EXCLUSIVE: Netflix is developing a movie adaptation of "Hatchet," Gary Paulsen’s 1987 young adult survival novel.
• The film will be written and directed by Derek Cianfrance, best known for films such as “Blue Valentine” and “The Place Beyond the Pines.”
• Per the synopsis: “Hatchet” follows “13-year-old Brian Robeson, who is stranded alone in the Canadian wilderness after a plane crash with nothing but the hatchet his mother gave him.”
• Paulsen later expanded the story into a five-book series that included “The River” (1991), “Brian’s Winter” (1996), “Brian’s Return” (1999) and “Brian’s Hunt” (2003).
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‘Travel sports,’ a term that has come to encompass all sorts of private teams, leagues, and clubs, used to be for the truly exceptional young athlete. Now, they’re for anyone willing to pay — an expensive, exhausting commitment that has become popular not necessarily because millions of parents want them for their children but because it can feel like there’s no other choice. Rec programs are underfunded and struggle to compete with for-profit leagues for prime field, rink, and court times. And the level of play is diluted, often very early, as travel teams are incentivized to enroll children at young ages.
Around 5 million children in the U.S. now compete on travel teams. Parents find themselves trapped. They know the benefits of sports and want that for their children, yet giving it to them often means buying into a sports ecosystem that’s inherently flawed. As the pay-to-play model increasingly takes hold, so does the idea that kids should start competing at younger and younger ages, risking their sense of self along with their shoulders and ACLs.
“I never want my kids to look back and say I didn’t do everything I could to help them live their dreams,” a mother of three soccer players said. She’s hired professional photographers to take action shots for her 12- and 13-year-olds’ Instagram accounts — the platform has become a recruiting tool — and they’ve both asked her to pay for personal trainers.
“I think the word isn’t ‘specialize’; you are ‘professionalizing’ your kid early. You are exposing them to everything professionals have to deal with — I’m talking injury, time, schedule, everything,” said John Van Benschoten, a former MLB player and travel-baseball coach.
It makes one ask: All this for what? And for whom? Read Caitlin Moscatello’s cover story on how travel leagues have made youth sports more expensive, hypercompetitive, and all-consuming — and the investors who are making a killing: nymag.visitlink.me/1-gbZQ
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The U.S. soccer federation is a poor return on invested capital.
I played soccer for 20+ years.
Grassroots.
Academy.
D1 college.
Pursued professionally after.
And I’ll say the quiet part out loud:
The US soccer infrastructure is broken.
In America, we treat playing D1 soccer like it is the peak achievement.
For most families, clubs, coaches, and players, the entire youth soccer machine is built around one goal:
Get recruited.
Get a scholarship.
Play college soccer.
But if the objective is to produce world-class players, D1 soccer is a terrible development path.
From 18-22, some of the most important technical development years of your career, you are preparing for a 3-4 month season built largely around athleticism, direct play, set pieces, fitness, and survival.
Now compare that to an 18-year-old in Spain, Argentina, Morocco, Italy, England, or France.
That player has likely been in a professional environment for years.
Training daily.
Playing meaningful matches year-round.
Competing against grown professionals.
Getting thousands more touches.
Learning how to solve the game under pressure.
The gap is massive.
And it shows.
American players are usually athletic.
They are usually fit.
They usually compete hard.
But at the highest levels, that is not enough.
The biggest difference is technical comfort.
We do not move the ball like Spain.
We do not combine like Argentina.
We do not play with the same fluidity, rhythm, and confidence you see from countries where the game is embedded into the culture from childhood.
That comes down to volume.
Volume of touches.
Volume of street soccer.
Volume of futsal.
Volume of unstructured play.
Volume of high-level training environments.
Volume of meaningful games.
In the US, youth soccer is expensive, overly organized, overly coached, tournament-driven, and too often built around winning games at 13 instead of developing players for 23.
Parents spend thousands.
Clubs charge thousands.
Travel teams fly all over the country.
Showcases become the product.
Recruiting becomes the scoreboard.
But the return on invested capital is poor.
