Cinemorphosis

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  • The Watch Slow-Down: Confessions of a Reformed Wrist Addict

    The Watch Slow-Down: Confessions of a Reformed Wrist Addict

    At 63, the tectonic plates of my watch obsession finally shifted—and not with a polite tick-tock, but with the guttural crack of a midlife epiphany. For two decades, I was wrist-deep in the horological trenches, swapping bracelets for straps at 61 like it was some major spiritual awakening. Little did I know, that change was a mere amuse-bouche before the main course: total psychological detachment from the game. The forums? The drop chatter? The breathless anticipation of this week’s 44mm status symbol? I’ve danced that jittery dopamine jig too many times. The thrill is gone—and thank God for that.

    There’s also the inconvenient matter of time, that precious commodity I once used to justify swapping three watches before lunch. These days, I’m not auditioning for a Bond reboot, nor am I pacing the boardroom like a man with a GMT and something to prove. I don’t need a “hero piece” to validate my existence. I’m not branding myself in public spaces anymore—I’m inhabiting a quieter, more deliberate orbit, where the only eyes on my wrist are my own. Six or seven watches now feel like a well-edited playlist. The days of horological hoarding are over.

    I’ve thought about unpacking this transition on my YouTube channel, but the idea of filming another selfie in bad lighting feels absurd. I don’t need to see myself on screen clutching another dive watch like it’s the Holy Grail. Mortality, it turns out, is a hell of a lens to look through—and it’s clarified what actually matters. I don’t crave applause from collectors. I crave integrity, focus, sweat, creativity. I’m dropping weight, playing piano, swinging kettlebells, and gearing up to teach my next writing class—one populated entirely by college football players who will be writing about the ethics and technology of brain trauma in their own sport. That’s not just a syllabus. That’s a mission.

    Watches? I still love them. Deeply. But they no longer squat in the center of my brain, stirring up late-night eBay searches and existential unrest. That relationship has matured—or maybe just mellowed. The romance isn’t over, but the mania is. And in its place is something better: clarity, purpose, and a little more room on the wrist for life itself.

  • Bloodlust or Civic Ritual? The Moral Dilemma of Watching Football

    Bloodlust or Civic Ritual? The Moral Dilemma of Watching Football

    In his Guardian column, “American football is too dangerous, and it should be abolished,” David Bry doesn’t just critique the sport—he indicts its audience. Football, he argues, is not merely unsafe; it’s immoral. He anticipates the backlash to this charge and admits, with self-deprecating honesty, that he’s no moral saint himself—he still eats foie gras, knowingly prioritizing his pleasure over a duck’s suffering. But to him, there’s a moral line between indulging in ethically murky cuisine and consuming a sport that rewards the destruction of human bodies for mass entertainment. If he values human life more than duck life, he cannot, in good conscience, support a game that feeds off head trauma and early death.

    Bry insists the game can’t be meaningfully reformed. The violence is not incidental—it’s structural. Helmets and rule changes may offer cosmetic fixes, but the fundamental problem lies in the collisions themselves: the brain, he writes, “sloshes around and smashes against its bone casing.” No amount of tweaking can erase that brutal fact. While his friend Todd defends the freedom of adults to play if they choose, Bry shifts the focus from the players to the fans. The deeper immorality, he claims, lies not on the field but in the stands and living rooms, where audiences cheer and fund the spectacle that maims its participants.

    This position challenges evolutionary theorists like Jonathan Gottschall, who argue that violent sports are hardwired into us. From his view, sports like football are not moral failures, but social adaptations—ritualized combat that establishes hierarchies and offers a controlled outlet for natural male aggression. If we don’t have football, we’ll invent some other surrogate for the same primal thrill.

    And here lies the moral paradox: If we are biologically inclined to enjoy violence in symbolic form, can we still be held ethically accountable for watching it? Or does evolutionary determinism become a convenient alibi that masks complicity? Is football a barbaric indulgence we should outgrow—or a necessary safety valve that prevents worse outcomes?

    This tension gets at the philosophical core of the football debate. Are we morally responsible for what we watch, or are we acting out ancient instincts that override reason and empathy? If Bry is right, we’re sanitized Romans in bleachers, watching men destroy themselves for our pleasure. If Gottschall is right, those same bleachers might be the only thing keeping us from something darker, something more chaotic, something even harder to justify.

    Ultimately, the question is not whether football is violent—we know it is—but whether our appetite for it can be governed by ethics or will simply reinvent itself in another uniform, another arena, another “acceptable” outlet. Are we spectators or just better-dressed predators?

  • Brains for Glory: How Football Became the Lottery of the Left Behind

    Brains for Glory: How Football Became the Lottery of the Left Behind

    In Alana Semuels’ “The White Flight from Football,” we meet Shantavia Jackson, a single mother working the night shift at Home Depot. With three sons—ages 11, 12, and 14—she turns to youth football not just for recreation but as a form of structure, mentorship, and protection. Coaches become surrogate father figures, teaching discipline and teamwork. For her son Qway, who lives with a mental disorder, football provides a stabilizing force: a team that functions as his support system.

