The Enlightenment of the Modern Man

In the quiet depths of despair on Thanksgiving night in 2018, you were my solace, wrapping me in your unwavering support and love. It was in that profound moment you became my best friend—the one who filled my world with slobber and hair, and yes, you were everything to me. Four months have passed since you left, and while I always had words to share, it’s only now that I’ve begun to piece together how to express the depth of my sorrow. A part of me feels irrevocably lost, and I struggle to comprehend life without you by my side. I often remind myself to look forward, but the truth is, moving on feels impossible without you here. You weren't Argos, waiting gallantly for 20 years, but your loyalty was unmatched. You knew me like no other, sensing my moods and emotions as if you could read my very soul. It breaks my heart that I didn't get to say goodbye. You took your last breaths quietly on the staircase—a lonely exit that I hope was peaceful for you. I knew something was wrong...

  It was destined; it was inevitable; it was tragic; it was Shakespearean. An end to a run that began almost six weeks ago, wherein the supporters of the host country seemingly embraced a nation whose history with their own is marred by colonization, taxation, revolution, and redemption. The fall was predictable. As the Argentinians continued to attack, strike, and press the English defense through the final 30 minutes of the World Cup Semi-Final, the nail was driven methodically into the corpse of the Three Lions. They came in with ferocity, but it died on the pitch. The Lion in winter arrived with a roar and went out like a lamb. The artistic style of the South American juggernaut was undeniable, persevering over the course of 90-plus minutes. Even though the climate inside Mercedes-Benz Stadium was controlled, the Argentinians stayed cool under pressure while the English wilted, as if forced to swelter in the terminal Southern heat and humidity. In true Three Lions fashion, the ...