When I lost my job in May of 2025, I moved back into my mother’s house in New Jersey. That hurt, let me tell you. I spent most days rewatching The Sopranos. I’m better now thanks to Tony—my kindred spirit, my incorrigible Italian friend. You see, he was there for me when no one else was, when I was lost in the throes of depression. Now that I’m doing better, I feel it’s only fair I return the favor. Tony Soprano needs my help.
Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking Tony Soprano is a terrible person, but that’s not true. He’s misunderstood. Sometimes, when I’m feeling blue, I think about that episode when he’s alone on the boardwalk at Asbury Park. There’s this moment where he stares at the ocean, and the camera lingers on his face. He’s thinking about the past, yearning for a time that no longer exists. I do this too, late at night, when I should be sleeping. I think about people I used to know and the good times I used to have, and sometimes all I want to do is rewind the clock. I miss the days when I had no responsibilities, no bills, no managers, no annual performance reviews.
Tony feels the same. He misses how simple and easy life was before turf wars, wire taps, FBI informants, and RICO charges. I feel for the guy. I want to help him, even though he’s a criminal. He killed his best friend, Salvatore “Big Pussy” Bonpensiero, in the last episode of season two, and the memory still haunts him. Me, I never killed anybody, but I can identify with that wistful longing, that melancholy that arises when old memories grab onto your heart and won’t let go.
Right now Tony is stuck on a never-ending path of self-destruction. He needs someone like me, someone who knows how his story ends, someone who can steer him in the right direction. God knows his therapist is no help. His wife resents him. His kids are preoccupied with their own lives. Uncle Junior has dementia. Bobby has his own issues to deal with now that his wife is gone. So who does that leave? Christopher? Johnny Sack? Silvio? Paulie Walnuts? Those guys don’t understand mental health, and besides, most of them die by the end of the show. You see what I’m saying? Tony needs me, damn it.
We share the same problems. We prioritize material objects and instant gratification. This is how we cope. This is how we deal with the daily pressures of modern life. I don’t like jewelry, strip clubs, gambling, or expensive cigars, but I understand these impulses. Believe me, I do. I order takeout six days a week. I buy stacks of books and never read them. I recently purchased the 4K Blu-ray edition of Star Trek: The Next Generation, yet for some reason I still watch the episodes on Paramount Plus. I struggle to quiet that little voice in my head, the one that tells me I need this or that in order to be happy.
Tony could help me too. I have this neighbor who likes to go through my mail. That’s a felony offense. I’ve spoken to him about this issue many times. He laughs and nods, but he doesn’t listen. Maybe Tony could straighten him out, you know, or he could send Paulie and Christopher to rough him up a little. Maybe he could teach me how to stand up for myself, how to hold my ground, how to stare at someone so they know I mean business.
Now I doubt Tony would listen to me if I started lecturing him about how to live his life. His struggles are more complicated than mine. But in my opinion, deep down, he knows that hedonistic pleasures won’t make him happy. I think if I caught him at the right time, in the right context, I could get through to him. I could help him rewrite his story, so that when the screen goes black in the final episode, you could realistically imagine him alive instead of dead.
I understand the chances of this happening are slim, but who knows? Technology is like magic now. Maybe someday in the hopefully-not-so-distant future I’ll be able to climb inside my television and talk to Tony face-to-face. I’ll remind him to stay true to himself. He might be a hard-nosed mob boss, but that’s not who he really is. That’s his persona. Beneath Tony’s hardened exterior is a sensitive man who wants to live a simple life. Tony wants to play cards with Silvio and the guys at the Bada Bing. He wants to drink a bottle of red wine and eat fresh mozzarella at Vesuvio. He wants a family of ducks to swim circles around him while he soaks up the summer sun. That’s what he really wants. If you ask me, that’s what he deserves.