and Jacob took hold of the angel and said, "I will not let you go lest you bless me". there they wrestled until morning came and upon the angel's touch making him lame, Jacob let go saying, "Heal me, lest I die here in this desert". Esau wandered the wilderness for 27 years.

we love the winner, the projected favourite. we treasure their legacy. and we hate the loser. God! how we despise him. because he challenged the winner, the saint, the crafty younger son. all hail the handsome, the successful, the rich extortioner, the beautiful adulteress. Saul killed his thousands, but David killed his ten-thousands. when there is a winner, there is a loser on the field, at his feet, under his sword. there is a loser on his knees.

No Mercy! may the strong be the good and the good be the pure and the winner be a god in the eyes of men. in every action and reaction, in every sidelong glance across the bar, there is the cry of the crowd, the pits of the colosseum. we crave it. we love the hotel room where the winner takes the winnings, where he takes his Bathsheba without a thought of Uriah when the archers' wooden arrows pierced his chest, neck, legs, and stomach. it gives us something to hope for. it gives us heroes.