The Legend of the Three-legged Stool

The Fable of the Three-legged Stool.

A coach one day approached the pantheon of football deities. Upon approaching the marbled walls of the great inner chamber, he marveled at the sight before him. There, in the middle of that hallowed room was a great round table, the Table of Champions, where giants of the game now sat, feasting and sharing stories of football lore. One space remained open and he inquired of the gauntlet of guards as to how he could gain that seat at the table.

\"To pass the Gauntlet, you need a stool constructed by your own hand,\" one explained.

The coach, thinking upon the instruction, left and set about building a stool. From goalposts set in a fabled stadium he whittled three stout legs, as good as any legs in the nation, and set a fine seat above them--surely a worthy stool for a seat at the Table of Champions. His peers marveled at this, and spoke greatly of the quality and sturdiness of what he had built.

He approached the Gauntlet with his stool, but was met by raucous, mocking laughter.

\"Fool,\" one bellowed. \"A stool built on the strength of a team will not be sufficient to pass. Talent will not run the Gauntlet. Be gone until you have the proper stool.\"

Chastened, the coach fled, vowing to return with a better stool.

In his workshop, the coach removed one of the legs. He took a cross-piece from the stadium gate and fashioned from it a fine leg, set about with symbols of his team and painted in their colors. Surely, this leg would support the stool. He was envied for the color and craft of the second leg, and his stool received accolades for its construction.

The Gauntlet however, upon seeing the stool, murmured and chuckled. A huge Guard set a hand upon the shoulder of the coach.

\"To be sure, it is a fine stool, but fans cannot fill in what the strength of the team leaves out. Be gone, for you are not worthy.\"

By now the coach was frustrated, but still he held high the dreams of a seat at that table. Now, just outside the stadium was a tree whose trunk was thick and strong. It was said to be the finest shade tree in the land, and so the coach fashioned a leg from it, too.

Surely a stool built on team, fans and legend is fit for the task. Stories were written about that leg, and how it fit the stool nicely.

The Gauntlet, however, had no respect for legend. \"That leg is unworthy for support,\" one laughed before sending the coach packing.

By now, doubt had begun to set into his mind. On a seat at the fifty yard line, he pondered the future.

\"I have the finest team,\" he said, admiring the strength of those stout legs, \"and the greatest support of the most adoring fans. I am supported by legend, yet even this is not enough. Perhaps I know nothing of building stools.\"

Just then, a mighty wind blew through the stadium. Such was the tempest that the very hedges that surrounded the field were ripped in large clumps from the ground and tossed at the feet of the coach, until he was surrounded by a veritable wall of debris. Yet it was this very debris that saved him from injury. When the wind subsided, he surveyed the damage, giving thanks that he himself had not been felled in the blow.

A thicket of hedge had been stripped bare of its leaves, revealing fingers of wood that, for all intents, should not have been up to the task of protecting him, yet they had. The coach had an idea.

In his workshop, he wove the thicket around the legs of his stool, binding all of them until they were set tight beneath the seat and the stool was rock solid. The coach marveled how something so thin could strengthen the seat.

He nervously approached the Gauntlet. As each guard approached, they saw his handiwork and stepped aside, one after another, until he stood before the Table of Champions. As one, those who sat at the table rose and then cheered as the coach took his place. As he did, another spot mysteriously opened up next to his.

\"It is for next year's champion,\" an old fellow explained. \"Many will have fine, stout teams, but that alone will only run half the Gauntlet. Sooner or later they will run into stouter legs. Some will have stout teams, and fine fans that lift their teams in times of desperation, and they will worry the Gauntlet, yet it will still not be enough. Others still will rest on legend, but that is a rotten leg whose time has passed.\" The old coach smiled at the newcomer. \"You, however, have something binding your legs, something that, when missing, makes your seat unworthy. You have luck, and it touches all that you bring to the table, and it is because of this that we welcome you, Champion.\"