I know better.

Last week, I spent way more time than I’m comfortable admitting watching hockey replays on social media. I was particularly transfixed by the winning goals by both the men’s and women’s teams in their respective overtime Olympic gold medal hockey matches. As with most internet activity, it was a huge time-suck. I watched different angles. I watched the same angles. I watched replays set to music. I watched replays with voiceover commentary. I watched different players’ reactions and body language, over and over. I watched the sheer beauty of the athleticism.

Before I knew it, hours had passed and there were salt marks on my cheeks from the dried tears. I don’t really understand chemistry or physiology or anything sciency, but there is something amazing about that rush of cortisol, or whatever it is, that certain social media posts create. It’s euphoric, and addictive, and usually leaves me feeling like I’ve eaten too many potato chips.

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Growing up in Iowa, I didn’t develop much of a childhood interest in hockey. My parents both went to college in Minnesota, and I remember Dad talking about the humiliation of playing “pick-up” hockey games and being forced to goalie since he, the token Iowan, was the only guy on his dorm floor who couldn’t skate backwards.

The 1980 Winter Olympics briefly sparked interest. The rush of patriotism and the underdog narrative created by a group of American amateurs beating the Vader-like Soviets was especially compelling to a 12 year-old. The afterglow lasted long enough for me to get an Atlanta Flames hockey shirsey from my parents the following Christmas. The Flames, who have since relocated to Calgary, drafted Olympic hero goalie Jim Craig, who like the rest of that team never seemed to be able to extend their Olympic magic into sustainable NHL careers. Or at least not that I noticed.

In the early 2010’s, when our adopted hometown Chicago Blackhawks went on a dynastic run of 4 Stanley Cup wins in 5 years, my family and I suddenly developed a passionate interest. My son and I were particularly fascinated by the charismatic young stars on that Blackhawk team. In retrospect, I probably lost an opportunity, though, to point out the downsides of idolizing professional athletes. We never really talked, for example, about how the leading scorer of that team was once arrested for assaulting a cab driver; or the poor decisions and language choice of a clearly inebriated defenseman slurring through a profanity-laced post-championship parade speech in front of tens of thousands of Chicagoans gathered in Grant Park.

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That’s the funny thing about young male professional hockey players, or any male professional athletes. Turns out, despite being uber talented— they’re still young men. And they are prone to make young men mistakes.

So when the President of the United States called into the beer-soaked locker room in the immediate aftermath of the greatest accomplishment of many of their lives and cracked an unfunny joke, most of them laughed.

Before I go any further here, I need to be very clear. Beating up a cab driver is unacceptable. So, too, should be laughing at a misogynistic joke.

Having said that, I think the response, under the circumstances, was understandable. What irritates me a lot more is the fact that the President of the United States put them in that situation.

Generally, I subscribe to the increasingly worn line, “I don’t like to get political.” But for my perspective on this to make any sense, indulge me, a moment, to go there. [If a guy can’t “get political” in a vanity-project blog site that no one probably reads, where can he?] The majority of my life, I’ve considered myself a Republican. In fact, for four frustrating years, I actually led a lobbying group in DC, dedicating my own time and significant corporate resources toward advancing “business friendly” policies to increase economic growth. Those policies, which I also personally held, included things like, freer trade, freer movement of people across borders, limited government and the importance of rule of law.

The current president’s policies don’t align with that formerly Republican ethos. We’ve all lived through presidential administrations pushing policies with which we don’t agree. The country moves on. What really bugs me about the current president, though, is his persistent effort to erode important social norms and institutions. Tariffs are dangerous inhibitors to economic growth. They, however, can be reversed, as we’ve recently seen. More enduring— and therefore dangerous–is the destruction of important social norms and the accompanying increase in societal distrust that that erosion engenders. When people don’t trust election results, democracies fall apart. When people don’t trust the validity of court decisions, rule of law disintegrates. When people don’t respect large classes of their fellow citizens, cooperative efforts become impossible and productivity dives.

What really gets me, though, is his propensity to rob joy. It may have been a huge waste of time, but I loved the sensation I got watching the replay of those overtime goals. Yes, some of it was sappy patriotism. Maybe even ugly jingoism. But, I don’t think that was the only reason I watched them over and over–and it certainly wasn’t the cause of the tears.. Even for a non-hockey die-hard, there was beauty in Megan Keller’s elusive “dangle” move that freed her up for her shot. I’m not sure any human could fail to be moved by the joyous expression on Jack Hughes bloodied face— cracked tooth and all— as he wheeled to look for a teammate to hug following his game-winner. Now, it feels like there’s an asterisk on all of that.

But, is that more of a “me” problem? In other words, maybe it’s me placing the asterisk. Why should the beauty of the athleticism and joyful celebration be tainted by anyone— even the athletes themselves?

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I enjoy the music of Jason Isbell. My favorites of his are love songs written during his courtship and marriage to Amanda Shires, whom he recently divorced. As always with the end of relationships between two public figures, there are conflicting versions as people try to assess “fault.” No matter how it ended, the songs professing his love for her now hit a bit differently. Right or wrong, the imagery I associate with songs like “Cover Me Up” has changed since the end of his marriage, and I find I don’t enjoy the song in the same way I used to. Again, shame on me.

In The Apology, Plato asserts that poets do not understand their own work. He attributed the beauty of poetry to divine inspiration or innate talent rather than the wisdom of the poet. I’m not smart enough to understand Plato (or some Jason Isbell lyrics for that matter). I wonder, though, if he’s not on to something that could get me past all this angst. Maybe, I need to relax and just enjoy beauty wherever it comes from— whether athletic or artistic— and not worry so much about the athlete or artist. Or the President.

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Since this started as a blog site dedicated to Leadership, I can’t close without one last thought in an essay that may have evolved into simply a string of random thoughts. I may or may not have been a good leader in my working years. But, I was always tried to watch leaders around me closely in order to understand what good (and bad) leadership is and why some (but not all) excel in it.

There are circumstances, I believe, when the most effective thing a leader can do is shut the hell up. This is especially true when the organization has accomplished something great and everyone understands that something important has just happened. I noted, for example, that both the men’s and women’s USA hockey coaching staffs (who aren’t awarded medals, by the way) celebrated quietly on the bench following their matches and didn’t attempt to join the team celebration on the ice.

Somehow, I don’t think our president is capable of standing by and allowing others to enjoy an accomplishment. That’s too bad.