1. This week’s book recommendation is Tunnel 29: The True Story of an Extraordinary Escape Beneath the Berlin Wall, by Helena Merriman. The book is the harrowing story of one particular tunnel built from West Berlin into East Berlin in an effort to break East Germans free from the Iron Curtain. While their particular story was amazing, I found much of the backstory leading up to the creation of the wall even more intriguing. There is also an incredible account of a documentary created around this escape attempt.

   

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2. Does your brain make major leaps from one topic to another? Like, you could be thinking of one very specific topic and then something within your brain connects it to a completely different idea? That happens to me all the time. It happens a bunch in this week’s GOING DEEP. So much so that I thought I’d give you a heads up. When you see these two pics below, that is me readying you to take a ride on the deserted wasteland that is my brain:

GOING DEEP:

Are you a one-hit wonder, or maybe just a schizo like me?

Earlier this summer Substacker Andrea Hoffman did a really cool series on hit songs for her What Are The Chances publication. I would often read or listen to these around the same time I would be reading another Substacker, Liz LaPoint. Liz’s Substack GenXcellent specializes in GenX stuff and very often has me thinking back to the music I listened to in high school and college.

Most days, when I’m in my car, I listen to music on SiriusXM.1 Occasionally while scrolling through the stations I land on the ‘90s channel, where Lisa Loeb has a weekly show.

If you know Lisa at all, you most likely know her from the song Stay and the music video that accompanied it:

Because I am an introvert, a strange bird, and someone whose brain refuses to shut off for even a single second of any day…the combination of all of the above factors had me thinking about one-hit wonders.

You know, people like this….

More specifically, it made me think about Lisa Loeb. Was she a one-hit wonder? In order to answer that question, you need to know a little of her history (which I do and did, leading to this entire premise)...so, here’s a quick overview for you if you don’t know or don’t remember.

Loeb was an unsigned, independent artist living in NYC in the early 90s. She was cutting demos, performing live, and developing a small following. It was in that scene that she met actor Ethan Hawke, who was living near her at the time and running in similar social and artistic circles.

Sometime between 1990 (the year she cut the Stay demo) and 1994 (the year the movie Reality Bites was released) Loeb shared the demo of Stay with Hawke. Hawke liked it, shared it with Ben Stiller (the director of Reality Bites), and Stiller liked it enough to put it in the film.

The movie was a hit and the song blew up, soaring to #1 on the Billboard charts for three straight weeks in the summer of 1994. It was sandwiched right between the OJ Simpson fiasco and Major League Baseball cancelling its season because of a labor strike.

At the time Loeb didn’t even have a record deal. That changed quickly. However, nothing she produced subsequently penetrated the zeitgeist quite the way Stay did.

However, when you listen to Loeb on SiriusXM, it is clear that she is a truly happy and content person who continues to produce art. As I wrote this, I performed a quick check with ChatGPT to confirm.

She has indeed continued to create music, most recently children’s music, as well as creating several successful businesses. She also seems to be happily married with two children.

Are you a fan of Aerosmith? I can’t say that I am or that I’m not. They’ve got some good songs I suppose. But to me, trying to think of the opposite of a one-hit wonder, they were the first band that came to mind.

Aerosmith formed in 1970, had their first hit single in 1973 (Dream On), and have performed together relatively continuously for the past 55 years. They are currently on hiatus due to singer Steven Tyler’s vocal cord issues.

Over the course of their career as a band Aerosmith reinvented themselves several times, with each iteration eventually becoming commercially successful.

However, as individuals, the main members of the band have struggled personally. Take lead singer Steven Tyler for instance. The a-hole in me just wants to show you this picture and ask if a 77-year-old man who dresses like this could possibly have even an ounce of self-awareness:

But without wasting your time on gory details, I think we can all agree he’s led a troubled life. Substance abuse, failed relationships, abandoned children, lawsuits against him. Not exactly the picture of happiness in my book.

So, here you have two artists (Loeb & Aerosmith), with relatively long careers, who have each reinvented themselves numerous times, but with vastly different levels of commercial success.

For me the question becomes: Why did they reinvent themselves?

I believe the answer is clear….

• Loeb reinvented herself because she wanted to follow her own creative passions and interests.

• Aerosmith reinvented themselves because they wanted to remain commercially relevant. Whether that pursuit was driven by the continued need for income to fund lavish lifestyles, or the validation that comes from constant attention and admiration, only they themselves would know.

Something tells me that even if Loeb had never met Ethan Hawke, she would have been happy and successful.

That same something tells me that however much money, sex, drugs, and adulation Steven Tyler receives…he will never find peace.

Based on the type of people who generally read my Substack, I have a guess as to which camp you’d prefer to be in. That being said, we all have choices to make in our lives.

Choices to be true to ourselves, or to do what we need to do to make life tolerable in an imperfect world. Or some combination thereof.

How about you? Have you ever had to make such a choice? If yes, what was your reasoning?

Let me know in the comments.

In the meantime, here’s hoping you enter your next challenge the way Psy enters an arena full of Gangnam Style fans….

🧠 🧠 🧠 🧠 🧠 🧠 🧠 🧠 🧠 🧠 🧠 🧠

1. Book recommendation this week is in line with our theme: How to Dungeon Master Parenting, by Shelly Mazzanoble, is a “guidebook for gamifying the child-rearing quest, leveling up your skills, and raising future adventurers.” If you’re not into D&D, no worries, check out her frickin’ hilarious Substack, Middle-Aged Lady Mom.

   

2. I am double-dipping this week and also sharing a BIBO (Book I Bailed On). Chris Hedges’, America: The Farewell Tour, is the 300 pages of whininess you never knew you needed. Although I only made it through about 100. I am not a fan of our current administration, but if you are smart enough to write a 315-page book outlining every which way they are terrible, then you should be smart enough to put forth at least ONE solution.

   

3. If you are reading these things it is my hope that they bring some level of enjoyment to your week. There are very few places we can go anymore where it doesn’t feel like someone is trying to get you to pay for something, or monetize one thing or another. Consider this your safe space from that ☮️ 😂.

GOING DEEP:

Local Man Attends Dungeons & Dragons Festival, Regrets It Immediately

Around this time last fall I had just started my ‘new’ writing journey. As part of that journey, I was looking for fun and interesting stories I could write about and sell to news outlets. This was before I came to realize how absolutely dehumanizing and tragically unfun that endeavor was.

One of the stories I was excited to write was about the annual Dungeons & Dragons Festival that takes place in nearby Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. Unfortunately, I didn’t hear about Dragon Days until a few weeks after they had concluded. So, I marked on my calendar to go this fall and check it out.

I’m not completely sure why I thought this would be interesting. Growing up, I was more of a run-into-stuff kinda guy than a sit in the basement and play board games type of one. Heck, I didn’t even know what D&D was…I just knew that nerds played it, and I had a hard enough time getting girls to begin with.

This was the level of manhood I aspired to….

Life has taught me, however, that not unlike Mr. Cage, some of the most awesomest people in the world are the ones I thought were nerds in high school.

So, it was with that newfound respect that I found myself walking into Dragon Days Fall Fantasy Festival. And to what to my wondering eyes did appear….

Historical markers of course!!!

Then, 5 minutes later, another!!!

So far, so good.

My first stop after checking in was to walk through the Fantasy Faire. There were all sorts of tents set up, and I was excited to see what was there.

But first, I needed coffee and a donut. You see, this was a Saturday morning in October. Fall Saturdays are a new thing for me. I spent the first 30 or so years of adulthood involved in football games and had no idea what civilians did on these days.

In my glorified vision of what this entailed, it included a piping hot cup of joe with one of those freshly fried cinnamon-sugar-encrusted, gloriously bad-for-you donuts.

Nope, wasn’t gonna happen. I walked all around this purported ‘fantasy’ zone, and there was only one food vendor, selling pre-bagged popcorn. Eventually I’m going to write a piece about how the pre-bagging of popcorn at public events was the first rung in our country’s slow descent into barbarism.

Then I realized I had no flipping clue what was in any of these tents. In my mind’s eye, I certainly had an idea about how people would be dressed at this thing, and that turned out to be pretty accurate.1

But what I had neglected to think about beforehand was what would actually be for sale at this place. Into every tent I peered, looking back at me was an assortment of shit that made absolutely no sense to my reptilian brain.

Except for the two merchants selling handmade wooden receptacles of some kind. I’m guessing their intended use was to hold some type of implement used in playing D&D. Playing cards? Dice? Tiny figurines? Wizard beard trimmings?

Ok, so no snacks and paraphernalia for sale that I have no use for. No problem, I’ll just do what every freshman boy in college does when he awkwardly walks into his first party…..

……find the beer.

This was a festival in Wisconsin, so however confident I was that I’d be able to find a donut…I was doubly sure I’d find beer.

Wisconsinites drink at EVERYTHING.

State Fair…

….beer

The Zoo…

….beer

Church Festivals…

…..beer

Deer Fest…

….beer

🍺 (Yes we have deer fest, and yes it is next on my list to visit! Although, while the judging eyes of nerds at Fantasy Days was a pretty easy fear to overcome, attending an event where all of the attendees are armed sounds a little more intimidating.)

Shakespeare in the Park…

….beer

🍺 (We have Shakespeare in the Park??? Who are the people attending this? Shakespeare in the Park is too highfalutin for us. More appropriate would be Laverne & Shirley in the Parking Lot. Complete with Lenny & Squiggy and an ice-cold Heifeweizen from Shotz Brewery.)

As you probably have figured out by now (shit, you probably figured this out before I did), there was no beer. Not all was lost though. My Dragon Days itinerary assured me that there were many other activities at the festival!

However, upon closer inspection I realized that for various reasons I could not, or would not, attend them. Mostly because I am not a child. I also refuse to view and/or participate in larping.

(Don’t know what larping is? Good. Let’s hang out.)

One thing that did sound interesting, however, was touring the house that the creator of D&D lived in when he created the game. After all, that’s the entire reason for this fakakta thing in the first place.

Here are the highlights:

The upside of making the trek to this house was that I passed a small brewery along the way. Being just about noon when I completed the dazzling house tour, I figured this would be a great way to finish my day…enjoy a beer and watch some college football.

One thing I’ve left out up until this point is the nasty four-letter word of a state to our south: Illinois. And more specifically, Chicago. As a rule, people from Wisconsin don’t like them. (You may have seen the acronym we use for them earlier in this piece: FIB. That stands for “fu*king Illinois bastards.” Midwest nice, huh?)

I should’ve known there would be lots of evidence of FIBs in the area, as Lake Geneva is only about 15 minutes from the Illinois border. As a general rule, I try not to take pictures of things that disgust me, so this is the only other FIB-related pic I took…

All of this Illinois influence on the day had me thinking about getting an Italian Beef sandwich. Chicago people swear by these, and I had never had one before (aside from bastardized versions served by friends who shall remain nameless).

I was gonna post a picture of the sandwich I ate, but the photo I took looked bland. And that’s exactly how the sandwich tasted. Maybe it would’ve had more flavor if I had ordered it “wet,” which was an option.

No, I don’t want my sandwich “wet.” Do they seriously think that makes it sound more appetizing?

The word that best described this Italian beef sandwich was, ‘meh.’ For someone who was raised on Philly hoagies and cheesesteaks, it was kind of like a Parisian drinking a glass of sparkling wine at Six Flags.

A reasonable facsimile, maybe…. but I think I’d rather have had some popcorn.

Freshly popped of course.

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1. In honor of the Milwaukee Brewers starting the postseason tomorrow, this week’s book recommendation is Home of the Braves: The Battle for Baseball in Milwaukee, by Patrick W. Steele. Dr. Steele was a professor at my last coaching stop, so I was excited when I found this book last year. It delves deeply into the brief history of the MLB’s Braves’ time in Milwaukee. I was reminded of much of it this past week as I put together the GOING DEEP section.

   (Video of the book this week instead of a pic…because you get to see how demanding our Maverick is. And if you turn the volume up, you can also hear a sassy teenager in the background.)

2. Super excited to announce that next week we’ll be having our first interview on the SilentPunt Podcast. I have a particular interest in people who have made career transitions, and we’ll be talking to a former NFL player turned entrepreneur. Reminder, you can find this past week’s episode on YouTube, Apple, Spotify, or HERE on Substack.

3. Book update: Made some good progress this past week, but still a long, long way to go. Send some positive vibes my way if you can. On that note, every subscriber I get, every heart I get, every referral I get, (🎵every breath you take, every move you make 🎵….just kidding), increases the chances of an agent or publisher taking a chance on me. Any assistance you can provide is appreciated. 👊🏼

   If you are a good person and not subscribed yet, throw your email in here. No d-bags allowed.

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GOING DEEP:

Am I the only one who gets transfixed by historical markers? (The world whispers back, “yes Henny.”)

Last weekend, I accompanied my wife and daughter on another college cheer visit. This time to the University of Wisconsin. Located in Madison, this idyllic setting is mostly ruined by the constant assault on your eyes by the color red. Any of my Ithaca friends will understand how gross this picture is:

In an effort to stave off my all but certain vomiting while ensconced in such a vile environment, I decided to take a stroll. Attached to the fieldhouse we were in was Camp Randall Stadium, home of the mighty Badger football team.