    For Shantavia, football isn’t just a sport—it’s an escape hatch. She can’t afford to send her sons to college, and she sees football as the only viable route out of a life circumscribed by poverty. It’s a desperate gamble, but in communities like hers, desperate gambles are often the only kind available.

    Against this backdrop, research continues to pile up showing that tackle football can cause severe and irreversible brain trauma. In response, many parents—particularly white and affluent—are pulling their children out of youth leagues. The ability to make that choice is, at its core, an expression of privilege. While white participation in youth football declines, Black participation remains disproportionately high: 44 percent of Black boys play tackle football, compared to just 29 percent of their white peers. This racial divide plays out on the national stage: today, Black athletes make up nearly half of all Division I college football players, up from 39 percent in 2000, while white athletes have dropped from 51 percent to 37 percent.

    The implication is grim: Black children are more likely to accept long-term risks because they have fewer short-term options. White children, cushioned by economic security and broader educational opportunities, can afford to walk away. The more the science reveals about the dangers of early head trauma, the more it becomes clear who is left holding the risk.

    And the science is damning. A 2017 Boston University study found that athletes who began playing tackle football before age 12 were twice as likely to develop behavioral problems and three times as likely to suffer from clinical depression. A separate study by Wake Forest University revealed that boys who played just one season of tackle football between the ages of 8 and 13 showed diminished brain function. The greatest fear is CTE—chronic traumatic encephalopathy—a degenerative brain disease caused by repeated hits to the head, not just concussions. Even subconcussive blows can cause lasting damage. In 2017, researchers examined the brains of 111 deceased NFL players. They found CTE in 110 of them.

    In response, some former players and medical experts now advocate delaying tackle football until high school, when bodies are more physically mature and kids are better able to understand and implement safe tackling techniques. But the sport is growing, not shrinking, and its profitability only reinforces the risk. At Texas A&M University, football generates $148 million a year. That revenue stream depends on a constant influx of young talent—often from families like Shantavia’s—eager for a scholarship and a shot at something better.

    The decision to play football, or not to, has become yet another expression of America’s racial wealth divide. As of 2021, the median wealth of white households was $250,400—about 9.2 times that of Black households, which stood at just $27,100. Though there have been modest gains in Black wealth, the gap remains vast. In 2022, the median wealth for Black households rose to $44,890—still far behind the $285,000 median for white households. This disparity isn’t merely numerical; it’s structural, baked into the opportunities people can or cannot access.

    In this context, football becomes less a sport and more a bloodletting ritual—one that disproportionately brutalizes the bodies of those with the fewest alternatives. For children growing up in neighborhoods with failing schools, limited healthcare, and short life expectancies, football isn’t just a game. It’s a high-stakes wager: risk your brain for a future, or settle for no future at all.

  • Glory or Exploitation? The Ethics of Football in a Culture Addicted to Spectacle: A College Argumentative Writing Prompt

    Glory or Exploitation? The Ethics of Football in a Culture Addicted to Spectacle: A College Argumentative Writing Prompt

    Essay Prompt:

    Football is more than just a sport—it’s a cultural ritual defined by sacrifice, danger, and, increasingly, moral controversy. With mounting evidence linking the game to brain trauma, long-term disability, and early death, critics such as Malcolm Gladwell, Kathleen Bachynski, and Steve Almond argue that football is not only dangerous but exploitative: a spectacle built on the suffering of young men whose bodies and futures are traded for profit and entertainment. Others defend the sport, insisting that football—like MMA, gymnastics, or bodybuilding—simply demands extreme physical sacrifice, and that athletes like Ronnie Coleman embody the right to choose that pain in pursuit of greatness. Meanwhile, cases like Aaron Hernandez raise disturbing questions about whether teams prioritize talent and profit over the psychological well-being and humanity of their players.

    The central argument you will address is this: Is football an unethical and exploitative institution that sacrifices player welfare for public entertainment, or is it a legitimate arena of personal choice, physical excellence, and cultural tradition?

    In your essay, take a clear position on this question and support it with evidence from Concussion, Ronnie Coleman: The King, Killer Inside: The Mind of Aaron Hernandez, and at least three essays from our course materials. As you develop your claim, consider related issues such as:

    • Whether colleges and the NFL commodify athletes or empower them;
    • Whether spectators are morally complicit in the harm done;
    • Whether banning football would protect vulnerable individuals or create worse unintended consequences;
    • And whether the pursuit of greatness necessarily involves bodily sacrifice—and if so, whether that sacrifice is a noble choice or a form of exploitation.

