Dear Track & Field; The Sport, the Institution, the Legacy, the Whole Shebang,
We are writing to inform you that we accept your challenge. It’s been three months since we last spoke, since you rebuked us so. We’re sure you thought you were done with us. That we were gone, never to return, never to request admittance or access ever again. And it makes sense, I mean, you were an asshole to us. Not even an exciting asshole—you know, hot sex in a public bathroom, high-risk transmissions, cold-hot-cold-hot-cold, make us pay all of the rent because you spent your “paycheck” on some horse to share with Dusty and the gang in our living room kind of an asshole. First of all, it’s MY LIVING ROOM. And second of all, nope. You were just like a reg old boring-ass chino-wearing boring-as-fuck Enterprise Rent-a-Car counter jockey having a rough hump day kind of an asshole. You know, blue shirt, special sauce stain on the tie, a name like Brad. Anyway, the point is you figured, clearly, that Yonder Journal would fail (by every definition of the word) so completely at the Track & Field game that we’d throw the towel in after our first foray into the sport. We figure it goes something like this:
- You hate yourself. You have low self esteem. You hate the future. You hate new things and new ideas. You’re basically Puritanism in the form of a sport.
- You’ve got something good—and I mean really good—something the world needs and wants, something uplifting, emotive and powerful, you hold in your boring little hands the seed from which all of sport, ALL OF IT, every discipline, ALL OF IT, was born. And you don’t want to share it. You are a petulant child.
- We don’t know why. Probably your parents never hugged you. It’s not our problem. Moving on.
- Not only do you not want exposure and success, you fear it like the enemy at your gates.
- You tolerate the Olympics. But really you wish that would go away, too.
- You covet Track & Field so much, to such a degree, that you mean to snuff it out.
- And so you see us as a threat. You see what we see. You know Track & Field is ripe. Ready to bloom. To show itself. To reach its full potential!!! And with our help, you fear, it just might.
- So you planned for us a bad foray. You endeavored to make our foray suck.