Zebras!

One of the many duties of being a youth sports official is being directly involved with the grassroots of skill and game IQ development. NOTHING could be more grassroots than a gr 4/5/6 elementary school tournament and I was blessed (??) with an opportunity to be involved in as part of my referee board's responsibilities to cover the vast majority of games that happen in this area.

The mini-tournament was in my own backyard at the school not far from my place in Wasaga. I really had no idea of the talent level in 'The Beach' but I did know that there was an absence of club presence prompting my assumption that many of the players would be school-trained ... NOT a bad thing, but often exemplifies a lower level of skill. As it would turn out, the proficiency was higher than anticipated making the entertainment value quite high. The icing on the cake, as it were, was a couple of friend's children were playing, so the overall evaluation of the experience was amusingly impressive.

Refereeing elementary basketball is always challenging because:
(a) the gyms are usually poorly designed for the activity, the boundary lines often under the feet of the parents and spectators,
(b) the coaches ... Lord bless them ... are, more often than not, good natured volunteers filled to the brim with love and enthusiasm yet low on in-depth knowledge of higher level development, and
(c) the parents LOVE seeing Johnny or Susy in competition but reveal their lack of understanding when they take exception with a perceived (operative word) lack of proficiency on the referee's part.

Regarding the gyms, there's obviously not much that can be done. Whenever I visit a school I've previously never been, I make a quick assessment of the safety implications like mats on the wall under the baskets, structures sticking out into the playing area, or the aforementioned boundary lines. The gym on this occasion was a pleasant surprise, albeit quite small in overall dimensions.

Regarding the coaches, it needs to be acknowledged that regardless of prowess, without their direct input the opportunity would not exist for kids to have some fun and stay active. We already have too many sedentary activities to occupy free time so let's not condemn or disparage those that are doing their best to change that. As a person who's been involved in the game for a really long time, and in all hubris, experienced success at an elite level, I applaud those incredible humans for donating their limited free time to provide such valuable opportunities. If they can do that AND have some proficiency, that's just gravy on the mashed! 

You should know that there are some genuine superstars teaching/coaching in Simcoe County schools!

The crux of today's diatribe comes at the expense of parents and their misguided enthusiasm for 'assisting' the referees involved in the child's game.

This may be a revelation to some, but the primary objective of a referee is NOT to enforce the rules, but to ensure that the game is a safe and fair competition. Referees will sometimes choose not to make a call if it either won't impact the game (in his or her opinion) or would make a mockery of the activity by stopping and starting play every few seconds.

Yes, sir or madam, that was very likely out of bounds, but with only one referee amongst 10 over-excited littles, in a confined space, with parent's feet straddling the boundary line, the calls that happen on the other side of the court are sometimes ignored so that the play can go on, likely a conscious decision so that some semblance of flow can be maintained in the game.

Yes, sir or madam, Johnny or Susy was indeed in the key for more than 3 seconds, but the referee tried to talk them out so the game didn't have to be stopped. The rule actually entails a sense of advantage/disadvantage when being enforced, so it's very likely it wasn't called as a conscious decision. Additionally, once a shot for goal is released, the count stops because team control of the ball ends and won't restart until clear team control is established. It stands to reason that a player could occupy the lane for 30+ seconds as long as his/her team keeps shooting and successfully rebounds the miss.

Yes, sir or madam, there was contact on that play, but not all parents choose to recall that basketball is a contact game, and as such, every time bodies collide is not a rules infringement. The reason for the contact is weighed equally with the establishment of legal guarding position, and if the shooter is not disadvantaged in any way, the no-call is the right call. Also, if there is illegal contact and the shooter successfully scores without significantly changing their shot, referees are coached (yes, we have coaches) to let play continue. That also explains why there are occasionally what are best deemed 'late' whistles because the successful outcome of the play can dictate whether or not the game needs to be stopped.

For every game, there's likely in the order of 20% of infractions that are ignored in the best interest of the flow of the action, and it behooves spectators to understand that no-calls are often done on purpose. Hey, I'll be the first one to admit that I miss a few calls each game, but I'd wager that my success rate is closer to 97 or 98%, which I'd unequivocally state is superlative.