    Use 4 or more of the following sources to construct a well-argued position:

    1. “Youth Football Is a Moral Abdication” by Kathleen Bachynski
    2. “The White Flight from Football” by Alana Semuels
    3. “American football is dangerous, and it should be abolished” by Dave Bry
    4. “Exactly How Dangerous Is Football?” by Ingfei Chen
    5. “Offensive Play” by Malcolm Gladwell
    6. “Is It Immoral to Watch the Super Bowl?” by Steve Almond
    7. “Diehard Fans Defend the Game” by Matt Vasilogambros
    8. “Is It Patronizing to Say Football Players Are Exploited?” by Chris Bodenner
    9. “Book review: ‘Why Football Matters,’ and ‘Against Football’” by James Trefil
    10. Concussion (2015 movie on Amazon Prime)
    11. The Cost of Winning (2020 documentary on HBO)
    12. Student Athlete (2018 documentary on HBO)
    13. Killer Inside: The Mind of Aaron Hernandez (2020 3-part series on Netflix)

    Sample 9-Paragraph Outline

    Title: Blood, Glory, and Profit: The Ethical Dilemma of American Football

    Paragraph 1: Introduction (Choose One)

    • Hook: Start with a vivid image—an NFL player lying motionless on the turf while the crowd cheers for the next play.
    • Context: Football’s status as a national ritual, its cultural significance, and the growing controversy surrounding its dangers.
    • Introduce the central debate: Is football exploitative, or is it a legitimate, even noble, pursuit of greatness?

    Paragraph 2: Thesis (Claim)

    • Example of thesis that opposes football: Football has become an ethically compromised institution that commodifies its players for entertainment and profit, often under the illusion of personal choice—making reform, not abolition, a moral imperative.
    • Example of a thesis that supports football: While football is a physically demanding sport, it is not an exploitative institution—it is a legitimate, voluntary arena where athletes exercise personal agency, pursue greatness, and knowingly accept risk. Far from being ethically compromised, football represents a cultural tradition that honors sacrifice, fosters opportunity, and should be preserved without further moral panic or unnecessary reform.

    Paragraph 3-6: Your supporting paragraphs that explain the reasons behind your thesis or argument. 

    Paragraphs 7 and 8: Your 2 counterarguments and 2 rebuttals to those counterarguments.

    Paragraph 9: Your conclusion, a dramatic restatement of your thesis.

    ***

    Unintended Consequences of Banning Football (to address in your counterargument-rebuttal section)

    Here is a full list of unintended consequences you may need to address to make your argument more persuasive:

    Banning football might sound like a bold ethical stance, but it would unleash a cascade of unintended consequences—cultural, economic, psychological, and even moral. Here’s a breakdown of what might happen if the most popular sport in America were outlawed:

    1. Loss of Opportunity for Marginalized Youth

    • Unintended Consequence: For many young men, especially from under-resourced communities, football is a rare (and sometimes only) path to higher education and upward mobility.
    • Result: Banning the sport could cut off scholarships and recruitment pipelines, exacerbating socioeconomic inequality rather than alleviating harm.

    2. Black Market Football

    • Unintended Consequence: If football goes underground, it doesn’t disappear—it just gets more dangerous.
    • Result: Unregulated leagues may spring up, especially in areas with strong football culture. Without safety oversight, proper coaching, or medical supervision, injury rates could worsen.

    3. Economic Collapse of Local Ecosystems

    • Unintended Consequence: Football is a multi-billion-dollar industry with deep ties to universities, cities, and small towns.
    • Result: A ban could devastate local economies dependent on Friday night lights or Saturday college games—hotels, restaurants, sports vendors, media jobs, and more would be gutted.

    4. Identity Crisis in American Masculinity

    • Unintended Consequence: Football, like it or not, is one of the last culturally sanctioned rituals of toughness, aggression, and team-based male bonding.
    • Result: Without football as a socially accepted outlet, young men may turn to other riskier or more alienating behaviors to express identity or test resilience.

    5. Decline in College Enrollment and Funding

    • Unintended Consequence: At many universities, football programs are major revenue engines—not just for athletics, but for branding and student recruitment.
    • Result: Removing football could lead to reduced enrollment, cutbacks in academic programs, and tuition hikes as schools scramble to replace lost revenue.

    6. Loss of Cultural Cohesion and Civic Ritual

    • Unintended Consequence: Football games are communal rituals—tailgates, traditions, and team pride bind communities together.
    • Result: Banning football could fracture local identity, particularly in the South and Midwest, where the sport acts as social glue.

    7. Displacement of Violence to Other Arenas

    • Unintended Consequence: Football channels aggression into rules, teams, and strategy.
    • Result: Without that structure, we might see more unchanneled aggression, risk-taking behavior, or violence manifesting in less regulated spaces (gangs, reckless driving, amateur fighting).

    8. Moral Hypocrisy and Slippery Slope Questions

    • Unintended Consequence: Singling out football raises the question: what about boxing, MMA, rugby, or even ballet and gymnastics?
    • Result: Banning football opens the door to more bans—or worse, selective enforcement that reeks of moral inconsistency and political backlash.

