The Impossibility of Preemptive Grieving in the Mind of Someone Who Isn’t in the Throes of Dealing with a Death
I took a class in University called The Psychology of Death and Dying. I didn’t like it but I took two things away from that class. One of them is irrelevant here but the other is this:
When someone dies a protracted death--like a long bout with cancer--people don’t preemptively grieve for her or him. The death still hits as hard as it would have had the person been struck by lightening.
I thought that was rubbish and I even took issue with it with the professor (it didn’t go well) but over time I’ve come to see it his way (yes, this is the sort of thing I contemplate--differences with professors from classes I didn’t care about and had nothing to do with my major or minor). Today for the first time I feel it his way.
Your ¡FUTURISMOS! aren’t a marauding juggernaut set loose on the Lilliputians of CSC World. Through 7 matches we won a game we should have lost and drew a game we could have either won or lost. ¡SOLUSTRON! works mysteriously in any given instance but has a way of making things work out over time.
We were due for a loss.
I’ve known that since Game 0 so our first loss being a narrow 2-1 stumble in the regular season finale shouldn’t hurt. I had a whole spectacular season to prepare myself for this and yet here I am alternating between writing and staring off into space dwelling on the scoring chance I botched; a few bad passes I made (no disasters though); replaying two instances where I felt lost and reacted slowly (again, no disasters); wasting a brilliant effort by our keeper (more later); and that Zara’s first game with her new club was its first loss of the season (again, more later).
Of course I’m justifying the frak out of the loss too: we needed to get it out of the way for the playoffs; I needed to burn off some bad Karma for the Kevin Garnett in advance of Game 2 of the Finals; we needed to get our hand caught in the cookie jar so we remember that sting and play better next Sunday; this is ¡SOLUSTRON! telling us that Messi needs to breakup with her boyfriend and disown her family so she stops missing matches thereby degrading her touch and diminishing her finishing effectiveness.
This was exactly what my professor was talking about. Coping is the imposition of reason on an emotional response but until you have that emotional response there’s nothing to cope with. This makes life worth living and being a Buddhist so darned hard. Hopelessly falling in love and then being devastated when the relationship ends are one in the same. To diminish the impact of one necessarily lessens the other.
At the moment I’m in the roiling sea beneath the crashing wave of being dumped by Undefeated Season. Even though I didn’t expect it, never wanted it, and thought it couldn’t last Undefeated Season and I were looking at buying a Condo together (as close to the Guthrie as we could afford) and discussing our approach to automobile ownership. Then at the end of an hour on a Sunday morning that was equally unexpected and inevitable, seven perfect weeks were a memory rather than a foundation.
Adieu, de saison invaincue. Adieu.
The Opinion of all ¡FUTURISMOS! Who Aren’t Named Sawyer About Loosing Game 8
I’m guessing if you ask any other ¡FUTURISMO! about this game they’ll say something like this, “Yeah, bummer we lost but we had our chances and it was fun match.”
If you hear that it’s 100-percent true. Weasels FC were a fun bunch and I’m pretty sure Ryan Carlson was playing for them (figures, talk about salt in a wound--he never played a single match for us). I didn’t experience or see a hint of bad blood anywhere on the pitch. Great weather. It was a good match and once my emotional spasm has passed I’ll feel that way too.
Roll Call
Ladies: Messi, Run MC, Belle, Zara, Yoda, and Diosa (sort of).
Gentlemen: Socrates, TB, King Vidor, Heartbreaker, John, and Me.
Diosa ended up playing for Weasels FC because they were short a lady and we had an extra. Never mind that she didn’t know any of her new teammates, that didn’t stop her for even an instant from talking up a storm, telling people what to do, and basically taking the pitch like it was made for her.
[NOTE: This was already Diosa’s second match of the day. Then the team playing after us was short a lady and she played with them (that's 3 matches in 3 hours)… and she still had two more matches to play later in the day. So she played in at least 5 matches in one day and maybe more. ¿See what I’m saying? Clearly Diosa is at least partially not human.]
Double Ataris Giveth, Giveth, Giveth, Giveth, Taketh, Giveth, and then… Taketh
I don’t know how many ¡FUTURISMOS! games have featured players from King Vidor’s Double Atari club but it’s more than I could hold in a hand. This match featured Double Ataris on both sides of the ball.
Elliot was out of town so John filled in. John has played with us several times in the past. In Game 8 he played so well he earned himself a Nom de Futbol. More on this later.
Weasels FC was augmented by two Double Ataris. One was a guy in a green shirt. The other guy’s name isn’t actually The Machine. It’s something far less appropriate like “Mike” or “Steve” or some other name I’ll never remember and don’t care about. But no bother, I’ve never let people’s wishes or actual names stand in the way of me calling The Truth the truth to its face and I won’t stop now. That guy is henceforth The Machine for reasons you’re about to discover.