Having said all of this, I absolutely LOVE still being involved in the game, and I very rarely take offense when an attempt is made to 'educate' me because I understand what more than likely led to the vocalization. IMHO, a referee that is focused on the player's best interest and safety will likely have parental input wash over that like so much white noise. When a situation explodes to a level that requires intervention, it will get dealt with, usually resulting in a removal from the pleasure of watching children have fun.

Did I mention how much I enjoy refereeing? 

My Board of Officials is perennially understaffed and would welcome new blood so if you think you've got the right stuff ...

or you'd love to give back to the game ... 

or are curious about being on the other side of the whistle ...
or would like to experience the grassroots level of development ...

then have I got an opportunity for you!

About fear and the future

"Never leave that till tomorrow which you can do today."

A couple of hundred years ago, Benjamin Franklin shared with the world this secret of his success. As the man who discovered electricity, among other pretty astounding accomplishments like inventing bifocals, the Franklin Stove, swim fins and not the least of which, drafting the Declaration of Independence, you'd think more people would pay heed to what he had to say. 

I don’t know why we put things off, but if I had to wager a guess, I’d propose it has a lot to do with fear. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, sometimes the fear of just of making a decision, because what if you’re wrong? What if you’re making a mistake you can’t undo? What if it costs you hard earned cash? What if it pisses someone off? Having said all that, as a civilized society we have embraced a plethora of idioms (sayings) warning of the evils of procrastination, lest we stray down that path.

The early bird catches the worm. 

A stitch in time saves nine. 

He who hesitates is lost.

You snooze, you lose.

A day late, a dollar short.

We’ve all heard the proverbs, heard the philosophers, heard our grandparents warning us about wasted time, and even poets urge us to seize the day (thank you Robin Williams). We still have to experience it for ourselves, at least most of the time, because we don't like to be told what to do. 

We have to make our own mistakes. 

We have to learn our own lessons.

Franklin wasn't alone in his thinking though, and a little detective work reveals a number of quotes made famous that are along the same vein of thinking:

"Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday." 

Don Marquis, 1927
"Things dreaded require double time to accomplish them." 

James Lendall Basford, 1882

"Never put off till tomorrow what you can do to-day." 

Thomas Jefferson, 1825

Enlightenment arrives when we finally understand what ol' Ben really meant.

Knowing is better than wondering.

Waking is better than sleeping.

Even the biggest failure of the worst variety beats the hell out of never trying.

Take the bat off your shoulder!

You miss 100% of the shots you don't take!

Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will!

The source of much of our hesitation comes from the fear generated by spending an exorbitant amount of time worrying about the future ... Planning for it ... Trying to predict it ... Praying that knowing will somehow cushion the blow of coming cringe-worthy events. 

The thing is, the future is always changing in response to our actions of today. The future is the home of our deepest fears, yet our wildest hopes. What we can be certain of, however, is that when it finally reveals itself, the future will never the way we imagined it, so the time for action is now.

“Indecisiveness and procrastination are the chosen ways of life for most people. They follow the course of least resistance, which is to do nothing. This provides a security blanket of never being wrong, never making mistakes, never being disappointed, and never failing. But they will also never succeed.”

David Peoples, Oscar nominated screen writer of "Unforgiven"

Thanks Ben! 

Class dismissed.

As always, I thank those far smarter than me for posting their thoughts in a place where their discovery prompts deeper reflection on my part. I have borrowed some of their words because I couldn't possibly have said it any better. Since the sources were multiple and varied, I respectfully offer them thanks and credit in a blanket statement.

A standing Ovation!

As many of you already know, I am actively pursuing a retirement side hustle in refereeing. I fell in love with basketball at an early age ... thank you Jimmy Stevenson ... and after 50+ years playing, coaching, and now officiating. I felt like I had pretty much seen it all.

That changed the other day when I witnessed an example of the true love of the game with my front row seat!

