane fall to the earth just as we prepared to leave the match.

We paused, Owen bouncing on my hip to look out and watch the ensuing free kick, a shot that came ricocheting off of Emmanuel Reynoso’s foot, and then Fabrice-Jean Picault’s backside, and thence into the net.

Good things can come: even from ouchies.

It’s easy to assume that if something hurts, it’s bad.

If something isn’t fun, it’s bad.

If you don’t like something it’s bad.

It’s a common thread of critique, complaint and general dissatisfaction. At a time when you can have just about anything you want whenever you want, learning that something that seems bad can lead to something better is important.

Maybe Owen was already primed for that lesson after discovering a new found passion for that hallmark of toddler obsession: Frozen.

The whole movie hinges on characters loathing something that hurts or causes pain, and rushing headlong towards what gives them pleasure. Elsa hates having ice powers. Her parents get her to hide them. She tries to avoid it with everything she has. Meanwhile her sister, Anna, aka Owen’s new favorite stuffed friend, stops talking to Elsa. She jumps head long into an engagement with a man she had met just moments before and who she can only describe as “dreamy”.

But the rush for pleasure put Anna at risk (her suitor turns out to be a duplicitous dinkwad), and the ultimate salvation comes courtesy of Elsa and her powers. Her powers are what makes good things (Olaf, the aforementioned dinkwad’s come-uppance) possible.

So I suppose it was appropriate that Owen spent the match with Anna in his hands, even for the Wonderwall chants.

I hope you know, that gummy worms are great…but so are plops.

KISS

KISS

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I have taken Alex with me to matches throughout his life. Even at under a year old, he was wrapped up in a baby carrier, being toted through a stadium filled with shouts and screams all so he could be present for the events.

Dear Boys,

And yet, he mostly slept or cried.

In the years since, he’s become more of an afficianado. He will ask to watch with me from time to time. He truly enjoys wearing his Loons gear, and he’s even started attending and adoring soccer training at pre-school: Soccer Shots. (Quoth the coach: “Alex shows growing ability at scoring goals!)

So heading back into the stadium this year, the first year of confident-Post-COVID attendance, I was hoping to see if he had developed a more refined appreciation of the game: more understanding of nuance and interest in both what happened with the ball and what happened away from it. The match didn’t disappoint: Luis Amarilla netted twice, Bongokuhle Hlongwane got his first goal at home to raucous applause, and the opposing Portland Timbers matched the Loons every step of the way. Surely, I thought, this will create a deep and multifaceted love of the game in Alex.

Alex’s take away: the gummy worms at the stadium are really good. And celebrating goals is fun!


It might sound like I’m making fun, but the truth is, I really envy how clearly Alex can see things. I want to hold on to that idea, I want to come back to it again and again.

As someone who can make absolutely everything overwrought, I need to remember that Alex’s approach is often the best. Keep it Simple, Son.

(Okay, that’s not the usual acronym, but I’m actively trying to avoid name calling, even towards myself)

You can worry about the pace, or the marking strategy. You can worry over the expressions you use and whether or not you have anybody reading your work.

In all that worrying, in all that cogitating, you can lose sight of the thing that you actively want to do.

Score goals.

Write.

In short, just be. And Alex already understands that.

Keep it simple, son.

Shine, Don’t Burn

Shine, Don’t Burn

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(Originally drafted in May, and published now because…well…the reason is in the post)

I try to be honest with you boys as much as I can. To be genuine, truthful and direct about what happens when you’re living so that you can have some guide to getting through what’s going on.

You are wonders. You are marvels. You are joys, and I am forever blessed to be your father.

I am tired. I am spent. I don’t have much left to give, and I worry–almost every day–that I am about to let you down.

I am not unlike most parents. I am a great deal like many teachers in the age of COVID and rising pressure. I am burning out.

Dear Boys,

I say this not to plea for pity, or provide a guilt trip, but just to say: this is who I am, this is what I am navigating. Going in to school in the morning, I feel a heat in my legs and my cheeks and my scalp. I am worried that students will push and prod when I am least prepared and I will break.

Coming home at night, my feet itch, my skin crawls, my teeth grind, and I imagine bed time battles that I’m not emotionally ready for. I don’t blame you for not wanting to go to bed, or for begging for one more story, or one more game, or one more song. You are finding the pleasures of the world. You’re going to be excited to ask for more. I just don’t know if I can say no, even though I know I ought to, or if I can hear your cries and frustrations without taking it personally.