While walking around the facility, I came upon a park dedicated to the site. I have a condition where I cannot walk past a historical marker sign without stopping to read it. My circle of people know this, and that they can keep walking, I’ll catch up eventually.

From these historic grounds went forth Wisconsin’s sons to fight for the preservation of the nation in the American Civil War, 1861-1865. More than 70,000 men trained for service within the boundaries of this camp named after Alexander W. Randall, a wartime governor.

Originally comprising 53½ acres and owned by the estate of William D. Bruen, the tract was leased to the State Agricultural Society in 1858. When war came in April 1861, the land was turned over to the state as a military training rendezvous and Camp Randall became the state’s largest staging point. A hospital and a stockade for Confederate prisoners of war were also located here.

Purchased by the state in 1893, the land was deeded to the University of Wisconsin. Since that time, a portion of the grounds has been used as an athletic field. As a memorial to Wisconsin’s Civil War soldiers, a small segment of the land was set aside as a Park and the Memorial Arch was completed in 1912.

A day after our visit to UW I filmed the weekly SilentPunt Podcast with my buddy Travis. In it, we touched upon a NFL franchise that had moved hometowns several times. It got me thinking of my own hometown team. No, not that hometown team (Go Birds)….the Milwaukee Brewers.

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The first location for professional baseball in Milwaukee was Borchert Field. It was home to the minor league Milwaukee franchise (also called the Brewers) as well as a Negro League team for a very brief time.

Earlier this week, I had to abort what had been a Herculian effort on my part to locate the historical marker for Borchert Field. After about 30 minutes driving around a north Milwaukee community that more resembled Gaza than the former home of a ballpark, I found the sign.

In typical heroic fashion I abandoned my idea of taking a picture of the sign and remained in my car. Self-preservation and all. The pics below are courtesy of the interwebs…

Borchert Field, home to Milwaukee professional baseball for over 60 years, was located between W. Burleigh, W. Chambers, N. 7th, and N. 8th streets. Known originally as Athletic Park when it opened on May 20, 1888, the ballpark hosted the major league Brewers in 1891, the minor league Brewers from 1902 to 1952, the Negro National League Bears in 1923, and the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League Chicks in 1944. Marquette University and the NFL’s Milwaukee Badgers and Green Bay Packers also played football at Borchert Field.

The rectangular wooden ballpark was renamed in 1927 following the death of Brewers owner Otto Borchert. It was the home field for such Hall of Famers as Al Simmons, Eddie Mathews, Bill Veeck, Casey Stengel, and Pete Hill, as well as Olympian Jim Thorpe. Milwaukee natives who played at Borchert Field on their way to the majors included Happy Felsch, Joe Hauser, and Ken Keltner. Home runs often landed on porches across the street from the neighborhood ballpark, especially when Cooperstown legends such as Lou Gehrig, Willie Mays, Stan Musial, Babe Ruth, and Jackie Robinson visited.

After the completion of Milwaukee County Stadium and the arrival of the Braves in 1953, Borchert Field was demolished. Interstate 43 now passes through the site of Milwaukee’s longest-lived professional ballpark.

Did you catch the part about the ‘Milwaukee Chicks?’

….and on the other side of the marker…

The Milwaukee Bears were a Negro National League team formed in 1923 to replace the Pittsburgh Keystones. The Bears drew many of their players from the disbanded Keystones roster as well as from the New Orleans Crescent Stars, an independent southern team. They played their home games at Athletic Park, later renamed Borchert Field, which stood four blocks from this location.

The Milwaukee Bears were led by player-manager Joseph Preston “Pete” Hill. Hill was a star outfielder for the Chicago American Giants, and he later served as a player-manager for the Detroit Stars and the Baltimore Black Sox. A prolific hitter, Hill was inducted in the Baseball Hall of Fame in 2006.

While “barnstorming” teams featuring Negro League legends like James “Cool Papa” Bell drew sizable crowds on their occasional visits to Milwaukee, the Bears were hampered by scheduling conflicts at Borchert Field with the minor league Milwaukee Brewers and by a lack of consistnet newspaper coverage. They compiled a losing record before disbanding in late July, well before the official end of their one and only season.

Cool Papa Bell?!?! In addtion to that badass nickname, one of the greatest baseball anecdotes ever is attributed to his speed on the base paths….

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In 1950, the city of Milwaukee began construction on a bigger stadium to replace Borchert Field for the minor league Brewers. It was also built with an eye on luring a MLB franchise to the city. Milwaukee County Stadium (County Stadium to us local folk) was completed a few years later, and in 1953 the Milwaukee Braves played their first game there. The Braves came from Boston, and since MLB has a rule that no city can be home to both a MLB team and a minor-league franchise, the minor league version of the Brewers left town. (They moved to Toledo and became the Toledo Sox.)

The heel turn that Milwaukeeans played on Bostonians was short-lived lived however. After only 13 years in Milwaukee, including a World Series victory, the people of Milwaukee now had to play the roll of spurned lover, as the franchise moved again.

To Atlanta. And this relocation seems to have stuck.

County Stadium sat mostly empty until Bud Selig was able to procure the rights to the fledgling Seattle Pilots franchise, bring them to Milwaukee, and rename them the Brewers in time for the 1970 MLB season. The Brewers (and Packers from time to time) played there until the opening of Miller Park in 2001. (A few years ago they changed the name of Miller Park to American Family Field, but we Wisconsinites refuse to call it that.)

And if that scoreboard and those outfield bleachers look familiar, well you just may remember them from the greatest baseball movie of all time…

Miller Park is a great place to watch a game. As you may know, my dad and I have been to all but 5 MLB parks at this point. I would definitely put Miller Park in the Top 10. Good food, great fans, retractable roof, acceptable parking, and top notch tailgating.

When County Stadium was eventually demolished, the Brewers built a full-scale ballpark named Helfaer Field for kids in its place. Every year hundreds of children in the area get to play baseball and softball there. It is really cool.

A couple of interesting tidbits about Helfaer Field are that the foul poles are the original ones from County Stadium, and the original home plate location of old County Stadium is memorialized inside.

Historical plaques, markers, and statues abound at Miller Park, so I can’t include them all. Here are just a couple…

Are any of you as big a fan of historical markers as I am? Let me know in the comments!

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1. This week’s book recommendation was inspired by our family’s recent trip to Purdue University. They Call Me Coach was written by John Wooden, the greatest basketball coach of all time and a Purdue alum, in 1972. This is practically required reading if you are or were a coach, but I’d argue it contains tremendous advice for anyone.

   Wooden’s “Pyramid of Success” is well known in coaching circles. I was reminded of it by this outside of the baskeball arena…

   

   We did some other stuff while we were there as well…

2. Just a reminder that I’ve chosen to make this newsletter free. I’m not telling you that for any other reason than to make you aware that the platform I use to send this (Substack), punishes me for doing so.

   💵 💰 💲 💵 💰 💲

   You see, their algorithm won’t promote my work in the same way that it will authors who charge for their writing (of whom I have no quarrel with).

   So, the only way this thing grows is with your help. Subscribe if you haven’t already. Heart any posts that you read. Forward to a pal.

   

   Subscribers receive 2 emails per week: This newsletter on Friday, and the SIlentPunt Podcast on Wednesday.

GOING DEEP:

Hold The Teriyaki, Bring The Rage. My Real-Life Chinese Restaurant Episode.

The Chinese Restaurant episode of Seinfeld aired on May 23, 1991. At that point the show was only in its second season, and hadn’t exactly hit its stride yet. Let alone become the iconic American pop-culture reference point that it has for many of us today.

The entire episode takes place as George, Jerry, and Elaine wait for a table at a Chinese Restaurant. Many TV historians consider this episode to be where Seinfeld truly found its footing. While the episode is essentially about something simple (waiting for your table at a restaurant), there are various subplots that run throughout.

One of those involves George waiting to make a call on a pay phone. At one point a woman rudely jumps in front of of his turn to use the phone, which spurs George’s famous rant:

At the time, you could maybe shrug this rant off, seeing as fictional George was living in real-life New York City, which has always been considered a place for the inconsiderate.

But I have to say, in recent months and years, I have seen a significant uptick in my ‘society’ moments. Moments where I want to scream out loud to anyone that can hear, “We’re living in a society!”

A few weeks ago I was merging into traffic on an interstate. The person I merged in front of flipped me off. I did not cut this person off, nor did I cause them to slow down. The simple act of me existing in the universe seems to have set them off.

And what is up with people’s refusal to use turn signals? Particularly in parking lots. People will meander down the middle of a two-lane parking lot, eventually coming to a stop while they stare at you in your approaching vehicle.

“What? What is it that you are doing?” You mouth to them as they continue to get frustrated with you for some unknown reason. Eventually, you slip by them, inches from parked cars, and then see them in your rearview as they turn into a spot that was behind you.

Do these people think I have ESP? How the flip do I know what you wanna do?

I got another middle finger last week. This time, the driver flashing the bird had pulled a quarter of the way out into the road from a parking lot, trying to make a left-hand turn out into traffic. It was a two-lane road with a 40 mph speed limit and oncoming cars coming from the other direction.

We slowed to a crawl, unable to swerve around him due to the opposing traffic. Eventually, he backed up a little so we could ‘sneak’ through. As we passed he was going apoplectic while flipping us the bird.

Did he seriously think two lanes of 40 mph traffic should literally come to a stop for him?

Then, earlier this week, I had a full-circle Chinese Restaurant moment. I had met my wife at one of those build-your-own-bowl lunch places. Chipotle-esqe, if you will. Except this place also had several pre-made bowls that you could choose from if you didn’t want to build your own.

It was an empty restaurant, but unfortunately, we walked in behind a family. The family ran the gamut of four generations: a grandmother, two adults (a man and a woman), one teenager, and a 2-year-old.

Just looking at them made us nervous. No way ALL of these people were going to know what they were doing. But we held out hope that at least one of them would, and then could explain the process to the rest.

And surely they knew what to order for the small child. Why else would you walk into a place like this with a child that young? When our daughter was little, we did more recon on restaurants than J. Edgar Hoover did on MLK.

Our fears were confirmed when the adult female in the group started asking questions to the worker behind the counter. As she received answers from him, she had to turn around and re-explain it to the group, because:

1. The adult male had been staring at his phone.

2. The grandmother had earnestly tried listening to the directions the worker gave, but to no avail. The directions would need to be repeated in triplicate to penetrate her 1980s encrusted hair helmet.

3. The toddler (who could ostensibly have been the child of any of the other four), was busy repeatedly punching the teenager in the leg.

At this point, any normal person (or group of persons) would allow the twosome behind them through to order. But no. This family continued to have a McLaughlin Group level discussion about their order.

We made pleading eye contact with the worker several times. While he gave us an understanding look in return, he did not usher us through.

I’d like to say I had empathy for these people. I’d like to say that I didn’t want to scream at every single one of them.

But I can’t.

Because I’ve been in those situations before. And any other number of situations like it.

The proper etiquette if you are in a new place with an older person and/or a toddler is to not even ENTER the line until a thorough review of what this restaurant serves, and how you order it, has been completed.

This would include, but not be limited to, explaining to the grandmother that….

• Teriyaki is a sauce.

• No, she won’t like Teriyaki.

• She must pick a pre-made bowl combination.

• No, there are no ‘meal deals.’

• No, we already told you Gammy, for the love of God, do NOT do a build your own bowl!!

The adult man and toddler are easy:

Adult man: Tell him the portion sizes and how much the upcharge is for extra meat.

Toddler: YOU order for the toddler. Do NOT ask their opinion in line. If you have been parenting this human for the past two years and still do not have a solid handle on what their fickle self will ingest, then you are a horrible parent, and your child should be revoked from you immediately.

I’d love to tell you that there is a moral to this story. But I don’t know that there is.

It’s almost like this entire piece was about nothing.

1. This is a week late, but in honor of last week’s September 11th anniversary I’m recommending The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11, by Lawrence Wright. This was a fantastic book that spawned a limited streaming series. I’m hoping to watch that this winter.

2. Earlier this week I purchased a really cool t-shirt from Jonathan Small on Substack (via Etsy). Check him and his publication, Small Talk, out. That reminds me: Make America Smart Again t-shirts are still on sale. Purchase yours HERE!

   

3. Recently we passed 6,000 downloads for the SilentPunt Podcast, not including Apple or Spotify. We’ll be adding YouTube soon. Thanks and keep tuning in!

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   The only way this newsletter grows is through word of mouth. So if you like it, please consider forwarding to a friend:

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GOING DEEP:

“I don’t need no stinkin’ semicolon." Advice for Zen-like Writing (& Drinking).

Earlier this week our daughter, who is a junior in high school, asked me to proofread the rough draft of her college essay. This was one of those moments as a parent where you want to freak out and be like, “hell yes, I thought you’d never ask!” But for whatever reason, our child is one of those types who has always been oppositional whenever my wife and I have praised a new endeavor of hers.

So we have to play it cool. If we get too excited about some new hobby or interest, she immediately turns tail and looks for something else. It’s almost as if she thinks we’re going to infringe upon this activity. Like, “yeah, I love this, but not enough to have to do it with you two dweebs.”

