Monday, October 31, 2022

Extending The Finish Line

I am slower and weaker than I used to be. I don’t hear or see as well. I am more forgetful and not as mentally agile. My blood sugar is a tick higher than I’d like. A pacemaker assists my heart. Am I ill or simply getting older? 

Depends on who you talk to. 

There’s a debate within the medical community about aging and its effects. Most doctors and health organizations classify conditions such as osteoporosis, type 2 diabetes, dementia, and macular degeneration as the result of aging and general biological decline. A group of researchers and medical types, however, view aging itself as a disease, with an array of accompanying conditions. 

“The only way to prevent these illnesses linked to aging is to attack the principal cause – aging itself. It is time to start working toward solutions to this universal human tragedy,” reads the website for the Healthy Life Extension Society, a Belgian-based collective whose monthly newsletter is titled “The Death of Death.” 

Harvard Medical School geneticist David Sinclair is a mega star in the aging-reversal community, starting companies and labs and raising tens of millions of dollars in funding, all while plowing ahead with research. He wrote a New York Times bestseller, “Lifespan: Why We Age – And Why We Don’t Have To.” He focuses on enzymes (sirtuins) and their activators that have shown promise in slowing the aging process and maintaining cell health. He and his colleagues published a study that identified a cause of aging that’s potentially reversible. He also claimed that a plant-derived molecule found in red wine can activate a specific sirtuin and inhibit the ill effects of excess weight in mice. He talks up the idea of extending life to age 150 by the end of the century, and of getting booster shots when we begin to show signs of aging. 

“Does that sound like science fiction? Something that is very far out in the future?” Sinclair wrote in his book. “Let me be clear: it’s not.” Sinclair’s claims, and hucksterism, get some eye-rolls and pushback within the scientific community, which is generally more buttoned down and hyperbole-averse. But he is undaunted. In a 2019 feature in Boston Magazine, he was asked why he takes unapproved drugs as part of his health regimen. He responded, “I take them because I am a scientist. (Pause) And because I would like to outlive my enemies.” 

One issue is that the concepts of aging and health and disease can be vague and fluid. People who are the same chronological age can be of vastly different biological ages, due to cell deterioration, or the presence or absence of various physical conditions. The World Health Organization defines “health” as “a state of complete physical, mental, and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity.” But “disease” is sometimes defined merely as the opposite of health, or as a sickness or illness with specific symptoms. 

There was a recent kerfuffle in the area of disease-labeling. The WHO publishes a catalogue used to standardize disease diagnoses. They planned to replace the diagnosis of “senility,” which they believed outdated, with the more expansive “old age.” The description included the word “pathological,” which could have been interpreted as suggesting that old age itself is a disease. A segment of the medical community pushed back, reasoning that it could lead to inadequate care for patients. Rather than pinpointing a specific ailment, they said, physicians could chalk up a condition as due to advanced age. Daniel Belsky, an associate professor at Columbia University’s school of health, said in a piece in MIT Technology Review: “Aging is a cause of disease, not a disease itself.” In the end, the WHO backed off. The catalogue doesn’t use the term “old age” or contain language that suggests aging is a disease. Instead, the catalogue calls it “aging-associated decline in an intrinsic capacity,” a phrase that rolls off the tongue like water down a mountain stream. 

It’s easy to dismiss the dispute as a semantic taffy pull by the white coats. Except that WHO designations are needed to register new drugs and therapies. Recognition, as it were, can lead to funding for research and treatment. Linking old age more directly to disease, some researchers argue, helps overcome regulatory obstacles and creates paths for drugs designed specifically to treat aging. 

Age-reversal R&D may not need a financial push. Silicon Valley has invested in anti-aging research for years and boasts a handful of recent startups, including one that’s looking into cellular reprogramming with a reported hefty investment from Jeff Bezos. The NIH asks scientists to apply for funding for age-related research. Saudi Arabia recently announced a $1 billion annual initiative to study and extend health span, the amount of time that a person is judged to be in “good health.” Which may be the real reason Phil Mickelson and Co., signed on with LIV Golf. 

There are ethical concerns related to extending life and monkeying with human cells, starting with: Just because we can, does that mean we should? How long do we want to live, anyway? Sure, life is precious and all that, but do you want to be 120 and still telling your 93-year-old son to turn down his music? Granted, it might be interesting to hang around a little longer to see if the Seattle Mariners can win a World Series or what 100-year-old David Simon might create. However, the planet could do with fewer humans, not a surge of centenarians gumming up the works. And for those of faith, a better existence awaits. 

Not to hasten anyone’s journey. 

