The Pink Soccer Cleat

Posted on by under Society

When I was younger I played soccer, first for my town’s recreational league and then for my high school.

Back then, soccer cleats (a.k.a. football boots) were available almost always in black. Black was what customers demanded and black was what manufacturers provided. It didn’t matter the brand–addidas, Nike, Mitre, Puma, whatever–black was it.

Sometimes there were a few other color options, however. And when I was in high school I bought a pair of cleats that were white. They were in my size and a good price, so that’s what I got.

Wearing them to practice and during games, I got a lot of ribbing from my teammates. That I stood out from all the other players was one of the nicer comments I remember.

It bothered me that I was being noticed not for my ability or my contributions to the team, but instead for my nonconformity. If I was a valuable asset to the team, I didn’t think it should matter what color my cleats were.

Fast forward to 2026 and I’m watching some of the games of this year’s World Cup tournament. And what do I see? Almost all the players are wearing cleats that are not black, but pink!

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS – JUNE 06: Players of United States pose for a team photograph prior to the international friendly match between United States and Germany at Soldier Field on June 06, 2026 in Chicago, Illinois. (Photo by Jamie Squire/Getty Images)

Literally every team seems to accept that pink is the new black. And it appears to be true of more than one brand of shoe.

According to news outlets, this is because players want to stand out. There is a “high demand for bolder colors” because the players claim that it gives them confidence. I initially thought that the pink color was a sign that the players were making some kind of statement in support of women’s health or Pride Month. But no, it is simply because having fancy colored cleats juices their game.

By that logic, my white cleats should have been a benefit both to me personally and to the whole team. If I had an increase in confidence because of my footwear, then our overall gameplay would have improved and it would have been welcomed. But that’s not how I remember it.

What I remember is that I was the odd man out. And if this is how I remember feeling, I can only begin to imagine what it was like for the one Asian-American guy on our team, who took an unnecessary amount of racial verbal abuse. Or a player who maybe was gay but in the closet.

I suppose that if everyone on the team is wearing pink cleats, then it becomes about conformity again and no one stands out. It’s not the color that matters, it’s how you play the game.

Because sports is very much about conformity. To be on The Team, a player has to toe the line, stay in-bounds, not rock the boat (sorry for the cliches). Those who don’t measure up are harassed, bullied, even assaulted.

Being part of a team shouldn’t feel this way. But so often it does.

I don’t play soccer any more.

The Sheep and the Fortress: An Allegory

Posted on by under Fiction

Once upon a time there was a flock of sheep. They lived and grazed in open fields day after day. They were content and generally got along with each other.

One day, the sheep began to hear rumors about a giant rolling rock ball heading their direction from far away. They could not see the rolling rock, or hear the rolling rock, and the sheep went about their business as if all was well.

Soon, a wolf came to the flock. He was not a bad wolf. Rather, he was a wolf who had traveled far and wide. He knew about the rolling rock and came to talk to the sheep.

“Sheep,” the wolf said. “Listen to me. I will be building a fortress of stone to protect us from the rolling rock that is coming this direction. There will be room enough for all you, and you are all welcome to join me inside at no cost to you.”

The sheep were not very interested. Many did not believe the rumors that the rolling rock was coming. They continued to go about their business as if all was well.

The wolf began to build the fortress. The sheep paid little attention as day after day the fortress got bigger and stronger, until at last it was finished. By this time, some of the sheep had heard the sound of the rolling rock, or heard from sheep who had seen the rolling rock.

“Sheep,” the wolf said. “The fortress is finished. The rolling rock is getting closer. You are welcome to come inside and be safe.”

A few of the sheep went into the fortress, but the rest remained in the fields. They did not trust the wolf, and they thought that the sheep who went into the fortress were gullible and stupid. How could something like a rock be so dangerous? they wondered aloud.

The next day, the wolf again invited the sheep into the fortress, but they refused. Now the rolling rock could be seen on the horizon, heading their direction. The sheep wondered aloud how any fortress built so quickly could be any good.

The next day, the wolf again invited the sheep into the fortress, and again they refused.

“Why do you not come inside the fortress and be safe?” the wolf asked.

“You are lying,” the sheep said. “We don’t trust you.”

“Why don’t you trust me?” the wolf asked.

“Because you are a wolf,” the sheep said.

“Who do you trust,” the wolf asked. The sheep thought about this for a while.

“We trust other sheep,” the sheep said.