I travelled to the quaint city of Midland the other day for an assignment to officiate at Georgian Bay Secondary, a shining, beautiful newer high school that I had not previously been privileged to experience. The game featured a regular season clash between Barrie's Nouvelle Alliance Tournades and the host GB Bears. I had little to no previous knowledge of either's 2023 standings but I was astutely aware of historical trends siding with Nouvelle's proficiency on the hardcourt.

Watching the teams warm up, I immediately recognized that while enthusiasm was plentiful, the skill level was a work in progress, and I surmised that the teams would prove to be fairly equal, making for a potentially exciting game. As the first quarter played out, the visitor's side of the scoreboard built steadily, turning over with regularity thanks to some decent defensive pressure that produced a number of transition layups. The home team wasn't specifically outmatched, but try as they may, they couldn't turn quality scoring opportunities into points.

As the first quarter horn sounded, the game was already a lopsided affair, yet I found myself internally cheering for the hosts. I had been a part of games in my coaching career where despite superlative efforts, the success was a long time in coming, but I had rarely seen or been a part of a game with a goose egg. 

As the second quarter commenced, I had every confidence that GB would finally find the mark.

After all, their coach wore a huge grin as they employed his offensive systems, often resulting in point blank range shots with time to execute the skill without pressure, but despite his cheers and use of time outs to praise their efforts, the rim's aperture seemed to be shrinking with each passing minute.

As the GB players took to the court to start the second half, I fully expected to see some long faces and chins on chests, but to my delightful astonishment, their faces were adorned with wide grins and mouths chattering with excited energy, so I was hopeful that the bagel would be dealt with. Sadly, the proof was in the pudding, and the second half proved to be a continuance of the first, the Tornades steadily building their total while the Bears' shots careened off the rim. I will admit that my sense of internal professionalism was in serious jeopardy as I willed the ball with all of my might to find it's target, and even with the cheers of the partisan crowd to bolster their efforts, that cursed orange sphere would simply not cooperate for the home side. 

In the end, the final horn signalled the completion of my duties, and with it, any opportunity for redemption, the zero shining as bright as a dying star. I realized that I had witnessed something previously unseen. As the equipment was dismantled and I changed my gear for the trek back to the beach, I anticipated a few downtrodden souls to pass on the way out of the gym. 

The parental praise, the big smiles, and the laughter of self-critical replays of the game's action told a much different story.

Despite the lack of scoring success, the game proved to be an enjoyable, positive affair for the home side, and I came away with a new found appreciation for the saying, "For the love of the game". The easy thing to do would have been to complain about fairness, or coaching, or officiating, but these families were anything but sad.

Kudos to NA for their execution and effort, but also for the way they addressed the situation. It would have been easy to slip into making a mockery of the game, but they play with all possible integrity and sportsmanship. 

Kudos to GB for giving it everything they had.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. While I'll still admit that winning is waaaaaay better than losing, it begs the confession that if one plays as well as one can, the outcome truly doesn't matter.

I give the host players and coaches my personal standing ovation!

Mental Floss

The Internet is a pretty interesting place, of that there's no argument. However, we've all fallen prey to its seedy underbelly from time to time, things that seem factual oft revealed to be half-truths or pure bunk. Still, being a self-professed 'lifelong learner', I enjoy the revelation of previously unknown minutiae, not because it will change my day to day, but simply because it makes me question, often leading to the discovery of more mental floss.

When I first read the section below in red, I came away thinking it was a pretty nifty piece of trivia that was worthy of sharing since it struck me with a sense of 'Huh, pretty neat'.

The US standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches or 1.44 m. That's an exceedingly odd number ... why was that gauge used? Would it surprise you to know it's because that's the way they built them in England, and immigrating English engineers were the designers of the first US railroads?

Okay, but why did the English build them like that?

The first rail lines were built by the same people who built the wagon tramways, and that's the gauge they used. You'r likely asking why use that gauge? The likely unsurprising reason was that the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they had used for building wagons, which used that same wheel spacing, and if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break more often on some of the old, long distance roads in England.