    9. Undermining of Bodily Autonomy

    • Unintended Consequence: While the intent is to protect, the act of banning a sport removes agency from individuals who knowingly choose risk.
    • Result: This could spark debates about freedom, personal sovereignty, and whether society has the right to intervene in personal decisions about pain and sacrifice.

    The Relevance of Killer Inside: The Mind of Aaron Hernandez:

    The documentary Killer Inside: The Mind of Aaron Hernandez is a chilling, necessary companion to any serious discussion of the moral crisis surrounding football. Hernandez, a star athlete groomed through the college football system and elevated to NFL glory, was both a product and a casualty of a sport that prized performance over personhood. The film exposes how institutions—from the University of Florida to the New England Patriots—enabled and ignored warning signs: violence, erratic behavior, and deep psychological instability. These weren’t just isolated red flags; they were systemic blind spots, fostered by a culture that commodifies players as disposable assets in a billion-dollar entertainment machine. Hernandez’s case forces students to confront the darker truth behind athletic excellence: when fame, concussions, and unchecked aggression intersect, the results can be lethal.

    Moreover, the documentary complicates the question of self-agency. Yes, Hernandez made choices—but were they truly free? Killer Inside makes a compelling case that chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), diagnosed in Hernandez posthumously, contributed to his instability. It raises hard questions about whether players fully understand the long-term cost of participation, and whether teams, coaches, and fans are complicit in a cycle that glamorizes sacrifice while suppressing inconvenient consequences. As students grapple with the ethics of spectatorship and institutional responsibility, this documentary offers a haunting portrait of how far a system will go to protect its profit, even if it means nurturing a time bomb in shoulder pads.

  • Nostalgia Is a Liar and a Thief

    Nostalgia Is a Liar and a Thief

    Romanticizing the past isn’t just foolish—it’s morally bankrupt. To coddle nostalgia is to buy into the comforting lie that things were once better, purer, simpler. They weren’t. That “beautiful past” you’re pining for? Fiction. A curated highlight reel edited by your dopamine-addled memory. In clinging to it, you’re not just turning your back on the present—you’re scorning the real, imperfect people around you in favor of ghostly caricatures from a fantasy world.

    Worse, nostalgia doesn’t just lie—it sedates. It lulls you into a syrupy, maudlin stupor where forward motion feels sacrilegious. Why build something new when your mind’s already rented a timeshare in 1983? The more you indulge it, the more you stall out—emotionally, spiritually, and socially.

    And let’s not ignore the narcissism at its core. Nostalgia gives self-pity a golden frame. You’re not grieving a lost time; you’re grieving the version of yourself you imagined you were back then. The tragedy? That person never existed. You’ve built an altar to an illusion—and now you’re feeding it your present.

    In the end, nostalgia doesn’t connect you to anything. It isolates you. It invents a wound and then forces you to mourn it. Regret follows, not because you lost something real, but because you’ve convinced yourself you did. It’s time to stop romanticizing the fog and start walking through it.

  • Why Ritualized Combat Still Needs a Line You Don’t Cross

    Why Ritualized Combat Still Needs a Line You Don’t Cross

    In The Professor in the Cage, Jonathan Gottschall argues that sports like football aren’t just games—they’re stylized duels, ritualized combat wrapped in pads and broadcast rights, and they function on one essential currency: honor. Strip away the cleats and helmets, and you’re left with the same ancient male impulse—to fight, to dominate, and to prove you’re not the rabbit in a room full of wolves.

    But here’s the twist Gottschall doesn’t miss: even in the most violent games, there are rules—rituals that separate man from animal, performance from savagery. The football field, the octagon, the prison yard, the nightclub—they’re all arenas of testosterone-laced theater where men assert dominance, but with an agreed-upon script. Break that script, and you don’t just commit a foul—you commit a cultural sin.

    Trash Talk, But Make It Sacred

    We tend to think of trash talk as disrespectful—and, sure, it often is. But it’s also part of the ritual. Mind games, verbal jabs, icy stares, even the headbutt-in-slow-motion during a coin toss—it’s all within the monkey dance. The key is: you stay within the choreography. There’s a line you don’t cross.

    Bill Romanowski didn’t just cross the line—he nuked it. In 1998, the white Denver Broncos linebacker spit on Black 49ers receiver J.J. Stokes. Not trash talk. Not gamesmanship. Spit. A loaded gesture, freighted with the filth of American racial history—slavery, Jim Crow, the days when white men spat on Black men to reduce them to less than human.

    Romanowski’s act wasn’t just disgusting. It was ritual desecration. So offensive, his own teammates were furious. Shannon Sharpe, on national television, looked ready to turn in his mic for a helmet and hunt Romo down himself. Tom Jackson—veteran linebacker, no stranger to violence—said it plain: “If a white man had spit on me, I’d have told him, ‘Do it again and I’ll kill you.’”

