This has happened before. Only it was much, much worse; though this is still pretty bad. That's the brighter side to my current melancholy; rather, the excuse. It's not abject depression like in 2003 with the Red Sox. It's a more like a numbness. We've suddenly been forced to look up and see how large the universe actually is. That the immortality of perfection and a win tonight was never as close as we thought it was, no matter what we tell ourselves -- or how Russell Crowe makes us feel. We have always been small after all. And in that lies the numbness and melancholy of a reality we thought we could transcend for a moment, for a game.
So if you feel like feeling this feeling I have, if you care to offer to me a "Sorry, man. That hurts!" Well, you can "Stuff your sorry's in a sack." Because here's the deal with losing: it also makes no sense. And don't tell me it's just a game. Because it most conveniently, and undoubtedly is. There is no debate there. Yet losing is always also losing.
The universe is a large, large place. I have just now had my head lifted.
1 comment:
No sorrys given, not because you don't want any but because it is hard to feel sorry for perfection masking as mediocrity as it did last night...by the way, was that Larry Bird shaking hands with Eli Manning?
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