A Killing Art

I read A Killing Art, by Alex Gillis and it reiterated to me yet again that people ruin everything.

This is the "untold history" of Tae Kwon Do, and it was fascinating.  There were jealousies, fractures, kidnap plots, and even assassination attempts over the art of Tae Kwon Do.  It turns out that even institutions based upon moral teaching and respect suffer collateral damage from the human condition.  (You don't seem shocked.)

The canned version of any teaching follows a linear path.  Whether in the study of WWII, civil rights, or the Revolutionary War, there is a pretty clear narrative that has shut out all the clatter.  These things settle into well-worn grooves and coast along.  Then, voila, we have "history as we know it."  Winston Churchill famously declared his intent to write the story of the Second World War, and he did that and won a Nobel Prize.  His story now dominates school books.

The canned version of Tae Kwon Do is pretty simple, but it varies depending on which section a person joins.  Some credit one man (Gen. Choi Hong Hi), while other organizations (The WTF, for one) have wiped his name clean from the story.  It may not shock you to learn that petty squabbles and claims of purity widened fissures.

Tae Kwon Do has been a necessary addition to my life and I have enjoyed the recalibration of mind and body.  Its moral message is particularly important.  It has become a wonderful family activity and has provided a sanctuary where stress and pressure dissolve.  It has been a positive experience all around and I cannot get enough of it.  So, when I read this book, I prepared for the worst.  Will it ruin an outlook? Will it taint a joy?  The answer is a simple, "nope."

This book really only served as just one more of the myriad examples found in life to prove that people behave poorly in every arena.  It's true.  The civil rights movements, when examined, was a mess of infighting, jealousies, and some unfortunate acts.  It was successful and advanced our nation, and so the movement has earned its ruts and smooth, linear storyline.  Even WWII looks pretty ugly under the hood.  Examples abound in history.

The lesson, as always, is to take care before opening the hood on any part of history.  In this book, Jen and I found the stories amusing, unfortunate, and typical all at the same time.  It did nothing to change our view of the intentions of the art, but it illustrates the collateral damage caused by those who mean well.

Those who meant well committed acts of espionage, kidnapping, political corruption, threats to family, match-fixing, bribery, and more acts of intentional shunning (sometimes comical) than I thought possible.  And it was all done in the name of a martial art.  Is this unique to Tae Kwon Do? I doubt it.  After all, as the youngest martial art, its ruts have some rough spots still.  I'm sure the bodies buried in the name of Karate or Kung Fu have become green grass by now. 

So, we move steadfastly together into the imperfect world of an art we enjoy while leaving the noises under the hood of its history alone - observed, but left to hum safely out of mind.  It really is the only way to fly. 

No such thing as luck - Schadenfreude edition

Here I am again, in the same room where I wrote this.  Once again, I write on my yellow-lined paper between class sessions where people congratulate each other over and over again.

My concern is with a friend who suffers and my mind is generally distracted.  As my mind wanders, it goes to a book I just finished called Brilliant Orange, by David Winner.  It made me think about mindsets.  Again, I have lingered on that topic and how it relates to raising my son.  Everything circles back to that these days.  In this case, I just don't want him to be a loser.

The book describes Dutch culture and relates it to the national soccer team, which has been devastated by crushing chokes and defeats for generations.  The crux of the book is that the Dutch play one way, and unapologetically so.  Their style is beautiful and devastating when nothing is at stake.  They do not concentrate on penalty kicks because they believe deeply in their offensive style and put all their eggs into the "win big" basket. The book succeeds by explaining Dutch cultural traits and the mindset of the citizens of Holland while applying those traits to its national-team identity. 

I have explained my position as to nature/nurture philosophies for success before.  I strongly reject notions of natural gifts as the bulk of talent.  I have always held a rather arrogant belief that people become very good at the things they care to practice.

