October 19, 2025
Have you ever dropped a a bowl of pasta sauce on the kitchen floor, cursing outloud “of course that fucking happened!”. Sure, we proceed to complain about the mess that it made or that we’re complete idiots or that somebody distracted us, but deep down isn’t it always just because that’s the kind of day we’re having? “After a quarrel with Sandra from accounting in the breakroom at work and the traffic ticket I received this morning, it just makes shitty sense. Plus, the Phillies lost.”
Accidents happen, of course, but when one bad scene snowballs into an avalanche of mishaps and altercations, we expect good things will eventually come our way, for that’s how the pendulum of life works, right? Not when it’s off-kilter and has us asking things like:
“Am I unlucky or just discontent?”
“Am I relegated to exist at the mercy of this cruel, heartless universe; or do I think so poorly of my place in it to begin with that everything I say and do just seems to fall apart?”
“Are the Phillies even going to make it into the playoffs?!”
These dismal thought processes can unfortunately coexist, but the real concern is the perpetual nature of this negative spiritual forecasting, not to mention what is sourcing it.
Just asking ourselves these questions can crank up our anxiety, mainly because it’s already been treated and primed by the madness of our habitual daily grind. We wish that our follies were hypothetical so that we could laugh them off; we might even play the role of a stand-up comedian, regaling friends or family about how we told our awful co-worker that she has a FUPA (look it up). But we have to go to sleep at night with the knowledge that “oh yes, that actually happened; you actually said that to her.” Sandra from accounting is probably pretty rattled too.
It’s not as though we can effectively avoid the occasional hiccups when drifting about this planet in the manner of our choice and it’s impossible to live a life free from conflict. Yet, we often get so bogged down and overwhelmed by this life we’re living that our personalities become emotionally defensive or combative, as we look to consume more of whatever is within our reach, which is typically (no surprise here) defensive and combative.
Versus Circus
A poor diet fights against our immune system and vice versa; digital content is rife with political feuds, war, competition and violence; entertainment is most popular in a “win or lose” context (i.e. sports); but what about those who are less interested in professional athletics and more into the arts? Well, the vast majority of them are watching America’s Got Talent over those who physically attend concerts, art galleries or theatrical plays (the new standard of stagnation plaguing us since 2020).
Even the national anthem is an ode to the glorified violence surrounding our struggle to become a free country. We’ve secured this freedom, brought it forth on our terms and asserted its power over the rest of the world, all while continuing to blast this tune on repeat, belting it out upon our observance of just about anything taking place on any possible field, from little league and backyard wrestling, to the Super Bowl and….the Super Bowl Halftime Show– and we are lit.
To be piss drunk and angry at the results of a sporting contest reeks of both privilege and self-induced pain. Parents attacking teenaged umpires, bench-clearing brawls and a sweeping fountain of alcohol to keep the battle within us raging. This is all fuel for a roaring fire of negative energy which most of us have zero training in extinguishing- so we just burn more fuel.
“I’m so sick and tired of watching my fucking team lose!” First of all, it’s not your team or my team and if it were, we’d still be richer than 99% of the population, regardless of whether they win or lose. Secondly, if we were sick and tired of eating oysters or banging our head against the wall, you’d think that would be the time to throw in the puke-towel. So, I don’t know, stop watching? Otherwise, all of this complaining might lead to another altercation with a co-worker or a traumatic brain injury.
Legal gambling and sports betting has further intensified the ubiquitous effects of competition and conflict, for now we can behave like a toddler when any random team loses (not just “our” team) and we get to be financially crippled because of it. Hooray for capitalism! All jokes aside, it seems to me that between phone bills, subscriptions and digital bookies, we are now officially paying for the risk, to butt heads and to be subsequently miserable as often as possible and as fast as our thumbs can take us there.