    That’s the level of violation we’re talking about. Because saliva isn’t just gross—it’s symbolic. In the world of ritualized combat, putting your spit on someone is not communication—it’s provocation. It’s the opening move in a fight, not a play.

    The Gum on the Ashtray: A Nightclub Parable

    Gottschall’s theory doesn’t just live on the field. I’ve seen it firsthand—in 1989, at a nightclub in Bakersfield. I was a new writing instructor, sitting with some Nigerian colleagues, when a crew of men—hardened, street-weathered, violent-looking—decided they didn’t like our presence. One of them walked over, pulled the gum from his mouth, smashed it into our ashtray with theatrical contempt, and walked off.

    Let me decode that for you: he spit on our table without actually spitting. He made a saliva-based gesture designed to start something. And the unspoken law was clear: respond, or leave and accept that you’ve been punked.

    I left. Because I wasn’t ready to fight five guys who looked like they’d fought their way out of worse places than any writing conference I’d ever attended.

    But the principle was unmistakable: once the ritual starts, you have to define yourself. Are you food, or are you the one eating?

    The Prison Equation: No Bananas, No Mercy

    Gottschall brings it full circle with prison—the pressure cooker of male hierarchy. There, the rules are stripped to the bone. If you don’t retaliate, you don’t just lose a banana—you lose your humanity. You become “the rabbit.” The food. The one they take from, laugh at, exploit.

    He writes, “If you fail the heart test, the other inmates will take your food, exploit your commissary privileges, extort your relatives, and make you a slave.” In other words: show weakness once, and you’re done.

    Football, Violence, and the Unspoken Law

    Now take that mindset to football. When a linebacker stares down a quarterback after a sack, or a cornerback jaw-jacks a wideout after a deflection, they’re not just showing off—they’re broadcasting: “I am not the rabbit. I am not food.”

    That’s why we watch. Beneath the helmets, we’re witnessing status battles in real time, under stadium lights. It’s ritualized war with a rulebook and highlight reels. And we love it. Because something ancient inside us recognizes the stakes, even if we don’t name them.

    But even here, in the modern Coliseum, the honor code must hold. Break it—spit on your opponent, stomp a head, ignore the script—and you’re not just a dirty player. You’re a violator of the sacred order. You’re chaos in a world that depends on containment.

    Conclusion: Spit Happens, But It Shouldn’t

    So yes, ritualized combat is part of our DNA. We can’t scrub it out any more than we can stop blinking. But it only works when the rules of engagement are followed. Trash talk is theater. Respect is the scaffolding. And spit—literal or symbolic—is a bridge too far.

    Because when men fight, they must fight with rules.
    And if they don’t?
    It’s not sport anymore.
    It’s just violence.

  • The Gorilla Pecs of Glory: Why We Watch Men Smash Each Other and Call It Civilization

    The Gorilla Pecs of Glory: Why We Watch Men Smash Each Other and Call It Civilization

    According to Jonathan Gottschall, author of The Professor in the Cage: Why Men Fight and Why We Like to Watch, football isn’t just sport—it’s ritualized combat. A tamed brawl. A socially sanctioned way to indulge our primal appetite for domination without devolving into street warfare. He calls it the monkey dance, a primitive ballet with rules, referees, and halftime shows. I prefer a less polite term: the gorilla pec slap—because that’s what it is. Chest-thumping, ego-flexing theater that feels a lot less like play and a lot more like primal pageantry.

    Gottschall’s thesis is blunt and unapologetic: we are wired for battle. From schoolyard scuffles to rap battles to cage fights, we seek structured conflict to test status, establish pecking orders, and avoid descending into outright anarchy. Whether it’s verbal warfare on stage or two linemen colliding at full speed, it’s all the same story: controlled aggression keeping the real chaos at bay.

    And the stakes, bizarrely, are moral. Gottschall suggests that these “battles with a code” serve a civilizing function: they allow men—yes, mostly men—to hash out dominance hierarchies without burning down the village. Ritualized violence, he argues, is less toxic than the alternative: unpredictable, unsanctioned brutality.

    This raises an uncomfortable truth about the function of sports: men need to know where they stand. The pecking order isn’t just some caveman relic—it’s a form of psychological infrastructure. Everyone knowing their “lane” may sound medieval, but Gottschall insists it’s what prevents society from devolving into a Mad Max sequel. And frankly, he might be right.

    Ritualized battle—be it on the field, the mat, or the mic—feeds something deeper than bloodlust. It gives us narrative. Stories of courage, humiliation, redemption, and collapse. We see ourselves in those stories. We crave them not just for the carnage but for what they reveal: who we are when the pressure spikes and the lights come on.

