"Conventional wisdom notwithstanding, there is no reason either in football or in poetry why the two should not meet in a man's life if he has the weight and cares about the words"
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MacLeish lobs this line like a clean spiral at two audiences who secretly distrust each other: the jocks who hear “poetry” and think softness, and the literati who hear “football” and think barbarism. “Conventional wisdom notwithstanding” is his polite throat-clear before the takedown. He’s naming a cultural prejudice - the American habit of sorting people into types - then refusing to play along.
The hinge is in the conditional: “if he has the weight and cares about the words.” “Weight” does double duty. It’s literal mass, the body that survives contact, and moral gravity, the capacity to take life seriously rather than treat it as performance. MacLeish isn’t romanticizing the athlete as a poet-in-disguise; he’s setting a bar. Football without weight becomes pageantry. Poetry without care for words becomes vapor. The real kinship is discipline under pressure: the playbook’s compressed language, the snap-second reading of patterns, the willingness to be hit by consequence.
Context matters: MacLeish wrote in a century when American masculinity was being industrially standardized - tough, efficient, allergic to introspection - even as modernist poetry insisted that language itself was a battlefield. His sentence is a small manifesto against that split. It argues that physical courage and verbal precision are not competing virtues but mutually reinforcing ones, and it dares the reader to stop outsourcing seriousness to a single arena.
The hinge is in the conditional: “if he has the weight and cares about the words.” “Weight” does double duty. It’s literal mass, the body that survives contact, and moral gravity, the capacity to take life seriously rather than treat it as performance. MacLeish isn’t romanticizing the athlete as a poet-in-disguise; he’s setting a bar. Football without weight becomes pageantry. Poetry without care for words becomes vapor. The real kinship is discipline under pressure: the playbook’s compressed language, the snap-second reading of patterns, the willingness to be hit by consequence.
Context matters: MacLeish wrote in a century when American masculinity was being industrially standardized - tough, efficient, allergic to introspection - even as modernist poetry insisted that language itself was a battlefield. His sentence is a small manifesto against that split. It argues that physical courage and verbal precision are not competing virtues but mutually reinforcing ones, and it dares the reader to stop outsourcing seriousness to a single arena.
Quote Details
| Topic | Poetry |
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