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How We All Missed the Crimes, Trauma, and Weirdness in Classic Kids’ Books
When you’re a kid, you just roll with the plot.
When you’re an adult, you realize half the books we grew up with are basically crime dramas… they just hide behind bright colors and rhymes.
I drink a lot of coffee. Usually a full pot by the end of the day, and sometimes I throw in three or four Cascade Ice caffeine drinks just to round things out. It’s not that I think I need that much. It’s just what I do. Part habit, part coping mechanism.
But I’ve been feeling the effects lately and I don’t like them. Anxiety, restless sleep, a sense that my nervous system is running slightly off the rails even when nothing’s happening. So I’ve decided to do something about it. Not some dramatic life overhaul. Just one thing: cut back on caffeine with the goal of a total abstinence. Seven to ten days of tapering. Let’s see what happens.
The plan is to mix decaf into my coffee grounds, tart with half and half, then taper it down. That will remove about 1/3 and gives me a few days to fool myself before things get more difficult. Next, drop the Cascade Ice drinks and try to replace them with pure water and electrolytes. That’s 1/2 of the current state so 2/3 total.
Then, it’ll just be cutting down the pot to 1/2, then one cup, then none at all. Sounds easy. I mean, I’ve done much harder things.
Why now? Because I want better sleep. Less edge. More clarity. And I want to see what my face and gut look like without all the hidden water retention and stimulant drag. Ten days without caffeine should be enough to know whether any of that’s real or just a theory I invented while over-caffeinated.
So this is Day 1. No big declarations. Just an experiment. I’ll check back in if things get interesting.
An old lecture from Father Hobbs:
“Baseball is a metaphor for how to practice restraint.You can’t out-hustle the pitcher. You can’t rush the at-bat. You have to wait for the game to come to you. And in that waiting, everything gets quieter.”
Entrepreneurship, marketing, the tech world – they all teach us how to sprint, to go chase the game. But baseball taught me to stop swinging at bad pitches.
Now I use that same mindset to handle distractions, deadlines, and overthinking.
Stay in the box. Watch the ball. Swing when it matters.
Episode 2: Culture, Character, and the Cost of Winning
Welcome back to Legends on the Line, our fictional Zoom call to the great beyond, where some of the most legendary college coaches who ever lived drop in for a candid conversation. Our panel today needs no warmup:
I’ll step aside after this quick intro—just a coach’s kid turned marketing guy listening in from the sidelines. These three don’t need moderators.
Let’s listen in.
WOODEN: Thank you for the invitation. It’s always good to be in the company of coaches who understood that the scoreboard was never the whole story.
SUMMITT: Speak for yourself, Coach. I liked the scoreboard—but I liked knowing why we won more.
ROBINSON: That’s the key right there. Anybody can get lucky one Saturday. Sustaining it, year after year? That’s culture. That’s character.
WOODEN: Culture is what happens when no one’s watching. You can’t teach discipline on game day. It has to be woven into how you practice, how you behave, how you treat your teammates.
SUMMITT: It’s also how you talk to your players after a loss. Or when they’re struggling off the court. I wasn’t just raising point guards—I was helping raise women.
ROBINSON: We had players come through Grambling who had never been told they mattered. Coaching them meant teaching them how to carry themselves with dignity, how to walk into any room and belong there.
WOODEN: I used to say: “Be more concerned with your character than your reputation.” Your reputation is merely what others think of you. Your character is what you really are.
SUMMITT: That quote made it onto the wall in our locker room, by the way.
ROBINSON: Same.
WOODEN: So let me ask—how do we build character on a team?
SUMMITT: You hold people accountable and you tell the truth. I never sugarcoated anything with my players. I told them, “If you don’t want to hear the truth, you’re in the wrong gym.”
ROBINSON: You also model it. You can’t ask your team to work hard and then come in late or take shortcuts. Coaches forget that players remember everything—especially what you do when the cameras aren’t on.