Expect to hear about treatments that slow the aging process, first in lab animals and perhaps then in people. It’s probably too late for me, but you never know. Maybe I become the old guy jogging around the neighborhood who no longer needs reading glasses or hearing aids, but still can’t remember where he put his keys.

Friday, October 28, 2022

Addiction

Trigger warning: you may well get whip-sawed by the changes in content theme, tone, and quality in this space over the next several months. Of course, one might argue that you've been in that position lo these 4,901 posts. In any case, on with the whimsy.

I really dig design. Z, Mark, and I regularly trade texts about kicks, and I get frequent messages from Z about cars that look cool. I'm also a big fan of soccer and its culture. Blending those two interests has become a bit of a problem for me.

It started with the Seattle Sounders. I was watching the U.S. Men's National Team play a match at CenturyLink (now Lumen) Field in Seattle, and the packed house of 68,000 or so made such an infernally awesome noise that I was inspired to buy some Sounders merch. The multi-beer buzz I had going didn't hurt, at least in terms of my lack of spending inhibitions. And from that modest t-shirt, things might've gotten out of hand. 

The picture below depicts some, but not all, of my soccer fashion. Notably absent, the initial Seattle Sounders t-shirt (which I know I still have but can't find), an FC Pinzgau Saalfelden shirt (ditto), a Marcus Rashford England jersey (ditto on that ditto), a Fulham kit from 2016-17 (ditttooooooo), literally dozens of pieces of Loudoun Soccer gear from my coaching and Board of Directors volunteering, and a handful of Tuscarora High School soccer stuff. Not to mention the Senegal World Cup jersey with Sadio Mane's #10 on the back that I ordered earlier in the week.


Some of these have a story. Others I just kinda thought looked cool. Here's the key:

Top row, left to rightClub Tijuana Xoloitzcuintles de Caliente, Liga MX (this one's the Dia de los Muertos version from a few years ago - thought it was a badass design), Atlanta United, MLS (bought this one because I loved the way the team played attacking, fun soccer in 2018 when they won MLS Cup), Netherlands, World Cup 2014 (purchased in Schipol Airport on a layover while headed back to the U.S. from Switzerland), France, World Cup 2018 (N'Golo Kante is my favorite player, and he's with Chelsea. I dislike Chelsea, so I got a France jersey).

Second row: USA, World Cup 2014 (Won this in a charity auction. It's a crap kit, if I'm being honest.), Sporting Kansas City, MLS (My brother-in-law used to work for Ivy Funds, SKC's kit sponsor for a time. He got me this for Christmas. Always liked him.), Ajax Amsterdam, Eredivisie (Ajax have a long-standing affinity for Bob Marley, and this alternate kit from last year honors that relationship. On the back, just under the collar, there are three little birds. Dope.), D.C. United, MLS (Last year, the league did Pride warm-up tops for all its teams. I got the local one.)

Third row: Minnesota Aurora, USL W League (The second-division Aurora won their league title this season. The logo is phenomenal.), FC Pinzgau Saalfelden, Austrian Regionalliga Salzburg (Humblebrag, I know, but I'm an owner of this club.), Costa Rica, World Cup 2018 (The U.S. didn't qualify for the 2018 Cup, so I chose the Ticos as my side. Didn't go all that well.), Minnesota United, MLS (Best logo in American sports.)

Fourth row: Angel City FC, NWSL (Might be even better than Minnesota United's badge), FC St. Pauli, 2. Bundesliga (My wife was in Germany for New Year's Eve several years ago. She got me this one.), USA, World Cup 1950. (Throwback, and it looks cool.), Atletico Madrid, La Liga (Another airport purchase, this one in Madrid on the way home after celebrating my 20th Anniversary in Spain.)

Fifth row: Nigeria national team warm-up shorts and 2021 jersey. (Bought the shorts because they look cool, and I had a few beers in me. Was given the shirt as a gift by my Nigerian-Canadian colleague. I wish it fit me better.)


Thursday, October 27, 2022

The Hard Pessimism of the Race to the Bottom...

or why i stopped worrying and started looking at Portuguese real estate.

My knack for understanding this country's political zeitgeist is well established. I saw the danger in Trump before most did. It's a gift, really. Or perhaps a curse. 

I'm so good at it, in fact, that I'm loath to make any predictions about the upcoming midterm elections for fear they'll come true. (There's a non-prediction prediction in there if you can read the runes.)

So this post isn't really a midterm preview. More along the lines of a lament, a continuation of a theme. To be blunt, we're even more fucked today than we were after the 2016 Presidential election, and for the life of me, I don't see a way out. At least not for the country. (Foreshadowing? Foreshadowing!)