That's the spacing of the wheel ruts ... so who built those old rutted roads? 

Imperial Rome built the first long distance roads in Europe (including England ) for their legions. Those roads have been used ever since. Roman war chariots formed the initial ruts, which everyone else had to match or run the risk of destroying their wagon wheels. Since the chariots were made for Imperial Rome , they were all alike in the matter of wheel spacing. Therefore the United States standard railroad gauge of 4 feet, 8.5 inches is derived from the original specifications for an Imperial Roman war chariot.

Remember, bureaucracies live forever, so the next time you are handed a specification/procedure/process and wonder 'What horse's arse came up with this?', you may be exactly right, because Imperial Roman army chariots were made just wide enough to accommodate the rear ends of two average sized war horses. (Two horses' arses)

What does that have to do with the price of tea in India?

These things have a way of percolating through the ages because some smart folks have decided that it's easier to conform than to be a trend setter. For example, when you see a Space Shuttle sitting on its launch pad, there are two big booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are solid rocket boosters, or SRBs. The SRBs are made by Thiokol at their factory in Utah . The engineers who designed the SRBs would have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site. The railroad line from the factory happens to run through a tunnel in the mountains, and the SRBs had to fit through that tunnel. The tunnel is slightly wider than the railroad track, and the railroad track, as you now know, is about as wide as two horses' behinds. So, a major Space Shuttle design feature, of what is arguably the world's most advanced transportation system, was determined over two thousand years ago by the width of a horse's arse.

And you thought being a horse's arse wasn't important? 

Ancient horse's arses control almost everything.

Be that as it may, I attempted to give credit to the author, but lo and behold, I discovered that there was something afoot! On a different site, I found the following blurb refuting what was proposed! Having said that, it's still pretty neat to get a historical perspective on something so benign. Who knows what the actual truth is, but since the section below in blue was attributed to a systems engineer for the CNR, I lean towards it being inherently more accurate. Mr A.W. Worth, System Engineer - Standards of Canadian National Railways responded to an inquiry and this is an abbreviated compilation/combination of his response.

I am certainly not as knowledgeable as regards to early railroad history as, for example, George Way of AAR, but all this stuff is on record somewhere if you just know where to look.

Professor O'Hare, who perhaps significantly is a professor of Germanic languages and not of ancient Latin or Greek, has the right general idea, but he is at least 1000 years too late in ascribing standard gauge to the wheel spacing of "Roman war chariots". The Encyclopedia of Railways states that the standard gauge of 4'-8 1/2" goes back long before the time of the Romans. For example, at the time of Darius, king of the Persians (Daniel 6:31) the Persian empire had an excellent system of military roads, over which messengers could drive chariots at top speed. The countryside in Persia is rugged in places, with barren mountain ranges into the rocky flanks of which the military roads were cut. To keep the chariots from going off the side of the mountain while the horses were being lashed along at top speed, grooves were cut into the surface of the rock to hold the chariot wheels. The grooves are at the same centres as rails of standard gauge track are today.

Obviously the system did not start with Darius, but it is only in what at that time was the Persian Empire that the old grooved roads can still be found. It probably goes back at least to Ur of the Chaldees, but in the southern part of the valley of the Tigris and the Euphrates the ground is softer and would not hold the marks.

None of this is to suggest that messrs. Trevithick, Stephenson, etc., used design manuals from the Sumerian and Akkadian empires in deciding upon the 4'-8 1/2" gauge. It only illustrates the principle of parallel evolution, i.e., that 'everything that rises must converge'.

For further discussion of the origin of stone rutways in Sumerian times, see also 'The Pictorial Encyclopedia of Railways', Hamilton Ellis, AI Loco E, FRSA, Hamlyn Publishing Group, 1968, p. 9. It is interesting, for example, that the term 'turnout' is a literal translation of the same expression in ancient Greek.