Anyway, when she asked me to proofread the essay it was all I could do to contain my excitement. This is a child who was talking in complete sentences before average kids could speak a word. A precocious toddler who would get in trouble for reading under the covers with a nightlight in bed.

She has since turned into a mercurial teenager who has shunned reading and writing. In large part because she is inherently good at it.

I think.

Who knows what people’s true motivations are? Particularly female teenagers.

♀ ♀ ♀ ♀ ♀ ♀

Her essay was outstanding. Totally outside the box, but totally encompassing of the young lady she is becoming. It was all I could do not to cry and hug her, and instead just tell her that I thought it was really good. With the exact right amount of surprise and admiration in my voice.

She bought it and was happy with my contained response.

The only things I circled in the entire piece were two semicolons that she used. I explained to her that I don’t usually use semicolons when I write, so she may wanna double-check that she’s using them correctly.

When she asked why I don’t use them, I said that I don’t really understand how to use them. And that’s definitely true. But upon further introspection, I realized that it is only partly true1.

The other part is because they are fancy. For most of my life I have abhorred fancy things. I’m not completely sure why, but I like the basics.

It even played out in my coaching career. One of my favorite things to do was call the same offensive play back-to-back. Sometimes even as many as three or four times in a row. It felt like we were sending a message to the defense. “Here we are, this is what we’re going to do, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

For some reason that last sentence made me think of this:

My brain is apparently made of 100% Swiss cheese at this point.

To wit:

When we first moved to Wisconsin I learned about the Old Fashioned drink. I’ve subsequently found out that Old Fashioneds are not unique to Wisconsin, or even the Midwest for that matter, but they were certainly new to me.

I tried a few here and there, but never seemed to like them. I wasn’t sure why, so I started asking people what was in them. I never got the same answer twice. Every bar, restaurant, and family basement did it differently.

So, I embarked upon a quest. For 12 months, I would test out every combination of Old Fashioned and determine which I liked best.

I will spare you the gory details, but the answer came back, and it was unequivocal:

I don’t like Old Fashioneds.

There is probably something with my palate that explains why (I’m more of a salt guy than sweet), but I think fanciness was the main reason. Make a simple syrup, muddle, zest, pick a liquor…enough already.

Give me some whiskey with a splash of soda and I’m good.

And don’t get me started on mojitos.

When our daughter was little, we correctly instructed her that if she was in a steakhouse not to order the chicken. Or if she were in a Mexican joint, not to order the cheeseburger.

But for some reason, my wife refuses to adhere to this logic when it comes to mojitos.

• Jose’s Restaurant in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin: Mojito.

• Cuban place in Miami: Mojito

• Dive Bar in West Allis, Wisconsin: Mojito

When someone orders a mojito in a dive bar there is a certain look they get from the bartender….

This look says,

“You’re seriously ordering that here? Don’t you see how busy I am? I have PBRs to pour, dice to roll, and pull tabs to pay out. Not to mention keeping an eye on the two dipshits at the end of the bar who keep sneaking looks at my tits. I’ve told that dad if he and his 12-year-old son don’t knock it off I’m tossing them both.”

For so many of us the world is a confusing place right now. Far left and far right. Liberal and conservative. Team Conrad and Team Jeremiah2.

I think we all ache for simpler times.

Times when politicians treated each other with civility. When we covered our textbooks with grocery bags. When there were way fewer TV channels, and way more newspapers.

And when Harry Caray called baseball games drunk.

1. Lots of people think our country is messed up. Maybe it is. But it is nowhere near as f’d up as it was when this week’s book recommendation took place. The Taking of Jemina Boone, by Matthew Pearl, is the incredible story of the kidnapping of Daniel Boone’s daughter by Native Americans. This is legit one of my favorite books. It’s a fascinating story that offers a glimpse into the state of our country at the time of its founding.

   

2. Recently, my wife and I were discussing a short trip with a group of new people. We know one couple, but none of their other friends. I was vacillating about going in case we didn’t like anyone else (#introvert), and she said something simple and extraordinary: “If they suck, at least we’ll have each other.”

   ❤️

   I wish for all of you to have someone like that to love you.

3. If you like humor and history, you need to check out my friend Sheila Moeschen and her Humor Saves newsletter. If you don’t like humor and history - what the heck are you doing here in the first place?

GOING DEEP:

Fear Does Not Exist In This Dojo

I feel fairly confident that everyone reading this is aware of the film The Karate Kid and the franchise it spawned. Maybe you were a kid in the ‘80s who begged your parents to get you karate lessons after watching the original. Or perhaps you’re just someone who, in the last twenty years or so, has seen or heard of one of the recent iterations.

Either way, I’m guessing you’ll remember the Cobra Kai. One of their sensei’s big mantras in the original movie was, “Fear does not exist in this dojo.”

Throughout my life I’ve thought of this mantra from time to time. I should probably be embarrassed about sharing that with you, because it’s incredibly lame for a grown ass man to still be thinking about a movie he saw when he was nine.

But I’m not. Because this time a year ago I was gripped with fear. Fear of sharing my thoughts, opinions, and vulnerabilities with others through writing.

Most Americans watch football in some way, shape, or form. Some are fanatics, some are casual fans. Most, however, don’t understand the physical pain and trauma associated with playing the sport. While the game today isn’t as violent as it was when I played thirty years ago, one could correctly argue that the game I played was infinitely safer than how it was played thirty years before that.

That’s because football continues to get safer and safer every year. Some of that has to do with equipment upgrades. But mostly it’s from rule changes. And to some meatheads (me, for instance), it is detrimental to the game. For it is the fear factor in football that taught me fear is not something to run from. It is to be met head-on.

Growing up, I was afraid of everything.

My teachers. My parents. My coaches.

Other boys.

Every girl on the planet.

I loved football for lots of reasons at the time, but it was not something I feared. I felt invincible on the field.

It wasn’t until I got to college and had to compete against guys that quite literally could kill me that fear started to creep in. The next time you watch football, you can see what I’m talking about. A quarterback sliding to avoid being tackled is probably what comes to your mind first, but that’s not what I mean.

What I’m referring to is something we referred to as “turning down” a play. A blocker running towards a defender and bracing himself before collision, instead of exploding through impact, has “turned down” his block. He’s chosen not to complete his assignment out of self-preservation.

A tackler running towards a ballcarrier and at the last minute deciding to go very low and essentially trip the runner, instead of exploding through the runner and executing a proper tackle, has “turned down” that tackle.

Many call these ‘business decisions.’ And they have become more and more acceptable in football. Deion Sanders was well known back in the day for making business decisions when it came to tackling. He was being paid handsomely to cover wide receivers, and getting hurt tackling someone like Jerome Bettis, or Brent Jones, didn’t make sense.

To him, anyway.

Business decisions aside, I learned through football that making choices like this was a sign of weakness. Not a weakness in strength, courage, or toughness. But in character. Because when you ‘turned down’ one of these plays, you were letting your teammates down. They were putting their neck on the line for you, so you needed to reciprocate in kind.

This week I embarked upon a new journey. One that has me fearful. I have a book idea that I am very excited about, and that could be absolutely amazing. But the number of hurdles between me and the end zone is daunting to say the least.

And unfortunately, I don’t have teammates to hold me accountable anymore. If I don’t accomplish this book, I am not letting anyone down. My family will still love me.

And heck, by the time the process is over, my 16-year-old daughter might actually let me hug her in public again.

So, if you’ve gotten this far, I’m going to consider you my teammate. The fact that you’re here means you’re going to go on this journey with me.

Lucky you 😉.

In addition to the book, I’ve got new ideas and experiences that I plan to share with you this fall. Both here in this newsletter and on the SilentPunt Podcast.

Until then,

QUESTION FOR THE COMMENTS:

Is there something you are currently fearful of taking on?

1. Football season is here! This week’s book recommendation is The Junction Boys, by Jim Dent. If you are a football fan and haven’t read this book, shame on you…read it now! Another one that’s old enough to be in your local library.

   🏈 🏈 🏈

   If you are not a huge football fan, I think you should also read this book. If only to realize what a watered down version of the game you are now watching. What happens in this book is sheer insanity.

   

2. Go Birds.

3. Do you know someone who enjoys laughing and/or sports? Click below to share this newsletter with them…

   Refer a friend

   

GOING DEEP:

Last week, a young man in his 20s, a friend of our family whom I have never met, got engaged. I felt some compulsion to clue him in on marriage, but alas, I have no relationship with him. So, like any red-blooded American male, I’ve taken it upon myself to give him unsolicited advice.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Namely, his.

Letter To A Soon-To-Be Husband

Dear PJ, 

Congratulations on your engagement!! The pictures on Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, Snapchat, Pinterest, Twitter, and Jdate were amazing! How long did it take to get your fiancée’s1 approval for the best ones?

I don’t know your fiancée, but undoubtedly she had some swings and misses before you. Young men your age are usually incapable of high-level thinking and being emotionally present at the same time. But she kept looking for an exception.

You are that exception PJ.

Heavy wears the crown, my young padawan.

Good luck with the wedding planning and all the things that go around that. I’m sure the wedding, honeymoon, and whatever life events follow will be wonderful. What follows below is my attempt at preparing you for when and if you guys decide to add another human to your family.

Hold on tight brother.

Stage 1: Pregnancy. No notes here. Hopefully what little attention you’ve paid to the opposite sex thus far in your life, you know the two rules you must adhere to, no questions asked: 

1. Be helpful at all times.

2. Stay out of the way.

These seem incongruous you say? 

Feel free to take it up with your pregnant wife when the time comes. Or, listen to me and remain in the land of the living.

Stage 2: Breastfeeding. You know nothing of this and surely have just as much interest in finding out. But you will indeed find out. Because even in the best of times, this is a challenging endeavor for your wife. I will spare you the gory details and just say this: when the time comes to take your turn with the 2 am feeding, you need to do so with an enthusiasm unknown to mankind.2

For that breastmilk you are defrosting and feeding to your beautiful child was pumped two months ago. While your wife was hunched over in her locked office as that d-bag Steve from accounting blew up her Teams feed.

One warning about this stage: you may hear the phrase “engorged nipple” at some point and think that maybe your fortunes have changed. 

PJ my good man, they have not.

Stage 3: Parenting. I gotta be honest here PJ, this is gonna get ugly. It’s really a binary proposition: boy or girl. 

1. Boy: 

Chaos and destruction rule the day. The care and concern you received from your wife in the run-up to your wedding and pregnancy will have gone the way of the Dodo. She will no longer be concerned with trivial affairs, like helping you pick out the oh-so-perfect gift for your groomsmen. Or making sure you have a ‘guys’ night’ every week. Or what color the nursery is.

Instead, her days will entail Katrina-level disaster response with an occasional GI Joe man stuck in an orifice.

Be afraid.

Be very afraid.

2. Girl:

   There is nothing as sweet as a little girl. I will talk about that later, but here’s what you need to know right now. While they are wondrous things to the rest of the world, very often they behave as if they were the offspring of Beelzebub for their own mothers. 

Your job is two-fold here as well: 

1. Stay out of the way. (Did you know more people die in the aftermath of a nuclear explosion than do in the initial blast? As in most things, let Mother Nature be your guide.)

2. At all times, take your wife’s side. (This may seem simple now. But check back in with me when you have to look into the sweet blue eyes of your angelic six-year-old daughter and tell her that yes indeed, “Mommy did put baby doll back in your room like you asked her to.” Knowing full well that mommy cut the head off of baby doll in a fit of wine-fueled rage and then didn’t have the time, or needle skills, to sew her back together. Baby doll is currently resting at the top of a landfill. Not too far from where your hopes and dreams of an idyllic life will now be residing). 

A note on being a ‘Girl Dad’

Being the father of a girl is the most amazing thing in the world. They are sweet, fun, adorable, and completely and unabashedly immersed in their world. Anytime she wants to play, just say yes. Then, sit back and enjoy.

Because PJ, these little girls are the small joint the drug dealer gives you for free. Hoping that in a few years, you’ll be hooked on 8-balls and ready to sell a kidney for cash.

Those sweet little girls eventually turn into teenage girls.

And hell hath no fury like a teenage girl.

Seriously, they are scary beings. If only the Taliban weren’t so sexist, they could be using an entire country full of 14-year-old Afghan girls to do their bidding.

Eventually though, their rough edges are smoothed like a fine diamond. Mostly by their fathers I hear.

Stage 4: Perimenopause. This is a relatively new development in the life cycle of American women. Suffice it to say, while details are still emerging, this stage also entails large swaths of minefields to become aware of. There is a silver lining, though! All advice for the subsequent stage can also be applied here. 

There is a small lesson in that: compound knowledge is your friend. Whenever possible, applying the same rule to wildly different situations is to your advantage. 

• Exhibit A: Your heavenly 7-year-old daughter asks you how she looks on the first day she dresses herself for school. After taking in her outfit (tennis shoes, a tutu, a Nick Foles jersey, and a cowboy hat), the only appropriate answer is:

  “AMAZING!”

• Exhibit B: Your heavenly wife asks you how she looks while donning the $175 top she recently purchased from a chic new boutique downtown. Even though she looks like Jerry in his puffy shirt, the answer is still the same: 

  “AMAZING!”