“Who else do you trust,” the wolf asked. The sheep again thought about this for a while.

“We trust the shepherd,” the sheep said. “If the shepherd tells us that it is safe inside the fortress, then we will go in.”

So the wolf went to talk to the shepherd. As soon as the shepherd saw the wolf approaching his home, he grabbed his gun and shot the wolf. The shepherd did not trust the wolf either. The wolf died on the spot where he fell.

The next day, the rolling rock arrived and crushed most the sheep in the flock, and they died. The rock struck the fortress and caused some damage but the walls held fast and those who were inside were unharmed.

The next day, the shepherd came to the field of dead sheep. He was not concerned that the rolling rock had crushed them. He skinned them all and butchered them. He was pleased to be well stocked in meat and wool for a very long time.

The sheep inside the fortress came out and started a new flock. As they moved from pasture to pasture, they came upon other sheep. They told the other flocks about the rolling rock and how the wolf saved them with his fortress and how the shepherd did nothing to help them. The other flocks did not believe this story.

Years went by, and everyone forgot that this ever happened.

The End

Not As Hoped

Posted on by under Family, Health, Loss

August 3, 2021 — my birthday — my wife and I were enjoying our first overnight trip since the Covid-19 pandemic began in early 2020. We didn’t know then that it would be the last we’d have together living with the independence we take so much for granted.

We decided to keep it simple, making a road trip from our Maryland home to Pennsylvania and spending time at various points of interest in the southeastern part of the state.

We had a lovely lunch in Havre de Grace, Maryland, in the outdoor seating of a restaurant overlooking the Susquehanna River.

My wife at Tyler Arboretum

We stayed in a hotel in Chadd’s Ford. From there we visited the Tyler Arboretum and the town of Media, where we did some shopping and bought bubble tea.

We had a great dinner for my birthday, outdoors at a nearby restaurant. The summer Olympic Games were occurring in Tokyo, postponed from the year before, and we watched a few events on the television that night.

Our children were off living their lives, moving ahead after the long wait caused by Covid-19. Both called that day.

That summer our oldest had moved out to begin graduate school at Pennsylvania State University. He called to discuss how he and his girlfriend were settling in at their new apartment.

Our youngest was working at a summer camp as a counselor. He called to share how things were going, along with some frustrations regarding the camp staff and how situations were being handled.

Despite the fact that our kids were elsewhere — or maybe because of it — my wife and I felt that we’d mostly left behind us the concerns and restrictions from the past year and a half. It was an enjoyable bit of freedom.

And of hope. We began to see the light at the end of the dark tunnel created by the Covid-19 pandemic. We were feeling that we’d survived, that life would go on, that we could enjoy some of the dividends of having made it this far — through parenting, through a global contagion, through the more difficult years of our lives.

But all that would be halted just five months later. When my wife experienced a ruptured aneurysm in January of 2022, life would not be as we’d hoped.

We’ve spent the last four years adjusting to what is too easily called the “new normal.” Thoughts of a quick recovery have proven to be unrealistic. My wife lost her job and the ability to do many of the things she enjoyed. She applied for (and ultimately received approval for) federal disability payments.

Instead of living out our later years with travel and some well-earned ease, we are now in the positions of being caregiver taking care of one who’s lost their independence.

Perhaps the timing of it all is what’s most frustrating. We put in the work, we endured the hardships, but now are unable to reap many of the benefits.

It doesn’t feel fair. But I also realize that fairness is not a guarantee for anyone.

What’s left is a constant feeling of discontent, softened now and again by some of life’s simpler pleasures. But I can’t help the urge to look once in a while at what’s not available, and think about whether it might ever be available again.

The Trouble With Being American

Posted on by under Self, Society

I have no cultural identity other than “American.” I do not consider myself to be Irish-American or African-American or Hispanic-American or any other cultural identity that I can fall back on. So you can understand my displeasure at the current state of America.

The United States is my country. I was born here and have lived here all of my life. Going back to the early 1700’s, my ancestors have been born here, lived here, and are buried here.

This is the only criteria for American citizenship–be born on American soil (see the U.S. Constitution, 14th Amendment). There are no other criteria, tests, or qualifications.

Some people try to make the claim that “real” Americans are those who typically exhibit outward displays of patriotism, have a simplistic view of our nation’s origins, and hold narrow views of what an American should look like. But there is nothing to support that claim. It is just personal opinion (that can be safely ignored).

