Early this morning I was asked, professionally and politely, to kick the football again. There she was, down the field about twenty yards, holding the football firmly in place and asking me to run up and kick it. I hesitated, because I have been here before. I have stared down that same field at the same cast of characters and listened to the same promise that this time it will be different. So here I go. I am running down the field and getting ready to make my next attempt. You blockhead Charlie Brown. Sure enough, Lucy yanks the football away at the last minute and I go flying head over heels. This always happens, and I am always beguiled, and I go along. Each time I think I am going to knock this one to the moon. I give it everything I can, and then. Well, we know the story.
Charles M. Schulz was the author and illustrator of the comic strip Peanuts. Born in Minneapolis and raised in St. Paul, he discovered his love of drawing early, encouraged by a barber father and a homemaker mother. After serving in World War II, he returned and pursued cartooning with steady resolve, launching Peanuts in 1950. The strip blended light humor with quiet reflections on loneliness, hope, and the ordinary struggles of life. Over fifty years he drew nearly eighteen thousand strips himself. He refused to delegate. That choice gave Peanuts its singular voice. The simple lines and spare compositions held a thoughtful, almost philosophical current that reshaped the art of comics and left a mark on culture that still echoes.
Charlie Brown and Lucy van Pelt embodied a dynamic that many of us recognize in our own lives. Lucy is assertive, bossy, and often critical. Charlie Brown is timid, self doubting, and vulnerable. Their conversations and conflicts reveal the friction between confidence and insecurity. She pushes. He suffers. Yet the result is not cruelty for its own sake. Schulz used their exchanges to show persistence tested and resilience formed. The humor lands because it is grounded in recognizable human frailty. We see ourselves in the back and forth.
The football bit became the most enduring symbol of that relationship. Lucy holds the ball. Charlie Brown lines up with hope in his chest. At the last moment she pulls the ball away, and he lands flat. It is funny, then it stings, then it is funny again. The sequence dramatizes eternal optimism and mischievous control in three panels. He tries again, and we admire the trying, even as we know how this will end. She sets the terms. He accepts them. That is the whole predicament in miniature.
Lately I worry that while people remember Peanuts, they are starting to forget the messages that gave the strip its power. I grew up reading the Sunday morning comics and took for granted the understated philosophical humor that was just there like the weather. Schulz loved irony. Lucy offered psychiatric advice for five cents, a cardboard booth standing in for the seriousness of therapy. Snoopy perched on his doghouse as a World War I Flying Ace. The absurdity works because the characters take their roles seriously. That makes the contrast both funny and revealing. Having raised three children, I still smile at how the kids in Peanuts never seemed to understand what the adults were saying. The children translated the adult world into their own language, which is perhaps what we all do. We hear the trombone sound in the background, and we fill in meaning from our own experience.
The Lucy and the football gag is also one of the best metaphors for business. It captures the cycle of trust, hope, risk, and disappointment that leaders and teams face every quarter.
Broken promises and moving goal posts
Lucy represents the stakeholder, manager, or partner who promises to hold the ball steady. Charlie Brown represents the eager contributor who commits in good faith. When the ball gets pulled away, we recognize the vendor who misses again, the partner who changes scope, the executive who shifts priorities. It is the changed contract after the work is finished. It is the late stage surprise that knocks you flat.
Eternal optimism versus skepticism
Charlie Brown always believes this time will be different. That optimism is admirable, and sometimes necessary. It also fuels repeated investments in projects and relationships that never deliver. Hope without accountability is not a strategy. It is a wish, and wishes do not protect your backside when you fall.
Power and control
Lucy controls the setup. She defines the terms. She decides the moment of truth. In business, this looks like a dominant client, a senior executive with veto power, or a vendor with a lock on a platform. When leverage is that uneven, your success depends on someone else’s whim. That is not a plan. That is a prayer.
The lesson of due diligence
Charlie Brown’s failure is not only Lucy’s trick. It is his refusal to change his approach. He could demand assurances. He could ask for the ball on a tee. He could bring his own holder. He could walk away. In business, that means contracts, clear governance, defined metrics, and real consequences. Optimism is good. Safeguards are better. Wisdom is both together.
So where does that leave us, the ones standing on the field with our shoes tied and our hearts set on finally making contact. When the stakes are high, it may be worth considering that the best strategy is not Charlie Brown’s method of I hope it works this time. Maybe you should not wait around for a promotion that keeps getting promised. Maybe you should not believe the vendor who tells you do not worry, it will work this time. Think of how many times you have been told exactly what Charlie Brown hears from Lucy before he makes yet another attempt. Then consider a different play. Set the terms. Build the safeguards. Ask for proof. Or step off the field and invest your effort where the ball will still be there when your foot arrives.