WOODEN: That’s right. I never once mentioned winning in a pregame talk. But I talked about effort, preparation, self-control. You teach those things and the wins take care of themselves.
SUMMITT: We live in a world where everyone wants results yesterday. But a team’s identity takes time. That’s the real coaching—the part they don’t show in the documentaries.
ROBINSON: Culture is how you respond to adversity. You lose a key player? You’re down 14 in the third? That’s when all the “teamwork” posters on the wall better mean something.
WOODEN: Here’s a thought: The more talented your players, the more important it is to teach unselfishness.
SUMMITT: Amen. At Tennessee, our biggest fights were never about minutes. They were about ego. But we settled those in practice, in film sessions, in long conversations. You can’t just yell “teamwork” and expect magic.
ROBINSON: I had players who wanted to go pro, and I’d say, “Start by being great in this huddle.” You can’t lead 80,000 fans until you can lead 10 of your teammates in the locker room.
WOODEN: “Don’t let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.” That applied to stardom too.
SUMMITT: We put team before talent every year. If you couldn’t buy into that, you didn’t play. Period.
ROBINSON: Can we talk about how you balance toughness and love?
SUMMITT: You mean how to kick their butts and hug them after?
WOODEN: I believe discipline without love is tyranny. But love without discipline is chaos.
ROBINSON: I told my players: “You may not like how I say it, but you’ll understand why when you leave here.”
SUMMITT: Coaching is a long game. It’s what they say about you ten years later that matters. Not what they say when you sit them on the bench.
WOODEN: Let’s get practical. How did each of you create culture, not just talk about it?
SUMMITT: Daily habits. On time. Practice hard. Sit in the first three rows of class. Say thank you. The little things build the big things.
ROBINSON: We ran the program like a family. That didn’t mean it was soft—it meant it was consistent. If you knew what to expect from me, you could relax and play.
WOODEN: I had a Pyramid of Success, but honestly? It came down to teaching players how to be good men. If they became good men, they’d be good teammates.
SUMMITT: Replace “men” with “women,” and I’m with you 100%.
WOODEN: You know what I miss most?
SUMMITT: The players?
WOODEN: That moment when a kid finally gets it. Not the game plan—the lesson.
ROBINSON: Yes. When they figure out who they are. That’s the championship I remember most.
SUMMITT: There’s a reason we call it “coaching.” It’s a journey, and we’re lucky to ride shotgun.
ME (signing back in): I didn’t want to interrupt. But thank you. This was a masterclass in how to build something that lasts.
Before we close the Zoom tab on the sky, mind if I ask what each of you is doing this weekend?
WOODEN: I’ve got a pickup game with some old Bruins and a long walk planned with Abraham Lincoln. We talk about leadership.
SUMMITT: I’m hosting a chalk talk with Billie Jean King and Maya Angelou. We’re comparing playbooks.
ROBINSON: I’ll be on the sideline at a sandlot game down here. Same spot every weekend. I cheer loud.
Research in psychology and psychiatry suggests that certain types of images or visual stimuli can help individuals improve focus and reduce distractions. These images often leverage principles of attention regulation, mindfulness, and environmental design. Here are a few scientifically-backed approaches:
I have to admit to a silly little hobby I’ve developed. I like taking topics relevant to my life, things I may have actually journaled about myself, and then seeing how some of the wordsmiths I admire might describe it. Here’s an example of ChatGPT suggesting how the legendary Vin Scully may have regaled us with the joys and pains of managing a toddler.
“Ladies and gentlemen, take your seats. The game of parenting a 3-year-old is about to begin. Imagine, if you will, a ballpark not filled with fans, but with toys scattered across the outfield, sippy cups perched precariously on the infield, and a mound that’s just the right height for a tiny pitcher who doesn’t so much throw fastballs as toss Cheerios with wild abandon.
