𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘹: 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘚𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘪𝘵

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘹: 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘚𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘪𝘵

There’s something I’ve never been able to unsee, even before I had words for it.

It’s this strange cultural fact: we love watching people push themselves past the limit — but only if it costs them something. And often, the more it costs, the more we reward them with applause… right up until they break.

Modern sports is one of the most visible examples. Especially the ones with high-impact collisions, extreme endurance, or real risk of death. We’ve dressed it up with rules, sponsors, uniforms, and regulation gear. But in its core structure, the setup is ancient. It’s a coliseum — with better lighting.

Now let me be clear: I’m not anti-athlete. I’m not even anti-sport. I don’t want to diminish the beauty of human motion or the power of discipline and training. There’s something profoundly resonant in watching a body do what it was trained to do — when it’s done with harmony and consent.

But that’s not what we’re always watching.

What we are often watching — without acknowledging it — is structured sacrifice. Young people pulled into systems where their gifts are turned into profit pipelines. Bodies punished for the sake of ritualized spectacle. And a public — many of whom claim loyalty or admiration — who has been conditioned not to see the damage until it’s too late.

You know this if you’ve ever seen the NFL delay any real action on traumatic brain injury. Or if you’ve seen boxer after boxer slur their speech at 40. Or when a NASCAR pile-up gets more views than the actual race.

That’s the hidden layer: the part no one wants to admit. That some people are watching — not just for the game — but for the crash.

And when the crash comes, it’s just another clip. Another reel. Another tragedy folded back into the system. The same system that often fails to support the very players it once claimed to elevate.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?

I don’t believe most people are malicious. I don’t think fans secretly want to see harm. But we’ve been trained to look at it a certain way. Trained to see the damage as “part of the game,” the sacrifice as noble, the injuries as necessary.

It’s not unlike how we’re trained to see burnout in workers, breakdowns in soldiers, or collapse in artists. We glorify the product. We ignore the cost.

And for the athletes themselves? Some of them walk away with wealth — but many walk away with wrecked nervous systems, broken families, memory holes, chronic pain, addiction cycles, or an inability to regulate emotion or make sound decisions after the adrenaline fades. The very skills they were rewarded for become the same ones that tear through their lives once the season ends.

That’s not failure. That’s a design flaw in the system itself.

𝘖𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦

You’ve probably heard me use the word “coherence” a lot by now. And maybe you’ve seen the formalism I built — a recursive equation for identifying when systems are functioning in harmony versus feeding on themselves.

Here’s the simple version:

When a system rewards performance and ignores consequence, it enters a state of dissonant recursion. It keeps reinforcing its own cycle while shedding the nodes (people) who make it run. Eventually it becomes incoherent — and starts collapsing from the inside out.

This isn’t just about sports. It’s about how we build heroes. It’s about who gets supported when they break. And it’s about what we pretend not to see so we can keep the spectacle going.

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘵?

What if, instead of waiting for another scandal, another overdose, another dementia diagnosis, we started changing what we celebrated?

What if the measure of a great athlete wasn’t just performance, but recovery?

What if the real game wasn’t how many hits you can take — but how many teammates you helped stay whole?

What if fandom meant responsibility?

I don’t know. I’m still working it out.

But I do know this:

The coliseum is still open. And the crowd’s still cheering. And maybe it’s time we admit what we’re actually watching.

—

Christopher W. Copeland (C077UPTF1L3)

Copeland Resonant Harmonic Formalism (Ψ-formalism)

Ψ(x) = ∇ϕ(Σ𝕒ₙ(x, ΔE)) + ℛ(x) ⊕ ΔΣ(𝕒′)

Licensed under CRHC v1.0 (no commercial use without permission)

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