One reader has told me that The Fourth Army is "anti-sports," and that in my effort to have us recognize vicarious violence in all its forms, I have denigrated "clean, healthy team play."  That shows a lack of close reading of my comments about sporting events in the book and elsewhere..

There are some "sports" that are beyond consideration by decent, ethical people.  Boxing is one of those.  Some elements of professional US football and hockey accept permanent and serious injury to players as the price of a full stadium.  I condemn those parts of mass spectator sports forcefully and will little reservation, and I urge others to do so as well. 

Mass spectator sports may be healthy and a means of focusing sentiments and emotions on human achievement.  No one should deny that World Cup 2014 is such an event.  As of June 19th more than 46 million tweets had been sent registering sentiments and views about the players, referees and matches.  At one point, more than 200,000 tweets were focused on WC2014 per minute.  While there may be an excess of public expense, gambling and drinking involved in the World Cup games, no one is dying because of WC2014.  In this case, nationalist emotions are focused on scoring points rather than on body counts.

Universal games are a useful thing when they let emotion and frenzy build up and then dissipate. 

There is an astounding moment in our recent history when soldiers in the French, British and German armies chose balls over bullets on the battlefront.  In the first years of World War I, the infantrymen on both sides of the trenches declared a Christmas Truce, put down their rifles, played soccer with each other in No Man's Land and sang Christmas carols. That event was never repeated in the conflict, but it showed the common humanity of the foot soldiers on both sides and soccer matches united those men rather than pulling them apart.

That lesson should not be lost on us.  It is useful to focus great resources on games and sports events.  We should not do that blindly or without reservation.  Many parts of pro sports need to be reformed and changed for the health of the players and the spectators, and we need to recognize that sports can be a forum for violence, hatred and aggression if left unchecked.  We should always choose balls over bullets when we can, and maybe over time, bullets will become a historical memory only and Christmas Truce will be

Shoem - The HIdden



Sunlight dapples down through the elms
Spreading a Turkish carpet of gold and shadow 
Over the bricks of the sidewalk
Men and women bend to each other
Glasses of wine sparkle in the sunlight
As do eyes and murmurs.

The tables have been pushed to the edge of the street
The house itself is built on the sandy, wet clay of the city
Tilting and groaning under past agonies that few suspect
The upper stories lean out into the sky a full meter
Casting darkness over all who pass below

In the street bicycles and the occasional car
People pass by and think how quaint is this city
Look at the café in the house leaning across the street to touch its neighbor
Few of them know that the house is bowed by
The fear that dwelt within its walls for so long.

The very old in the neighborhood
Remember that the house did not always lean and twist
As it does now
 
The city’s houses have a long tradition
Of hiding the pursued
Under the steep stairs, between additions and rafters
Hidey holes have served priests, unwed mothers,
Political refugees, even philosophers, and a girl named Anne.

In our era
Nazi officers, Gestapo, police and informers
Have swirled through its dining rooms in winter
And sprawled on its terrace in summer
Laughing and snorting with the exclamations
Of those who conquer.

While above them, a mere few feet away
Cowered Jews in hiding
Lying silently between the rafters on rags
To muffle any cough, stifle any sigh
When the officers left with full bellies
The smells of their scraps rose to torture the hidden


The house groans with its secret knowledge
Its step gables
No longer a stair for angels to come and go

Though the hidden never touched the walls
Their fears, their stifled coughs, and unspoken words
Seethed through the rafters and bounced off the walls
Forcing the house to buckle and twist

The horror of those years still visible today
On both bricks and flesh.