Stage 5: Menopause. PJ, here’s where shit gets real. I could give you the entire litany of things that could happen (body heat fluctuations, mood swings, libido issues, bloating, brain fog), but that would only confuse the issue.

Here is the one crucial thing you need to know: whatever she is feeling, whatever she is saying, she is right. 

That is the entire point of this letter. I don’t want you to learn that nugget of knowledge when so many other well-meaning men do…in the later stages of their relationship. 

I want you to embrace it right now: She is right.

Say it with me again, out loud:

“She is right.”

So, you have one job: support her at all times, no questions asked.

Be the Jeremy Renner to her Ben Affleck:

1. In the parlance of Gen Z, Labor Day is a ‘slept-on’ holiday, so I’m using the entire newsletter this week to pay homage to it. First, a podcast recommendation: Revolutions, by Mike Duncan. I am currently listening to season 10, which is all about the Russian Revolution. Full disclosure: this is hardcore history nerd sh*t. But there are 12 seasons of it, so he must be doing something right.

   

2. This week’s book recommendation is The Communist Manifesto, by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. First of all, don’t fret, I’m not turning all commie on you. However, if you want to understand the history of labor in the industrialized world, I think this is an essential read. Also, most people aren’t aware that at the time of the Russian Revolution, there was a relatively robust Communist Party in America. That is, until a certain senator from a certain state (🧀) put the kibosh on it. (There were other factors as well.)

   Best part of this book rec? It’s free at your local library.

   

3. Reminder: If you’d like to listen to this post, maybe in your car or on a walk, all you have to do is click on the ▶️ button at the top right (online or in the app….can’t do it in the email). I do this all the time, and it is pretty slick.

   

GOING DEEP:

Labor Day: Celebratory Event or Anti-Communist Bulwark?

Up until a few years ago I never had Labor Day off as an adult. Working as a college football coach it was just another Monday. Most years, it was the first week of the regular season. Training camp had ended, and we were in full-on game plan mode.

So, not only did I not participate in whatever holiday goings on were going on, I also never really thought about the meaning behind the holiday. Having read some books on labor issues at the dawn of the industrial revolution, I figured it had something to do with that. 

🔴 ⚪️ 🔵 🇺🇸 🔴 ⚪️ 🔵

Earlier this week I did a little research, and my suspicions were confirmed. In short, terrible labor conditions in the late 1800s led to lots of strikes. Some of which were put down violently by our government, which often sided with corporations1. The first large-scale strike was the Great Railroad Strike of 1877. This nationwide strike was quelled with force, and about 100 workers were killed in the process.

Labor strife was not unique to the US at the time. There were similar issues all over the globe. This led to the rise of the ideas of communism and socialism. Interestingly, this week’s book recommendation, The Communist Manifesto, was written in 1848 and predates much of this strife. Marx and Engels could clearly see trouble brewing with the Industrial Revolution, which was already half a century or so into its development. 

For what it’s worth, while I found the book interesting when I read it years ago, I remember it striking me as naive. Like, these guys were just kind of putting this BS out there, never thinking anyone would actually implement it. Which, some might argue, nobody really ever did. The two major communist revolutions (USSR & China) that emerged in the next century were quickly co-opted by one power-hungry group or another. 

Marx and Engels’ brand of communism devolved quickly into dictatorship and despotism.

One of the cool things (or diabolical, depending on your point of view) about the American experiment is how fluid our government can be. There are lots of grey areas, areas that the Constitution doesn’t explicitly codify. Lately, this has been disconcerting, with the polarization of our two political parties causing what seems to be a seesaw effect on the direction the country is going.

I’ve written about (and discussed on the podcast) the current administration’s attempts to use this fluidity in our governmental structure to meet their own ends. It is these same grey areas that allowed our government to pivot in response to the labor issues of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Essentially staving off a nascent communist movement here in the US. 

The first “Labor Day” parade took place in New York City in 1882 and was organized by a labor union. The parade idea caught on and over the next few years spread to other cities. In 1887 Oregon was the first state to make Labor Day a holiday, and by 1894 over twenty other states had followed suit. 

Then, in 1894, there was another significant and violent strike, this time in Chicago. The Pullman Palace Car Company, supported by the American Railway Union, went on strike. That led to a massive railroad strike across the nation in solidarity. 

Roughly thirty Pullman employees were killed by federal troops in an effort to break the strike.

Shortly after this incident, Congress passed the law formalizing Labor Day as a federal holiday. While this was a deft maneuver by the federal government to ease labor tensions, it was only intended to maintain peace. Not to actually empower labor.

Thus, why Labor Day is in September. By the time the US formalized the holiday, several other countries had already established their own labor holiday. It was called May Day and took place on May 1 (it is still observed). The federal government didn’t want the US Labor Day to be associated with May Day, most likely because of its connections to communist and socialist movements abroad. 

And that is where things come full circle here at SilentPunt. If you’ve been here long enough, you know I loved the show The Handmaid’s Tale. In it, the resistance group2 is named Mayday.

I don’t know if our country is ready quite yet for another round of worker revolts or not. My guess would be no. People like to complain about the economy. The cost of housing is too high, gas is a rip-off, and college tuition is out of control, people say.

Then they go right back to watching The Real Housewives on 65-inch flat screens, while at the same time scrolling on their $1,000 phones, as they await their $40 McDonald’s combo meal to be Door Dashed to them. 

And the people that should be revolting? Amazon employees without medical coverage, public educators in Wisconsin who had their union busted, migrant workers that pick our food, and that same Door Dasher that delivered the combo meal? They’ve all been marginalized to the point that they don’t believe their voice matters. 

They, and we, buy the big lie that Democrats and Republicans tell us: that it is the other side’s fault. 

“The (insert opposition party here) are literally ruining the country.”

I call bullshit.

And the next time you hear someone whining about the other side, I implore you to call bullshit as well.

We are not Republicans.

We are not Democrats.

We are Americans.

🔴 ⚪️ 🔵

Question for the comments:

1. What say you on the state of labor in America?

   🇺🇸

   🇺🇸

   🇺🇸

   Do you have a friend who would like this? Click below to share it with them:

   Refer a friend

1. This week I’m sharing another BIBO (Book I Bailed On) because I saw it in the bookstore the other day. The title is Ghosts of Panama, and it was written by actor Mark Harmon (he actually co-wrote it, but I will spare his co-author the ignominy). I really wanted to like this, not just because I am a huge NCIS fan, but also because Harmon was an outstanding college football player back in the day.

   Unfortunately, the book sucked. Kind of like a couple of his nephews, who formed the hair band Nelson. Although, that fact is canceled out by one of his cool brother-in-laws, John DeLorean. Yes, that DeLorean.

   

   

   

2. Thanks to my friends Sheila Moeschen and Michael Maupin for inviting me to participate in the Curious George Questionnaire last week. If you missed it, and want to learn more about yours truly, you can find it here.

3. This newsletter, along with the accompanying SilentPunt podcast, now has over 200 subscribers. Thanks to you all!

   If you are not a subscriber yet, you can do so below. Always free. Occasionally interesting. Usually fun.

4. In this week’s GOING DEEP I’ve cut and pasted a copy of a weekly newsletter I receive. I signed up a few months ago on the premise that the author was a male my age, who seemed reasonable. Well, he might be my age, but that’s about all we have in common.

   You ladies always complain about the crazy standards society tries to hold you to. Take solace in the fact that you are not alone.

GOING DEEP:

Do Middle-Aged Men Have Anyone To Emulate That Isn’t A D-bag?

Prior to the piece in question, there was an advertisement for NADS. What is NADS you ask? Well, it is organic underwear for men. Because of course it is. I swear, if anyone in my grandfather’s generation ran into ANYONE wearing $34 underwear, they would beat the ever-loving bejeezus out of them on principle alone.

Below is the newsletter:

(His words are in italics, mine are in bold)

If I’ve learned anything over the last decade, it’s that midlife is rarely about one thing. It’s deep, nuanced, imperfect, confusing, and clear all at the same time. And it can be overwhelming, if you let it. That’s why the goal for this period of our lives is simple: Master the middle. Not by comparing or competing, but by becoming the best versions of ourselves. By being able to look in the mirror and be proud of the man staring back.

OK, this is how they get you. I vibe with all of this.

Did I just say vibe? Shit. Maybe I’m as big a jack wagon as this guy.

Anyway, this paragraph is likely similar to what I read that initially got me to subscribe.

.

This week is a big one for me because for the first time ever we’re taking both of our sons to college. In the span of about 5 days my wife and I will move our boys into college and then be on our own. I’m emotional just writing about it. One way I cope is to break things down into individual pieces and focus on them as they come.

This past week, that has meant a 16-hour car ride with my son while adjusting my schedule to keep writing, keep seeing clients, and to stay consistent with my fitness and mindset. 

OMG he had me until mindset. Next thing you know he’ll be talking about “the grind” 🤮.

And also, clients? Who are these clients? Oh, that is what this newsletter is about, right? You want me to become a client. So I can be as cool as you, right? Maybe then I can hang out with you at the homecoming dance?

Or the moon tower party?

I’m also handling a business deal I’m pulling money out of, the emotional cost of confronting someone who has disappointed me and the daily success we’re seeing with (name redacted) as several of our recent columns have gone mainstream and we want to capitalize on that. 

I mean, have douchyier words ever been written?

Yes, douchyier is a word. 

Google it.

Nerd.

.

What I keep coming back to is simplicity. Because the little things are the big things. 

The little things aren’t the big things.

That’s why they are called the little things.

Sixteen hours in the car with my son. No phones, just us. Talking. Driving through Texas and Colorado. One of our favorite traditions. 

With my son, I felt connected. At peace. One morning, as we crossed into Oklahoma with the sun blazing to our left, driving down Donald J. Trump Highway (yes, that’s a thing…) while listening to I’m on Fire by Springsteen, I thought, “Could it get any more American than this?” 

A) No chance a teenager spent 16 hours not on their phone. Unless they’ve been lobotomized.

B) Yes, it could be more American. You could be pulled over for your race. Or deported. You entitled, hipster dufus.

By the time we hit Denver, we grabbed lunch at a food hall, checked out a Rockies game, and collapsed into naps before dinner.  

What in the name of all things holy is a food hall? Are you at a college? Then it’s a dining hall. Are you at a high school? Then it’s a cafeteria. Are you at a place of business that sells food?

Then it’s called a restaurant.

.

A morning hike, a plunge, some writing, a few coaching calls. Life is busy, but when I simplify, it all feels aligned. 

A plunge? How about you plunge into Dante’s tenth circle of hell and never email me again? Seriously, I don’t understand rich guys’ obsession with cold plunges.

We had breakfast with Sterling Hawkins, an incredible human being. The best part was sitting back and watching my son and him talk.

I don’t know who this Hawkins guy is, but I’m pretty sure the author is hoping the dumbasses that read this confuse him with Stephen Hawking.

I do my best to write honestly, speak honestly, and live honestly. My fuse is short when others don’t. Just this week, I pulled out of a venture fund because I lost trust in the founder. I don’t care if it’s going to make money. I can’t be in business with people whose words and actions don’t align. Life is too short. 

Honestly, I don’t know what makes a person sound more like a tool…venture fund talk or alignment talk.

Who among us is aligned anyway? Aren’t we all just trying our best to hang on for dear life?

I wake up early no matter where I am. Walking down Arapahoe in Boulder at 6:45 am, I hear my name being called. Bart Foster flagged me down. He was already headed home from a workout. I was grabbing a coffee. These are the little moments.

“I wake up early no matter where I am.” Says a guy who was never in charge of the 3 a.m. feeding. Also, I don’t know who Bart is and I don’t care. Name drops don’t work if people don’t know the name.

And of course he was in Boulder. Where else do middle-aged hipsters with beards hang out these days?

Baby Boomers had Vail.

Gen Xers have Boulder.

Millennials and Gen Z have their parent’s house.

.

I’m an older guy with an older audience now, and in the best way. My recent empty nest column hit 224,000 views with hundreds of comments and emails from others going through the same thing. That’s connection. That’s my reality now. 

OMG I hate this douche canoe so much. Not even a humble brag. Just a straight-up brag. Please, oh please, you glamorous yet virile colossus of a man - tell me how I can be like you.

I also remember my own college move-in. My mom was there. My dad wasn’t; he was bedridden with cancer. She told anyone who would listen that her husband was dying, and then she’d cry. I was mortified, embarrassed, insecure. You never know what anyone is going through.

Ah geez, that stinks. I understand how he feels, even though that didn’t happen to me, I empathize. Maybe I should be a little nicer.

Note to self: Don’t give this man your money just because you connected with his writing slightly. Remember, he is a jag-off.1

.

Now, decades later, after getting my oldest son squared away, I’m about to move my youngest son into college in Los Angeles. My wife is sad. I don’t like when my wife is sad. We’re gonna stay in LA for a few extra days and my goal is to make her smile. 

Preach brother. Preach.

Seriously Henny, do NOT buy anything from this man.

He. Is. Not. Your. Friend.

.

Midlife isn’t about one thing. It’s about everything, all at once. The joy, the pain, the wins, the losses, the clarity, the confusion. 

The key isn’t control, it’s acceptance. Simplify. Connect. Be honest. Stay present. 

Remember: Enjoy the little things. They’re the big things. 