Lucky F*%#s
Think about the people we know whom we consider to be “lucky”; this is not to be confused with beneficiaries of a trust fund, but a person who figured out the way that works for them. Always smiling and gliding around like they’re on a couple grams of psychedelic mushrooms, oblivious to the harsh realities of what the rest of us have to face every second of every stinking day. They always seem to be doing “well” on the outside, while stumbling into mysterious opportunities that bid them further good fortune, despite the world being on fire– I know, I know, this all sounds like the trust-funder, but the difference here is self-awareness.
If we eliminate the rich and uninteresting, we’re mostly left with people who are anything but stupid or lucky; they are mastering the art of personal contentment. Such folks frequently went back and re-read the instructions laid within early lessons about common decency and self-love, which most of us considered to be as odd and irrelevant as the Pledge of Allegiance…or the National Anthem.
It’s like they had re-imagined Mr. Rogers as their teacher. These lucky ducks paid attention, dug deeply and held onto enough actual, pertinent information in order to assemble their own personal value system, one that serves them and the people they love. And most of them don’t give two shits about how well or poorly a sports franchise is carrying on or how anyone feels about it. At least not enough to start shouting.
Sadly, we’ve allowed this idea of the fatter truck, the sleeker home and the greater protuberance of a puffed out chest to represent value. Some who appear “lucky” are actually trying to assert control by manipulating every little detail, entangling themselves in sketchy relationships and hoisting the material benefits up for everyone else to gaze upon.
Ask them a simple question about politics or athletics and these lucky fucks will unload a diatribe of regurgitated knowledge and hot, misguided truth that we can either agree with or walk away from. Their body language alone: arms folded across their chest, flailing limbs, finger-wagging or hands on hips, is sufficient evidence for us to initiate the latter.
Because we are so inundated with conflict, we rarely give ourselves pause for an opportunity to reflect or simply be at peace with stillness, if ever. And nobody is consistently lucky– people either forecast their tragic internal demise with anger and fear; or they perpetually take the high road, where the view is consistently much clearer, despite, and yet possibly in part, due to the effort involved.
Critical Shrinking
In the college town we live in, there are a couple of pretty good radio stations that I like to flip between when I’m in the car. The actual local college station DJs play an extremely eclectic variety of music and I try to take in even the most abstract and unfamiliar content they broadcast with an open ear (a bit disorienting, albeit, that ‘90s alt rock is now what the kids are spinning as “classic rock” these days…okay, now I’m officially old).
When the sports programming comes on, I tune out, as it always seems to escalate to shouting and arguing and stats pushing and whining, all about a game that I stopped watching over a decade ago. Doesn’t the world already have enough of such disquietude? When looking at “facts” and stats, let us understand that we are human beings who do not always function this way, experiencing life through an endless series of predictions and probabilities:
“What’s the percentage of likelihood that the home team will tear down these goal posts and riot this poor town if they win, Tom?”
“Well, these fans are giant, shit-faced babies at this point Jim, so let’s just hope the visiting team can hold them off in the fourth quarter. Otherwise, it’s gonna get pretty fucked up– back to you Kristine!…Kristine?”
While Kristine is hiding in the news van, hoping it doesn’t get flipped over by our most highly educated barbarians, this all-or-nothing, winner-take-all, barn-burning, rockets-red-glaring, mano-a- mano, pissing contest mentality is taking over the country. I used to love competitive sports and even got extremely into it while attending or participating in all types of games. I have experienced the wave of hormones that crash through a stadium during a pivotal point in a big game–it’s pretty powerful stuff when everyone is into it. It’s also frightening.
Even as a child, everything I did revolved around athletics, and the arts were not far down the list…because they weren’t even on the list. It took longer than I care to admit for me to recognize my potential for becoming a musician and a writer; and even longer to gravitate toward things that were not only within my control, but also brought me more meaning and perspective than the rush of competition.
“So did you win?” is thankfully not something I’ll ever have to hear when stepping off of a stage, because nobody was keeping score. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get to do it again.