Respect MUST be earned. To many men today believe they deserve respect. Most do not deserve. Every man is potentially an enemy and a friend. Sometimes both. Real men understand that respect like love is very rarely unconditional. We are responsible for our own actions and the actions we allow others to impose on us.
Sport of Kings – Lesson #29
Sit. Close. My voice is not what it was.
You have the chair now. Though I didn’t want this for you. Good. So now I tell you the one thing a man only learns when the weight is already on him, not before.
You will keep a council. You must. Wise men at the table—your consigliere, your caporegimes—men whose whole office is to be heard. This is right. A Don who listens to no one is a fool who dies young. But hear me, Michael. There comes a day. Maybe more than one. On that day you must not listen, because the counsel itself is the knife.
Three ways it goes bad, and you learn to smell all three. The first: they are bought. The enemy’s money is already in their pocket and you cannot see it. The second: they are blind—good men, loyal men, but frightened, soft, ignorant of the thing in front of them. The third is the worst. The rot is their own. They want what you want gone. Bought. Blind. Black-hearted. The words come out the same. Reasonable. Gentle. Full of sense.
And here is the tell. The table leans. All of it. One way. They tell you to open the door. To trust the other man’s son, to take him in, to give him a seat, a daughter, a piece. They tell you the old walls are cruelty, that caution is an old man’s fear. When every voice sings the same soft song toward the open gate—that is the day. On that day you do not argue. You do not call a vote. You stand alone against your own table. And you move.
Listen to what it costs you if you don’t. First, you let the enemy’s children inside your house. Not with guns—with your blessing. They sit at your table, they learn your rooms, they marry into your blood. In a generation the house is theirs and not one shot was fired. You will have handed it to them, and your own counselors held the door.
But the second cost, mio figlio—this one should keep you cold. Your true men, your loyal blood, the ones who would die for this Family—they are watching you at that gate. When they see you bend to the poisoned word, they will not call it mercy. They will call it weakness, because that is what it is. And they will move against you. To save the house. As they must. As they should. Because you taught them. I taught them. My father taught his men before us. The house is above any man. Above the Don. Above me. Above you. A house that watches its head go soft and does nothing has already chosen the grave. So the loyal man does not choose the grave. He chooses you.
You see it now? Heed the corrupt council and you do not merely risk your enemies. You call your own best men down on your own head—and they are right.
So now you see what the sight is. It is the knowing before the word is spoken. You must smell that soft song for what it is—the bought, blind, fearful, the black-hearted—before it reaches your ear. Because if you let it in, if you listen, you force your own loyal blood to come for you.
Even with the sight, even when you refuse, the rot does not end at the table. Some in your own house—men you love, men who carry your name, men who sat at your father’s table—will hear that same soft song and follow it. They will choose the open gate. They will side with the wrong counsel. And then you will be forced to fight your own. To save the family. To save this house. There is no other way.
Know this, true. Make the only choice you must make. Ignore the counsel. Save the family. And your true men—the ones with steel in the spine—they will see this. They will see you are not weak. They will see you do what must be done. And they will not move against you. They will come to you. They will stand with you, no matter what comes, no matter what is necessary. This is the sight. To know the bad counsel and refuse it, and then to face what comes after. That is how you keep the house and your men both.
This is the loneliest thing I leave you, figlio. At the hour it matters most, you stand against some of the very men whose place it is to stand with you. No one will thank you. The ones who understand will say nothing. The ones who don’t are already gone.
I never wanted this for you. You know that. But it is yours now. And a thing that is yours, you carry it the right way. You carry it alone, at the gate, with your eyes open.
That’s all. Help me up. I must rest.
@EMBurlingame I remember vaguely you commenting on the thermodynamics of crypto and possibly AI and its ability to delete. Interested to hear your thoughts on this and would be cool if @_tommyspodcast could get you @DrJackKruse together. @_tommyspodcast may also suggest @ColonelTowner and @DrJackKruse to discuss the Fabian influence.