The Romans did not use chariots for purposes of warfare. Chariots were pretty well technologically obsolete by the time of the Romans, because they had developed horses that were big enough to ride. If you go back 1000 years before that, though, to the late bronze age, the time of Troy, the horses were too small to take the weight of a man in armour, and chariots were the ultimate weapon of warfare. Chariots figure extensively in the Iliad, and in the Bible around the time of Solomon (2 Chronicles 18). The big horses seem to have come into Europe some time later, out of central Asia, with the Scythians. For war, after 600 BC or so, the ancient Greeks and the Romans used cavalry in the modern sense of the term. As anyone who has seen 'Ben Hur' knows, the Romans used chariots for 'fun events' in the Coliseum, but such events were more or less a cross between the Indianapolis 500 and a demolition derby and had no relation to war. The only tribes that still used them in Roman times were backward types like the Britons (see the statue of Queen Boadicea in London), perhaps because the British horses were still rather small. However, the use by the Britons of antique devices such as chariots was considered remarkable enough by the Romans that they made special mention of it.

For discussion in the changeover in military technology from use of chariots to use of mounted cavalry, see 'A History of Warfare', John Keegan, Key Porter Books, 1993, pp. 257-263, 'Macedon and the Culmination of Phalanx Warfare'.

References to "grooves worn in the pavement at Pompeii (and elsewhere) by the wheels of Roman chariots" is demonstrably incorrect. The Romans used chariots very little, and in fact their use in the downtown core of cities was generally illegal. The Romans believed that the primary purpose of streets in the daytime was for pedestrians. In that sense they antedated the idea of the modern pedestrian mall by 2000 years or so. It was only at night, when pedestrians and school children were off the street, that wheeled vehicles were permitted. Those vehicles were not chariots, but heavy four-wheeled utilitarian freight vehicles carrying foodstuffs and all manner of other merchandise for sale in the markets.

The streets being narrow and the lighting poor, grooves were deliberately cut in the pavement to guide the wheels of the heavy freight carts to avoid sideswipes and keep their wheels from striking the raised stones placed at intersections to serve as steppingstones for pedestrians. These grooves were at the same centres as standard gauge railroad rails. The steppingstones served a double purpose. Not only did they give pedestrians a means of crossing the street dryshod in wet weather, but they forced horse-drawn vehicles to come almost to a stop at intersections while the horses picked their feet over the stones. In that way, they served to accomplish what now is done with a 'stop' or 'yield' sign.

Contrary to popular opinion I have not been personally involved in construction and maintenance of tracks for chariots. Steam locomotives, yes, but not chariots.

To turn what has been said by the various correspondents on its head, it does not necessarily follow that something is necessarily wrong just because it has the wisdom of the ages behind it. Ur of the Chaldees had a system of counting by 12's, from which came many of our conventional numbers: 12 inches in a foot, 12 x 440 feet in a mile; 12 months in a year, 12 days of Christmas, and, not coincidentally, 12 Apostles. The system of counting by 10's, which seems to have supplanted counting by 12's before 1000 BC, made a mess of the original Urite system, and a certain French general who succeeded in spreading confusion from Gibraltar to Moscow 1795-1815 decided to finish the job; which is why now we have both the inch-pound and the metric systems to contend with.

A. W. Worth
(Arcturus Valerius Faber)

In the end, who really knows what  can be believed when discovered on the Internet, and since the standard railway gauge argument won't really affect my life, I'll resign myself to being content with the fact that I'm thrilled to have experienced some interesting historical facts that leave me with a childlike curiousity about the way things are. 

I think that Mr Worth's take on the Internet sums it up, "The moral of it all seems to be that the Internet is a little like 'The National Inquirer'. It may be fun to read, but it isn't necessarily a reliable source."

Consider yourself warned.

Once again, class dismissed.

Who packs your parachute?

With the passing of Canadian Thanksgiving and its impetus for reflection on gratitude for the many people and things in one's life, I found myself reading the following excerpt thanks to a circulative Internet pathway prompted by a friend's post. In a series of clicks begetting clicks begetting more clicks, I arrived at Cpt Plumb's tale, digested its message, and spent some minutes thinking about who packs my parachute. 