I know that in writing this, things may seem insurmountable. When you find this and read this years from now, you may wonder how I found a solution to it all.

I didn’t.

I just continued on.

The Madrigals

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t always pleasant. But it has happened. (At least, I hope it has.)

The inspiration for this came, as it so often does, from family.

Owen’s adoration of Encanto means that, in addition to twirling nightly in his preferred Isabella purple night gown, we sing the songs almost hourly. So I am well familiar with the lyrics in the final song: “All of You”

“Look at this family, a glowing constellation.

So many stars, and everybody wants to shine…

But the stars don’t shine, they burn…

The constellations shift,

I think it’s time you learn…

You’re more than just your gift.”

–Lin Manuel Miranda

I’m not sure if you know just how hard that lyric hits me. I’m not sure how much of that lyric or the familial trauma undertones you understand, but it really does matter to me.

MacKenzie Crest

The same sentiment comes out in our family crest. The stag is familiar, it’s emblazoned on our local Ross County Kit. But the crest is more than that. The MacKenzie clan crest is a mountain on fire, and a credo in Latin: Lucero Non Uro…”We shine not burn”.

The MacKenzies are not the Scottish equivalent of the Madrigals, but I like to think that our forebearers understood some of the same purpose.

You can burn up your starlight. You can give and give and give until you’re spent. You can live your life like your hair is on fire, believe me, I feel like I’ve been doing it for years now.

But that’s not the point. It doesn’t serve you. It doesn’t serve those you love. And it isn’t what is in your nature.

You’re more than just your gifts. You’re more than Owen’s dancing, or Alex’s curiosity. The Madrigals are more than super-strength, or life-giving nourishment, or shape-shifting. The Staggies are more than impressive soccer players. The long-gone MacKenzies were more than defenders of an endangered king, or farmers, or revolutionaries.

I might feel burnt out at the sound of a school bell, or a son’s stomping feet, but I am more than that feeling. I am more more than that role. I feel it…and other things. I do it…and other things. I don’t have to strain to make it work. I don’t have to burn to prove that I’m trying.

I shine by being me. You shine by being you. The Madrigals, the MacKenzies, the miraculously saved Stag-Wearing Ross County side: all of us do our best at being what we are…because there’s power and strength and beauty, just in being.

By just being, each and every day: the Staggies survived a difficult campaign. The MacKenzies have seen their future borne out in you. The Madrigals are reunited and restored. And you bring joy to the world around you.

Leaving things late

Leaving things late

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After a glorious summer of scintillating soccer, the Loons losing streak put the playoffs in peril.

I’m no stranger to late rushes to finish a job. You can’t be around students for most of your working life and not see frantic efforts to complete assignments, tests, even prom date arrangements.

There’s nothing wrong with late work. and nothing inherently better about quick completions. If nothing else the make or break moments force you to do something you can always benefit from: focus on the present moment alone.

Dear Boys

It’s an immensely valuable skill: one that can seem at odds with meeting all the expectations of scheduling and planning and executing vital plans to complete projects. But in reality, if you are present, truly present in the moment, you are living your life to the fullest.

Mender in a more acrobatic moment

Owen summed this up beautifully as we watched the game. Loons’ right wing Mender Garcia, stopped running and sat on the pitch. He was one of many who had paused play in the middle of a strenuous and stressful competition. More than a few fans were tired of the breaks in play. We heard grown men around us complain and moan about time wasting, or bad calls, or angling for a foul call.

Owen took a look at this and gave his opinion, “I think he just needs a break.”

I loved that idea.

I loved the notion, that a professional athlete might be, at core, an over-sized two year old: taking a break when he needed it. The biggest difference was that the professional athlete could sit down in frustration, or fatigue, or injury without flailing his legs and calling everyone a poop-butt.

Only the player knew for sure why he was doing it. He’d likely never tell the fans. I hope that in that moment, Mender got what he needed. He certainly seemed to be ok, but uncomfortable. I hope that he could feel where his body was at and what it needed. I’m sure that he found some of the strength he needed to continue on, at least until he was replaced about ten minutes in to the second half. But no matter what else, I hope that he had a moment to work through the pain and just be where he was and know what he was doing for one (relatively) quiet moment.

Zen and the art of Gummy Bears

I saw that same feeling creep over Owen as he munched on gummi-worms and admired the extra long tv screen above the end line. He watched the action on the screen, drinking it deeply. In all the noise and pressure and everything else, he just enjoyed his gummy worm, and the beating of the drums, and simply let it be.