The perfect illustration for why I do not see eye-to-eye with the mindset of Dutch soccer came from its greatest player, Johan Cruyff.  A highlight video I found on Youtube included black-and-white footage of a young Cruyff dribbling a soccer ball with abandon as a young man and bouncing it on his head as he walked.  He clearly worked his whole life to become special at his craft.  Yet, despite his clear practice and dedication to perfection, I was surprised by his explanation of the following Dutch football fiasco... (just drink in this monumental choke... Cruyff was not involved, but commented as I will explain below):



The game above was for a place in the finals of the 2000 European Championship match.  It was played in the Netherlands, so was a home game for the Orange.  It featured five (5!!!) missed penalty kicks by the home team, two in regulation and three after extra time penalty kick tie-breaker.  I learned from this book that the Dutch acknowledge that they did NOT practice penalty kicks much at all.  Of all people, Johan Cruyff, legend of the "greatest team never to win a World Cup" (they celebrate such things in the Netherlands), shrugged and said something to the effect of "you are either good at PKs or you are not." 

It was like he forgot how hard he worked.  I wanted to find Cruyff and show him his own Youtube video.

Not Every Tradition Endures

About this...



The Broncos are back in the Super Bowl and I'm excited.  It isn't the same, but it's fun.  It isn't the same because something is missing and you can never duplicate a first-time win.  The awe of it and the wonder is different.  Mostly, my dad isn't here to watch anymore, and that stinks.  Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of wonderful people to watch with, and I will have a blast.  

We watched Super Bowl 32 at my parents' home in January of 1998.  I remember refusing to consider watching it without him.  We didn't miss those games and we celebrated together.  We had too long a history with the Denver Broncos and games in general overall to do anything else.

We went to baseball games when I was five and never left early.  I had a strict no-leaving-early policy and it had absolutely no bend to it.  

I remember going out to dinner and dad bringing his radio to listen to the game (it was never on TV in Virginia).  I remember peanuts, hot dogs, and game programs (I used to save them from every game). We hit the jackpot with Bronco season tickets when we moved to Colorado.   I mean, this stuff goes deep. 

We went to UVa games when they were terrible and watched them become something.  He let me buy one of those annoying horns people blow at games with the promise that I not blow it unless UVa scored.  He finally relented when UVa blocked an extra point in a 55-0 defeat at the hands of hated Clemson.  I got to blow my horn during one of the most embarrassing losses in UVa history!

We were there for the first victory over Clemson in school history (link is on the side) and I can still hear the screams when UVa broke a punt return that broke the game open and removed the doubt.  We watched at home, we watched with friends, but we watched no matter what.

But, although we liked other teams, we LOVED the Broncos.  I remember being upset I had to miss a particularly famous game (on television... we still lived in Virginia) to attend basketball practice and coming home to dad beaming about this...



We were at Mile High when Elway won an AFC title game and we were there when he beat Houston in 1992 in one of the most dramatic wins I've ever seen.  He used to remind me how lucky we were to watch a quarterback like John Elway.  We got there early every week to watch him warm up.  

It's hard to explain what it's like to lose your entire mind at a stadium with someone.  It is a blast.

Jacob isn't interested.  Not really interested at all.  In fact, he gets bored even though Denver shattered the record for points scored in a season and registered the most exciting offense I have ever seen.  There are times when that fact really stinks.  But, there are more occasions when it does not, and I think he and I are the better for it.  We did share one fantastic moment when Tim Tebow won a playoff game in overtime, but that required bribes of ice cream and soda.  He enjoyed it, but didn't seem to need that again.

Jacob likes Tae Kwon Do.  He loves it.  We do it together.  We are learning together and working together.  It may not be the same, but it is ours and it is special.  We don't lose our minds together, but I can't wait until he gets his next belt so he can unleash that smile and I can show him how proud it makes me.  Really, my dad and I did that through a different medium. 

Meanwhile, I read League of Denial, which chipped away at the game for me.  I find myself very happy Jacob is not interested.  I won't have to sweat him getting hurt or using his wonderful brain for ball-advancement.  I hated when my dad tried to talk me out of playing football, but I will do that, too, now.  I just can't explain how precious his brain is to me.  I understand better now. 

My expectation of football with Jacob took the form of an entitlement, and that was my fault and led to some initial disappointment.  Somehow, this has all worked better, and it worked perfectly despite my best efforts.  I get to watch the Broncos with less zeal and certainly less heartbreak and to enjoy it with friends and family.  I take it in stride.  If they lose this Super Bowl, I won't be thrilled, but I won't be heartbroken.