Excerpt from Insights Into Excellence
By Captain J. Charles Plumb USNR (Ret.)

Recently, I was sitting in a restaurant in Kansas City. A man about two tables away kept looking at me. I didn’t recognize him. A few minutes into our meal he stood up and walked over to my table, looked down at me, pointed his finger in my face and said, “You’re Captain Plumb.”

I looked up and I said, “Yes sir, I’m Captain Plumb.”

He said, “You flew jet fighters in Vietnam. You were on the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. You were shot down. You parachuted into enemy hands and spent six years as a prisoner of war.”

I said, “How in the world did you know all that?”

He replied, “Because, I packed your parachute.”

I was speechless. I staggered to my feet and held out a very grateful hand of thanks. This guy came up with just the proper words. He grabbed my hand, he pumped my arm and said, “I guess it worked.”

“Yes sir, indeed it did”, I said, “and I must tell you I’ve said a lot of prayers of thanks for your nimble fingers, but I never thought I’d have the opportunity to express my gratitude in person.”

He said, “Were all the panels there?”

“Well sir, I must shoot straight with you,” I said, “of the eighteen panels that were supposed to be in that parachute, I had fifteen good ones. Three were torn, but it wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I jumped out of that jet fighter at a high rate of speed, close to the ground. That’s what tore the panels in the chute. It wasn’t the way you packed it.”

“Let me ask you a question,” I said, “do you keep track of all the parachutes you pack?”

“No” he responded, “it’s enough gratification for me just to know that I’ve served.”

I didn’t get much sleep that night. I kept thinking about that man. I kept wondering what he might have looked like in a Navy uniform – a Dixie cup hat, a bib in the back and bell bottom trousers. I wondered how many times I might have passed him on board the Kitty Hawk. I wondered how many times I might have seen him and not even said “good morning”, “how are you”, or anything because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor. How many hours did he spend on that long wooden table in the bowels of that ship weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of those chutes? 

I could have cared less…until one day my parachute came along and he packed it for me.

So the philosophical question here is this: 

How’s your parachute packing coming along? 

Who looks to you for strength in times of need? 

And perhaps, more importantly, who are the special people in your life who provide you the encouragement you need when the chips are down? 

Perhaps it’s time right now to give those people a call and thank them for packing your chute.

https://charlieplumb.com

Like the good Captain, I am forced to acknowledge that there are many a person who's toil in the background was (and is) directly linked to the blissful paradise I call 'My Life' these days, their packing job ensured that I floated gently and safely to the ground after some lofty mishap that might have scrambled my yolk. 

Although I receive many sideways looks of curiousity as I habitually greet or thank those that cross my path each day with a nod and "Hello" or a "Thanks for your help today", I'm 100% sure that there are those that ostensively deserved an extra pat on the back or some other sign of appreciation for their packing of my Life's chute, but I was too focused on other issues to ensure they were aware of my gratitude.

To all of those previously unknown souls that I have no way to contact, I see you and appreciate you.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have messages to send to those known souls in my life that I neglected to ensure they're aware of my gratitude for their packing, not the least of which are my children, both of whom opened their hearts, homes, and wallets to Joyce and I by cooking scrumptious meals over the 72 hours that just passed.

Wishing you and yours a belated Happy Thanksgiving!

Ouch! My brain hurts!

My writing journey has been a personal personification of Sisyphus, the mythological hero who rolls the boulder up the hill each day, only to have it roll back down again each night, a punishment thanks to the sadistic mind of Hades after Sisyphus cheated death twice. Unlike the tragic king, my boulder only rolls a little bit back, making my progress painstakingly slow.

If you wish to get an opinion of where this journey began, the retired teachers of Barrie Central meet to celebrate our retirement escapades at McReilly's in Barrie's downtown. Were you to happen upon our band of merry grey-haired men, you could inquire about my early English competency with the esteemed Bruce Rumble, my high school English teacher. I'm going out on a limb here, but I'm confident that he'd confirm my struggles with prose were blaring iduring my high school years.

