Tony Soprano is a man ruled by his consuming appetite. As such, he does not hunger so much as he craves.
The result? He gorges and is obese. Still, he is attractive…Sort of.
Likewise, he does not merely desire, he lusts. So he screws around on his wife. Prodigiously.
Consequently they fight. A lot…But he loves her.
Tony is a mafia boss, so what he covets he steals–within reason. Easily enraged he fights his impulse to arbitrarily kill. It is bad for business. And he is not stupid.
Nor is he a monster. You’d be perfectly safe with him exempting an extreme circumstance.
And your children? Forget about it. They’d be safe with Tony Soprano. He likes kids. Not just his own (he has two, Meadow and A.J.) but all kids and what they represent: A clean slate. A fresh start. Unencumbered potential.
You see, if not for his father–a DiMeo caporegime, the New Jersey faction of the New York family–he might have been a high school football coach. Or a history teacher. Maybe both. Ergo he does not train his son in the tenets of his trade…He likes animals.
Tony lives in a very nice house. A near mansion (though it is excessively beige.)
But don’t be fooled. He doesn’t have it easy. Good help is hard to find, especially in his business.
It’s all comes down to loyalty and honor. The young guys want to rise to the top without putting in any work. They’re lazy and entitled.
The old guys? They’re just as bad–maybe worse. That’s because they’re smarter, more seasoned and resentful because of all the work they’ve put in without rising to the top.
And where does that leave Tony? Pretty close to the top (he has to kowtow to New York) neither young nor old, with no one he can trust. Not even his uncle Junior–his father’s older brother–who taught him how to throw a baseball. Not even his own mother–the most treacherous harpy ever–who taught him how to walk.
What’s more, there’s regret. He wrestles with it and the wisp of conscience he has left. Perhaps that is why he has panic attacks and is forced by desperation and–much to his chagrin–fear to see a psychiatrist.
Perhaps. Rattling skeletons are unsettling.
Well, you know what they say…Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. But that’s better than the head with two bullets above the ear…