KICK OFF
¡GOAL! The Machine (24th min): ¡F 0 -- Weasels FC 1
For you to appreciate the bitterness of the goal you have to realize each half of play is 24-minutes long. Everyone knew the half was nearly over because the game being played next us had just gone into halftime when Weasels FC won a corner. So the corner would be the last play of the half.
A Weasel booted the ball into play, the ball bounced around in the box, and in swooped The Machine through the melee to punch the ball in as time expired. I think I heard every single ¡FUTURISMO! blame him or herself for the goal as they trod off the pitch for the half.
Halftime
It was a ragged first half for your ¡FUTURISMOS! On offense we consistently got the ball down near their goal but our passes were invariable intercepted because it seemed like they always had 3 defenders in the box. So a lot of empty trips after good work to get there.
Defensively we were a mess. There were open Weasels so often we wondered if they were playing 4 forwards. Fortunately a combination of John playing totally crazy, good recoveries, and dumb luck kept things close.
¡GOAL! The Machine (36th min): ¡F! 0 -- Weasels FC 2
The short of this one is there was another melee in front of our goal. The ball bounced around. John parried a shot and the ball was rolling just in front of the goal. The Machine tried to tap it in but Heartbreaker stepped in to block it. The ball bounced in the air and ended up falling back into the net despite Heartbreaker’s efforts to clear it.
In essence but not execution a replay of their first goal and The Machine’s second of a tight match.
The Tenor of Play Over the Final 12 Minutes
Your ¡FUTURISMOS! played considerably better overall in the second half. We had a bevy of shots and near misses and definitely picked up the intensity over the last 12 minutes. There were long stretches where we were consistently beating the Weasels to the ball. They looked gassed and our additional subs were keeping us fresh.
¡GOAL! TB (44th min): ¡F! 1 -- Weasels FC 2
Our goal was much like theirs. Socrates blasted a shot from straight way that the Weasel keeper blocked but couldn’t control and TB was there to drive home the put back.
The Final 4 Minutes
We pressed hard for the equalizer. There were a few near chances but either we’d come up a step short or the ball would just wouldn’t dip or break our way. But it appeared the game would end with a reversal of the close of the first half.
TB raced toward the goal in the final seconds with the ball. Socrates filled the middle and Run MC swept in unmarked from the opposite wing. Had the ball been able to find it’s way across the box Run MC had an open net but it wasn’t meant to be. The ball ricocheted around and ended up in the keeper’s mitts as the Ref blew for time.
Game over. Our first loss of the season.
FULL TIME
On the Benefits of the Much Maligned, So-Called “Racial Profiling” (or Introducing Zara Gonzalez)
I actually had a good week leading up to the game. Everyday had a definite highlight or two. Tied for first place for the best moment of the week was receiving an email announcing a new hire at Colle+McVoy, the ¡FUTURISMOS! generous and much appreciated benefactor. In the email there was some talk about what this person’s job was, maybe some facile personal information, and probably a suggestion to introduce yourself. But I didn’t see any of that because I was blinded by two words:
Zara Gonzalez
First: ¿¡Zara Gonzalez?! Whoa. That name is like a thought I didn’t even know I’d had sneaking out of my brain, taking human form, and then meeting me for coffee at the library… ¡with ASIMO!
Second ¡¡Zara Gonzalez!! If that isn’t the name of futboler then no futboler has a name. They’d be nothing but numbers. [Q: “Who is you’re favorite player?” A: “Oh, you know, I love 19 but there will always be a place in my heart for 13.”]
Some might think this is racial profiling and to quote Run MC’s favorite refrain, “I ain’t gonna lie to you… it is.” But if it is indeed the case that “the true test of a first-rate mind is the ability to hold two contradictory ideas at the same time” then I contend I’ve reframed the issue such that question becomes:
¿If a person is named Zara Gonzalez and due to her name the Captain Emeritus and Chief of Recruitment of her local futbol club immediately tenders her a club offer, then isn’t that person being punished by ¡SOLUSTRON! if she doesn’t play futbol?
I rest my case.
Unfortunately for Ms. Gonzalez the obscure futbol match I attended in Buenos Ares last year featured an 18-year-old phenom playing for a second-rate club. [He’s now apparently set to sign with English Superclub Arsenal, by the way.] That gentlemen happens to be the youngest of a futboling family dynasty. ¿Their last name?
Zarate
¿Coincidence?
No way.
So ¡FUTURISMOS! fans, I present our very own Zarate.
