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HOW TO NOT SEE THE EVIDENCE

 

evidence

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Stare and compare the evidence. That’s what a telecom pro called the first key to success. Is something wrong? Look at it. Look hard.

 

Stare a hole in it, then compare it to normal. Normal works across the board. Abnormal, like the brain from Abby Normal in Young Frankenstein, doesn’t work for everyone. News across America deserves the same attention. It’s hard to not see the evidence of abnormal.

 

Football fans in the street with torches one day, in the stadium the next. It happens and the two faces of fandom shows strong. You can’t not see the comparisons. Fanatical devotion is the key.

 

Take the NFL.

 

Since games have been off the air since last season’s Super Bowl, the preseason looks crazy. Huge people flying around, fast people trying to avoid them. It’s hard to not see what’s trying happen, and it looks more painful than ever.

 

But we watch in amazement and maybe wonder what the soccer world would look like if the best athletes in America played that game instead. I asked the question to a knowledgeable fan.

 

“How would America fare if the national team was full of NBA point guards like John Wall, NFL defensive backs, and slot receivers, the sort of people who take pride in playing hurt, who don’t trip and fall and need an ambulance, then come back in five minutes?”

 

“We’d have a team like Germany. How can you not see that. The evidence is pretty clear,” they said.

 

Even a great coach like Michigan’s John Harbaugh said more football players should play soccer. Again, it’s hard to not see the benefit in footwork and balance.

 

But jump back to the fans.

 

They scream and fight, eat and drink, then go home and call it a great day. And it is unless they end up in an emergency room. Maybe you’re one of them? Hard core, pay the price, talking the talk while walking the walk from your high school experience.

 

I know I have. As bad a player I was in high school, it gets better every passing year. Eventually I’ll be a star as long as no one from my teams are around to correct the fantasy.

 

Just like the pros, I left it all on the field, except I never suited up again after age eighteen. I’d had enough, but the feelings linger on. I could’ve been someone, someone who played in college, someone who had a professional career?

 

Never. Would. Have. Happened. i wasn’t good enough. I got hurt a lot, wasn’t fast, and didn’t understand the game like I do now. Who can I blame? Teammates? Coaches? Hey, not me.

 

Which makes a perfect fantasy league candidate.

 

Sure I’m disappointed I wasn’t a superstar, or even a star. Am I butt-hurt I wasn’t good enough to hold bags as a practice player at the next level? Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be, blame others, then lash out?

 

From the evidence showing up in places we don’t care about unless we’re from there, been there, or read about, lashing out in misguided anger is in vogue. If you see people who look like you, sound like you, stare and compare. They are not you.

 

Either get the learning they didn’t and push past the weak evidence they present, or join them. Don’t be surprised if they can’t not see the real you since you’re not them. Be better than that, boys. Young men carrying torches at night don’t get the girl.

 

They get each other. Ask yourself, “Is this who I want to be around?”

 

Make your mom and dad proud, or they might kick you to the curb. And that’s no fantasy.
About David Gillaspie

Trackbacks

  1. […] Once you’ve heard the same thing over and over and over in the span of decades, years, months, or one bad night out with a new friend, fatigue sets in. People who identify themselves as eternal victims, put upon, or a dumping ground for the insensitive brutes walking among us, they need to tell someone. […]

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