The Loons ended up making the most of the moment. I don’t know as any of them would tell you that they did it because they were truly present in the moment. I doubt that they would blame their losing streak prior to this match as the result of ignoring the best practices of Zen philosophy. But this isn’t about what literally happened, that’s all in the box score. This is about what we learn, and in the midst of the break in a losing streak, and a sunny afternoon chewing gummy worms with my son, I felt more than ever how important appreciating that one moment really is.

66. Where you’re supposed to be.

66. Where you’re supposed to be.

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For the first time in over two years, your mom and I went away. Away from you, away from home, away from all the lingering routines and history of home and all the plans and preparation that goes into a day in the life of us and you.

One of (the many) things made harder by the pandemic is living in the moment. So much of our time is spent missing the way things were of strategizing and imagining ways to navigate the world safely.

Being parents amplifies that even more because you boys aren’t in a planning place yet. If you could choose, every day would be pajama day and every meal would be chocolate and fruit. So it falls to us to remember what worked before, and what needs to happen in the next week (or more realistically, next two hours).

I’m not complaining mind you. I’m happy to help you by handling the past and the future. I’d just like to join you in the present more often.

Dear Boys,

Knowing your love of foxes I figured you’d like this painting from one of their shows.

That’s what came to mind last weekend. Your mom and I went to see our favorite band: Cloud Cult. Possibly the most philosophical band of the modern era, and for sure the only one that incorporates live painting into every show. The crowd was kept small, the spaces held separate, and still it was wonderful.

The band has a lot of songs that question what we do, how we do it, and how we are often torn between our memories, our plans, and our present. And as I sipped on a cider and sat next to your mom, I tried to set aside my busy brain for being present in the moment.

That’s a surprisingly difficult thing to do.

Busy brains know how to be busy, and they do it without really being asked. It’s true as we go through our day to day life, and it’s even true when we watch a simple soccer match. Lots of fans aren’t there in the moment, we’re casting our eyes to the standings to explain a shift in fortunes, or at the broader story to predict what’s next for a beloved coach or player.

A more efficient Oaxaca…who cares why?

I’m a part of that practice. I can’t help but look back at where Alebrijes de Oaxaca was at throughout last season and marvel at where they are now. How have they done it? Was it promoting Juan Portales to captain? Was it changing managers? Shifting styles?

Ultimately finding the answers to those questions is satisfying, but with or without the knowledge, it’s a pleasure to watch the players in their explosive kits embrace and cheer one another. It’s fun to hear the stadium roar again and feel like great things are possible. Knowing why it’s happening is fine, but ultimately, it’s great that it is happening at all.

If you give this moment your fullest attention

We’ll just keep going forwards with no need for going back.

Cloud Cult. “Time Machine Invention”
The straw that stirs the scotch

It’s also relevant at the individual level. The last month has been the golden age of Regan Charles Cook. The Staggies’ winger has been a powerhouse throughout the Scottish premiership even though Ross County remains a relative afterthought.

That stunning showing is the kind of thing that sets tongues to wagging. How much longer will he keep it up? If he does how long until he gets to move up to a better, more influential club?

While those questions of the future buzz around, it doesn’t help us to appreciate what it is. Regan Charles Cook is kicking butt. His speed, his enthusiasm, his mere presence has made County highlights a joy to watch.

Turn off the phone and throw away the clock,

and the endless things you think you have to do.

The water’s warm and the sun is shining,

and I just wanna spend some time with you.

Cloud Cult. “Days to Remember”
Like being Papa Tiger

There’s so much out there in the world. We often search everywhere we look for explanations. Or extrapolate out what we know to make predictions. Your little brains strive so hard to understand, and I love helping you with that quest.

But sometimes the answer is: what is, is what we need right now.

I don’t know why we’re here, and I don’t know how

But I’m here with you now, I am here with you now

Cloud Cult. “You were Born”
65. Sid

65. Sid

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We said goodbye to Sidney the dog this week.

Dear Boys,

He was a good boy.

He did not always do good things. But he was a very good boy.

He sometimes drove you guys crazy. Alex always wanted him out of the way and demanded the pup stay off his bed. Owen was terrified that every scrap of food on your plate would be eaten by the fluffy white vacuum cleaner.

