To the world, yesterday may have been one of the best sporting days ever. Personally, it was one of the saddest.
Willing Roger Federer on during matches is no longer about me being a fan of his tennis skills or amiable personality, both of which he seems to still possess in spades. No, the experience of Fed has become a selfish, bizarre quest for validation. Meandering aimlessly rather than marching purposefully through my mid-30s, it's 'oh-so-sweet' to see a man in my age bracket - Fed turns 38 soon - continue to kick ass across various surfaces, ruthlessly dispatching a stream of younger, fitter but clearly not better players, to the locker room, chastised.
Fed winning is a victory twice over. Firstly, served with a healthy dollop of Schadenfreude on the side as he rules the roost over young whippersnappers. And secondly, an "I'll have what s/he's having" a la When Harry met Sally while Fed quietens the mob that's constantly going on about getting older and the end times. Growing older is already tough to accept but gets worse when I come face to face with two kinds of people. Those confident souls who've lived it up in their teens and 20s, and are now strutting about with aplomb, holding onto a potent bag of stories. Then there's the younger generation, wearing brashness like a badge, hauling around their knapsack of possibility.
Me and many others I'm sure, are stuck between these two types of people... and our own peers. A funny way of being reminded of what we missed out on, what we're missing out on, and what we've become. So, Fed has become something of a reassuring symbol. That, while my faculties and life is crumbling and changing inevitably... maybe, just maybe, like a 37 year old tennis player, I too have a little more time on my hands than I know. If you don't believe me, just look at Roger.
Watching himwaste miss out on 2 championship points was a kick in the balls. To come within caressing distance of the trophy and then settle for second place... he has the consolation of being a prolific winner but people like me, living vicariously through him, do not. Yesterday evening, I realised just how much effort it takes to hope... to cheer someone on who doesn't know you exist. I mean, well done Djokovic but one look at the pitiful competition suggests he will have plenty of titles to celebrate once Fed hangs up the racket. So, why couldn't he let Fed/Me have this one?
Which brings me to New Zealand. If a team ever deserved to win for sheer niceness (apart from the fact that they're all highly skilled), it's the Kiwis. Kane Williamson should be every kid's idol, not just as a cricketer but as a person. Watching Boult tread on the boundary rope to give away a six was bad enough. The ball hitting bat (accidentally sure, but where's the comfort in that) and going for overthrows was worse. The Kiwis should have seen the signs right then and there. I don't even want to write about the double tie because the rule about more boundaries is plain stupid. In any case, the whole Eng-NZ final can be a case study on margins and how the flakes of chance can delicately throw a sucker punch and ask someone to go fuck themselves. Credit to England and all, but it felt less a sporting victory and more a legal one.
July 14th 2019. Not a good day to be a mid-30s person hoping against hope.
Song for the moment: Kickstand - The Sound Defects
Willing Roger Federer on during matches is no longer about me being a fan of his tennis skills or amiable personality, both of which he seems to still possess in spades. No, the experience of Fed has become a selfish, bizarre quest for validation. Meandering aimlessly rather than marching purposefully through my mid-30s, it's 'oh-so-sweet' to see a man in my age bracket - Fed turns 38 soon - continue to kick ass across various surfaces, ruthlessly dispatching a stream of younger, fitter but clearly not better players, to the locker room, chastised.
Fed winning is a victory twice over. Firstly, served with a healthy dollop of Schadenfreude on the side as he rules the roost over young whippersnappers. And secondly, an "I'll have what s/he's having" a la When Harry met Sally while Fed quietens the mob that's constantly going on about getting older and the end times. Growing older is already tough to accept but gets worse when I come face to face with two kinds of people. Those confident souls who've lived it up in their teens and 20s, and are now strutting about with aplomb, holding onto a potent bag of stories. Then there's the younger generation, wearing brashness like a badge, hauling around their knapsack of possibility.
Me and many others I'm sure, are stuck between these two types of people... and our own peers. A funny way of being reminded of what we missed out on, what we're missing out on, and what we've become. So, Fed has become something of a reassuring symbol. That, while my faculties and life is crumbling and changing inevitably... maybe, just maybe, like a 37 year old tennis player, I too have a little more time on my hands than I know. If you don't believe me, just look at Roger.
Watching him
Which brings me to New Zealand. If a team ever deserved to win for sheer niceness (apart from the fact that they're all highly skilled), it's the Kiwis. Kane Williamson should be every kid's idol, not just as a cricketer but as a person. Watching Boult tread on the boundary rope to give away a six was bad enough. The ball hitting bat (accidentally sure, but where's the comfort in that) and going for overthrows was worse. The Kiwis should have seen the signs right then and there. I don't even want to write about the double tie because the rule about more boundaries is plain stupid. In any case, the whole Eng-NZ final can be a case study on margins and how the flakes of chance can delicately throw a sucker punch and ask someone to go fuck themselves. Credit to England and all, but it felt less a sporting victory and more a legal one.
July 14th 2019. Not a good day to be a mid-30s person hoping against hope.
Song for the moment: Kickstand - The Sound Defects
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