Robby Mook was Hillary
Clinton's campaign manager
in 2016. Ironic, no?
We no longer have two functioning political parties. That was made manifestly obvious (if it wasn't already so) in the wake of the January 6 fuckflagration when nearly two-thirds of GOP House members voted not to accept the results of the Electoral College in defiance of common sense, scores of court cases showing no voting irregularities, and centuries of American history. It is impossible to negotiate with terrorists, even if the Democrats weren't feckless mooks.

The Republican Party used to stand for things, even if I didn't generally agree with those things. Small government, robust defense, fiscal conservatism, etc. Today's national GOP has no platform other than power so they can punish their enemies. This sounds insane, and yet it's accurate. Inchoate anti-Democrat/Let's Go Brandon rage is the modus operandi of the party of Lincoln, from backing Putin's war in the Ukraine for...reasons, to Don't Say Gay educational policies, to election denial and now ballot box intimidation, to Supreme Court Justices lying to gain their seats and tossing decades of settled law that will harm women, to...name the issue, and whatever the Democrats are for is satanic and must be burned at the stake.

There is no more visible and concrete evidence of the party's descent into unserious madness than its willingness to elevate the most ill-prepared and uninformed voices to serve as flagbearers for the movement. The only qualifications people like Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lauren Boebert, Matt Gaetz, and their ilk seem to have is their gleeful willingness to own the libs. Sending out Senate candidates like Herschel Walker and Mehmet Oz betrays a different kind of cynicism, a belief that celebrity matters far more than substance, and the fact that both of those clowns are within the margin of error in their contests with proven public servants is sad and embarrassing in equal measure.

For their part, the Democrats in all their earnest do-goodery have proven absolutely not up to the task ofcombatting the aggressive lunacy of their opponents. They're playing by Marquess of Queensbury rules while the GOP is using dragons. And regardless of the nobility of one's cause, dragons are motherfuckers on the battlefield. The GOP is fighting with fire while the Dems reply with whimpering, simpering wishcasting. To wit, here's a sampling of the emails I've received from Dem pols this week:

  • "This is concerning, Rob." 
  • "I have nowhere else to turn."
  • "our ONLY chance"
  • "The absolute last thing I want to write to you about is Donald J. Trump, but..."
  • President Biden has emailed you. Speaker Pelosi has emailed you. Hillary Clinton has emailed you. Jamie Raskin has emailed you. Mary Trump has emailed you. Adam Schiff has emailed you. Martin Sheen has emailed you. And now we’re emailing again -- because with just 14 days left in this monumental election, things have taken a rough turn." [I do kinda like hearing from all these famous folks.]
In so many cases, Dems let the GOP dictate the terms of engagement. To be fair, a political media conditioned to focus on the optics of the horserace rather than substance is a willing, if inept, accomplice. Dems scream that the media should talk about the issues. The GOP sees the world as it is, adapts, and overperforms the electoral fundamentals. Over and over again. 

I don't have high hopes for next month's elections, for all of the above reasons. We're gonna wind up with 2020 election deniers in charge of elections in more than one state. We'll likely have at least a couple of January 6 insurrectionists in the goddamn U.S. House of Representatives. They say it gets darkest before dawn. 

Dawn in Lisbon sure does look appealing, no?

Wednesday, October 26, 2022

G:TB Suggestion Box

This is a call out to all you gheorghies, whether you're on the recent active roster or not (and those who aren't know who they are).  We want ideas. Good, bad, and clownish.

Our tiny dictator now has some free time on his hands. Like plenty of it.

How shall he fill it? I can't wait to hear about whatever he does... or maybe even join in the fun!

Oh, sure, he'll "walk his dog." A whole lot, I'd imagine.

He'll hike, he'll watch futbol, he'll tilt at political windmills. 

He'll go into his study for a while. Then he'll come out with a children's book ready for publishing.

He will post lots of content here.

He will post lots of content here.

He will post lots of content here.

All play and no posting make rob a bad boy.

Word on the street is that he will join me in Scotland for some rucking and mauling, aka drinking and just watching the rugby.

He also mentioned a trip that included Nashville, Memphis, Austin, and New Orleans... that piqued my interest.

What else???

I mean, I have a few ideas, some of which I've shared with him.

  • A Hall of Fame roundabout to Cooperstown, Springfield, Canton, Cleveland, and beyond. (The National Soccer Hall of Fame is in Frisco, TX, for example. And the U.S. Brew Museum is in Pittsburgh.)
  • Write and record a debut album. For Squirrels and Squirrel Nut Zippers are taken, but he can surely come up with something catchy for a band name.
  • At the very least, learn to play bass!
  • Learn to juggle.
  • Learn to unicycle.
  • Assume this mantle.
  • Write the Great American Haiku.
  • Find himself.
  • Get us all some signed memorabilia.
  • Spend time on the beach with Mark.
  • Get a PhD
  • Read as many books as Dave.
  • Find Dennis!
Or just come visit all of us and enjoy life.

