Thoughts on the MLS All-Stars v. Atletico Madrid Pre-Season Game 
(particularly the colour commentary)
Americans hate dead broadcast air.  They cannot have experts carefully ponder and analyze the action before making a considered judgement.  In fact, they cannot tolerate any sort of relevant information or facts.  This game was a fantastic example of rambling and disturbing verbal vomitus that did nothing other than prevent the sound of the crowd from being audible.  Whenever the play-by-play commentator paused, ran out of breath, choked on his own incompetence, etc, it fell to the colour commentator to blurt out whatever stream of consciousness idiocy happened to be lurching across his tongue.

What I expect from colour commentary:
PbP:  And Manolo receives the ball on the right wing... looking for some options inside... Do you think that he'll want to pass to one of his Argentinian teammates on the MLS side, Stu?
Colour Guy:  Well, ever since he was transferred to Italian club SS Waffeno last summer for 3 million euros worth of tooth fillings, his international form has dipped.  He has scored zero goals in eight appearances, with a single assist on a Pequeno own-goal.  The best that the MLS All-Stars can hope for at this point is that Manolo gives the ball away to Atletico before injuring himself and being substituted for someone useful.
PbP:  A little harsh, Stu.  The ball is hit over the top onto the run of Englishman Joe Bloggs, who holds up the ball at the touchline to the keeper's right.
Colour:  Bloggs is another graduate of the illustrious Wankstone FC academy, where he spent ten years before being picked up on a Bosman free by Smegma Rovers.  Now that he's retired from the international game, the real winners are the Oklahoma City Bombers fans that he delights every six or seven weeks, or whenever he sobers up. 
PbP:  Real classy, Stu.  And there's another attempt on goal smashed high over the bar, the spectators, and the escape altitude for low Earth orbit.

What ESPN thinks is colour commentary:
PbP:  The blue team have the ball.  It's number 7... um... I think that's... um... Cabron with it.  Billy, you've met Cabron, haven't you?
Colour:  If by met, you mean that I hang out in the hallway outside the team dressing room making panting noises, then yes.  The smells on the other side of that door, man.  Reminds me of when my mother would come home after a long night down by the docks at low tide...
PbP:  Oh!  The ball is intercepted by the red and white team.  Uh... Atletico are on the attack now.  I think it's Pendejo with the ball, and he's just been kicked to the ground.  Whistle.  The referee is signalling something...  He's holding up a card... I think he's showing a yellow card to number 4... DeDuudu DeDaada.  Billy?
Colour:  I've always liked that player.  Or at least his sister.  Man, she's one hot tamale.  For a twelve year-old.  Nothing sexier than a twelve year-old with a tequila hangover and a sloppy...
PbP:  And the ref has blown his whistle again.  I think that means the game is over.  Doesn't it?

Just a few short weeks until the competitive fixtures begin anew and we can dispense with the pre-season stuff.
Cheers,
—mARKUS

Hans Brinker?

Greetings, gentle readers.
I was touched and moved by the story of a woman in central Alberta who offered to give her home away to any person willing to write an essay and pay an entry fee of $25.
https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/calgary/millarville-million-dollar-home-contest-1.4985249

The written word is one of the most powerful forces in human history.  It's lovely to see it used to help someone make a life-changing decision.  Twenty-five dollars is also a very significant amount of money.

$25

In this particular instance, twenty-five dollars could be used to purchase a house in Millarville.  The same amount was used to buy these:

These ice skates were purchased by a kindly fellow in Ontario, but they signify something more than just steel blades attached to uncomfortable shoes.  The person selling these skates was also abandoning hope and admitting failure.

Past

Thirty years ago, these tough pieces of footwear endured five A.M. practices, clumsy drills on uneven outdoor rinks, and all the sorts of abuse expected of hockey equipment.  Since then, they've cruised on lakes and ponds as well as more civilized and dignified arenas.  Those times are gone, never to be relived or even imagined.  Those memories now belong to another person in another time.

Present

Is there a point in a human life where we stop living and begin dying?  A person who owns these ice skates could argue that he or she is still an active participant in the universe — someone with the ability to transform a sheet of frozen water into an artistic canvas, a workout gym, and a dance palace all at once.  The person who sold these skates has closed the doors to those enchantments and left the magic to die alone in the cold.

Future

Nothing lasts forever, but sometimes we can hold the hope that our achievements and accomplishments will live beyond ourselves.  The thought of teaching a child to glide across the ice and feel the thrill of taking that final, skipping crossover before dashing against the air so hard that your tears fly back into your ears is a strong one.  Unfortunately, there are no heirs here, no protégés or students.  Someone who owns these skates could hold the dream of helping a young Danielle Goyette or Katarina Witt flourish.  A person selling these skates is leaving all of his or her skills and memories to be forgotten forever.

If it is true that life is lived in chapters, then it is interesting to see how people define those divisions.  Sometimes it is a traumatic or exhilarating event, like 25 May 2005.  Sometimes it's some sort of epiphany triggered by a thought or a word. 
In some cases, it's twenty-five dollars.

Until next time, goodnight England and the Colonies.
—mARKUS