Monday, April 11, 2011

A Gallon of Butterbeer Productions #1

So I'm not a Jewish comedy writer, but can only Jewish comedy writers put up vanity cards? Rhetorical question, by the way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I dream of a little one-two that bamboozles a big man at the back. Shifting my weight to one side as I skip past men who are referred to as "fucking bulls" in conservations on the 2nd year table in the mess. Slotting home into the bottom left corner of the net as the best goalkeeper in college stands rooted to the spot. And as I scamper away to celebrate, as if still on my little run, hearing him direct choice Hindi expletives at that famed back four, who are shaking their heads, not knowing what struck them.

On the day that the man deservedly won a Golden Boot (and also, a title to boot), Shambles told me that these are little prizes we play for. And yet, I'd replied, these prizes trigger existential crises. When you do win them, for a moment at least, the heart leaps with almost unbearable lightness. When you invariably lose them, for a moment at least, there are miasmas of bleak despair. And when the dust, gold or otherwise, has settled down, you know that this is the curse and the boon of mediocrity. And perhaps we're better off this way. Condemned to the margins of everlasting ecstasy, condemned to the margins of everlasting grief.

8 comments:

thenumber10 said...

when this is what matters how can it be thought of as the little prize we play for?

sigh...the thought of these prizes surely does give rise to existential crises my friend...surely does

piper-of-dawn said...

You remind me just how deep a dagger in the heart that final turned out to be. I'm going to be left wondering for a long time just what might have been had we bothered ourselves with those things you call tactics, a game-plan and a formation.

It may be tiny in the grand scheme of things, but for the moment, since it's the only prize we play for, it acquires the significance of the World Cup.

sushruthi said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
sushruthi said...

Aww.

'I Belong To Buddha'

Surely, that's what you're playing for? :D

Moares said...

@thenumber10: Little prizes, my friend, continue to tantalize. PFL is promising but its not the real deal, no?

@thepiper: Ah, the dull ache of a lost final. If you'd go to the doctor, he'd look at you somberly, and say, "Son, there is no cure. It won't kill you, but you must live with it."

@Susha: You know me well. There are so many religious metaphors to describe sport, but I'm just going to say, "I belong to Buddha." :) Come, come, we'll terrorize defenders with dazzling footwork. Will more than make up for our sloppy tackling.

sushruthi said...

Scholesy :(

piper-of-dawn said...

@ Moares

Precisement.

I've been reflecting a bit more about your post. I don't think it's about mediocrity and small prizes at all. It's about loving to win and hating to lose, no matter what the stage. Because if losing an inter-class final at SAI doesn't make you feel like killing yourself, you're never, ever going to get anywhere near the (metaphorical) World Cup final either.

Moares said...

@thepiper: What I meant was that we're marked out as mediocre, at least as footballers. And the prizes are little, relative to some of the prizes we dream of playing for, the World Cup for instance, but will never do so. I'm not sure if a Rooney or a Fabregas will be able to empathize, because they're so used to playing for bigger prizes. Therein, lies the boon of mediocrity.

One strand of subtextual analysis will seem to say that is a social commentary on just not being good enough at the thing you want to be good at. But, I generally refrain from ascribing such grand designs on my measly blog posts :)