Use this post's comments as a suggestion box. Let's go, gheorgies...

Tuesday, October 25, 2022

Science is Art is Awesome

Nikon holds an annual photography competition focused on the micro world around us. The winner of the 2022 Photomicrography contest was this cool view of the embryonic hand of a Madagascar giant day gecko by Grigorii Timin and Dr. Michel Milinkovitch from the University of Geneva.

But the viral star of the show didn't even make the top 20.  Lithuanian wildlife photographer Dr. Eugenijus Kavaliauskas captured this amazing shot of the grill of a carpenter ant magnified 5x:


Some folks find it scary. I think it's fucking badass, a focused machine hell-bent on fulfilling its mission, a little ball of intention. As the photographer himself said, “there are no horrors in nature.”

Sunday, October 23, 2022

Looks Like I Picked the Wrong Day to Stop Drinking


My wife and I spent the end of last week in Colorado, which wrapped up four consecutive weekender road trips for us, all of which were heavy on the eating and drinking. My body was a tired wreck when we got home last Monday. I had planned to kick off a cleanse of sorts - not fully cold turkey, but cutting way back on the stuff that's bad for me.

Life had other plans.

I got a text from my boss asking if I could join him on a call at 6:30 ET. Since he was on the West Coast, I didn't think much of it. But when I joined the call and saw that one of our HR team members was on, as well, I thought much more of it. We're in the midst of a fairly significant expense reduction effort. In fact, I was about to have to lay off about 15 people in the name of cutting costs, something I dreaded.

Instead, my name made the list of cost-driven casualties, and my position is being eliminated. Effective November 7, I'll be unemployed for the first time since I was in graduate school in 1998. And I needed a few drinks to help me process that reality.

Ironically, I had a conversation with my boss about six weeks ago in which I told him that he had toomany vice presidents in the business unit I lead (for now). When he informed me that I was surplus to requirements, he reminded me of that analysis and thanked me for the advice. Which wasn't exactly what I had in mind when we had that discussion.

Let me pause the narrative here to make something clear. While I wouldn't necessarily have chosen this turn of events, I am not upset about it. It's been a hard goddamn three years, and I am well and truly worn out. The stress of leading a team through the pandemic and of significant organizational change earlier this year lay heavy on me, and I don't think I've been at my best over the past few months. And not for nothing, the severance package I'll receive ensures that I don't have to work for a year if I don't want to.
 
I spent much of the past week fielding calls and messages from colleagues. It's been a bit of a Tom Sawyer moment, like observing my own funeral. People that matter to me have been shocked and saddened, and said some extraordinarily moving and kind things. One of my folks told me, "You're going out loved and admired rather than hated and feared. Nobody ever remembers the people that leave as the latter."

While the past three years have admittedly been hard, I've also learned a great deal about myself. I think I've shown up as an authentic leader who is capable of building and maintaining a really strong collaborative and caring culture. I've led a business that grew more than 230% since 2018 (that's so going on my resume). I've helped other people grow their careers and find roles that they didn't think they were capable of getting. I've got a lot to be proud of, and I'll carry that with me.

I don't have any real idea what's next for me, other than the fact that I'm doing fuck all in November. I haven't decided if I'm going to work on my fitness or go full-on Avengers: Endgame Thor. Likely the former. I wrote a children's book a few years ago, so I'll probably try to polish that up and see if I can trick someone into publishing it. Definitely gonna watch every minute I can of the World Cup. My dog and I are about to log some serious hiking miles.

And I'm going to spend a good deal of time reconnecting with people that matter to me, and thinking hard about how to prioritize what matters in my next professional chapter. I've come to understand that I'm happiest at work when I'm building something and not so much when I'm managing something. So I'll look for a place I can be integral to the growth of the joint.

But I also know that I'll find other ways to spend my time, at least for a while. There obviously a good bit of uncertainty in my life all of a sudden, and I'm sure I'll deal with low-level tension because of that, but I'm in a good place. Don't cry for me, Gheorghentina.

Thanks for listening, friends. I guess this means you'll expect me to post stuff more frequently.

Wednesday, October 19, 2022

It's In the Net!