I grilled Zarate (Ms. Gonzalez) about the incontrovertible connection between herself and Argentina’s Zarates. She claimed to have never heard of the Zarates and pointed out that she’s not in the least bit Argentine.
“Oh, really,” I said in the most dismissive, sarcastic tone I could muster as I straightened my spine to take full advantage of all 6-feet and 1-inch of me for full looming effect. “¿Then how do explain away the fact the Zarates are also know for being short futbolers?”
At that point Zarate simply glared at me with a pursed lipped frown. Clearly she was steamed that I’d discovered her secret famous futbol lineage. ¿What can I say? My powers of perception are simply impeccable.
Zarate did not disappoint her family or fellow Argentines in her first match. With Li’l Pete out of town (¡¿AGAIN?!) and Diosa playing for the wrong team our backline was without a captain so Zarate was often left on an island to fend for herself without knowing which of her teammates she could rely on or for what. Yet she looked perfectly comfortable like she’d been there all season.
Your ¡FUTURISMOS! had an-honest-to-goodness futboler fall right into our collective lap. A fortuitous late season pick up all thanks to a little racial profiling.
The Delayed Launch of Zarate & Diosa: Las Señoras Mortales
The big news from week heading into Game 8 was your ¡FUTURISMOS! signing two new players. One is the afore mentioned Zarate and the other is the resplendent Diosa, who graciously accepted our invitation with an outburst of jubilant profanity that both warmed the heart and reddened the face. [If you don’t know who Diosa is read the second half of last week’s blog.]
I’ve already belabored the fact that both of these people are good futbolers/supernatural/genetic heirlooms, but what I haven’t yet bellowed from the mountaintop is both have (in some measure) recent ancestry that the US Government has deemed Latin/Hispanic and both speak Spanish (to degrees ranging from Sesame Street to Dora, so I’m informed). That’s plenty good enough for little ol’ German/French/Dutch/Norwegian-like-100-years-ago USAmerican me.
People from the United States of America are born believing foreigners are naturally better at futbol than we are. And for good reason because it’s essentially true. Not that every non-USAmerican is better at futbol than every USAmerican. It’s just that futbol is soooooo vastly more important in the rest of the world than all of our professional sports put together so it’s difficult to comprehend. You know, like the concept of infinity or George W. Bush’s RE-election.
To wit if you had to choose players for your club based on nothing other than their country of origin it’s a safer bet to choose Argentines, Brazilians, Germans, Spaniards, Ghanians, Ivory Cost-ians (however you’d say that), Turks, and so on, rather than USAmericans. Because there’s a fighting chance you’ll pick people who have played some futbol in the first group. With USAmericans you’re more likely to end up with a bunch of skiers or Frisbee Golfers.
So now your ¡FUTURISMOS! are one of the clubs with people on it that plausibly look and sound like they’re not originally from The States because they can yell at each in Spanish even if all they’re saying is “¡Watch out for the diarrhea!” and “¡Excuse me, but that was my cab!”
Alas, because Diosa ended up playing for the opposition this week I didn’t get to see our new secret weapon in action. ¡SOLUSTRON! willing next week your ¡FUTURISMOS! will unveil:
Las Señoras Mortales
¡Just in time for the playoffs (if we made the playoffs)!
[ASIDE: I’m not going to get into how weird white, mainland USAmericans are about classifying people from so-called “Latin America,” but it is a subject I enjoy discussing--as I do all issues pertaining to race/ethnicity/culture--so if you’d like to chat about it I encourage you to let me know. We can get a coffee… as my people say “the coffee.”]
LI’L PETE AWARD: JOHN
John, the Double Atari keeper who stepped in for Elliot, is the hands down recipient of the Li’l Pete award this week. He was throwing himself all over the place, getting into people’s legs, seriously putting retention of all his teeth in danger. I had the good fortune to be an arm’s length away to see him take a fully blasted ball in the gut from no more than 3-feet away as he dove into a Weasel shooter’s feet. The amazing part was he held on to the ball. That would have broken my stomach.
The reason our defense didn’t allow more goals was rarely because of our defense, it was mostly John and I’m guessing he’ll be suffering for it the rest of this week. It was a performance worthy of the greatest modern keeper whose last name also makes for a nice rhythmic rhyme with “John”--Oliver Kahn. So now John is:
John Kahn.
The only thing missing from his otherwise perfectly Oliver Kahn-esque performance was grabbing one of his own teammates by the ear to cuss him out and then threatening to bite an opponent’s neck. Next time I’ll even offer up my ear for the cussin’ and if Diosa plays for the opposition again I’ll do my part to make it her neck.
No comments:
Post a Comment