If I miss anything it will be watching with dad.  And, even though we have the best scenario I could imagine, it does remind me about who is missing.

An Unforgettable Journey

I want to chronicle an unforgettable journey.
 
It finished with the birth of my daughter under a halo of joy.  But the turning point - the point when everything came full circle - happened during a lonely lunch downtown a week earlier.  The lone-diner must have made some impression giving several fist-pumps in a dusty lounge area.

I hope to explain why those fist-pumps hung a "halo" onto my joy a week or so later.

This is not a book review of Infinite Jest.  Rather, I want to tell about reading that book in a crazy year and how it all led to a cheerful welcome to my daughter, Amalia, with the help of a British Bulldog.  The process included vigorous intellectual challenges to worldview, inescapable illustrations of a farcical and flawed world through a "post-modern" lens (and the worries associated therewith), and, finally, an anchor-drop back to a more "modern" philosophical safe haven that literally parted storm clouds after a flood.

It was a long and brutal battle through serious introspection and macro contemplation shaded with an unsettling skeptical tint... until Winston Churchill reminded me to welcome Amalia to the good in our world as well.

Infinitely Impactful

Infinite Jest will eventually invade any reader.  If you stick with this book (and I realize that is asking a lot), there will be a point when David Foster Wallace will infiltrate your being.

That moment came for me when a drug addict gave birth to a faceless baby.  I received a warning, so I braced myself, but DFW had a talent for invasion of personal space.  This scene impacted me personally based on two cases of mine, and, much like his manipulative quiz/essay/mind-f#@k from Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, I felt abused afterward.

Trayvon Martin and the Gray Muck of Reality

I love that clip, and I wish things were so simple.

We like to think of things either "are" or "are not" legal.  Only the legal world can create the need for me to quote simple forms of the verb "to be."  

But, I learned early in law school that there is only ever one answer... "it depends."  I want to write about my feelings on the Trayvon Martin murder case.

The only certain answer is that there will be no winners in this case.  After listening to some of the trial and hearing both closing arguments in the background while working, I believe that anyone who claims this case is "clear" or "simple" serves a preconceived notion, philosophy, or preference.  I have opinions, but I see nothing as clear.

George Zimmerman either murdered Trayvon Martin or he killed him for the lawful purpose of saving his own life.  Lesser-included-offenses aside (and that is a post for another day), it seems like one or the other. 

I have been glued to this case precisely because it illustrates the muddy gray between "legal" and "illegal."  It shows us just how chaotic our world is and how difficult simple truth can be. We have seen dueling mothers, a gun-control debate by proxy, and impassioned pleas on both sides for and against "stand your ground" laws.  In other words, we made it another battleground for the usual things even though it is simply a murder trial with interesting dynamics.

This is not easy.  This is a very tough case.  And it reflects so much about humanity.  It reflects how we all act and contrasts it with how we think we would act when faced with danger.  It shows how important it is to so many to fit this case into our own preferences (political, social, etc.).

This is one of those uncomfortable moments in front of the unflattering image of ourselves in a full-length mirror with bright fluorescent lights.  The lights bring it all to bear.  This case tells us so much about "us."

I don't know what I think about the truth from the evidence presented and I do not seek to influence anyone's opinion.  Rather, I have been ruminating about the nuances and I prefer to wade through the gray muck. 

No matter what happens in this case, people will be upset.  And that may tell us more about us than anything else.

Monte Cristo IV - Power of the Dark Side

I have finally finished The Count of Monte Cristo.  It sinks in slowly like metal-tank-tread resting on a wood block.  It eases its way into the very core of a reader and lingers with its simple reminder to "wait and hope."

It also leaves almost no witnesses.

The part that lingers for me tonight is the notion of removed action, but there are so many fascinating elements that I don't know where to start.  Nothing done by the Count of Monte Cristo himself would ever lead to conviction, much as with his rivals.  And, yet, he remains guilty and  purposeful in his deeds.  He may not pull triggers or open veins, but he orchestrates the opportunistic actions as purposefully as if he had done it all personally.

When I watched the 2002 movie of the same title, I left the theater impressed by the coldness and intensity of the vengeance portrayed.  My memory recorded an intense experience.  I watched that movie again tonight and came away with a different feeling: The movie is tame.