Fans of domestic soccer had mixed reactions when MLS announced in June that the AppleTV app will become the exclusive means by which every single one of the league's games is available for a 10-year period beginning with the 2023 season. One the one hand, Apple's big-money gamble (reportedly worth $2.5b over the life of the deal) is another sign of MLS' continued growth, and that's a good thing for our league. On another, though, the move signaled the end of local broadcasts, and as such, the swan song for a number of iconic broadcasters.

Close to home her in the greater D.C. metro, that means that Dave Johnson won't be on the call for D.C. United any longer. The ebullient Johnson, known for his signature "It's In the Net! It's In the Net!" call for the home team's goals, is the only play by play announcer the team has ever known, starting his job in 1996 when the team and league first took the field.

I've met Johnson on a couple of occasions, most recently when he served as the emcee of the ribbon cutting ceremony for the Leesburg stadium that's home to D.C. United's United Soccer League (USL) affiliate. He had no particular reason to be nice to me, but he was gracious and kind. Apparently that's on-brand for him. When I reached out to Shlara to ask if she'd had much interaction with him (he's also been the play-by-play announced for the Washington Wizards for 26 years, where his path crossed that of several FOG:TBs) just in case I was inadvertently celebrating a dickhead, she said, "Yes! Great guy."

Which is good enough for me.

As the video above demonstrates, Johnson is inextricably intertwined with the team that gave him his start in the play by play business at a high level. He's as much D.C. United as John Harkes or Andy Najar.

The same story is playing out in other markets across the league. Real Salt Lake fans started a petition to keep Brian Dunseth and David James in their analyst and play by play roles. Former USMNT striker Charlie Davis and Brad Feldman said their farewells last week as the New England Revolution season ended. Matt Lawrence and Glenn Crooks are out at NYCFC as soon as the defending champions end their playoff run.

Several eras, indeed, are over or soon to be.

What will likely last long in the memories of D.C. United fans, though, is that signature call. 

It's In the Net! It's In the Net!

Monday, October 17, 2022

Show and Tell: #skobuffs

Fallow lie the fields of the Gheorghian imagination as summer's warmth fades to autumn's colorful crisp. Fret not, friends, for I have a pictorial show and tell from my long weekend in Boulder, where my wife and I visited our kid for Family Weekend at the University of Colorado.

As you've heard tell here before, Boulder is a beautiful place, and I'd be fibbing if I told you I wasn't just a tinge jealous of my daughter's home for the next four years. And in the case of this weekend, the scenery was matched by perfect October weather, a vibrant atmosphere, and even a victory for the heretofore winless Buffs football squadron. 

In no particular order:


My kid is the blond one smack in the middle of the frame.




These first three are various views of Folsom Field. If there's a prettier setting for a college football game, I haven't been there. And despite Colorado's 0-5 record (which was deceptively good), the Family Weekend crowd showed out.


After CU won in overtime, 20-13, a righteous field-storming ensued.


We hiked Eldorado Canyon on Sunday morning. Pretty, pretty cool.


Here we are at about 7,100 feet above sea level. Behind us, you can see the Continental Divide (if you know what you're looking for, and I most certainly did not). Apparently I do not know what to do with my right arm when I am photographed.


The kid took us to Lost Gulch Overlook to see the sunset last night. I hid my right arm because I became self-aware.




This is from the same Alumni Tailgate you can see in the video above. In the background through the trees you can catch a glimpse of my daughter's dorm, which isn't more than 200 yards from Folsom Field. Decent setup, if you're into such things.


And above all, my favorite memory of the weekend is this: she's really happy where she's landed.


Wednesday, October 12, 2022

Cumbia the New Punk

After an excellent day spent in Williamsburg celebrating coming home by drinking way too much (and fuck Andrew Huberman), laughing the precisely correct amount, listening to some live music, meeting Outer Banks star and W&M Class of '87 member Chip Esten, and watching exactly zero football, my wife and I headed to Richmond on Sunday.

The purpose of our trip to the capital of the Commonwealth was to spend time with our kid, who turned 21 on Saturday. The timing of that celebration aligned nicely with the final day of the Richmond Folk Festival, a nice little intersection of interests.

We got there towards the end of the day, owing to the kidlet's dance rehearsal schedule, but we got to hear some imbube from South Africa before heading to the main stage for the finale. Which blew our minds.

Son Rompe Pera is a collective from the suburbs of Mexico City. They play a mesmerizing mix of traditional marimba, cumbia, punk, funk, and rock music. NPR called them "psychobilly marimberos". The nearest analog my feeble brain could conjure was that of a Mexican Red Baraat, a similar melding of traditional and modern wrapped in a high-energy body-moving package. They got alllll the white hippies on their feet in Richmond's gorgeous Riverfront Park.