You sometimes drove him crazy. He hid away on the couch or a chair. He was not fond of your version of “petting” (which an outside observer might call, “grabbing”). And you took up way too much of his humans’ attention for his liking. Maybe that’s why he stole your food and peed near your rooms.

But still, he was our dog. Before you were here, we helped him overcome his fear of…well…everything. Noises, people who looked at him, people who didn’t look at him, cars, bikes, bigger dogs, smaller dogs, everything. We took him into our home and for ten years we walked him, fed him, and cleaned up after him.

Some people call their pets “fur babies” as if the distinction between Sidney and you was his hairiness. Others mock pet owners, wondering how people can spend time, energy, and resources caring for a little animal in the face of serious inequalities, injustices and needs among our fellow human beings.

The truth, as I see it, is in between.

Caring for Sidney is nothing like caring for you boys. (I mean, I tried to put your food in a bowl, but you kept asking to be held and given a bottle instead. NOTE–I never did that, it was written for comic effect). The love I have for Sid isn’t the love I have for you. It’s not better or worse, less or more, it’s just different.

And loving Sid hasn’t made me less able to care for others. Love isn’t a finite resource, and if we dissect every cent spent or minute used, we miss out on the longer arc.

Sidney reminded me every day: it’s not always about the big things, and it’s not always about the little things. Just like soccer isn’t just about one trophy nor about one missed pass. It’s about connection to and love for what’s at hand.

Your grandpa sent me a note saying, “what is grief, but love persevering.” To be fair, he stole that from a TV show about superpowered people, but the principle remains valid. I’ll be sad he’s gone, but that’s because I’ve loved having him.

You may never remember him. You may remember not liking him. But I’ll remember him standing guard as your feeble baby bodies first took in this great wide world. I’ll remember him standing (and often, sleeping) beside you as if to say: “welcome to the pack, I’m here for you…and your food.”

What will persevere for me, long from now, is the fact that I felt love around Sidney. That love, the ability to care deeply about another thing, is so important. You might have been a little too young to feel it for Sidney, but trust me when I tell you: love is the thing that lasts.

64.5 The Lessons from 2021

64.5 The Lessons from 2021

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Here now is a run down of another years worth of soccer lectures (mercifully fewer as I work on talking less and listening more).

Dear Boys,,

53 Ted Lasso, the Capitol Insurrection and why it’s important to remember that before you are anything else, you are the best version of yourself.

54 Hamilton, back up goalkeepers and how you act in a crisis should show who you are, not make you what you want to be.

55 Punjab FC & WandaVision explain why it’s easy to pin blame on one person, but it’s more valuable to comprehend the context.

56 Fighting over a Ukulele, national guard troops in the streets, the European Super League and a reminder that: when you’re afraid, know that you’re not alone.

57 Comparing different forms of the game and leagues around the world to show how equality is an ideal outcome, but equitability helps you do good.

58 Ross County’s new manager and how you don’t have to tolerate intolerance, but you should tolerate people.

59 How Rosenborg and the men’s rights movement illustrate the value of owning your perspective.

60 Olympics, jersey swaps, the end of democracy in Afghanistan and why I hope that you boys find new ways to question expectations.

61 Moana, the Loons, the Griz and why painful moments can serve you well if you walk through them.

62 Accept Failure

63 Changing schools, vaccine denial and how emphasizing that we are all inherently flawed enables us to move forward together.

64 Politics, classroom management, coaches from Freiburg to Missoula and how to stop trying to be a force for change, and instead change your force.

64.5. So…what did we learn from 2021? Well, it was still hard to write something once a month rather than once a week, but I still enjoyed it (and as you both gain greater vocabulary I need to listen more and channel my lectures here only).

Overall this year, there are a lot of things that I can see coming together and coalescing from this blog, but maybe the biggest is this: resist the gut reaction to panic, or judge, or grab for what you think you want. Instead, remember the bigger picture and appreciate where you are and who you’re with.

64. Forces of Change, Changing your Force

64. Forces of Change, Changing your Force

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A few weeks ago, while driving into work, I heard a summary of political philosophy that neatly captured what I see in society, soccer, and myself.

Put simply: everyone wants to act in response to problems we see. Progressives want to do something while conservatives want to stop something in progress or undo something that’s been done.

Dear Boys,

I’m not about to pretend which point of view I prefer (particularly in politics–hint it starts with a P and ends with “rogressive”.) But as the pundits pointed out both instincts can lead to unintended consequences.