Read more: How Vin Scully Would Describe Parenting a 3 Year OldAh, the three-year-old, a true double threat! They’re as curious as a rookie stepping onto the diamond for the first time, and as unpredictable as a knuckleball on a breezy day. One moment, they’re the sweetest slugger you’ve ever seen, running full speed into your arms with a grin that could light up Dodger Stadium. The next, they’re a base runner caught in a pickle, wailing about a lost toy as if it were Game 7 of the World Series.
Let me set the scene for you. The day begins early, as if they’ve got an East Coast road trip schedule to keep. The morning is filled with small victories and dramatic defeats: a successful mission to put on their shoes, followed by a heart-wrenching meltdown because the oatmeal is ‘too lumpy.’ You’ll learn to cheer the wins—‘And he eats all his broccoli! What a clutch performance!’—and let the losses roll off like a foul ball into the stands.
Now, parenting a three-year-old is not without its strategy. You’ll need the patience of a bullpen coach, the flexibility of a shortstop, and the creativity of a pinch hitter. The ‘why’ questions come fast and furious, like a batting practice session you didn’t sign up for: ‘Why is the sky blue?’ ‘Why can’t I have ice cream for breakfast?’ ‘Why does the dog bark?’ Every answer feels like stepping up to the plate with two outs and the bases loaded.
But oh, the moments of magic! Watching a 3-year-old discover the world is like witnessing a home run hit deep into the night sky—awe-inspiring and unforgettable. Their laughter rings out like a perfectly struck ball, soaring high and true. They have an uncanny ability to find joy in the smallest things—a dandelion in the grass, a butterfly fluttering by, a cardboard box that becomes a spaceship.
And let’s not forget, folks, that every day with a 3-year-old is a doubleheader. The afternoon might bring a nap that’s fought harder than any pennant race, and bedtime often feels like extra innings. But as the house finally quiets, and you steal a moment to watch them sleep, you realize you wouldn’t trade this game for anything in the world.
So here’s to the parents out there, grinding it out day after day, finding the beauty in the chaos and the poetry in the madness. Because, as any baseball fan—or parent—knows, it’s not just about the wins and losses. It’s about the love of the game.”
The only people who read this are friends of mine. And as far as I know, 100% of my friends are vaccinated.
But if you stumbled here from some random Twitter or Facebook post, please get vaccinated.
Look, I get that you may hate Democrats on principle. But there’s no reason to tank the economy and put the health of the nation at risk just because you want to make sure that the magical day you are sure will happen when you finally make $400,000 a year, your taxes aren’t higher.
Just get vaccinated. It’s safe. And look at it this way. If the vaccine ISN’T safe, you’re screwed anyway. Either 1/2 of us will be flesh-eating zombies and take you down regardless, or 1/2 of us will be dead and you won’t have a way to manage taking care of yourselves without any scientists or doctors. So you might as well just join us.
All-Star Games are notoriously boring from a competitive level. In football, there’s no real tackling or hitting. In basketball, no one plays defense. And in baseball, you have the oddity of having the least known players pitching and batting in the most important innings of the game while the stars sit in the dugout (if they haven’t already headed to the airport.)
But that’s fine, because the purpose of these games is that they are EXHIBITIONS that are designed to show off the players’ skills, not games that matter. So if we are willing to consider the Major League Baseball All-Star game a true exhibition, here’s a radical idea to make it more interesting.
In a nutshell: Don’t have a lineup.
Now what does that mean?
So all the stuffy old dudes will read this and say, “No I like it how it is.” And that’s fine. But this seems like an easy way to add some fun to the game.
WARNING: Crazy dumb sports idea ahead. Hit the back button if that’s not your thing.
We all love NFL football. At least the stats and ratings say so.
But here we are in late May with no football to talk about. The draft is over. Training camp is still 2 months away. It’s a content desert. Well, I have a dumb idea to fix that.
On the NFL calendar, let’s change June 1 into May 32. And on that day we will have the Annual NFL 32 Team Trade. A made-for-TV, one-hour event. Here’s how it works:
Yes, I know it doesn’t work. But this is my reminder to everyone to keep thinking creatively. Keep coming up with dumb ideas. You never know where a dumb idea might lead.
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