I didn’t learn anything at swarthmore.
I did not take a class on logic there whereby I gained an ivy league sense of rationale.
I do not know if the IV league was once a football circuit. Where perhaps brawn was conflated into the elite narrative. The one that keeps evolving.
I did not learn that people are simple and wholly defined by their pareto optimality and then undone by the sheer limits of homo economicus. On paper.
I did not learn to see complexity — be drawn to it — and then stumble upon the reality that it is best — most seriously — used as an excuse for how things have to be.
I did not learn to accept such realities at swarthmore. That patience would bring me back around to rationale and I would keep a place open in my heart for the rape of money.
No, I learned that the hard way.
I went to Rutgers, the state school of New Jersey, in Camden. I lived across the river briefly in Philadelphia, but never got to visit Swarthmore, Pennsylvania.
Not a sports fan, I never even saw a match with the scarlet raptors emerging the victors. But I suppose they could have if — on their game — when pit against a superior football league.