    Still, some social critics aren’t buying it. They see football and its violent cousins as nothing more than toxic masculinity wrapped in billion-dollar branding. To them, it’s hero cosplay for emotionally stunted men. But Gottschall flips that argument: suppressing these instincts doesn’t make us enlightened—it just makes us dishonest.

    That said, even if we accept that ritualized combat is hardwired and necessary, we’re still left with a lingering question: at what cost? The bodies pile up. The brains deteriorate. Athletes become avatars for our fantasies—and casualties of them, too. Their injuries are real, their careers often short, and their pain long. And yet the spectacle rolls on.

    Meanwhile, the sports industry—like any good dealer—knows how to keep us hooked. Betting apps ping our dopamine receptors, endless content fills our social feeds, and we’re suddenly refreshing stats at 2 a.m. like Wall Street analysts chasing fantasy league glory. What started as play becomes compulsion. Hero worship mutates into dependency. Sports betting morphs into moral rot.

    So where does that leave the thinking sports fan? Are we doomed to either overanalyze the game into oblivion or become wide-eyed addicts to its spectacle? Can we still enjoy a bone-rattling hit without silently calculating the CTE risk?

    There are no easy answers. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: sports are too good at what they do. They hijack our lizard brains, feed our tribal instincts, and offer us drama cleaner than politics, safer than war, and more thrilling than any sermon.

    And like those mythical gorillas slapping their chests in the mist, we’ll keep watching. Because beneath the helmets and highlight reels, we’re not just watching games—we’re watching ourselves. And that, more than anything, is the real addiction.

  • 3 College Essay Prompts That Address the Argument That Football Should be Banned (Brain vs. Game: Is Football Worth the Risk?)

    3 College Essay Prompts That Address the Argument That Football Should be Banned (Brain vs. Game: Is Football Worth the Risk?)

    Here are three argumentative essay prompts suitable for a 9-paragraph essay that ask college students to critically evaluate the claim that football is too dangerous to be allowed, while integrating multiple sources and perspectives:

    Prompt 1: “Freedom vs. Paternalism: Should Football Be Banned for Its Dangers?”

    Essay Prompt:
    Some argue that football should be banned due to its inherent risks—brain trauma, long-term disability, and early death—especially when these dangers are now well-documented through studies, documentaries like Concussion, and essays such as “Offensive Play” by Malcolm Gladwell and “Youth Football Is a Moral Abdication” by Kathleen Bachynski. Others argue that adults, like bodybuilder Ronnie Coleman in The King, have the right to punish their bodies for greatness. Should society protect athletes from themselves, or should personal freedom and the pursuit of glory override concerns about safety?

    Thesis Requirement:
    Take a position on whether football should be banned, regulated further, or left alone. Consider the ethical tension between protecting individuals and respecting their freedom to accept risk.

    Prompt 2: “Is Football Immoral Entertainment or Heroic Spectacle?”

    Essay Prompt:
    Critics like Steve Almond in “Is It Immoral to Watch the Super Bowl?” argue that football is exploitative, violent, and unethically consumed as entertainment by fans who ignore the human cost. Yet, defenders claim that physical sacrifice is the very essence of elite sports, citing Ronnie Coleman’s punishing regimen or the spectacle of NFL Sundays. Drawing from Concussion, Ronnie Coleman: The King, and at least three essays from the list above, argue whether watching and supporting football is morally indefensible—or a celebration of human extremes that demands respect, not condemnation.

    Thesis Requirement:
    Argue whether football spectatorship is morally wrong, or whether it reflects a deeper cultural valorization of sacrifice and spectacle that deserves to continue.

    Prompt 3: “A Necessary Risk? Comparing Football to Other High-Impact Sports”

    Essay Prompt:
    Football is often singled out for its violence and long-term damage to players, as shown in the essays by Dave Bry and Ingfei Chen. But many other sports—MMA, boxing, gymnastics, bodybuilding—also inflict harm in pursuit of greatness. Is it fair to hold football to a different standard? Using Concussion, Ronnie Coleman: The King, and at least three essays from the list, write an argumentative essay that addresses whether football is uniquely immoral—or simply another example of how society accepts risk in exchange for performance and entertainment.

    Thesis Requirement:
    Argue whether football should be abolished due to its extreme risks, or whether it should be viewed in the same ethical category as other dangerous yet glorified sports.

    ***

    Here are three 9-paragraph essay outlines, each corresponding to one of the prompts I gave you. These outlines are structured to guide students in developing strong thesis-driven arguments with counterargument and rebuttal sections.

    Prompt 1 Outline: “Freedom vs. Paternalism: Should Football Be Banned for Its Dangers?”

    Paragraph 1 – Introduction

    • Hook: Paint a vivid image of the risks of football (e.g., brain damage, CTE).
    • Context: Mention growing concern from scientists, journalists, and cultural critics.
    • Thesis: While football poses undeniable dangers, banning it would violate the principle of personal freedom; instead, informed adults should be allowed to take risks in pursuit of meaning, glory, and identity.

