Letter One | 11/20 | Russ
Cape Town
Dear Lack,
It’s hard for me to imagine beginning this first letter without turning it into a saccharine piece of remembrance and gratitude. So—please be patient with me.
When we began the first iteration of this project in 2018, I remember feeling self-conscious. Am I really going to put my voice out into the world? What if my writing is bad? What if I don’t have the language to express how I feel? These questions—a few among many—I asked myself constantly, caught in the downward spiral of self-doubt. Thankfully, I had you to pull me out.
You reminded me that no thought in my head was ever going to look as good on paper, and that this is true for all writers. You used an analogy: to create a house you must first gather some bricks (I use this same analogy every year with my students when they struggle with their own writing). In a sense, you told me to get over myself. And I did.
What we created four and half years ago remains the most meaningful creative project of my life. It was the perfect amalgamation of everything I cared about: reading, writing, soccer, and stimulating conversation with a close friend. Now, as I near the end of my 20s, my relationship with each of these passions has changed. I find myself writing more, although not lots more. I find myself reading more and with greater breadth. Currently, I’m reading Don DeLillo’s White Noise in anticipation for the upcoming Noah Baumbach adaptation. I was also inspired to pick it up after stumbling upon a review by Ryan Napier, who says the novel “remains one of our most perceptive visions of contemporary America and the desperate illusions of consumer society,” which is fitting, given the state of global soccer.
We, of course, would not be embarking on a second run of this project were it not for our shared love of the sport. But it’s become much harder to remain interested as a spectator when everything seems to be influenced not by narrative or beautiful play, but by financial growth and branding. In 2022, FC Barcelona play home matches at the Spotify Camp Nou and the professional league for men’s club soccer in France is called Ligue 1 Uber Eats. Over just the last four years: the infamous proposal for a European Super League, the invasion of cryptocurrency, the very recent NWSL abuse scandal, and the wild inflation of ticket prices. I find this all terribly depressing.
The Men’s World Cup in Qatar starts tomorrow, as I write this—today, as you read it. I should be excited, but I’m not. Rather than feeling energized by the prospect—some of the best teams in the world competing in my most beloved sport— I feel fatigued. We have known for years that this World Cup has a sickening human cost even more obvious and brutal than is typical. Why has the beautiful game become so ugly?
Despite this lassitude, I do feel an even greater excitement towards this project than I did in 2018. Maybe it has to do with geographic distance. Four and half years ago we were both living in Portland, where we could see each other regularly, watch World Cup matches together. Now you’re in Berkeley and I’m in Cape Town, South Africa. Sharing our feelings and thoughts, whether through conversation or writing, is more challenging given the lag across multiple time zones. But, to me, this makes it much more special. Maybe some kind of romance and beauty can come out of this World Cup, after all.
Thank you again, my friend. I can’t tell you how much you and this project mean to me.
Until the next letter,
Russ
P.S.—I asked Nate to put a $10 bet on Uruguay to win the tournament. At the very least it’ll be something interesting for us to follow as the tournament progresses. Do you think they have a chance?