Often, the intent of an analogy is to illustrate a difficult or abstract concept more clearly to someone by likening it to a situation he or she is familiar with: The colonists didn't win at Bunker Hill, but it was a moral victory, because they held their own and inflicted so much damage on the reigning, more powerful champ... like in Rocky. It's an — perhaps the? — essential tool to understanding, I think.
I love analogies. I love that everything in the entire universe can be compared to something else, creating this beautiful, intricate fabric of connections. I often say to myself, "Everything is like everything else." The analogy proves the simple, elegant beauty of our world.
Most of all, I like to make sports analogies. Baseball, in particular. Football makes for great war comparisons, sure, but the subtlety, strategy, and slowly escalating drama of a baseball game offer much more to work with. Is there any situation in life without a symbolic parallel on the baseball diamond? (Probably, but whatever — I'm on a roll here.)
I tend to think of my wardrobe as my roster. The pants are pitchers; tops are position players. To get through life in a workplace setting, you ought to have five starting pairs of pants, and a solid corps of nine tops to get you through a 2-week stretch (with pinch-hitters and bullpen help available on the bench — or in the closet, as it were). And I'm an old-school manager; I'm not concerned with pitch counts. If I send my ace pair of khakis out there on Monday morning, and they make it through the day without suffering a ketchup/coffee/wine stain... well, guess who's coming back out to pitch on Tuesday?
(I've yet to have one pair throw a complete game shutout, if you will. But don't think I haven't tried.)
And my favorite jeans? Well, they're my closer of course. Happy Friday!
I love analogies. I love that everything in the entire universe can be compared to something else, creating this beautiful, intricate fabric of connections. I often say to myself, "Everything is like everything else." The analogy proves the simple, elegant beauty of our world.
Most of all, I like to make sports analogies. Baseball, in particular. Football makes for great war comparisons, sure, but the subtlety, strategy, and slowly escalating drama of a baseball game offer much more to work with. Is there any situation in life without a symbolic parallel on the baseball diamond? (Probably, but whatever — I'm on a roll here.)
I tend to think of my wardrobe as my roster. The pants are pitchers; tops are position players. To get through life in a workplace setting, you ought to have five starting pairs of pants, and a solid corps of nine tops to get you through a 2-week stretch (with pinch-hitters and bullpen help available on the bench — or in the closet, as it were). And I'm an old-school manager; I'm not concerned with pitch counts. If I send my ace pair of khakis out there on Monday morning, and they make it through the day without suffering a ketchup/coffee/wine stain... well, guess who's coming back out to pitch on Tuesday?
(I've yet to have one pair throw a complete game shutout, if you will. But don't think I haven't tried.)
And my favorite jeans? Well, they're my closer of course. Happy Friday!
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