In health, 

Hue Juhsoul

(This is not his real name)

So, to sum up:

Simplify: You know, cold plunge, travel weekly, grow a douchy beard, and work out in the morning while your wife does all of the parenting.

Connect: With everyone except your children. And name-drop as often as possible.

Be honest: Like, honestly, let everyone know how cool you are.

Stay Present:

Ok, you folks have suffered enough. Signing off for the week,

I’ve been known to have a bit of a temper. Back in my coaching days, our postseason staff parties were funded largely through my contributions to the communal swear jar.

The president of our university would occasionally run around the track during our practices, and in those instances, a designated staff member was always assigned to alert me to his presence.

Lest I drop a “JESUS!! FU*KING RUN IT AGAIN!!!!” within earshot of the prez, who happened also to be a Lutheran Pastor.

But I’m getting better with the cussing. Just don’t ask my daughter.

Seriously though, little things don’t tend to bother me as much as they used to. Which is why it is so surprising to me that mobility scooters irritate me. 

As I mentioned earlier this year, we visited Disney World in the spring for my daughter’s cheer competition. When we first started going to Disney a few years ago, I was shocked by how many people I saw driving around in these scooters. I had seen them elsewhere, but the sheer volume of them at Disney was astounding.

I don’t remember these at all growing up in the 80s & 90s. 

Do you remember them? 

They must’ve been around, right? 

I graduated from college in 1998 and dove headfirst into my career. Being a college football coach was all-consuming. Whatever free space my brain had was quickly filled with my relationship with my wife, and then the birth of our daughter.

Essentially, my head was in the sand outside of family and football. So, maybe the explosion in number of these carts was more gradual than it seemed to me.

However it happened, one of two things must have transpired during that time. 

Either:

A) America had gotten infinitely sicker, older, and fatter.

or,

B) Disney had become more inclusive to sick, old, and fat people.

My initial inclination was that the answer was B. Which I thought was pretty cool.

One of our last family trips growing up was to Disney World. My parents saved up all year for us to go, and we drove to Orlando in their station wagon, stopping here and there along the way. 

Picture the Griswolds, without the dead Aunt.

Anyway, at the time of this trip, my oldest sister was recovering from a major surgery on her ankle. She had been in a cast from her foot all the way up to her hip for several months and was still periodically using a wheelchair. 

Couple this with us visiting the scorched Earth that is Orlando in the middle of August, and the entire trip was a challenge. I have vivid memories of visiting the two parks that were there at the time (EPCOT had opened somewhat recently, and it suuuucked), but exactly zero memories of anyone helping us.

We pushed my sister around in her wheelchair. Waited in lines. Sweated our asses off like everyone else. 

So it would’ve been awesome to have had one of those scooters for her at the time. And I say this not just because of the ability to circumnavigate the exorbitantly long lines at the rides (which is a whole other story).

If you know me or read my stuff at all, you know I enjoy poking fun at Millennials and Gen Z. It’s kinda like shooting fish in a barrel. However, having spent many years coaching them and now the past few parenting one, I can say at least one positive thing about them: They have infinitely more empathy for others than previous generations. 

Like anything positive, however, if taken too far this can become a negative. Everyone knows a child will thrive more with parents who love them as opposed to those who would abuse them. But we all know those parents who love their children TOO much. 

They love them so much that they remove all impediments. They make their child’s lives too easy. 

I feel like these mobility scooters are emblematic of this. When I first see one, my initial thoughts are positive. I think about how nice it is that someone struggling has the ability to get around just like everyone else and can participate in all the fun that others are having.

But as I see them over and over again, and the people riding in them, my feelings change. Overwhelmingly, the people riding in them are not elderly, they are not in casts, and they do not have any outward sign of disability. 

The vast majority of them are morbidly obese. 

Let me be frank: I have a hard time feeling empathy for these folks. Some reading this will agree with me, and some will think I’m an a-hole. 

For what it’s worth, I don’t really care. In all of those years coaching football, I became numb to certain people thinking I was an a-hole. It’s the price you pay sometimes for telling someone something they don’t want to hear. 

Besides, in the majority of instances, someone else’s opinion of you speaks more about who they are than who you are. 

Obesity is a choice. 

As is addiction. And infidelity. And any number of other negative human behaviors.

Our society’s propensity to label these things as ‘diseases’ is not only destructive, it is dishonest. Yes, someone may be more genetically predisposed to have more of an addictive personality than others. 

But don’t tell me being a drug addict is the same thing as having cancer.

I choose every day not to overeat. 

To not do drugs.

To not cheat on my wife (and no sweetie, I’m not considering it either ❤️). 

Is there something in my DNA that makes it easier for me to do that than others? Probably. 

Does my upbringing and whatever privileges that came with it contribute as well? No question.

But it is still a choice. If it were not a choice, then obese people would never lose weight via diet and exercise. And addicts would not get clean. Ever. 

The vast majority of people who overcome these types of struggles credit themselves for finally making the change.

Certainly, things like twelve-step programs, family intervention, professional support, and pharmaceuticals play a role in helping some, if not all, of these individuals.

But for the most part, they simply get ‘tired of being tired.’ They ‘hit rock bottom.’ Use whatever colloquialism you choose. So, if they can do it - anyone can do it. 

It just might be harder.

Such is life. 

We recently had this discussion with our teenage daughter about school. Some kids are more intelligent than others. Does that mean she can’t get as good of grades as kids who are smarter than her?

Nope.

But to do so, she’ll need to work harder than they do.

Again, such is life.

I’ve written in the past about the lies that our government tells us. 

Lies that bring our nation to war. Lies that take advantage of the downtrodden and less fortunate. But these lies of empathy that we’re telling ourselves, our friends, and our families can be just as harmful in the long run. 

So maybe we need a little less empathy. 

And a few more assholes.

PS - In some of the social media previews of this post, there is a picture of Kramer and George shopping for something. Shout-out to the first person who can name the item the sales guy tries to sell them.

1. But first, dogs:

2. This week Travis and I talked about a bunch of stuff on the SilentPunt Podcast (here). Our discussion on Israel & Palestine seemed to interest some folks. So naturally, as I perused my books, I picked one about religion. No Man Knows My History: The Life of Joseph Smith, by Fawn M. Brodie, tells the story of the creation of the Mormon religion.

   

   In a word, this story is RE-DONK-U-LUS. I’m pretty sure this is why I didn’t vote for Mitt Romney. Oh what I wouldn’t do to have him in the Oval right now.

   Do you need more dogs in your life? Or more humor? Or less of the Dallas Cowboys? Then subscribe here……

GOING DEEP:

Gents, Just Because Joe Burrow Is A Stud, It Doesn’t Mean We Want To See Your Ankles

I started writing this piece as a diatribe about those ‘men’ who have given up on life and walk their asses around in public wearing pajama pants. Unfortunately, as I wrote it, my disdain for human beings other than myself seemed to seep in a bit too much.

(Sample paragraph: Pajamas? How big of a piece of shit do you have to be as a grown man to walk around in broad daylight in pajamas? You may as well be wearing a sign that reads, “I am currently living with my mother, love cats & Mountain Dew, and am possibly infertile.”)

Apparently real men are dog lovers in my post-tumor, pre-CTE brain.

So, I shelved the entire thing.

Then a funny thing happened. I started to see more pants that bothered me. 

And not just joggers. 

A few years ago, the trend of wearing funky socks came in for men. Which meant guys started wearing their pants a little higher on their ankles in order to show off said socks. 

Again, fine. 

As men, we don’t have as many ways to accessorize and fashionize ourselves as women. So, this seemed reasonable. Not so reasonable that I, as a self-respecting, lumberjack of a man, would participate in such shenanigans. 

I’ve spent a lifetime of dressing in a way so as to NOT stand out.

To blend in.

In all of my years growing up I never once wore sweatpants, let alone pajama pants, to school. And I certainly never wore joggers because they weren’t even a thing yet.

Now, I’m not saying I wore nice pants. Unless you consider OshKosh B’Gosh slacks from Kmart nice. But they were pants. And I may only have had three or four pairs, but my mom made damn sure they were clean before I left the house. 

But I digress.

As seems to happen as we age, I’m softening on certain opinions. Including pants.

Just the other night I was watching a show on Netflix about NFL quarterbacks. One of the guys they featured, Joe Burrow, is very into fashion. 

For those of you who are not football fans, let me fill you in:

Joe Burrow is a stud.

A dog.

A bad man. 

Maybe I am just too uptight. Perhaps I should step out of my comfort zone. If Joe Burrow, a bastion of masculinity and virility can do it, surely I can as well. 

Cut to the very next morning, and I am at the car dealership getting an oil change. The waiting area is right next to the cars for sale, and therefore, the car salesmen1. 

Then I saw it: One of the salesmen in some type of pink suit. Ladies, I know there is a name for this type of pink. You have more names for colors than Matthew McConaughey has for strains of weed. But I don’t know what type of pink it was. 

I learned the colors of the rainbow in first grade and considered that good. Mauve? Fuchsia? Cerulean? Periwinkle?

Take your commie colorboard and chat it up with Bob Ross for all I care.

(Did you know this past July 4th was the 30th anniversary of his death….can you believe that????).

But fine, the suit was pink.

Whatever.

But it was also ill-fitting. And for me to notice an ill-fitting suit you know it had to be bad. My mind immediately went to visualizing this Pillsbury Doughboy of a man squeezing into them that morning.

Jockey shorts and all. 🤮

Then the pièce de résistance: all black shoes, NO socks, and pants that stopped at the base of his calves.

THE BASE OF HIS CALVES.

He walked by time and time again. Each time, I averted my eyes. 

The Burrow-fed confidence of the previous evening had now evaporated.

So, men of America, I implore you:

• When you choose your dress pants, choose wisely.

• Do not wear pajama pants in public.

• And for the love of Pete, do not do this…..

__________

What say you IN THE COMMENTS:

• Men: Can you pull off wearing dress pants that show your ankles?

• Women: How hip do you like your man to dress? Very Hip, Mid-Hip, No-Hip?

• All: Did you get the ‘you are no Joe Burrow’ reference?

1. Thanks to my Substack friend Matt Cyr for filling in for an MIA Travis on the SilentPunt Podcast this week. We talked about Philly & Southern food, Hulk Hogan and Pro Wrestling, College Football, and AI in banking. Find it here.

   Subscribe below if you were forwarded this email. Unless you’re a nincompoop. Or from Dallas.

2. Speaking of Travis, he and I have both discussed previously the most despicable people on the planet. No, not Cowboys fans. People who don’t return their shopping carts. We have found our spirit animal….

3. This week’s book recommendation is Weapons Of Math Destruction: How Big Data Increases Inequality And Threatens Democracy, by Cathy O’Neil. If you are as big a dork as I am about AI and algorithms, this may not be the book for you, as there was a lot of stuff in here I’ve read before. So I skimmed a bit, but still found it enjoyable and informative. Right in the SilentPunt wheelhouse.

   

4. Shout out to Lisa Hides, as her post A Midlife Mom Writes A Porno, was the inspiration for this week’s GOING DEEP. If you haven’t read it do so now! Ok, not literally now, but like later. Definitely later.

GOING DEEP:

He awakes after five hours of mostly pee-interrupted, frigid sleep. She has the temperature in the house all the way down to 63 degrees overnight. Cool enough for her perimenopausal self to sleep soundly, as well as hasten the creeping arthritis in his back and knees. 

Stepping on three jagged dog toys on his way to yet another bladder emptying, he ensures his partner in matrimonial bliss stays happily asleep by using his cell phone to light the way to the bathroom.

All is well until he emits an unintentionally loud, “fu*k,” after stepping on the carcass of yet another half-annihilated dog toy. Pausing for a moment to ensure his Queen’s beauty rest remains intact, he enters the bathroom again for the night’s last urination. 

Or is it the new day’s first? In the fog of his early onset CTE and wafting aroma of Pottery Barn furniture, it is hard to tell.

She may be Queen of this particular domicile. What, with her stylish pumps, killer career, and effervescent personality. However, should it please the court, I ask: “Can she hit a 260-yard draw around a dog-leg left?”

I think not.

Case dismissed.

Next, he is off to deal with the two sleeping canines in the laundry room. Both mother and child love the pooch companions with all of their hearts. Mother even goading father into rescuing the second one with veiled threats of divorce. 

Or worse, celibacy.

It is only right, then, that he is in charge of their morning routine. Which on this day consists of also cleaning the cage of the beagle, who very thoughtfully has puked out the remnants of the sock he stole and devoured from the child’s bedroom last week. 

What with her busy schedule of watching TikTok videos and purchasing used sweat apparel on resale clothing websites, the teenage daughter cannot be concerned with keeping her socks in the proper receptacle.

After the rancid-smelling dog cage and laundry room have been cleaned, the dogs walked and fed, laundry sorted and started, it is off to wake the Princess from her twelve-hour slumber. 

The teenager has two alarm clocks (excluding the one on her phone, which is currently three inches from her head), but cannot be awakened by anything other than her parents.

To whom she growls at upon seeing with her first light of this glorious day.

And these jokes about the child, funny as they may be, are in no way an effort by the father to mask his insecurities. Insecure because this 15-year-old is smarter, kinder, and funnier than he can ever hope to be.

