Nice Guys Don’t Always Finish Last

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The parallels between Michael Jordan and Lance Armstrong are fascinating. Both seized on real and imagined slights and then exaggerated them in their minds, making them much more scandalous than they were, in order to, as Lance says in ESPN’s Armstrong documentary “Get my hate on.” The angrier they were, the better they performed. Realizing that, they became expert at sparking their anger.

They also had a win at all costs approach to their respective sports; treating teammates, and in Lance’s case support staff, as means towards that one end. Apart from their athleticism, there was very little to admire about them.

The parallels haven’t been lost on other viewers of ESPN’s recent Jordan and Armstrong docs, which has caused people to conclude that you have to be an asshole to win six NBA Championships or Seven editions of the Tour de France.

To which I call bullshit. Nice guys don’t always finish last.

Among many other examples, Magic Johnson smiled his way to five NBA titles. Russell Wilson, a regular visitor at Seattle’s Children’s Hospital, won the SuperBowl. Tom Brady never denigrated his teammates. Jack Nicklaus was universally liked and Adam Scott won the Masters.

And in 2017, Ron Byrnes won the Seattle Marathon’s 50-55 age group. And a lot of people are saying he’s the nicest guy of all.*

*this is potentially misleading

Public Education Fail

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Educators spend a lot of time evaluating students’ work. And assigning final grades to each of their students.

But how should we evaluate the job public school teachers are doing collectively? How do we go meta? One way is to clue in to positive and negative societal patterns and themes and then balancing them.

Here’s one for the negative side of the ledger.

Over 40% of Republicans wrongly believe conspiracy theory about Bill Gates and COVID-19 vaccines.

When I read stories like this, I think we—since I used to be a public school teacher—have failed. Of course one negative indicator should not determine the final assessment, but I can’t help but be depressed by stories like that.

 

 

 

Friday Assorted Links

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1. The Best Way to Lampoon Trump: His Own Words.

2. Where Nellie Bowles moved after coronavirus.

“I invite readers to join me on this insane quarantine hobby.”

Too funny.

3. Where does Obama live?

4. Katie Lou Samuelson on mental health journey: ‘I realized I needed to ask for help.’ Lots of athletes, including Michael Phelps and Kevin Love, are saying ,”It’s okay to not be okay.”

You’re Boring Me

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We could hold the 2020 Presidential election tomorrow because everyone of voting age made up their mind a long time ago.

Let’s do it. Then let’s take all the money that would’ve be spent in both campaigns over the next five months and use it to strengthen our anemic public health system. Or let’s give it to Dan, Dan, The Transportation Man to hire the newly unemployed to build new bridges, highways, and airports.

Our partisanship is so acute, everyone is an ideologue. Reported sightings of “moderates,” “undecideds,” “independents,” or “centrists” are a myth. There’s no color wheel, only deep red and blue.

I know this because I read your tweets, see your Facebook posts, and listen to you. And there’s one thing all of you have in common, you’re incredibly predictable. So much so, I know what you’re going to say before you say it. Because you’ve said it so many times before. I could write your tweets and Facebook posts and finish your arguments. You mistakenly think repeating yourself enough will cause others to “see the light” and suddenly adopt your way of thinking, voting, being.

Of course, a reader of the humble blog in recent months could say the same thing about me. That you know what I’m going to write before I write it. No subtly, no nuance. I am you.

When it comes to interpersonal communication, there’s nothing more counterproductive than the receiver thinking, “I know what you’re going to say before you say it.” Because instead of truly listening, they just wait, wait, wait for a slight pause to say what they wanted to all along.

Instead of trying to understand why others believe what they do, we just make the same assertions over and over as if we will wear down the other. But our approach is futile because our group affiliations are indestructible. Our team identities are set in stone.

What counts as political “dialogue” in these (dis)United States is a series of highly predictable mutual monologues on continuous loop. We’re stuck in the largest, most predictable, worst Zoom meet up of all time.

Time to “leave the meeting”.

What I Look (Most) For In A President

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A cheerleader. Someone to help me feel better about myself.

Someone who calls me a warrior. I like imagining myself as a taller Jon Snow.

Someone who boosts my national pride by telling me my country has two or three times more tests than all the other countries combined.

Someone who has confidence that I can Transition to Greatness and Make America Great Again.

 

 

 

Paragraphs to Ponder

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From Dexter Filkins’, “The Twilight of the Iranian Revolution”:

“Sara was nervous about meeting me in public. ‘It is really dangerous,’ she said. ‘Me sitting here talking to you might get me in deep trouble.’ Still, she was poised and determined, insisting that she be granted her rights. ‘If you want to know how we live, you have to watch ‘The Handmaid’s Tale,’” she said. ‘This is the real Gilead. Margaret Atwood, she wrote our story before we were born.’

Last year, a twenty-nine-year-old woman named Sahar Khodayari was arrested while trying to sneak into a soccer match and charged with ‘appearing in public without a hijab.’ She set herself on fire and died. Afterward, the authorities finally conceded—a little. Under pressure from fifa, the international soccer authority, the Iranian government agreed to allow women to attend matches of the national team, as long as it was playing foreign opponents. Sara described the thrill of entering Tehran’s stadium for a match between the Iranian and Cambodian teams. ‘The soccer field is really green when you see it,’ she told me. Even though the women were relegated to a roped-off area behind a goal, ‘everyone was screaming and crying,’ she said. ‘It was the dream.’

I asked Sara why the authorities were concerned about something as trivial as a soccer match. ‘They know that if they open the doors to the stadium they should open other doors, too,” she said. “But the women of this country are not going to stop. I am absolutely prepared to go to prison.’ All her friends felt the same way about the authorities, she said. ‘The problem they have with us is that, if women get power, they’re going to take them down. That is the fact. They are going to overthrow the government.'”

What Filkins accomplished in six days is a marvel. A journalism tour de force.