We probably spend more money on youth soccer than almost any country in the world, yet the technical output does not match the investment.
That is a broken operating model.
And like any business, if the output is weak, you do not blame the customer.
You inspect the system.
The US has talent.
The US has athletes.
The US has money.
The US has facilities.
But the foundation is wrong.
We built a pay-to-play, college-recruiting machine and confused it for a world-class player development system.
Those are not the same thing.
Until we fix the grassroots layer, increase meaningful touches, make development less dependent on family income, and stop treating college soccer as the top of the mountain, the US will keep underperforming relative to its resources.
I’m not saying this to trash US Soccer.
I’m saying it because I lived it.
And if we actually want to become a powerhouse, we have to be honest about the infrastructure first.
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if I were Germany, I would simply score four goals against Paraguay, like the United States men's national team
Unfathomably good twitter follow. These are all so damn good.
It was two in the morning, the hour when even the bravest samurai retires to his bedroll, yet here, a fortress of light beckoned me from the darkness.
Every castle I have ever known has fallen. Fire, siege, taxes. Eight hundred years of my family learning one lesson: nothing stays open forever.
This house has never closed.
Not for storms. Not for holidays. Not for the hour when even the moon looks tired. I asked the waitress when they lock the doors.
"We don't have locks, hon."
No locks. I own walls, moats, and a sword older than this country, and I have never once said anything that powerful.
Inside, a cook was scraping the grill at 2 a.m. with the calm of a man guarding something. I asked if he was the night watch.
"I'm Darnell."
A trucker two stools down raised his coffee. "Place stayed open during the hurricane," he said. "FEMA's got a whole index about it."
An index. The government of this nation measures disasters by whether THIS HOUSE is still standing. In Japan, we measured a clan's strength by its castle. Same thing. Theirs serves waffles.
I ordered. I ate. I confess what happened next.
I did not want to leave. The night outside was large. The booth was warm. I am a grown warrior, and I sat in a yellow fortress at 3 a.m. feeling protected by hash browns.
A castle does not promise to stand forever. It simply leaves the lights on.
I drive past at night now. Just to check. The lights are always on.
Sentries of the griddle — I see you. Hold the line.
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USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.
🤖 Made with AI
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Really torn here.
Cop arrested, fired for allegedly pointing gun at fellow officer who microwaved fish at police station trib.al/xTEPEl0
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I love youth sports.
But youth sports are out of control.
$25/person incl my 5yr old son to watch a 15 yr old family friend play a single AAU basketball game.
$14 ea per day to watch my 9 yr old nephew play baseball.
I have a wife and 5 kids. That’s $273/wknd, before snacks.
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We live in a culture that has been constantly nostalgic for the good days from long ago that we worry has long passed us by.
But this is the kind of photo that will one day make you nostalgic for these good days.
This exact battle/struggle feels like it’s 90% of what I do now as a parent.
I'm so frustrated at being a parent in this garbage digital age.
I hate short-form video. TikTok / YouTube trash is just pure brain-rot and I can't stand it. I try to keep my kids away from it.
I gave them access to Spotify b/c I want them to enjoy music and develop their musical tastes and personalities. That was working pretty well. They would go onto Spotify on the XBox and listen to music and explore that space. Good for them.
But what does Spotify do? They put short form videos into their app. Now my kids are watching the videos instead of listening to the music. I have to decide if I have to take Spotify away from them (along with all their playlists) because Spotify pulled this bait-and-switch on me and turned an app that I felt good about giving to my kids into another brain-rotting platform of garbage.
Every month something like this happens. It's impossible to navigate this as a parent, even if you're largely on top of things. It's exhausting and dispiriting.
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Asked my 5yo what she wanted for dinner and she said “not a burned quesadilla” because in the summer of 2023 i overcooked one side of her quesadilla.
What a beautiful ode. Cheers, Rob.
e26 of 60 SONGS THAT EXPLAIN THE '90S: THE 2000S is on tim mcgraw's "LIVE LIKE YOU WERE DYING" open.spotify.com/episode/352…


































