My kid is on her school’s soccer team, and she loves it. We love it too, as it is the best way for her to burn off the huge amounts of energy that she has in reserve, and it keeps her off a screen. I don’t know if she will be a life longer soccer player/fan and honestly, I don’t care. I like that she’s playing on a team, and doing something physical.
If you are not aware, I come from a very competing family. I wasn’t blessed with the athletic gene (though I wasn’t too bad at tennis) but playing and winning at games was a big thing in my family growing up. Lots of board games and wiffleball in the back yard. With two older brother who were nine and seven years older than me, it was difficult to beat them at sports as a kid, but that didn’t stop me from trying. My oldest brother played baseball, and my other brother was all about basketball. I tried my hand at both, but didn’t have the skills. I could through a baseball well, but couldn’t hit to save my life. As for basketball, I don’t ever remember feeling that I was coordinated enough to be good at it.
My father had a rule in our house, which was we had to play a sport up until we turned sixteen. After I washed out of Little League, and junior high basketball didn’t have a place for me, my father suggested that I take up tennis, which was a sport he played. I took lessons once a week for two years, and I got kind’a good, but not that good. But my father’s point did sink in; you have to stay active and physical, or you will just go pot.
So, I guess I am keeping the tradition alive. Going to keep her in a sport until sixteen, when she can decide for herself if she wants to continue.
When I turned sixteen, I stopped the tennis lessons, and committed myself to my high school’s theatre department. Which, in a round about way, is also a team sport.
China bots have invaded my blog! At first I thought that I was getting really popular. But then I looked up where all these views were coming from, and it turns out they were coming from one city in China. I guess it’s possible that I’m really popular in China. Then I did a little digging on the internets and found out that this is a common situation. Any case, I would just like to say hello to all you bots out there. Hope you find what you’re looking for. I suggest checking out my latest published piece at Split Lip Magazine. It’s rather insightful, if I must say so myself.
The kid’s soccer season starts on Saturday. Not much to say other than that this year, I will buy folding chairs so I can sit and watch the matches. Oh, and Tottenham is playing rather well; Only one loss and two draws, with five wins. Lot’s of soccer in my life right now.
And the Cubs made the playoffs, so I get to see they gang play in October. That’s making my Fall feel better.
So, to say that I impatient for Autumn is an understatement. I have my huge thick cardigan sweat sitting out in the living room, as I am ready for a chilly evening to put it on, but the air conditioner is on. It’s 83 degrees in the City, and humid as Houston. I know, I know, I know I sound like the oldest of old mean yelling at the clouds, but you need to understand that I am built and geared for the Fall and Winter. Prolonged exposure to Summer and warm weather causes my brain to melt and generally creates a state of high annoyance in me. I need clouds and gray, rain, and leaves changing, and coffee all day. Honestly, if Autumn doesn’t show up soon, I might just melt away…
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
Now the darkness only stays at night time In the morning it will fade away Daylight is good At arriving at the right time But it’s not always going To be this grey
(The short story “The Pool” by T. Coraghessan Boyle appeared in the September 22nd, 2025 issue of The New Yorker.)
Illustration by Leanne Shapton
Here’s an old saying that will live forever; Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. And when I hear this line, I contemplate if other words can also show sincere flattery, like – Impression, Takeoff, Parody, Sendup, Reproduction, Inspiration, or Synthesis. While reading T. Coraghessan Boyle’s “The Pool” I began to wonder how much of a debt this story owes to John Cheever’s “The Swimmer,” and should that be interpreted as a form of flattery?
Now, I’m not the one who originally brought up Cheever. The story did it in the seventh paragraph. Also, “The Pool” is a story that is being published in The New Yorker, and that story references one of Cheever’s most famous stories, “The Swimmer” which was also published in The New Yorker. As such, the preponderance of the evidence leads me to believe that “The Swimmer” is, if nothing else, an influence on this story.
“The Pool” is about a pool which is a part of a house that is recently purchased by the narrator/protagonist and his wife. They have two kids, and she is pregnant with their third, and final child. From the beginning of the story, there is a concern that a child may drown in the pool, and this foreshadowing comes to fruition when the narrator’s son falls into the pool at their house warming party. Thankfully the child is saved by a family friend, Malcolm, who is helping the narrator to paint the house. This near-death moment is the first of three that happen in the story; the other being a tree branch falling on the narrator’s wife, and the ending with the narrator jumping off the roof into the pool. Nothing bad happens to them, they stay lucky and safe. The same cannot be said for others in the story. Malcolm’s marriage falls apart, a baby opossum falls into the pool, and though rescued with attempts to nurse it back to health, the animal dies. In fact, there is dangerous wildlife just beyond the backyard fence, which the narrator encounters, and chooses not to tell his wife or family about. The narrator seems most concerned about drinking and staying high around his pool as the summer wains on with an almost never-ending round of pool parties at the home.
And that brings me to my biggest rub; what to make of the narrator/protagonist? I wouldn’t go full blown and call him a narcissist, but he is rather self-absorbed. His children get very few mentions, other than saying they moved to find better schools, and that his wife’s birth control failed three times. His relationship with his pregnant wife seems to be fine, though he doesn’t show or say anything affectionate toward her even in her grand expecting state. Even the birth of their third child feels more like a footnote so the narrator can return home and continue sitting around the pool drinking with Malcolm. As the story progresses, the narrator seems to devolve into a more adolescent state. Having fun at the pool seems to be his only concern. It doesn’t lend itself to a satisfying character arc, because if this was a hero’s journey, then the journey never got started.
Yet, I kept finding myself being pulled back to “The Swimmer” reference at the start of the story. Is “The Pool” a comment on current life in the suburbs? Is it a comment on men and their need for leisure? Or is it talking about men who fail up in life? Or is this about the aspirational attainment of “the American Dream” and how it can insulate you from the harsh realities of our modern world? I don’t know… I’m just not sure.
I do want to add that I enjoy T. Coraghessan Boyle’s writing. Reading this story, the prose was compelling, and even urgent in places. There are moments of unease, and tension so the story, and I would say intentionally, feels as if it is settled on uneven ground. That things could shift at any moment. There are no clear lines here, but curves that the tone and themes progress on. It doesn’t follow a pattern, which is refreshing and should be acknowledged.
I’m glad I read “The Pool” and for making me go look up “The Swimmer” as well. I can’t shake the feeling that “The Pool” is inspired and influenced by “The Swimmer” but still not sure what to make of it. I do recommend that you read it. If for no other reason than to ask, “What do you think it was about?”
It was 1998, and a very good friend of mine let me borrow Wave of Mutilation: Best of Pixies. I knew nothing about Pixies, but as soon as I listened to that album, I pretty much played it non-stop for two months. (I will also admit that another good friend of mine tried to get me to listen to Surfer Rosa a year earlier, but it didn’t take so that doesn’t count.) The first good friend was very proud of themselves for converting me to be a Pixies fan, and my reward was him doing a spot on impression of these first 11 seconds of “Broken Face.” Not only does those 11 seconds get stuck in my head, but I can also see my friend’s face as he sung them to me – usually in his car as he drove us to a bar.
