Elon Musk and the Drake Maye Conspiracy

Conspiracy theories rarely begin with malice. More often, they begin with coincidence—improbable patterns repeating themselves, money moving in ways that defy common sense. I have had a view friends who are very attuned to these kinds of controversies, and once they grab hold of something it's like a mongoose fastened to the neck of a cobra.

FOR LEGAL PURPOSES I MUST NOTE THIS STORY IS A WORK OF FICTION

Drake Maye*

As soon as the Patriots won the AFC Championship I saw it in a flash, but like most level-headed theorists I had verify what I intuited. There was something fishy about the loss to the Broncos Sunday. It prompted me to go back and look at the game tapes--not the Pats & Broncs but the previous week. Was there something nefarious in the manner in which Bo Wix had his ankle broken? A second-by-second breakdown of the incident revealed something I hadn't noticed before.

Let's face it, the New England Patriots, a team most analysts had written off early, are headed to the Super Bowl. In the playoffs the Patriots have been widely regarded by analysts as outmatched, improbable finalists, but if you go back through the season, look how many games were decided by one or two bad calls by officials.

By way of contrast their opponent, the Seattle Seahawks, entered the playoffs with superior metrics across nearly every category that sports analysts love to cite: overall efficiency, defensive depth, injury management, and point differential. You would think the NFL would simply hand the Lombardi Trophy to the Seahawks while fans clustered around the halftime show.

What caught the attention of conspiracy-minded observers wasn’t just the wins, but the name Drake Maye, quarterback for the Patriots. On its face, the name means nothing. Until one notices Maye Musk, the mother of Elon Musk. At this point, responsible people stop. Conspiracy theorists, however, lean in.

From there, the questions begin—not as accusations, but as curiosities. What are the odds?

According to whispers circulating in betting circles, unusually heavy money began flowing toward the Patriots late in the season—money that didn’t align with conventional wisdom. Some gamblers described it as “confident” money rather than emotional fandom. Lines adjusted, not dramatically, but persistently, as if markets were responding to something they couldn’t quite articulate.

This is where the theory takes shape. Elon Musk, after all, is not a man associated with randomness. His public persona is built on systems, optimization, pattern recognition, and an open disdain for chaos. He has spoken often about simulations, probabilities, and the illusion of chance. To the conspiratorial imagination, that makes him the ideal unseen hand—not fixing games outright (too crude), but influencing outcomes through subtler, more deniable means.

Not bribery. Not rigging. Something more elegant.

The theory proposes that Musk, motivated by filial devotion, sought to honor his mother by orchestrating the perfect tribute: a Super Bowl victory bearing her name. The NFL, always sensitive to narrative and symbolism, would hardly resist such a storyline. A mother honored. A dynasty reborn. America loves a clean arc. 

 

Conspiracy theories thrive not because they are true, but because they are narratively satisfying. They impose intention where chance feels intolerable. Whether the Patriots’ run is destiny, coincidence, or simply good football is almost beside the point. What matters is how quickly we reach for hidden hands when outcomes refuse to behave. 

This kind of speculation has been going on for years. The controversial Drake Maye Conspiracy ultimately tells us less about football than about ourselves. It reveals how quickly coincidence becomes intention, how easily admiration for systems morphs into suspicion of control, and how stories rush in to fill the gaps where uncertainty lives.

The Patriots may win the Super Bowl. They may lose. Either way, the season will end as it always does—with explanations that feel insufficient to those who crave design. Conspiracy theories offer something comforting: the assurance that someone, somewhere, is in charge. That's why I am putting my money on Elon. I mean, the Patriots.

If reality refuses to cooperate, so be it.

* * * 

THIS STORY IS A WORK OF FICTION. It was conceived when I randomly noticed Elon's mom's name in a Wikipedia listing yesterday.

The Drake Maye photo is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license.
For more information visit Wkipedia

The Wit and Wisdom of Dan Hansen (Part 1)

At Dan's funeral service. Dan's father was a master
craftsman, hence the boat and rigging. Dan likewise
was an astonishing artist.

While our friend Dan Hansen was among us, he was sensitive about being exploited as a handicapped person. He did, however, have much to say about philosophy, life and the world we live in, and most of all he wanted to make this world a better place for everyone. 

As the 19th century Scottish poet and essayist Alexander Pope once said, "If a man is worth knowing at all, he is worth knowing well." Dan Hansen was such a man. 

I had the privilege of being his friend and collaborator on numerous projects that included treatments for screenplays, stories, games and a novel of such importance that it became the center of our times together for two-and-a-half years. Here are a handful of quotes and observations by Dan that will give you the flavor of this inspiring man.

DAN QUOTES

 

Of his 2015 Art Show
“In order to create that, I had to get inside the mind of God.”

 

Dan’s Life Experience

“The whole life I’ve lived has been fascinating… and sort of intoxicating.”