Singing the National Anthem more loudly does not make you more American. Waving the flag more vigorously does not make you more American. Having more ancestors here does not make you more American. Serving in the military does not make you more American. Being Christian does not make you more American. These things simply don’t.

Unfortunately, these same people also claim to know what America really is (as opposed to what?) and refuse to acknowledge that there is, or even might be, a more expansive, messy, diverse, and complicated understanding of our country.

And the sad thing for me is, that version of the “real” America–the one currently being heavily promoted by Donald Trump and his MAGA co-conspirators–is not my America. It is not the America that I see, or ever want to see in my lifetime. Instead, it is some strange conflagration of illusions, misinformation, wishful thinking, and self-righteousness with large doses of self-delusion, racism, and xenophobia mixed in. (MAGA Americans like to say that those critical of their political positions must hate America. In my view, the America in the “Make America Great Again” is a fictional, made-up place that they somehow think we can return to, making such criticism absurd.)

So where does that leave me?

I am an American in an America that I don’t recognize. When the stars and stripes is displayed, how am I supposed to feel? How can I say I’m proud to be an American when the America that is currently on display is a cruel, mentally unstable place that goes against my integrity and inner sense of what an American is supposed to be?

Sadly, I feel that the America I grew up in, that I learned about in school and on the street, and that I believed in, is rapidly disappearing. Once it is gone, and replaced with something unrecognizable, what then?

Public Transportation, for the People

Posted on by under Connection, Society

My seat on the Metro train has an empty Bacardi bottle and a lime wedge.

The guy in the seat behind me is dancing along with the music in his headphones like nobody is watching.

The woman in the seat in front of me is talking on her phone. The contact on her phone says My Boo.

Sometimes, the person sitting across from me is reading a book in Chinese, and the person sitting next to me is reading a book in Russian.

Sometimes, street dancers will board the train and perform to loud music as the train moves between two stations, asking for money before they exit to try again on the next train. This is technically not legal but it sure is entertaining.

Life on public transportation is rarely dull.

On the Washington, D.C. Metro, one will see a whole palette of humanity, from drunkards to lawyers to tourists and families. There is Black and White, Asian and Latinx. There is young and old, healthy and infirm, and plenty of Queer people. Sometimes it’s so crowded you can barely move. Other times I’m one of only a few people.

It’s always good to be aware of one’s surroundings, but it’s equally good to notice who’s on board with you. Sometimes I’m surprised when my first impression of someone is proven to be wrong, when they turn out to be kinder or more gentle than they appear.

Sometimes tensions do flare and voices are raised. It’s not always a simple matter to squeeze so much variety into an enclosed train car or bus. But I have yet to see, after decades on the trains, any true violence.

Not that there’s no violence in the Metro system because sometimes there is, late at night or in less populated stations. But it seems usually more to do with personal animosity and unrelated to the “public” part of public transportation.

Riding public transportation requires an unwritten social contract: I leave you alone to get where you need to go and you leave me alone to get where I need to go. Without it, the effectiveness of public transportation breaks down.

People sometimes violate this social contract by doing such things as begging for money, getting into arguments or shoving matches, or trying to talk to someone who does not want to be talked to, especially if it’s about politics or religion.

But they remain in the minority. Most people I ride with don’t try to turn the bus or train into a market or an exclusive place where some people are allowed to ride and others are chased away. Which is good because I imagine there is a tipping point where there would be fewer and fewer riders because they don’t feel comfortable or safe. As long as most people get onboard because the bus or train gets them where they need to go, public transportation will continue to serve its purpose.

I realize that public transportation has a reputation, and I think it is mostly undeserved. It seems to be based on media portrayals of the New York City subway system, which in movies is always a crime-ridden place filled with bums, garbage and graffiti. I have not ridden the NYC subway, but I have ridden public transportation in Boston, Philadelphia, San Francisco, London, Munich, Paris, Auckland, and of course Washington, D.C. My experience has been that, when public transportation is properly run and cared for, it is something that ordinary people find appealing and useful. It is not something that caters only to the dregs of society.

There are people who fear public transportation even under the best conditions. As a result, they travel in their own private vehicles, isolating themselves from the public as much as possible. But that solves nothing and only contributes to many problems.

In the old fairy tale of Beauty and the Beast, the Beast lives in isolation and scares everyone away because of his arrogance, hatred, and selfishness. It is only when he allows himself to be in the presence of others that the curse is lifted.