Yeah, well, can she pee standing up?

Upon re-entry to the master bedroom, he finds his wife has finally joined the land of the living. Admiring her sinewy yet glamourously hourglass frame, cattywompous hair, and fuzzy socks, he wonders what he has done to be so lucky.

The day proceeds like most others: 

• Daughter texting her needs from school (where cell phones are prohibited), and father ignoring said texts. 

• Preparation of weekly meals, the majority of which will not be consumed.

• Completing inside and outside chores, including, but not limited to:

  a. Multiple duvet changes. 

  b. Power washing the already clean deck, so that it looks cleaner.

  c. Returning clothing to four different stores (in four different shopping centers), that had been purchased online by wife, but curiously, need to be returned in person.

After the high school day concludes, he is there to pick up the daughter. Never mind his tax dollars, which allow for school buses that could theoretically shuttle her home.

In the infinite wisdom of the local school district the ride to their home, which would be a 10-minute walk, entails a 55-minute trek through the local community before finally delivering the child to the neighborhood.

All of this rendering pointless the purchase of a home for its proximity to schools. The father has been told by his elders that someday his child will be appreciative of things such as these. That all of the moodiness and attitude he is receiving now will be repaid tenfold. 

Maybe he will even be lucky enough to bask in the glory of grandchildren. Who will become moody and entitled teenagers just in time for it to be the last thing he experiences before the sweet release of death.

The rest of the afternoon is filled with dinner preparations, dog wrangling, Uber driving (the free variety), and ignoring text threads varying in degrees of woke-ism, misogynistic undertones, and golf TikToks. 

Thus are the circles that this middle-aged man, who has both liberal and conservative friends, finds himself in. He has toes dipped in multiple rivers, none of which he calls home.

But both of which he will pee in.

Dinner is served as a family for the first time in a week. After being partially consumed, the teenager clears the dishes, as this is one of her three chores. She cheerfully finishes putting the last one into the dishwasher and asks, “Can I go back upstairs now?”

Alas, more TikToks await. 

Wife then whispers to husband in a quiet, sultry voice, “You wanna do it?”

Husband replies: “Totally, I’ll get the peanut oil.”

With that, they proceed to make the homemade popcorn they enjoy several nights a week as they partake in their lone television program of the day. Air-popped, organic kernels, covered with peanut oil and truffle salt.

Truly orgasmic.

Later that evening, the wife is unable to sleep. As her body roasts and pulsates from perimenopausal heat sweats, she slides a foot under her husband’s leg. Comatose from the popcorn-NCIS-whiskey trifecta, he doesn’t budge.

She slides closer, both feet now under his legs, her head nestled close to his. Still, nary a stir from this utterly useless, log of a man. 

She decides to take that log into her own hands. He awakens, dazed and excited, and they are off to the races.

When they finish, she fulfilled and oddly cool, rolls over to bask in six more uninterrupted hours of glorious slumber.

He gets up to pee.

Did you have fun reading this? Click below to refer a friend! You didn’t have fun? Then why the frick are you still here? Go watch a Cowboys game, you hoser.

Refer a friend

1. Instead of a book recommendation this week, I am giving out the inaugural BIBO Award. BIBO stands for “Book I Bailed On.” I’ve talked with some of you before about this: I have very little patience for books (and TV shows or movies for that matter) that take forever to get going.

   .

   OUTLIVE: The Science & Art of Longevity, by Peter Attia, MD, is a colossal waste of time. I read the first 70 pages of this book and learned nothing. Attia keeps talking about what he’s going to tell you, but never gets to it. So, I scanned forward a bit and can tell you what I would’ve learned had I continued to slog through the remaining 300+ pages: eat real food, exercise daily, sleep well, use your brain, and stay socially engaged.

   .

   Feel free to Venmo me $12, the going rate for this book on Amazon, for saving you the trouble.

   

2. Did you know the SilentPunt Podcast is on Apple and Spotify? Just type in SilentPunt in the search function, and it’ll pop right up. Earlier this week Travis and I talked about cheating, the best advice we’ve ever received, soccer, and parenting fails. Plus some other fun stuff….find it here on Substack.

   Do you have something you'd like us to discuss next? Reply to this email and let us know!!

GOING DEEP:

Matthew McConaughey Is Living Rent Free Inside My Head

I’ve been a part of many groups in my life:

• Growing up, I was raised Catholic.

• I’ve been a part of both large and small families. Very early in my life, I had a large extended family. Then, around the age of 12, roughly three-quarters of that family disappeared. (No, not in like, a supernatural way. The typical way families fracture: estrangement.)

• I’ve been a part of a family where your ethnic background very much plays into who you are (Irish & Italian), and one where it doesn’t (through marriage). 

• And then there were my football families. I was a part of many different ones, both as a player and a coach. We had all of the same characters a large family would:

The angry uncle. (I’m looking in your direction, Sully.)

The sage elder. (Thanks for everything Norm, especially helping secure the Chapel for our wedding).

The Black Sheep that Dad just can’t stop loving. (Billy, does your breath still reek of alcohol at work?).

We even had some female characters. Mostly, they were played by semi-elderly ladies who were about as effective at their jobs as this one here on the left. How did that cigarette ash never fall?

If you’ve read anything about group dynamics, you know that 150 is the magic number. That number, often referred to as “Dunbar’s Number,” 1is the sweet spot for social interaction. In groups at or below that number, one-on-one social connections will flourish. Start to drift above that number, and it becomes hard for the group to be cohesive.

(Raise your hand if you currently work for a company that has over 150 employees. Group dynamics are a challenge, right?)

Research further, and you’ll learn the reason behind that number. As with many things, it is a matter of natural selection. In order for the human species to survive and advance (#theoriginalmarchmadness), we needed to make sure one cataclysmic event couldn’t knock us out in one fell swoop (remember this).

So, the fracturing of these relationships was Mother Nature’s way of encouraging us to break off into smaller groups, thereby diversifying our species. 

__________________

Today, these ‘groups’ are often looked at through a pejorative lens. The Irish/Italian Catholics I grew up with are racist. Football people are misogynistic. Married white men are part of the patriarchy.

But as with so much in our society right now I see those accusations as projections. 

Bear with me: Do you remember these nerds from Dazed and Confused?

Throughout the beginning part of the film, they go back and forth discussing the ills of their situation. The ‘70s are lame, the jocks are dumb, and who wants to just go and get drunk anyway?

But then, as the movie progresses:

Tony finds a connection with a girl….

Mike gets his ass kicked at the Moon Tower party….

And Cynthia connects with Wooderson, the cool, older guy.

Well fu*k. Why does everything have to come back to that frickin guy? To newcomers in the SilentPunt universe, Matthew McConaughey (who played Wooderson in the film) is our Lex Luther. Our Newman. The Bane of our existence.

We can’t seem to shake him.

Anywho, why did I bring up three nerds from a 32-year-old movie in the first place? Because, prior to being part of the group, they thought the group was lame. But once they became a part of it, they kind of enjoyed the experience. 

Once you’re a member of a group, there is a sense of freedom that you don’t experience around others outside of that group. You can be yourself. Everyone knows your picadillos, and whether they like them or not, they accept you. 

Even in a football locker room, where guys could receive some of the most vicious verbal assaults imaginable, there was an underlying understanding that the dude on the receiving end was one of us. 

So, the next time you find yourself being judgmental of another group, pause and ask yourself:

What Would Wooderson Do?

#WWWD #AlrightAlrightAlright

_______________

Did you remember one fell swoop? Kudos to those of you who did, here’s your reward:

I’m chugging along towards my goal of having 200 subscribers by the end of the summer. Do you have a friend or family member who you think might enjoy this? If yes, share it with them here:

Refer a friend

1. This week I received a couple of really nice and thoughtful comments from listeners of the SilentPunt Podcast (episode #26 here). They were from people who, prior to those comments, I didn’t even know listened.

   .

   While I don’t do the podcast or this newsletter to get pats on the back, it certainly feels nice knowing that something you’ve worked hard on is appreciated.

2. As you may have noticed in recent months, I’ve started to enjoy reading fiction a bit more

   

   Seriously though, this week’s book recommendation is a novel by author and Substacker J.F. Riordan. A few months ago I recommended her memoir, Reflections of a Life in Exile, but recently I purchased the first installment in her North of the Tension Line series. I thought the July 4th holiday would give me a good chunk of time to start it. Well, I’m almost finished with it now and I’m absolutely loving it.

   

3. I think the reason I’m loving J.F.’s book, and fiction in general, goes back to something Travis & I talked about on the podcast earlier this week: meditation.

   .

   Personally, I find it difficult to sit still and meditate. But I have several activities that I find meditative. Things that, as I am doing them, I am so immersed in them that my brain is only focused on that one thing.

   .

   All of a sudden1, you look up and you’ve been doing this activity for an hour. That’s how I feel about North of the Tension Line. It is taking me to another place, and I feel fully immersed there.

4. Meditation, reading, blah, blah, blah…..how about some good ol’ fashioned violence:

   Every NFL video of greatest hits always has to include former Eagles QB Ron Jaworski getting absolutely obliterated. How that man is still a functioning member of society I’ll never know. Oh hey, please subscribe!

   GOING DEEP:

   What’s Your Answer to the Question: “What Do You Do?”

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   A while back I wrote about our culture’s obsession with labels. Specifically, labeling generations (here). But what about you as an individual? What’s your label?
   
   When someone asks you what you do, what is your answer? Is it an easy answer or a hard one? Do you have more than one answer?
   
   Whatever your answer, you are revealing something about yourself to the asker. And those answers are codified in status. 
   
   If someone tells you they are a teacher, and another person tells you they are a professor….is your perception of them the same? Probably not. Because in your mind you have an opinion of what both of those things are.
   
   When I think of a teacher, I think of an elderly female elementary school teacher wearing an old-lady dress. When I think of a professor, I think of a nerdy old man, dressed in an old, ill-fitting blazer. I think this, even though the best teacher I ever had was a male high school English teacher. And the best professor I ever had was a female who always, as far as I can remember, dressed sharply. 

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   And it’s not just appearance. There are all sorts of other assumptions we make: the teacher's life is cushy because they have summers off; the professor is probably a genius; the teacher is probably an extrovert; the professor is probably an introvert. 
   
   On and on.  
   
   The world is full of these assumptions. 
   
   But how often does getting these assumptions wrong hurt us?
   
   

   

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   Have you ever heard a military veteran refer to themselves as a combat veteran? You know what they are doing right? They are making sure you know that they were actually in battle. Not like those other veterans that stayed stateside, or slung hash under the decks of some ship in the Mediterreanean. 
   
   How about a nurse? Do they introduce themselves as a trauma nurse? A NICU nurse? Or just a nurse?
   
   I am not the exception to the rule. When people used to ask me what I did for a living I said, “college football coach.” I didn’t say “coach” or “football coach.” Because I was more than that, and I thought my label should reflect it. 
   
   Invariably, after introducing myself as a college football coach, I’d get a nice smile from whoever asked and something like, “Oh wow, that’s cool.” But as often happens in life, the other shoe would drop with the question of, “where do you coach?” 
   
   Whatever D3 school was my answer at the time was always an air out of the balloon moment for this person. Here they were thinking maybe they’d hear some cool story or juicy gossip about some famous person they knew, or even perhaps take a selfie with a famous college football coach. 
   
   Then nope, just some slapdi*k making 50k a year coaching 6-foot-235-pound offensive linemen.

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   But how we all view the world is so different anyway. If my wife and I run into the same person we haven’t seen in a while, but at separate times, she might say something like: “Did you notice she changed her hair?”   
   
   And I’m like, “She has hair?”  
   
   However, I might notice that she didn’t mention her middle daughter. And she always talks about her middle daughter. Is everything ok with that girl? What age should she be again? Maybe all the previous talk was just overcompensation.   
   
   Maybe instead of being proud of her, she is embarrassed by her, and that’s why she always talks about her? Because she doesn’t want everyone else to find out what a shit show she is. 
   
   But maybe now she’s not a shit show, and her mom doesn’t know how to work that into conversation: “Hey, remember Becky, yeah, she’s not as much of a fu*knut anymore.”    
   
   Then I remember most parents don’t refer to their children as fu*knuts.  
   
   Most parents anyway.  
   
   The point is, we all have different perspectives. And the more we try to live our lives in an effort to fit into some idealized version of who we think we should be, the less time we are spending being who we truly are.  
   
    ____________    
   
   

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   I’d love to hear from you in the comments:  

   1. How do you answer the “What do you do” question?

   2. How do you feel when you are asked that question?

   3. Are you truly interested in the answer to the question when you are the one asking it?

1. Shout-out to my Substack friend Lindsey Smith for helping edit this week’s GOING DEEP. If you are not subscribing to her yet, do it NOW; she’s a riot!

2. If you are a fan of football, cars, business…or just plain fantastic writing, this week’s book recommendation is for you. American Icon: Alan Mulally And The Fight To Save Ford Motor Company, by Bryce G. Hoffman, tells the in-depth story of Ford. Specific emphasis is placed on the post-2008 era when Mulally, then the new CEO, beat the odds and turned Ford back into a winner. In the years since this book was published, the Lions have become winners as well.