 

Dan’s Life Experience

“I live in a tiny box but I am not a tiny box. 

I barely understand able-bodied people and they

absolutely don’t understand me.”

 

Pronouns

I / it   “I’ve felt like a teddy bear with a slot for double A batteries. “Oh, he talks.”

 

Regarding our Novel & AI

“It's a new crack cocaine, really, I mean, it's pure idea, adrenaline, yeah, even if I'm dog tired from no sleep, I muster up the energy. Maybe it takes me an hour to warm up in the morning, but after I get my initial warm up, I keep going. Can't stop. I just can't stop, and I'm, I'm wired till the end of the day despite no sleep.”

 

AI 

“If you can win an argument with AI and get it to acknowledge that you won the argument, you can get it to eat out of your hand and you can tell it, can command it what to do, almost like breaking a horse.”

 

Dan’s World

"I'm doing the impossible because I live the impossible. Look at me. Everything is impossible. I wake up an impossible. That's what I do. I've been doing that my entire life."

 

Problem Solving

"Escapism is a fake escape.

Solving the problem is a real escape.

The Act of Solving a problem.” 

Is as important as Solving the Problem."

 

On the Novel

"I want to get super granular, but I want to get super expansive, too."

 

On the Novel

Dan: I want to dedicate this book to God.

Ed: Bach did that with all his composing. “Te Deum” That is, “To God.”

Dan: That is so great. I love GodI

On Politics
“At this stage I have no political opinions or views to express. It's a giant circus from where I sit. Yet it's a failed circus. We need a new idea. I think a real travelling circus show might provide more structure and coherence as a political party. We should elect academically trained clowns for office. The Mooseburger Clown Arts Camp in Buffalo Minnesota might be a good start for aspiring young statesmen in the midwest. Their slogan is "You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm!". This is more than just a slogan to me; it's a vision statement. This is the type of direction, leadership, and will-to-power attitude required to restore this once great nation back to its former glory.”

* * * 

It is my intention and hope to share more details about the projects Dan and I worked on together over the past 12 years. If you wish to receive this in your inbox, there's a "Subscribe" form in the right-hand column. If it doesn't work, please let me know.

Dan Hansen died December 28, 2025, due to pneumonia and complications of Spinal Muscular Atrophy. He would have been 47 this March. Read his full obituary here.

Finding the Thread: Intentionality in a Labyrinthine World

In yesterday's post I wrote about living with intentionality — about choosing direction rather than drifting, purpose rather than habit. That idea sounds simple until you look honestly at the terrain we move through each day. The modern world is less a straight road than a maze, filled with diversions that invite wandering without arrival. Which brings us to labyrinths.

The notion of labyrinths traces back to ancient mythology, but it is found throughout history. In essence, a labyrinth is a maze, a puzzle, a complicated route that leads to—or conceals—something. It is not merely a physical structure but a way of thinking about movement, confusion, discovery, and arrival. 

Many writers have made reference to labyrinths in their work, drawn to the image as both symbol and architecture. Jorge Luis Borges was famously fascinated by the idea of labyrinths, which appear repeatedly in his short stories—not always as stone corridors, but as libraries, mirrors, texts, and even time itself. In Borges, the labyrinth is often infinite, or at least suggestive of infinity, a place where the seeker risks never finding the center.

Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose was inspired in part by this fascination. The monastery library at the heart of the novel is a literal labyrinth, but it also functions as an intellectual one: a maze of forbidden knowledge, misdirection, and interpretive traps. What is hidden there is not only a book, but power—and the consequences of seeking it.

From ancient and medieval times to the present, labyrinths have held their appeal, both as real structures to be built and as ideas to be contemplated. The mind itself is often described as a labyrinth, with winding passages, dead ends, and unexpected openings. In literature, numerous characters—from Don Quixote onward—become lost in the labyrinthine worlds of their imaginations, unable to distinguish between what is real and what is desired, what is noble and what is absurd.

 

One of André Gide’s most fascinatng works is his story Theseus, about the Athenian hero who navigates the labyrinth in Crete to slay the half-man, half-bull Minotaur, aided by Ariadne’s thread. Gide’s retelling is elegant and unsettling, less about heroism than about memory, responsibility, and the ambiguity of triumph. It is an entertaining read, with unexpected twists, and it comes with my highest recommendation.

 

My first encounter with the Internet was somewhat akin to the notion of a labyrinth. If one considers each web page a room, from which one must exit to enter another room, it is easy to imagine the World Wide Web as a vast labyrinthine universe. One can wander endlessly, doubling back, following promising passages that lead nowhere, stumbling upon hidden chambers one never intended to find. Time evaporates. Direction becomes optional.
 

It was based on this concept that I created a small labyrinth when I first started building my personal website thirteen years ago. Navigation was not meant to be purely efficient. I wanted visitors to explore, to get slightly lost, to discover things indirectly rather than be delivered straight to a conclusion.