Je pense le meme Adrien (from the Athletic)

Start with my progressive view. Like a lot of folks I want to see my teams make some changes when they struggle. That’s when I start begging for Alebrijes to switch their system, or for the Loons to sign a big striker, or for Ross County to bring in a new coach.

But those changes that many in fan bases yearn for don’t yield immediate results and fail as often as they succeed. Alebrijes might not have the players to make any system work. Adrien Hunou might not find the goal for a couple months. Your team may hire a racist…etc. etc.

The conservative approach is no less fraught. The glory days are so enticing that it’s natural to want to go back. Bring back Jessy Benet in Grenoble, increase the focus on the men’s team at Rosenborg, or undo the appointment of the manager with a few weeks under his belt (see: Tottenham Hotspur).

These too assume that everything can return to the way they were (despite the fact that context, and surroundings, and everything else has changed around them). Jessy’s got a new club. Rosenborg aren’t the league titans they once were. Tottenham’s squad isn’t the fresh faced world beaters they were a few years ago.

This is not possible

The same is true at a personal level.

The more I try to make things the way that I want them to be, the more I struggle, grapple, and grow frustrated.

Whether it’s control in the classroom, or getting you boys to brush your teeth when I want you to, the more I try to do/undo something, the less likely I am to do anything differently.

But, when I accept that things are the way they are, and my role is to bring my full self to them, the more I add to the space, add to the experience, and change it for the better.

Being present with you is so much more meaningful for all of us (and makes brushing fun). Sending love and concern into my classroom yields much more than exerting control over the situation.

On the pitch too, bringing your full self into a space can create a better, more valuable experience for everyone. Think of Coach Citowicki in Missoula, whose manners and approach have given kids at a smaller school professional opportunities and enabled a transition from one generation to the next (see Claire Howard and Camila Xu).

When you are fully present rather than distracted by what you want to make happen, you find a pleasure in what is. The Griz can see that Big Sky titles are beautiful themselves. Freiburg’s loyalty and appreciation of the understated Christian Streich has built the environment for their best season in years.

We get caught up talking about and fixating on the forces of change: how the world ought to be and what tools to make it so. We want to be a force for change in the world. But hard as it is, I believe we ought to resist that temptation, and instead of being a force for change, change your force to quiet grace.

63. Inherent Parenting

63. Inherent Parenting

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In the last month, Alex has started at a new school. We didn’t expect to move you into a new spot so soon after returning to school, but as parents we know that we can’t control other people, only ourselves.

Surprisingly, that’s not an easy thing to keep in mind. It’s especially hard in our current cultural climate.

Let me explain.

Right now, we’re surrounded by the germs. Yes, still those germs. The ones I wrote about 18 months ago. I’ve been surrounded of late by sick colleagues and inured students and a lingering sense that it’s probably going to get worse before it gets better.

Alex’s school was non-plussed, and unwilling to admit that they might be wrong about how they handle it. This made your mom quite upset. What made me frustrated was the blithe assumption that they couldn’t possibly be wrong.

The teachers at Alex’s school aren’t alone. The thoughts are echoed every where, especially in the sports world.

A top basketball player (who attended one of the country’s best colleges, Duke) refuses to be vaccinated. Same with an elite quarterback (who also attended a great school, Cal-Berkley), he frankly gets extra credit awfulness for working in a bag-full of lies about it in interviews. Soccer players around the world are no different, but there doesn’t seem to be many on our favorite teams (it’s not clear if cases in Minnesota and Ross County broke through the vaccine’s barriers or just the regular shoddy defense of both sides).

After 18 months of these germs, many, many, MANY of us are tired. Your mom and I made the choice to do whatever we could to protect you two. After all, you couldn’t get a vaccine. You couldn’t control who came around you, so we opted to do what we could: staying home, getting vaccinated, masking 99% of the places we go (grandma and grandpa do the same, which is why we feel safe being unmasked there).

Klopp (R) Loves a cuddle

The Liverpool coach, and human Gummi Bear, Jurgen Klopp said it extremely well:

“I don’t take the vaccination only to protect me, I take the vaccination to protect all the people around me. I don’t understand why that is a limitation of freedom because, if it is, then not being allowed to drink and drive is a limitation of freedom as well. I got the vaccination because I was concerned about myself but even more so about everybody around me.

Jurgen Klopp (as reported in The Guardian)

But there’s one thing I can’t bring myself to do. I find that I can’t be mad at them. I can’t summon the anger or bitterness that I hear from my colleagues or my friends.