Here's a taste of the band from an NPR Tiny Desk feature:


And here are a handful of poorly-filmed videos from our vantage point. In particular, the clip of my kid and her roommate Erin rocking out gave me some serious joy.




And you gotta click the link to see my kid get her groove on.

Tuesday, October 11, 2022

Science is Gross

I've written about the misery of majoring in biology here before so you already know that science is gross.  I have more grossness to share.

Did you know that your face has mites on it called face mites?  They are tiny arachnids, like ticks or spiders, and they live in the hair follicles on your face.  They eat the sebum in the follicle and at night they come out of your follicles to mate.  The freaks come out at night, if you will.  So yeah, you have bugs making wonderful sweet sweet love on your face but don't worry, they don't have an anus so they don't poop on you.  Don't take my word for it, here's a video featuring Michelle Trautwein, an entomologist who studies face mites.  Next time you think your job is bad or stupid, just remember that Dr. Trautwein does this (probably using your tax dollars).


Also gross: the New York Times, the paper of record, recently ran a story about how macaques use stones to pleasure themselves.  You won't get this monkey porn in the New York Post--they better not let my kids have access to the Times in school!  Yet another reason to avoid macaques.

More grossness from the Gray Lady: Robert Hancock, a biologist at Metropolitan State University of Denver, discovered that the larvae of Toxorhynchites amboinensis, a species of mosquito, shoot their heads forwards to capture their prey.  Kind of like a moray eel only with the whole head.


They have GIFs in the article if you want to see it in action.  Or if you want further justification to major in art history.



Sunday, October 09, 2022

Shameless Self Promotion

Despite Marls' vitriol, I decided to forge ahead with my podcast and I have currently made fifteen episodes. 

Fifteen! 

My wife hates the name I chose: We Defy Augury. She thinks it's elitist and obtuse. I told her: "that's what I'm going for." 

The podcast did not turn out the way I imagined. I thought I would be interviewing guests about what they read and all the interesting insights they had while reading. It turns out that I only like recording at 5:30 AM-- when the house is quiet and my brain operates smoothly-- and I have no desire to interview anyone except myself. My new template for the show is that I am the host and the book is the guest. And I like to throw in a few loosely connected "cameo" appearances, in the form of audio clips, from movies, music, and film.

I have no idea about the legality of any of this. I read short passages from the book and talk about my thoughts. I convert short clips from Youtube into audio and weave those in as well. 

Zman?




Anyway, if you want to prepare, my next episode is going to be about Lords of Misrule, Jaimy Gordon's weird novel about small-time horseracing at a rundown track in West Virginia. While I have some opinions about horses and horse racing, I know next to nothing about the sport. The book is a bit of a tough read, like early Cormac McCarthy, but I'm learning a lot about horses, stables, grooming, claiming races, parimutuel betting, and grifters.

If you listen, give me a rating on Apple Music. Thanks!


Friday, October 07, 2022

NFL Malaise

I’ve enjoyed football since I was a kid. Played it in youth leagues and in the neighborhood. Loved the Colts – Baltimore version – growing up in Maryland. Eventually wrote about the game, and other sports, as a professional career. 

In recent years, however, I’ve become increasingly disaffected by the NFL. I still pay passing attention to scores and standings. I read about players and teams and trends. I know guys who cover the league for different media outlets and who work for the Players’ Association. I still marvel at the athleticism and am intrigued by tactics and schemes. I might have a game on TV, but rarely watch closely; it’s often on in the background with the sound down or in another room so that I may catch a couple plays or check a score. 

For me, it’s harder and harder to square the game with the practices and personalities of those who run it. Loathsome team owners. Shameful attention to players’ health, particularly concussions and long-term brain injury. Indefensible behavior regarding sexual assault and domestic violence. 

Many in the audience are sports fans and have their own loyalties and levels of interest. I have no desire to persuade you one way or the other. There are plenty of outlets for more comprehensive examination of issues than an aging, cynical keyboard jockey, so I’ll just offer some observations. 

Our multi-tiered system of justice is alive and well in the NFL. Who you are and how well you do your job count for much more than your crimes and transgressions. That’s why franchise quarterback Deshaun Watson gets $230 million in guaranteed money and an 11-game suspension despite serial lechery that would have given Hugh Hefner pause, while rookie punter Matt Araiza gets dumped by the Bills after a rape allegation that they supposedly knew about goes public. It’s why the Dolphins’ Tyreek Hill cuffs around his son’s mother more than once, as well as his toddler son, and still ends up with a nine-figure contract. It’s why Antonio Brown kept getting chances despite a beach full of red flags. It’s why the Bengals’ Joe Mixon remains employed, and why the Steelers and yinzers everywhere keep their blinders on so that they may worship Ben Roethlisberger. 