   

3. Earlier this week, Travis and I put out a July 4th special edition of the SilentPunt Podcast (find it here). We discuss all the things we love about the Independence Day holiday. Including these fireworks from Lake Placid, NY….

GOING DEEP:

Bezos Wedding Appetizer: This Elevated PB&J Sandwich Will Change Your Life

Are you a busy parent? Someone who needs multiple snacks during the day, but struggles finding the right combination of ingredients that meet your needs? Are you also someone who is highly susceptible to aspirational advertising?

Well, I’ve got just the thing for you. Having recently returned to the states from a weekend abroad at the Bezos wedding, I want to share this recipe with you. Served poolside (and by pool, I mean the Adriatic Sea, which had been rented out for the affair), this elevated take on the classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich will fill your belly and help you power through that midday slump. 

And who knows, maybe ingesting these sammys filled with the yummy ingredients listed below will help you procure Jeff’s pecs or Lauren’s malleable melatonin.

As with any good recipe, this one begins with its base. For the bread they selected a sourdough variety baked in oversized, coal-fired, steam retention-enhanced Dutch ovens. The ovens, imported directly from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, were powered by twenty-five Amish men (also imported). 

Lightly toasted over the embers of fair trade practices, this bread not only tasted heavenly, but the nutty yet tender flavor of the bread served to enhance the interaction of the main ingredients. An added bonus was the 3X dose of fiber provided by the minimally processed pea protein flour. 

Your colon won’t know what hit it.

Next up was the peanut butter. Ethically sourced from a small farm in Ethiopia, all proceeds of its sale go to save the indigenous woolly baboons that are now making a comeback in the region. Pushed to extinction for decades, you can now see these crimson keistered monkeys throwing feces at locals on every street corner in the area.

For the jelly they chose a nutrient-dense strawberry preserve. In addition to naturally occurring beta blockers, these berries had been infused with high-grade THC sourced from the finest basements in Colorado. The slight hint of Mary Jane provided a modest high to go with the creamy, savory feel of the jelly on your tongue. 

The pièce de résistance for this elevated take on an American staple was arugula. This non-GMO, upscale lettuce originated from fields in the the Yumas Valley, Arizona, on a farm that partners with a small community in Medellin, Mexico. 

The partnership swaps arugula for blow, as well as underserved youths from both communities who participate in a cultural exchange program. 

The Mexican teens learn how to work twelve-hour days in the glorious sunshine of the Sonoran Desert, while their American counterparts educate Mexican youth on vital topics like TikTok and how to give off a stellar rizz. 

Lastly, attendees who paid for the VIP package also had their PB&Js drizzled in Thai Sweet Chili sauce. Imported directly from Bangkok, procurement of this chili was facilitated by The Clinton Foundation. 

While I was unable to find the cost of this particular product, one can assume it will be widely trafficked, now that the world has found out about it.

This superfood snack is sure to be all the rage in summer ‘25. Vegan and gluten-free, this mega-fiber sandwich is diverse enough for all of the white people at your next invite-only party to enjoy. 

Just make sure to have extra toilet paper. 

1. The Athena melon has made its way back to Wisconsin. Larger, sweeter, and softer than a traditional cantaloupe, this fruit is only available here for about a month. Keep an eye out for them if you’ve never tried one, they are AMAZING!

   

2. This week’s book recommendation is Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media, by Edward S. Herman and Noam Chomsky. Originally published in 1988, I think it is uniquely pertinent these days. In short, it talks about how our mainstream media does not do a good job of educating the public. Rather, they do a great job of propagating the viewpoint of corporate and government interests. Not through ill intent, but in essence because of how these structures have been built over the course of their development.

   

3. Earlier this week on the SilentPunt Podcast (here), Travis and I discussed four topics as usual. In the last topic, Iran, we talked about our government using military action as a distraction. A day after we taped the show, I came across this article discussing Trump’s ‘Big Beautiful Bill’.

   .

   Why does it seem that no one in the media seems to call things like this out? The answer, I believe, lies in my previous book recommendation.

   .

   So maybe, just maybe, the next time you are drawn to rail on how awful Trump is (or how horrible the woke Democrats are), you take a deep breath and consider that both sides are terrible. As long as we as individuals allow our elected officials to trick us into fighting amongst ourselves, we won’t see the grift staring us all in the face.

4. Because of all of this, I’ve really needed to laugh lately. Hopefully, this week’s GOING DEEP makes you chuckle, and maybe think a little as well.

GOING DEEP:

Your Child Should Totally Specialize in Sports

If you follow sports or are a parent of children who participate in them, you’ve likely heard the calls to end specialization at young ages. 

• Evan has to quit football at the age of 10 so that he can be on the year-round travel baseball team.

• Emma is forced to give up softball because her dance team practices four nights a week, every month of the year. 

We’re told these specializations harm kids on multiple levels. 

First and foremost, they rob them of the opportunity to participate in activities that would bring them more joy, even if they suck at them.

Second, specialization increases the risk of overuse injuries caused by the repeated motions used in one particular sport. Severely jeopardizing their .00001% chance of obtaining a scholarship in that sport.

And lastly, they prevent them from meeting and engaging with new friends from different social and economic backgrounds. Forcing them to engage solely with the same group of friends (with the exact same interests as them), completely via Snapchat, TikTok, & Instagram.

“You want me to do what? Talk to them? Eww, no, that’s weird.”

____________________

The rationale above is repeated over and over by high-level athletes, coaches, and the media. But here’s the thing: LeBron James and Patrick Mahomes didn’t make it to be the best in the world at what they do because they played multiple sports. 

They did so in spite of it. 

Because they are awesome. 

They are the best of the best, and have been that way since they first wobbled their way onto a field as toddlers. They are the types of athletes who show up for a sport they’ve never even heard of and, by the end of the day, are running circles around the rest of the competition.

Your child is not LeBron. 

Heck, he’s not even Bronny. 

So I say specialize away. 

Do you know the name Mark Moseley? Most likely, you don’t. Believe it or not he was the MVP of the entire NFL in 1982….as the kicker for the Washington Redskins.

The kicker. 

That season, he converted 20 of his 21 field goal attempts. Take a guess at how far his longest attempt was?

48 yards.

Kickers today routinely make 50+ yard field goals every game. The final two field goals Moseley hit that season, to secure the record for highest make percentage, were 20 and 31 yards, respectively. 

That is shorter than an extra point in today’s game1. 

Oh, and speaking of extra points, in that ‘82 season he missed three of them. Back when those were only 20-yard chip shots. 

Why has kicking improved so much? The same reason runners run faster. And swimmers swim faster. And pitchers throw harder.

Specialization.

But more importantly, the specialization of elite athletes. 

So, I say pay for the pitching coach, the visualization expert, and the stretching guru. Drive your kids all over the country, spend thousands on hotels, fancy uniforms, and personalized travel bags.

It’ll all be worth it someday. 

When you are paying $80,000 a year for them to attend college and play on the intramural frisbee golf team.

1. Did you know kids in school used to learn the and sign (&) with the alphabet? Me neither. It came right after Z (and is technically called an ampersand). I learned that this week listening to The Ezra Klein Show. If you are looking for a new podcast, check it out. Super interesting. (Thanks to subscriber Jason S. for the reccomendation.)

2. This week’s book rec is in keeping with the baseball theme. When Moneyball, by Michael Lewis, was first published in 2003 it ushered in a new era of data analytics. Not just in sports, but in business as well. AI may be all the rage now, but if you haven’t read this book yet you should definitely check it out. As an added bonus, it is so old you should be able to find it in your local library.

   If you are reading this and you are not a subscriber yet, hows about you stop freeloading…..

GOING DEEP:

Travelogue #4, The Pacific Northwest: Books, Body Bags, & Baseball

About seven years ago my dad and I started a quest to visit every major league baseball ballpark. He had spent the previous 50+ years coaching swimming and that summer would be his first not working since he was a teenager. I figured it would be something fun we could do together, while at the same time giving him something to look forward to in that first summer not working.

This year’s trip was our most ambitious yet: a visit to the Pacific Northwest to watch the Mariners, A’s, and Giants. Ambitious because it entailed getting an analog octogenarian from Philadelphia to the Pacific Northwest, via Milwaukee. 

No small task.

1st stop, Seattle:

In my experience Uber drivers fall into one of two categories: either chatty as hell or basically non-communicative. Our driver from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport to our hotel was of the former variety. 

He was from Ethiopia and extremely interested in the day's events. This was last Saturday, the day of one ignominious parade in our nation’s capital and many protests in response. His name was Meleak, and he had lots of questions and had clearly done some reading on his own. 

He and I chatted while my dad pretended to, as his hearing and inability to understand any accent other than Philadelphia-ese didn’t allow him to participate very much.

While talking with Meleak, I remembered thinking that I hadn’t met someone so interested in the American way of life in quite some time. Shame on us for taking for granted the gift we have all been given.

The next day, Sunday, was Father’s Day and a day game for the Mariners. We slept in a bit and walked a few blocks to grab some breakfast. Along the way we saw a handful of city workers cleaning spray paint off of buildings (“F*ck Ice” and “F’ck Trump” messages mostly). After breakfast we headed to the ballpark and were greeted by this guy….

The juxtaposition of all of the vandalism with this gentleman kind of became a theme for our trip. Almost everyone we interacted with while we were out there was super friendly. And you could tell that the cities we were in were uber inclusive when it came to diversity. 

However, there was always an air of desperation that seemed to be lurking. Homelessness and trash will do that I suppose.

The game was great. The Mariners defeated the Guardians1 6-0 on the strength of a grand slam early in the game (punctuated by Thunderstruck roaring in the stadium, shout-out to SilentPunt Podcast listeners). The game was over in two hours, which gave us plenty of time to get to the airport.

We had a plane to catch to Sacramento.

2nd Stop, Sacramento: 

For those of you that are non-baseball fans, this summer is the first year the Oakland A’s are no longer playing in Oakland. Like the NFL’s Raiders before them, they will be moving to Las Vegas2. However, while they wait a few years for their new stadium in sin city to be completed, they are playing in a minor league stadium in Sacramento. 

Since it was a night game we had the entire day in Sacramento to ourselves.

After a great lunch with one of my dad’s former swimmers and his wife (they live in the area) at a super cool little restaurant3 , we decided to check out the state Capitol building. 

Here is my summary of that experience:

1. The state senate was in session. We sat in the gallery for about ten minutes as several speakers spoke about the upcoming Juneteenth holiday. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that 95% of the senators in that chamber were scrolling on their phones the entire time. Meleak would’ve been ashamed.

2. This guy:

   

   3. And this guy:

After that it was off to the game. I am excited about every stadium we visit, but I was uniquely pumped for this one. Minor league stadiums are typically really cool, with lots to do and tons of activities. In fact, the gameday experience that most fans are used to now at major league games comes directly from the minor leagues. 

However, my hopes were quickly dashed. Below is a clip from the classic 80s flick Major League. This is the exact vibe I got when the A’s took the field. (I took a video, but not surprisingly, it is pretty boring to watch.)

In short, this was the worst fan experience I've ever had at a professional sporting event. Check out the enthusiasm….

In one of the few activities they had between innings, the participating fans were playing to win Dippin Dots. As ridiculously shitty of a prize as that is, it isn’t even the worst part.

The MC in charge of the in-game entertainment repeatedly referred to the prize as Dipping Dots. 

DIPPING.

With the G. 

What the actual high-fructose was going on?

3rd Stop, San Francisco:

By this point in the trip we were both fatigued. Kind of like you probably are right now. So, just the highlights:

1. Visited Alcatraz. My second time, my dad’s first. The highlight for me was watching a documentary (about Native Americans occupying the island in the late 60s…did you know about that??) and hearing a Native American woman referring to “sympathetic whites.” I immediately thought that sounded like a great name for an alt-rock punk fusion band out of Berkley. 

   I also met this guy. He is the last surviving inmate from Alcatraz. He didn’t have much to say to me, but made fun of the couple in front of me from Australia. “Ha! You’re from an entire country of damn convicts!”

2. Met this dog:

   

3. I had my dad lock himself in the car the night we arrived while I went and checked us in. He looked at me like I was crazy. I think he got the gist the next morning when we left our hotel and were immediately greeted by two police officers zipping up a body bag:

   

4. It was Italian American night at the game. No cool merch available. Come on paisans.

   Can any of you Seinfeld fans recognize this song? Carissa, how about you??

5. Later in the game they also played the Dominick the Italian Donkey Christmas song. I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure this would be like playing The Village People’s YMCA on PRIDE night.

   On the nose? Sure.

   Lazy? Definitely.

6. Rounding out our musical review: the DJ guy they had sing Take Me Out To The Ballgame got several lyrics wrong. Can we sic ICE on that blasphemer?

7. Saw a shit ton of Waymos. For those of you who aren’t as hip as me and don’t know what they are, they are self-driving taxis:

   

   
   

That’s it until next year’s trip. Hopefully I won’t be as verbose in that edition, so I can expound upon some other topics that did not make the final cut here:

• Seat entering & exiting etiquette (get outta my f’in way people!).

• Fans now apparently boo on the first pick-off attempt.

• Why I would never, and I mean never, give a foul ball to a child.