I can’t do it because I recognize that this moment, this assumption of superior knowledge, this misguided belief that running a school or excelling in athletics precludes you from being told what to do by scientific experts is not inherently bad: it’s just an inherent flaw.

Dear Boys,

Too often we get consumed with a black and white vision of the world. We often lean back on assumptions that people are inherently good , or inherently bad. If we can emphasize that we are all inherently flawed, trying our best, and worth challenging with compassion, I think we will be better able to serve one another and move forward together.

To those who insist on the image of themselves as inherently good, we see an assumption that they couldn’t have caused offense. They could not be misinformed. They must be defending their freedom against group think. Anyone who says otherwise is willfully misunderstanding their positive intent and freedom.

To those who insist on the image of our fellow citizens as inherently bad, we see an assumption that there is always malice lurking in the shadows. There’s a desire to lift up oneself and undercut others no matter the cost. There is cold, callous, and cruel calculations in every action or inaction that takes place. Anyone who says otherwise enables the worst among us.

I know that both of those are false. I know because I have spent too much of my life ping-ponging between the two views about myself. I’ve felt like a saint, nobly martyred on the altar of misunderstandings. I’ve seen myself as a vile worm, disgustingly seeking self gain at the cost of my community.

But it’s not true. I’m neither inherently good nor inherently bad. I am (like you, and your friends, family, teachers, sports heroes, and everyone else) flawed.

My flaws arise everywhere, but especially in short temper, which I know you’ve both seen more often than I would like. But I hope that you can forgive me. I hope that you understand that I try, I fail, I try again. And that you can do the same.

I hope the same for those who stamp their feet in a petulant anti-vaccine streak and those who berate the anti-vaxxers for extending our challenges. We try to do right, we fail, we try again.

Athletes try to do right for themselves. Ignoring the science to endanger teammates and fans by transmitting or catching the disease themselves, they fail. I hope they try again.

Alex’s teachers try do right for themselves and their school. Believing that it’s masks are too much trouble, assuming that the way things are now will remain consistent long into the future is a failure. I hope they try to learn again.

Your mom and I opting to do what we can to protect you feels right. If it becomes a failure, I know we will try again.

I hope that’s the lesson you take.

62. Failure

62. Failure

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I’m stuck.

I’ve honestly sat looking at what to write at this point for six weeks. Every idea seems to slip away like water from my cupped hands.

I’m still stuck.

Maybe there’s something in smugness? How people think they know best when they really don’t. How that’s reflected in Malkay McKay struggling in Ross County? Ehhh…

Maybe there’s something in pretending? With Halloween and you boys having lots of fun. And maybe that ties into Montana versus the world? Nahh…

Maybe there’s something in trying to hard, straining for some great metaphor when it’s okay to just let a thing be itself? Okay, now my ideas are getting too meta.

I think it’s time to call it: this post is a failure.

Dear Boys

Maybe that’s the point. Sometimes you struggle. Sometimes what you do, doesn’t work. Sometimes difficulty just begets difficulty.

I mean, look at…well, a lot of our teams.

Look at Alebrijes. The season is almost at an end, and you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who feels like the team made progress this year, or has reason to be hopeful for next year. There’s mercifully little in the way of offense or defense, few prospects, and only the comforting reassurance of no relegation to spare the team from dropping a league.

Or you could look at Ross County. They went for the gusto by signing a former premier league manager, and they got one lousy win to show for it. There’s some optimism, sure; some players who have seized their moment, but there’s also a whole lot of nothing in Dingwall.

It can be hard when you look at this to find a silver lining. I often try to, I always encourage you to, but honestly, one of the best silver linings is this: accept that you will fail sometimes.

That’s just it. You will fail. I failed in finding a topic for this. I failed to write it on time. I failed to have it be cogent in anyway shape or form. Alebrijes de Oaxaca failed at both ends of the field. Malkay McKay has failed at home and away, in the league and in the cup. Sometimes you fail.

That’s no one’s fault. That’s no reason to quit. That’s no reason to berate yourself. It happens. Don’t sweat it. Don’t obsess. Just accept.

Every time you fail you join a long, illustrious line of other folks who have done the same. Your crumpled paper stands on the same scrap heap as rough drafts by Shakespeare. Your botched game plan can join the pantheon of efforts from legendary managers and players. Don’t deny it. Don’t scramble to fix it. Accept it.

This post failed…welcome to the club.