How frustration, curiosity, and a Gen X refusal to behave led me to build Bruce and embrace LLMs
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He would walk into the dressing room, light a cigarette that smelled like a campfire, and calmly explain that we were playing "for the soul of the people." He was a hippie who somehow won a World Cup.
Ubaldo Fillol had a peculiar pre-match ritual that drove me to the brink of sanity. Before the whistle, he would walk up to the goalposts and *talk* to them. I am not joking.
Let us move on, and let us start with the man who makes *every* other story look like a bedtime lullaby: Diego Armando Maradona.
Stepping into the 1990s and early 2000s required me to buy a brand-new pair of shin guards—not because of the opposition, but because the players on my *own* team were starting to look at me like a relic from a carbon-dated museum.
The diplomatic defender returns, and I see you have handed me the keys to a Ferrari, a madman, a tactician, and a ticking clock. You have given me the perfect scene.
(A Dispatch from the Backline)