    Paragraph 2 – Background on Football’s Dangers

    • Use examples from Concussion, Gladwell’s “Offensive Play,” and Ingfei Chen’s article to detail the physical and neurological toll of the game.
    • Discuss youth football concerns using Bachynski’s critique.

    Paragraph 3 – The Paternalist Case for Banning Football

    • Lay out the moral argument that society has an obligation to protect players from harm—even from themselves.
    • Reference Steve Almond’s and Dave Bry’s essays.
    • Raise the point about fans being complicit in systemic exploitation.

    Paragraph 4 – The Freedom to Choose Dangerous Paths

    • Use Ronnie Coleman as a counterpoint: he knowingly destroyed his body in pursuit of greatness.
    • Argue that personal agency and risk are part of greatness in many sports.

    Paragraph 5 – Informed Consent and Regulation

    • Propose that the real solution is not banning but making sure players are fully informed and medically monitored.
    • Mention existing reforms in football and suggestions for further safety protocols.

    Paragraph 6 – Counterargument: The Problem of Informed Consent in Minors

    • Acknowledge that children and teenagers cannot truly give informed consent.
    • Revisit Bachynski’s argument about moral abdication in youth football.

    Paragraph 7 – Rebuttal: Ban Youth Football, Not the Whole Game

    • Suggest a middle-ground policy: ban tackle football for minors, regulate pro and college levels.
    • Emphasize adult autonomy and institutional responsibility.

    Paragraph 8 – Broader Implications: Personal Risk in a Free Society

    • Link to other professions and sports with risk (e.g., firefighting, racing).
    • Defend risk as a necessary ingredient in human excellence and personal identity.

    Paragraph 9 – Conclusion

    • Reaffirm thesis: Football is dangerous, but banning it would be paternalistic overreach.
    • End with a call for ethical regulation, informed choice, and cultural honesty.

    Prompt 2 Outline: “Is Football Immoral Entertainment or Heroic Spectacle?”

    Paragraph 1 – Introduction

    • Hook: Contrast images of Super Bowl Sunday parties with a football player in a wheelchair, suffering CTE.
    • Context: Critics argue football is a bloodsport; defenders see valor.
    • Thesis: While football’s dangers are real, condemning it as immoral entertainment ignores the deeper human drive toward spectacle, risk, and transcendent physical achievement.

    Paragraph 2 – The Moral Case Against Watching Football

    • Summarize Almond’s, Bry’s, and Gladwell’s critiques of football as exploitative.
    • Emphasize the consumer’s moral responsibility.

    Paragraph 3 – The Physical Toll of Greatness

    • Compare football players to Ronnie Coleman: both destroy their bodies to reach the top.
    • Use Ronnie Coleman: The King as evidence of informed sacrifice.

    Paragraph 4 – The Heroic Spectacle Argument

    • Argue that what we celebrate in sports is the extreme: speed, pain tolerance, power.
    • Football is thrilling precisely because it pushes limits.

    Paragraph 5 – Football and Consent

    • Highlight that football players, unlike gladiators, choose their path.
    • Many see it as a path to identity, meaning, and upward mobility.

    Paragraph 6 – Counterargument: Viewers Are Still Morally Complicit

    • Acknowledge Almond’s point that fans create the demand.
    • Point out that cheering injuries is a moral low point.

    Paragraph 7 – Rebuttal: Admiration Is Not Exploitation

    • Make the case that admiration and exploitation are not the same.
    • Use examples from Concussion and Vasilogambros’ essay showing many players don’t see themselves as victims.

    Paragraph 8 – The Cultural Importance of Football

    • Explore football’s symbolic value in American identity and tradition.
    • Mention Concussion to show that reform, not erasure, may be the better path.

    Paragraph 9 – Conclusion

    • Restate thesis: Football’s violence is part of its mythic power, not its moral failure.
    • Leave reader with a question: Do we truly want to live in a world without high-stakes heroism?

    Prompt 3 Outline: “A Necessary Risk? Comparing Football to Other High-Impact Sports”

    Paragraph 1 – Introduction

    • Hook: Imagine a risk-free Olympics—no broken bones, no injuries, no edge. Would anyone watch?
    • Context: Football is under fire, but risk is foundational to many beloved sports.
    • Thesis: Though football is dangerous, it should not be singled out for abolition when other high-risk sports continue with public admiration and participant consent.

    Paragraph 2 – The Case Against Football’s Danger

    • Outline the evidence from Concussion, Chen’s article, and Bry’s essay.
    • Include the cultural concern about long-term brain injuries.

    Paragraph 3 – Football’s Uniqueness (Critics’ View)

    • Present the argument that football is worse due to repeated head trauma.
    • Highlight Gladwell’s and Bachynski’s emphasis on sub-concussive hits.