As I gain experience, I also acquire knowledge ... pretty dangerous in my fingers, if I'm honest ... that I gamely attempt to apply to my creation process. Often, the search for said knowledge begins with a seemingly simple inference that leads to a little time spent 'down the wormhole' seeking enlightenment.

One interesting wee morsel is a paradox.

A paradox, for those that don't know, is a statement that despite valid reasoning from true premises, leads to a seemingly self-contradictory or a logically unacceptable conclusion. A paradox usually involves contradictory, yet interrelated, elements that exist simultaneously and persist over time. (Source)

Now, I'd like to publicly state that I have zero experience in the study of philosophy, and as such, might not have found paradoxes quite so interesting had I engaged in lively discussions with like-minded souls all in the pursuit of higher education. Regardless, I find the whole notion of pondering a paradox a worthwhile endeavour.

Some of the more well known examples are:

The Pinochio Paradox: One of the more famous paradoxes is the Pinochio Paradox. If Pinocchio said, “My Nose Will Grow Now,” it would create a paradox. As we all know, whenever Pinocchio lies, his nose grows longer. But there’s one sentence that Pinocchio could say that breaks this system, “My nose will grow now.” This conundrum is known as the Pinocchio Paradox because Pinocchio’s nose would have to grow to make his statement not a lie. But then it can’t grow, otherwise, the statement would not be a lie. So if he said, “My nose will grow now” and his nose does grow that would mean he wasn’t lying, but if he wasn’t lying, his nose wouldn’t grow. 

The Pinocchio paradox was thought of in February 2001 by an 11-year-old called Veronique Eldridge-Smith – the daughter of Peter Eldridge-Smith, who specializes in the philosophy of logic. The article was first published in the journal Analysis, and the Pinocchio paradox rapidly became popular on the Internet. “My nose will grow now” is the only paradox Pinocchio can cause by saying something. For example, if he was to say, “I will sneeze now”, and he didn’t that would be a lie and his nose would grow.

Source: Literally dozens of pages listing this so thanks to the many people who shared.

The Ship of Theseus Paradox: Another of the more famous paradoxes, thanks in part to the Marvel show WandaVision, is the Ship of Theseus Paradox. Theseus was a mythical king and the hero of Athens. (He was the guy who slayed the Minotaur, amongst other feats.) He did a lot of sailing, and his famed ship was eventually kept in an Athenian harbor as a sort of memorial/museum piece. As time went on, the ship’s wood began to rot in various places. Those wooden pieces were replaced, one by one. As time went on, more pieces needed replacing. The process of replacing rotten planks with new ones continued, at least in modern versions of the paradox, until the entire ship was made up of new pieces of wood. This thought experiment asks the question: Is this completely refurbished vessel still the ship of Theseus?

Take it a step further by asking what if someone else took all of the discarded, original pieces of wood and reassembled them into a ship. Would this object be Theseus’s ship? And if so, what do we make of the restored ship sitting in the harbor? Which is the original ship? This paradox is all about the nature of identity over time, and has been the subject of philosophical discussions for thousands of years.

Source: Again, literally dozens of pages, and again, a blanket thank you to all of those people.

The Liar's Paradox: One of Eubulides of Miletus’s more famous paradoxes, the Liar Paradox, is still discussed today. It has a very simple premise but a very mind-boggling result, and centers around the statement, "This sentence is false." 

Think about it for a moment. If the statement is true, then that means that the sentence is in fact false, as it claims, but that would then mean that the sentence is false. And if the sentence “this sentence is false” is false, then that means it’s true. But, if it’s true that it’s false, then—you get the picture. It goes on and on, forever.

Source: You probably know the drill by now. Thanks once again to the really smart people.

Some related English pearls of prose related to paradoxes are listed below. I'll come clean that prior to my paradox 'schoolin' I really didn't know the difference, but any writer worth a grain of salt needs to be aware of them, and attempt to employ their brilliance in writings.