 

And if the Internet is a labyrinth, then where is the Minotaur?

 

Perhaps that question matters more than the answer. In the ancient myth, the Minotaur was the danger at the center, the thing that justified fear and demanded courage—though surprisingly contrary in Gide’s retelling. But modern labyrinths rarely announce their monsters so clearly. Sometimes the threat is distraction rather than death, confusion rather than violence, absorption rather than confrontation. Sometimes the Minotaur is not something we slay, but something that quietly consumes our attention while we wander.

 

And perhaps, like Theseus, what we need most is not a map, but a thread—some principle, intention, or memory that allows us to venture inward without losing our way back out.

In a world designed to keep us wandering, remembering to carry a thread may be the most intentional act of all. Without one, as King Lear warns, “That way madness lies.”

Related
Unraveling the Labyrinth: Literary Connections from Theseus to Borges

Jorge Luis Borges: An Introduction

Living with Intentionality

Suppose we are interested in learning a new language. My son took an interest in Russian after we had gone to the Spy Museum in Washington one summer. Because of my interest in French literature, I took an interest in learning French. One thing you quickly learn with languages like French or Russian—and I suspect Chinese or Navajo—is that you do not just “pick it up.” One must make a deliberate decision and make a commitment to the task. You decide, Yes, I will take whatever steps are necessary to achieve this goal.

There is vocabulary to acquire, grammar to wrestle with, awkward mistakes to endure, and long stretches where progress feels painfully slow. There are moments when you wonder why you ever started. Fluency comes, if it comes at all, through patience, repetition, correction, and persistence. No shortcut replaces the work.

In its essence, achieving a goal like this requires (a) the decision to do so, (b) finding a mentor who can help us move from square one toward real facility, and (c) following through on each step along the way—even when enthusiasm fades.

Dallas Willard, in his book Renovation of the Heart, uses this process of learning a language as a metaphor for character development. It requires intentionality first. Do we actually want to become better people? Growth of this sort does not “just happen.” Habits, virtues, patience, courage—these are learned disciplines, not accidents.

Life is an ocean. If you are a ship in London and want to reach New York, it will be a very long time before you arrive if you simply drift—if you arrive at all. Currents may carry you somewhere, but not necessarily where you hoped to go. Tragically, many people live precisely this way: reacting, drifting, adapting, but rarely choosing.

Low aims produce small lives. No aim at all produces fragmentation.

Where are you going with your life? What kind of goals do you have for your own personal development—not just professionally, but morally and spiritually? As Ralph D. Winter once said, “Risks are not to be evaluated in terms of the probability of success, but in terms of the value of the goal.”

Some goals are worth pursuing even if they take years, even if they cost us comfort, even if progress is uneven. Character is one of those goals.

Keep pressing on. Purposefully.

Bob Weir: The Music Never Stops

In memory of Bob Weir (October 16, 1947 – January 10, 2026)

Bob Weir, rhythm guitarist, vocalist, and enduring spirit of the Grateful Dead, passed away peacefully at 78, surrounded by loved ones. Having courageously overcome cancer in his final months, he succumbed to underlying lung issues, leaving a void in the hearts of Deadheads worldwide.
A founding member alongside Jerry Garcia, Phil Lesh, and others, Bobby brought his distinctive rhythmic drive and cowboy-infused songwriting to the band’s psychedelic explorations. Classics like “Sugar Magnolia,” “Truckin’,” “Cassidy,” and “Playing in the Band” bear his indelible stamp—songs that blended folk, blues, rock, and improvisation into something uniquely American and eternally free.
That's how many of the Bob Weir memoriams this past week probably began. "Here are the facts." My first encounter with a Dead fan was freshman year at Ohio U while I was living at Scott Quad, 1970. A fellow whose name escapes me was a Grateful Dead fan. He also tried to turn me on to Lord of the Rings and Dune. Thus it was that I concluded Dead fans lived in a different spectrum.
* * * * *

For over six decades, Weir took to the road with unwavering dedication. From the Acid Tests of the 1960s to the marathon tours of the Dead, through RatDog, Furthur, Dead & Company, and countless solo endeavors, he kept the music alive, evolving it while honoring its roots. His guitar work—angular, conversational, always in service to the collective groove—became the heartbeat of live improvisation.
Beyond the stage, Weir was a storyteller, activist, and family man, survived by his wife Natascha and daughters Monet and Chloe. Thousands gathered in San Francisco’s Civic Center for his “Homecoming” memorial, where the music played on, reminding us: the song never ends.
Fare thee well, Bobby. Your light still shines in every jam, every sunset riff, every moment we choose to dance in the mystery. The music never stops.

"Be as in touch with your dreams as you can be."--Bob Weir

Photos courtesy Dylan James Stansbury