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Published on Feb 5, 2009
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Dear Ron MacLean. Dear Coachs Corner. Im writing in order for someone to explain to my niece the distinction between these mandatory pre-game group rites of submission and the rallies at Nuremburg. Specifically the function the ritual serves in conjunction with what everybody knows is in the end a kids game. Im just appealing to your sense of fair play when I say shes puzzled by the incessant pressure for her to not defy the collective will, and yellow ribboned lapels, as the soldiers inexplicably rappel down from the arena rafters (which, if not so insane, would be grounds for screaming laughter). Dear Ron MacLean, I wouldnt bother with these questions if I didnt sense some spiritual connection. We may not be the same but its not like were from different planets: we both love this game so much we can hardly fucking stand it. Alberta-born and prairie-raised. Seems like there aint a sheet of ice north of Fargo I aint played. From Penhold to the Gatineau, every fond memory of childhood that I know is somehow connected to the culture of this game. I cant just let it go. But I guess it comes down to what kind of world you want to live in, and if diversity is disagreement, and disagreement is treason, well dont be surprised if we find ourselves reaping a strange and bitter fruit that sad old man beside you keeps feeding to young minds as virtue. It takes a village to raise a child but just a flag to raze the children until theyre nothing more than ballast for fulfilling a madmans dream of a paradise where complexity is reduced to black and white. How do I protect her from this cult of death?
Dear Ron MacLean. Dear Coachs Corner. Im writing in order for someone to explain to my niece the distinction between these mandatory pre-game group rites of submission and the rallies at Nuremburg. Specifically the function the ritual serves in conjunction with what everybody knows is in the end a kids game. Im just appealing to your sense of fair play when I say shes puzzled by the incessant pressure for her to not defy the collective will, and yellow ribboned lapels, as the soldiers inexplicably rappel down from the arena rafters (which, if not so insane, would be grounds for screaming laughter). Dear Ron MacLean, I wouldnt bother with these questions if I didnt sense some spiritual connection. We may not be the same but its not like were from different planets: we both love this game so much we can hardly fucking stand it. Alberta-born and prairie-raised. Seems like there aint a sheet of ice north of Fargo I aint played. From Penhold to the Gatineau, every fond memory of childhood that I know is somehow connected to the culture of this game. I cant just let it go. But I guess it comes down to what kind of world you want to live in, and if diversity is disagreement, and disagreement is treason, well dont be surprised if we find ourselves reaping a strange and bitter fruit that sad old man beside you keeps feeding to young minds as virtue. It takes a village to raise a child but just a flag to raze the children until theyre nothing more than ballast for fulfilling a madmans dream of a paradise where complexity is reduced to black and white. How do I protect her from this cult of death?
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