Watson’s case exposed the NFL’s incompetence, some would say indifference, toward addressing sexual assault. Commish Roger Goodell and NFL brass sought an indefinite suspension, reportedly a full season, due to the magnitude and number of women who accused Watson of inappropriate sexual behavior. Watson and the NFL Players’ Association hoped for something far less. Third-party arbitrator and former Federal judge Sue Robinson found that Watson likely committed sexual assault and violated the league’s personal conduct policy by undermining the integrity of the NFL, yet she handed down only a six-game suspension. 

The outrage was predictable and justified. 

I’ll let the G:TB legal staff parse Robinson’s ruling, but I’d argue that she spun the mirror around to face the NFL and flipped on the lights. She pointed out that, guilt aside, the NFL’s Collective Bargaining Agreement doesn’t define sexual assault, nor does it define the transgression of creating a danger to the safety of others. Bound by fairness and precedent in prior cases, she couldn’t simply conjure up a more “appropriate” punishment. She conveyed, essentially, that because the NFL had done such a piss-poor job dealing with sexual assault in the past and had no discipline structure in place, she wasn’t going to be the one to let them off the hook. 

Goodell and the NFLPA were forced to come up with something else, so they split the difference, hence the 11-game suspension and nominal fine – still, an absurdly meager punishment. With 11 games now as precedent in a case involving two dozen accusers, good luck getting anything approximating justice in the future. 

The Tua Tagovailoa situation highlights another concern. No need to rehash the particulars, but suffice to say that a quarterback laid out and exhibiting signs of severe head trauma in front of the entire football-watching world was potentially disastrous. According to several reports, the NFL will tighten concussion protocols and expand the leeway for docs and medical people to remove players from games. That’s a good thing. There’s no question that the league has made strides in the area of head trauma and brain injury, but unfortunately it’s mostly been under threat of lawsuits and public scrutiny. 

Remember that for years the league denied any connection between the game and the proliferation of brain injury, chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) and cognitive impairment among retired players. The work of a handful of doctors and researchers, several high-profile suicides, and a growing chorus of retirees finally tipped the scales in just the past decade. Rather than risk a trial, the NFL settled with thousands of former players and created a fund that gave them access to millions of dollars for medical conditions related to head trauma. 

However, many former players complain that money isn’t as easy to obtain as it should be, and it was revealed a few years ago that the league used an algorithm that made it more difficult for black retirees to receive settlement money than white retirees. The system previously in place until just last year started with the assumption that black men have lower cognitive skills than whites, so it was harder to show a decline and qualify for payments. Not a good look for a league in which 58 percent of the players are black. 

Being an NFL fan requires something of a moral compromise. In a study published in the Journal of American Medical Association in July 2017, CTE was found in 99 percent of the brains of deceased NFL players who donated them to science – 110 of 111 examined. 

So, our entertainment is tied to a sport whose inherent violence creates overwhelming odds that its participants will experience some level of cognitive decline later in life. We can comfort ourselves with the fact that the league has reduced the number and severity of big hits through both penalty and practice, that players are increasingly aware of the risks when they suit up, that they’re well compensated for those risks. The rationalization machine works overtime. 

Speaking of rationalizations, it’s common practice to root for teams while trashing team owners. The NFL doesn’t have a monopoly on dirtbag owners (Helloooo, Robert Sarver! Howdy-doo, Jeff Loria! Hey there, Jimmy Dolan!), but there’s plenty of animus to go around. The Bengals’ Mike Brown is notoriously cheap and petty, yet lucked into a Super Bowl after several good drafts and a second-half brain lock by the Chiefs. Rams owner Stan Kroenke pledged to keep the team in St. Louis, until he didn’t. Three playoff wins since 1996 haven’t convinced Cowboys owner Jerry Jones to fire the GM – himself – and quit acting as if he’d accomplished something this century. Former Panthers owner and founder Jerry Richardson had a statue of himself put up outside the stadium amid allegations and hefty financial settlements for sexism and racism. New Broncos owner Rob Walton couldn’t be bothered to learn how to pronounce Goodell’s name properly at his intro presser, which was yet another tell about who exactly works for whom. 

But I’ll leave you with this: after creating and enabling a toxic, misogynistic workplace to which dozens of former employees spoke, after grossly mismanaging a franchise for decades, after fleecing and alienating fans and local government, after an NFL investigation that he slow-walked and whose results were never made public, the only casualty in the probe of Washington owner Dan Snyder and the franchise remains a guy working 2,400 miles away – Raiders coach Jon Gruden. Apparently, the toxicity matters only when it spills into the vault. All the above doesn’t even get into the Colin Kaepernick situation, rampant nepotism within the coaching ranks, and the dearth of black head coaches, which the Washington Post examined in a recent deep dive. 