I’m trying to get to 200 subscribers by the end of the summer. How about you be a mench and refer a friend…

Refer a friend

1. During a round of golf this week, a buddy of mine mentioned he was doing pretty well on TikTok. To the tune of 16,000 followers and earning a few grand each month. My initial thought and comment of, “dude, that is amazing,” quickly morphed into feeling bad about myself and this puny little newsletter.

   .

   And then I checked myself.

   .

   I am truly enjoying doing this. And I have absolutely loved getting to know new people that I consider friends. Online friends, but friends nonetheless. I’ve never had an online friend prior to Substack.

   .

   To the new friends I’ve made, and the old ones I’ve reconnected with:

   THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE.

   If you are reading this and not subscribed, the previous comment does not apply to you. You must subscribe for my friendship. #sorrynotsorry

2. This week’s book rec is We Need To Hang Out: A Memoir of Making Friends by Billy Baker. I read this a few years ago after I retired from coaching and realized I had spent a heck of a lot of time working and building a family, and not nearly enough developing friendships.

   It was delightful, and I’d venture to guess some of you reading this wish you had more friends too.

   (Travis, I’m looking in your direction.)

   

3. This poll is completely anonymous, and this is a judgment-free zone. I periodically watch videos on Instagram (mostly golf instruction - because I suck), but haven’t really done TikTok. I’m interested to hear from you:

GOING DEEP:

Friends: To Hug or Not to Hug

Last weekend we had a couple of friends over for wine and pizza and general merriment. Nothing fancy, just a reason to get together. Like so many, we are busy and don’t often take the time to be with the people we genuinely enjoy being with. 

Hugging was involved. Some hugs were wonderful, some were fine, some were a little weird. It got me thinking: what do other, more well adjusted, humanoids think of this cultural activity?

So, I asked my Substack friends what they thought:

Of the people that responded, most answered A. But coming to any conclusions based off of that is impossible. In my experience people that would truly answer C kind of feel bad about that fact. Not sure why.

Men: for clarification purposes, I am not talking about bro hugs. You totally know when a bro hug is coming: you see a bro, they lean in, they extend their right hand. 

The picture above is how an effective bro hug is initiated. Some men try to initiate the process by using a handshake. This is poor form. It is confusing.

Like, OK cool, we are shaking hands. Ope, nope, he’s getting closer. We’re hugging now I guess.

Women: If you are an A or a B in the chart above, I implore you to initiate hugs with your male friends.

And if you are an anti-hugger, I totally understand. It’s cool. You just need to make sure people are aware.

Lean into it.

Own it.

I have female friends that don’t want hugs. But not all of them tell people they don’t want hugs.

There is nothing worse than hugging someone that doesn’t want to be hugged.

Trust me I know, I have a teenage daughter.

And be demonstrative about it. I’m not talking ass grabbing or anything, I just mean leave no doubt that a hug is imminent. 

There is nothing worse than a half-hearted hug.

Trust me I know, I was raised catholic.

I don’t know what’s worse: eternal damnation or feeling like Mike’s wife Sara is so grossed out by hugging me that she has to crane her neck ninety degrees to keep it as far away from me as humanly possible.

I’m telling you to initiate because men cannot. Or, maybe a better way to put it is we should not.

For whatever reason women friends, and even women that I am not particularly close with, tend to be very forthright with me. I’d like to think it is because I project a very empathetic aura.

Realistically it’s probably because everything about my aura projects non-threatening. Like, “I can tell this guy anything. I bet if I asked nicely I could even get him to clean my gutters.”

More times than I can count I’ve heard of men grossing them out by hugging them. 

“Eww, he’s always sweaty.”

“Ugh, his breath.”

“Oh my god that beard.”

“I just cringe when I see him.”

(But enough about Travis 😂)

So I err on the side of being distant. Lest I come off as gross. Or making a woman feel uncomfortable. 

One argument for demonstrative male initiated hugs would be for elderly Jewish doctors. We had a close family friend that was one and would give the biggest, most aggressive hugs.

He’d even grab your tuchus or pinch your butt. I can’t say that I liked it when he did that, but I sure as heck knew he was happy to see me. 

_______________________

In dissecting the bro hug earlier in this piece it dawned on me that maybe I should do the same with friend hugs. As a former football coach things like the alignment of bodies and positioning of body parts is something that I got particularly good at1.

(Ladies, next time you are watching football and you wanna impress someone with your knowledge of the sport, just mention how incredible the hand placement of one of the offensive lineman is).

Anyway, in describing this type of hug I used the phrase cross-nipple action. Think about it: when you are hugging someone both of your shoulders need to dip in opposite directions. Thus, if you drew a line through each of your nipples it would create an X.

So, I figured maybe A12 could help. Apparently not:

So, rather than that I’ll just say this:

• Women: hug your friends

• Men: don’t be creepers

That’s about as solid of advice as you’re gonna get here at SilentPunt. Nothing as good as Jimmy Dugan’s, but still….

WHAT SAY YOU ON HUGGING? Share your thoughts in the comments.

1. The only speech I remember from my public speaking class in college was one where we had to say who we would trade places with.

   I chose Magnum P.I.

   Because….

2. It took me three tries to get through The Handmaid’s Tale series finale (on Hulu). Not because it was bad, but because I’m old and kept falling asleep. I know I’ve recommended this before, but I’m going to do so again because it is friggin’ awesome. For the cherry on top, the last episode pays significant homage to the book—so much so that I had tears in my eyes at the end.

   .

   Shut up Travis.

3. SilentPunt Podcast #21 dropped earlier this week. We are rolling with our 4 topics, 4 minutes each theme. This week we discussed wills, NBA playoffs/finals, ChatGPT (do you use it??), and friends with addictions. Check it out here.

4. Some people liked a note I posted this week about dumbass congress people not reading the bills that they sign (here). Check out downsizedc.org to sign that petition and others calling for our elected officials to start doing their jobs. Shout out again to subscriber Matt F for this.

5. Book recommendation this week is in keeping with the golf theme. If a dad in your life likes golf and doesn’t have Harvey Penick’s Little Red Book (by Harvey Penick, duh), buy him this for Father’s Day.

   You can thank me later.

   

For the love of God do something: ❤️ this post, share with a friend, tell me I’m a good man.

Or unsubscribe if you don’t like fun things.

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GOING DEEP:

My Week Volunteering at the Women's US Open: 7am Beers, Adirondack chairs, and a case of why the f*ck did I sign up for this?

For the past ten years or so, a tremendous number of high-level professional golf events have visited Wisconsin. Last week was the final one for the foreseeable future: the Women’s US Open at Erin Hills Golf Course in Erin, Wisconsin.

My week started last Tuesday with volunteer training. This was scheduled for two hours in the afternoon, not including the hour roundtrip car ride. The closer the date came the more I was considering bailing. The job I was assigned, Marshall, is pretty simple. 

Either stand with your hands in the air facing the crowd to keep them quiet during a golf shot, or stand on the tee with paddles that you wave showing which direction the golf ball had been hit. How on Earth could it take two hours to train for that?

Part of the crap shoot with volunteering is getting your time wasted. I often think these organizations figure that you've got nothing better to do since you've volunteered. Eventually, my guilt won out, and I decided to attend the training. 

Suspicions confirmed: my time was wasted.

My shift Wednesday morning was supposed to start at 7:30. On my 30-minute walk to my holes, I passed a couple of interesting things.

First, the beers. I know I live in Wisconsin, and this was a sporting event, but I did not expect to see people drinking Spotted Cows at 7:30 am for a practice round.

Second, the mobility scooter tent. Good lord were there a lot of scooters in there, I’d guess maybe a couple of hundred. I know old people like to watch golf, but this was ridiculous. It looked like the staging area for an army of disabled octogenarians getting ready to deploy on the local Walmart.

I actually wrote a piece several weeks ago about these scooters after our visit to Disney World. I did not publish it in large part because the entire point of our trip was our daughter’s cheer competition, and I couldn’t make the piece whole without talking about that.

I have no intention of willfully inducing the rage of a 15 year old by dragging her into my dorky life.

The most I’ll do is show you this recent video of her. Because she’s a baller.

However, I will share the gist of the piece with you here: Are all of these people really disabled? Or are some of them just lazy? I know that’s a harsh thing to feel, but I can’t be the only one wondering, right? 

There is an old Scandinavian saying, “There is no bad weather, only bad clothing.” I know this saying because I live in Wisconsin, and it holds true here as well. So, shame on me for not thoroughly checking the weather forecast for the morning. 

Had I known the ‘feels like’ would be in the low 40s with steady rain, I certainly would’ve worn more than an extraordinarily light rain jacket. Hence, this picture………

After an off day on Thursday I was back at the course bright and early Friday morning. The weather was supposed to be much better (I checked), so I just brought a pullover.

However, I was wrong again. In the thirty minutes it took me to get to the course from my house, the forecast changed to include wind—lots of wind. So, I shivered my ass off most of the morning.

Choices have consequences. 

My three highlights from that morning were: seeing the main group of the day come through, having a lovely chat with an elderly couple from the Quad Cities, and hitting the volunteer tent for some chemical cookies. 

After volunteering on Friday, I posted the video below to Facebook with the caption: “Nelly Korda & Charlie Hull doing their best impression of high school girls in 1993 walking past me”.

Long story short, a buddy of mine from college saw it and wound up gifting me some VIP passes for Saturday. So, once my volunteer shift was over my plan was to go gorge myself on free food and just in general act like a big shot.

Shout out to my boy Goose. If you are from North Jersey and in need of a good chiropractor you can find him here.

Well folks, here’s where things got interesting. First, I was unaware that Friday’s round had been cut short due to darkness, which meant Saturday’s round would be delayed. So I arrived at the course a little after 7am for a round that wasn’t going to start until 10 am. 

It gets better: I had my days wrong. My last day of volunteering was supposed to be Sunday, and I technically had Saturday off. It is times like these when I wonder how I was ever in charge of hundreds of people. Like, am I really this stupid? Or when the doc excised that tumor from my brain did he take a little part of my intellect with it?

I’m going with the latter.

Anywho, after about 15 minutes of being pissed at myself I decided to lean in. I was already there, and with a pass to be a big shot. Plus, I was smart enough to bring an extra sweatshirt on this day.

The fact that I brought it meant that it turned out to be a gorgeous, 75 degree day.

Because of course it did.

The coolest part about my VIP experience wasn’t the food. (Gasp!) Strangely, it was the portable bathrooms. I have never been in a nicer Port-A-Potty in my life. Wood paneling, dry floors, all sorts of accouterments, and a delightful smell.

I know there has been a lot of discussion lately about the broadening wealth gap in our country, and I get it - I really do. But I will tell you: when it comes to shitting at a major sporting event the rich know what they’re doing.

What? You love SilentPunt content and would like to share with friends? Aw shucks, that’s nice of you. Forward them this email, or send them this:

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1. This week’s SilentPunt Podcast dropped a little later than usual because of production issues. I know, I know: production issues imply that we have production value, which we do not. Either way, you can check it out HERE.

2. I’m about halfway through Funny Because It’s True: How The Onion Created Modern American News Satire, by Christine Wenc. I was interested in this book for several reasons. First, in the last year or so, it came to my attention that The Onion was developed right here in Wisconsin on the campus of UW-Madison back in the late 80s. Second, I seem to consume a large chunk of my news from satirical sources. And lastly, because one of the main characters in the book is a guy I know. I’m enjoying it very much so far and looking forward to learning how they have continued to survive as the media landscape has changed to digital.

3. Women and duvet covers, will it ever stop?

GOING DEEP:

Local Husband Accused of Yelling, Assaulted With Dictionary

West Allis, WI - Karl Weber never imagined his Memorial Day weekend would land him in the hospital. Over the span of three days, he and his family rode bikes, grilled meats, and floated on their pontoon boat. 

On Monday night's drive home from Lake Winnetonkanago, Karl and his wife Bonnie were discussing the family’s schedule for the upcoming week. Somewhere between Minocqua and Sheboygan, a disagreement arose about who would be taking their youngest child to curling practice. Eventually, it was decided that Karl would handle shuttling their youngest to curling, while Bonnie would take the oldest to soccer.

After arriving home and getting the kids to bed, they decided to have one last Old Fashioned out on their deck before heading to bed and closing out the weekend. It was at this time that Bonnie let Karl know how upset she was with him for yelling at her previously in the car.

A disagreement ensued over what constitutes yelling.

Karl asserted that yelling was about volume. Bonnie countered that it was about tone. After leaving briefly and returning to the deck with the family’s large Webster’s Dictionary (used primarily to adjudicate Scrabble squabbles), Karl read the definition of yelling to Bonnie:

“Yelling: A form of yell. 1) To utter a loud cry, scream, or shout. 2) To give a cheer, usually in unison.”

The disagreement escalated from there. Karl and Bonnie tell different versions, but with the same result: Bonnie grabbing the dictionary from Karl and repeatedly bashing him in the face with it. 

The assault landed Karl in the ER of Sheboygan Mercy Hospital. Bleeding and dazed, he had driven himself there. Police were called to the hospital on a report of domestic violence. After describing the incident to officers, no charges were filed.

It was clear that Karl had provoked the attack.

The couple plan to renew their vows later this summer.

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