A.E. Housman’s poem, "To An Athlete Dying Young," has a rather silly conceit. Namely, that it’s a good thing to die right after achieving something memorable, so that the rest of your life doesn't seem like a painful afterthought.
Housman, an Englishman, obviously lacked an American sensibility—the sensibility that holds that when one road ends, you simply find another road. And more generically, that it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.
I was put in mind of this crucial distinction between Old World and New World when reading about a venture capitalist who had made a packet in the bubble economy, lost it all, but was now putting together another deal to recoup his fortunes. I really much prefer this approach to the cloying sentimentality offered by Housman—though I should also add that "To An Athlete Dying Young" is a heck of a poem. My own updated Wall Street parody of this work is called "To A Venture Capitalist Who Got Out To Late."
To A Venture Capitalist
Who Got Out Too Late
The first day that the shares were sold
Of a dot.com that you’d bankrolled
The old investment pros just glared
Appalled at all the dough you’d cleared.
Today these same pros all look pleased
As by your creditors you’re squeezed
And tax ghouls from the State of Texas
Seize your Rollie and your Lexus.
Poor lad, why did you stay so long
And heed that fading high-tech song
At twenty-six the world was yours
At twenty-eight you’re waxing floors.
You swallowed whole New Era drivel
And now must dine on Spam and kibble
The beauty queen who shared your bed
Now dates an L.A. shrink instead.
Sometimes it’s best to cut and run
Forsake that last sweet golden crumb
Alas, such retrospective smarts
Get lost once deal making starts.
The money grubs who loved your brash
Have vanished with your vanished cash
And friends who only seek the high
Declare you dead before you die.
In bubble days you had your fling
When venture capital was king
But heck, what goes around comes back
In time you’ll get another whack.
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