Summer vortex

Hobbes I have spent the last two months in a vortex of timelessness. Just waking up into the same day over and over again, days hardly even marked by the setting or rising of the sun in an ongoing cycle of eating, sleeping, crying, and pooping.

But of course we all cope with the soccer offseason in our own ways.

(I resent the fact that my brand of humor can now be dismissed as Dad Jokes.)

Because no, that vortex was and very much still is because of your cousin Jude. Jude is a baby. Jude has no regard for how much attention is being given to his daily existence.

In that context you’ll be surprised to know that I have managed to keep up with the soccer transfer market this summer.

One thing about days without time is that they are hugely susceptible to cheap uses of any spare moment. I’m not necessarily tired in the way that I expected to be, the way I was warned about leading up to parenthood. I still have trouble falling asleep. But my brain is tired. I’ve had a very short attention span. And when your cousin is sleeping I mostly just don’t want to think all that hard.

There are apps designed to capitalize on exactly that.

And I do hate social media algorithms. This isn’t new, but has evidently been heightened. Maybe it’s my Dad Indignation. If I’m going to scroll mindlessly through the internet I’d like to be in some version of control. My solution is to skip past the main feeds and go directly to the accounts I find entertaining, and it’s out of this practice that I have found myself using those pockets of time in my any given week to check in on the soccer journalists who break news about transfer drama.

We talked some about this last winter, about the difference between the January transfer window and its summer counterpart. We don’t have to rehash all of that. For one thing Arsenal finally signed a striker. But suffice it to say that soccer’s offseason reportage is like any other modern news ecosystem, where the whole thing thrives on continuous interaction, on there forever being something new to say even if there is nothing noteworthy to report.

Club X showing interest in player Y.

Contract terms being negotiated.

Bid submitted.

Bid rejected.

€__ million in guaranteed money.

The fantastic and terrifying thing about a modern news cycle—and especially in the age of social media reporting—is how it fosters addiction. Because if there always might be some new information coming out then there is always a reason to check tentatively back in.

But keeping daily track of soccer transfers is silly. It’s silly at any stage of life and especially so with a newborn in the house. It’s frivolous during a period in life when spare time is precious.

And I don’t mean to make it seem like your uncle has been struggling this summer. I’ve had a lovely stretch of vortexed weeks. Your cousin is a delightful young man, generally content and unintentionally hilarious. He is the Prince of Whales, the Pope of Ducks, the Sultan of Ants. We’ve read books by Akiko Miyakoshi, by Sandra Boynton, we’ve listened to musical theatre soundtracks that your mama sends as part of Jude’s early education, we’ve made up our own songs and spent so many hours looking at the trees.

Except that Jude has no regard for how much attention is being given to his daily existence, and my spare time, while precious, is also a chance to be frivolous during a period of life when so many of my waking hours are marked with responsibility.

But then there was a week in July when I gave my ongoing attention to whether or not Ethan Nwaneri would sign a long-term contract at Arsenal. Checking back in during my son’s every nap to see if there was any news.

So I’m trying to get better at all of this, at using those quiet moments to relax and reengage with the virtual world without allowing my computer to dictate the terms.

I’ll make an effort about writing to you more often.

Which, speaking of which, the Premier League season starts three weeks from today. Incredible. I hope you’ve enjoyed your summer so far, I hope you’ve continued to swim in the creek and run naked around your home. Really that’s what summer days are for.