    Paragraph 4 – But Other Sports Are Just as Brutal

    • Bring in MMA, boxing, gymnastics, bodybuilding.
    • Describe Ronnie Coleman’s spinal degeneration from lifting.

    Paragraph 5 – The Freedom to Risk and the Myth of the “Safe Sport”

    • Emphasize that even “safe” sports carry injury risks.
    • Athletes know the trade-off and often embrace it.

    Paragraph 6 – Counterargument: Kids Can’t Choose Risk Responsibly

    • Acknowledge the issue of youth sports, echoing Bachynski.
    • Minors can’t weigh long-term risk like adults.

    Paragraph 7 – Rebuttal: Reform, Not Abolition

    • Support banning tackle football for kids, but defend adult participation.
    • Cite reforms in helmets, rules, and concussion protocols.

    Paragraph 8 – Sports and the Human Drive for Glory

    • Revisit Ronnie Coleman: he knowingly embraced suffering for excellence.
    • Link this drive to the nature of sport and human aspiration.

    Paragraph 9 – Conclusion

    • Restate thesis: Football isn’t uniquely immoral—it’s one chapter in a larger story of human performance and risk.
    • Conclude with a call for honest conversations, not blanket bans.
  • The Salma Hayek-ification of Writing: A Love Letter to Our Slow-Motion Doom

    The Salma Hayek-ification of Writing: A Love Letter to Our Slow-Motion Doom

    I’ve done what the pedagogical experts say to do with ChatGPT: assume my students are using it and adjust accordingly. I’ve stopped trying to catch them red-handed and started handing them a red carpet. This isn’t about cracking down—it’s about leaning in. I’ve become the guy in 1975 who handed out TI calculators in Algebra II and said, “Go wild, kids.” And you know what? They did. Math got sexier, grades went up, and nobody looked back.

    Likewise, my students are now cranking out essays with the polish of junior copywriters at The Atlantic. I assign them harder prompts than I ever dared in the pre-AI era—ethical quandaries, media critiques, rhetorical dissections of war propaganda—and they deliver. Fast. Smooth. Professional. Too professional.

    You’d think I’d be ecstatic. The gap between my writing and theirs has narrowed to a hair’s width. But instead of feeling triumphant, I feel…weirdly hollow. Something’s off.

    Reading these AI-enhanced essays is like watching Mr. Olympia contestants on stage—hyper-muscular, surgically vascular, preposterously sculpted. At first, it’s impressive. Then it’s monotonous. Then it’s grotesque. The very thing that was once jaw-dropping becomes oddly numbing.

    That’s where we are with writing. With art. With beauty.

    There’s a creeping sameness to the brilliance, a too-perfect sheen that repels the eye the way flawless skin in a poorly-lit Instagram filter repels real emotion. Everyone’s beautiful now. Everyone’s eloquent. And like the cruelest of paradoxes, if everyone looks like Salma Hayek, then no one really does.

    AI content has the razzle-dazzle of a Vegas revue. It’s slick, it’s dazzling, and it empties your soul faster than a bottomless mimosa brunch. The quirk, the voice, the twitchy little neurosis that makes human writing feel alive? That’s been sanded down into a high-gloss IKEA finish.

    What we’re living through is the Salma Hayek-ification of modern life: a technologically induced flattening of difference, surprise, and delight.

    We are being beautified into oblivion.

    And deep inside, where the soul used to spark when a student wrote a weird, lumpy, incandescent sentence—one they bled for, sweated over—I feel the faint echo of that spark flicker.

    I’m not ready to say the machines have killed art. But they’ve definitely made it harder to tell the difference between greatness and a decent algorithm with good taste.

  • The Salma-Hayek-ification of Beauty and the Algorithmic Flattening of Everything (And Why Your Weirdness Is Now Sacred)

    The Salma-Hayek-ification of Beauty and the Algorithmic Flattening of Everything (And Why Your Weirdness Is Now Sacred)

    If technology can make us all look like Salma Hayek, then congratulations—we’ve successfully killed beauty by cloning it into oblivion. Perfection loses its punch when everyone has it on tap. The same goes for writing: if every bored intern with a Wi-Fi connection can crank out Nabokovian prose with the help of ChatGPT, then those dazzling turns of phrase lose their mystique. What once shimmered now just… scrolls.

    Yes, technology improves us—but it also sandblasts the edges off everything, leaving behind a polished sameness. The danger isn’t just in becoming artificial; it’s in becoming indistinguishable. The real challenge in this age of frictionless upgrades is to retain your signature glitch—that weird, unruly fingerprint of a soul that no algorithm can replicate without screwing it up in glorious, human ways.

    If technology can make us all look like Brad Pitt and Selma Hayak, then none of us will be beautiful. Likewise, if we can all use ChatGPT to write like Vladimir Nabokov, then florid prose will no longer have the wow factor. Technology improves us, yes, but it also makes everything the same. Retaining your individual fingerprint of a soul is the challenge in this new age.