Thank goodness college football is untainted.

Wednesday, October 05, 2022

A Goddamn Disgrace

About a year ago in this space, we wrote, "The NWSL is a goddamn disgrace." At the time, we were referencing excellent and infuriating reporting by Molly Hensley-Clancy of The Washington Post and Meg Linehan of The Athletic regarding the league's incompetent and outrageous handling of multiple credible and persistent allegations of sexual and verbal abuse of players by (mostly male) coaches. 

This week, we learned more about the extent of that disgrace. Former interim Attorney General Sally Q. Yates released a damning, comprehensive investigation of the league's actions dating back to 2014. Among the many allegations, Yates and her team at King and Spalding found:

  • “Our investigation has revealed a league in which abuse and misconduct — verbal and emotional abuse and sexual misconduct — had become systemic, spanning multiple teams, coaches, and victims."
  • Christy Holly, the former male head coach of Racing Louisville, requested a one on one meeting with player Erin Simon in 2021 to review game film. When she arrived at the meeting room, "The coach told Simon that he intended to touch her for every bad pass, according to Yates’s report, and pushed his hands down her pants and up her shirt. She tried to tightly cross her legs and push him away, laughing to avoid angering him. The video ended, and she left. When her teammate picked her up to drive home, Simon broke down crying.”
  • Former Portland Thorns coach Paul Riley pursued player Meleana Shim sexually for months in 2015, and then benched her when she refused his advances. Though Riley was eventually fired and the league and Thorns owner Merritt Paulson were aware of Shim's complaints, Riley was hired again by an NWSL team and was briefly in contention for the head coaching job with the U.S. Women's National Team.
  • Chicago Red Stars owner Arnim Whisler repeatedly protected then-head coach Rory Dames until the latter resigned abruptly in 2021, despite credible allegations of abusive behavior dating to 2015. According to Yates' report, Whisler believed players had "an axe to grind".
There are plenty more disgusting and dismaying findings in Yates' report. Perhaps the most galling to me is the fact that Racing Louisville, Chicago Red Stars, and the Portland Thorns all refused to cooperate in full with the investigation. Per Yates, the Thorns “interfered with our access” to witnesses and “raised specious legal arguments in an attempt to impede our use of relevant documents,” according to the report. And the Red Stars “unnecessarily delayed the production of relevant documents over the course of nearly nine months, " according to the report.

As the coach of young female athletes, an admirer of the badass women who play at the highest professional level in the U.S., and a fucking human, I'm ripshit angry about the lack of institutional courage that enabled and protected predators. But as a man, I also recognize that my anger pales in comparison to the pain and anguish the women that have suffered (and undoubtedly still do) feel. 

U.S. Women's National Team captain Becky Sauerbrunn's rage was barely contained in a statement sheissued after the report's release, saying "Every owner and executive and US Soccer official who has repeatedly failed the players and failed to protect the players who have hidden behind legalities and have not participated in these investigations should be gone."

Sauerbrunn went on to say, "The players are not doing well. We are horrified and heartbroken and frustrated and exhausted and really, really angry. We are angry that it took a third-party investigation."

Since the release of the report, Paulson has voluntarily stepped down from his day to day decision-making role with the Thorns, but has not indicated that he will sell the team, nor MLS's Portland Timbers, which he also owns. Neither the ownership of Racing Louisville nor the Red Stars' Whisler have made similar moves. [After we posted this, Whisler also stepped down from day to day club operations in Chicago but did not make any statement about his future as the owner.]

Make no mistake, the rot here goes all the way down. Washington Spirit coach Richie Burke had a reputation as an abusive dickhead when he coached in the greater D.C. area for years before got the job with the Spirit. There should be no place in soccer, or in any game, for predatory, abusive, ego-driven assholes. The protections in place are not enough. Until the sport's leaders - men and women (Lisa Baird, the former commissioner of the NWSL was conspicuous in her dereliction) - begin to not only believe women but put their safety over profit and power, the NWSL will remain nothing more than a cautionary tale. 

It could be so much more.

Sunday, October 02, 2022

Palate Cleanser

As noted in the previous post's comments, my wife and I made the trip to Norfolk and then to the Outer Banks this weekend for shenanigans with good friends. The weather was hella shitty on Friday, but once the hurricane's remnants had passed, yesterday was an autumn dream at the beach. So enjoy some beauty to close out your weekend while I contemplate a month-long alcohol hiatus.