Juxtaposition: Juxtaposition is when two or more contrasting elements are paired together. One of the clearest examples of juxtaposition is found in Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness…” The contrast of best and worst, wisdom and foolishness set the tone for Dickens’ story.

Oxymoron: While a paradox is a contradictory statement or sentence, an oxymoron is the juxtaposition of two contradictory words ... Jumbo shrimp ... Living dead ... Only choice.

Irony: Irony is when events happen that are not the expected result. If you fill your portfolio with writing samples that have grammatical errors, that would be an example of irony. While all writers make mistakes, a writer who wants to attract clients should showcase their best work.

Antithesis: Antithesis is when you put two similarly structured sentences together and each has opposing ideas. When Neil Armstrong said “That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind,” that is an example of antithesis. A small step and a giant leap are opposite actions.

You know, I used to think teaching HPE was hard ... English is harder! A tip o' my hat to Mr Rumble, Smr Sharpe, Ms Neilson, and all of my English teachin' buddies like Jessome, Faye, Champagne, Malandrino, and Weening plus the dozens of acquaintances over my 30 year career.

The Closet Thespian!

Although I have actively chosen to seek supply assignments at the little country school not far from me called Elmvale DHS, every once in a while I do a favour for an old colleague from my previous life at Central or North. On one particular day, I ventured westward across the country byways to Stayner to do a favour for my good friend Frank Cunsolo, a day of drama the reward for my troubles.

Although not schooled in the dramatic arts, I have no issues with covering said class, (a) because it's for Frank, and (b) it's like an academic version of HPE. Once I got the students busy with the lengthy list of tasks for the day, I was circulating, as one should, to ensure their understanding was clear and their focus was the best it could be on that day.

Sitting on the front ledge, proudly displayed for inquiring minds to contemplate, was a familiar talisman of Central lore, a relic of profound significance to those that toiled in the classrooms and hallways of ol' BCC, the local country cousin of Hollywood's quintessential symbol of theatrical excellence, the Oscar.

The Closet Thespian was annually presented at the final staff meeting of each year to the most deserving candidate based on their previously concealed performance skills. The CT was not the only award presented each year. Awards like the Big Ball, the Hot Rod, the Darth Vader, the Communication, the Stud Finder and the Safety to name a few of the others, each with its own special significance, some of which appropriate for public consumption like this Blog, others relegated solely to the mental filing cabinets of those who spent time amongst the SuperStars of BCC. 

To be blunt, some awards were hilariously meant for private circles.

The sight of the CT immediately conjured up a plethora of previously suppressed recollections that prompted a ridiculously silly grin that aroused some curiosity with the youngsters that noticed. Just brushing off the cobwebs off those memories left me with a warming glow of appreciation and gratitude for the opportunities to be involved with such an iconic institution. Not the least of those memories was the one of being presented with The Closet Thespian in 2009 (give or take a year) for something to do with Moustache May, the details remaining in the dusty recesses of my grey matter. 

When the SCDSB shuttered Central's doors forever in 2016, it's trophies and awards were scattered like ashes to the winds, some re-homed by the families that initially donated them, some claimed by alumni or staff that held it in high esteem, and some to the archives of Simcoe County. That the CT would eventually find a home in Stayner is both comforting and bizarre, but as one of Central's beloved and provincially recognized theatre directors, Frank Cunsolo is the PERFECT curator of such a prestigious symbol. Unlike its previous life, the main condition being the winner was a member of staff, the CT would now conjure warm fuzzies in the souls of students. 

I wonder if Frank would have chosen to share its history with the youngsters of SCI?

Looking back on it all, 2016 seems almost a lifetime ago with so much change and transformation in the past 7 years, but the imprint on my soul is a red, black, and white warm fuzzy that regains strength with each dredging of my Hippocampus. Sure, the teaching and coaching were of epic proportions, accolades and recognitions coming fast and furious, but the meat and potatoes of those years were the zany shenanigans shared by the like minded warriors, forging bonds of friendship that endure well past the curtain's closing.

All of this thanks to a little golden talisman?

The personification of awesome, that's what it is.