The sport of life

I'm not that much into sports as a rule, but I do really enjoy watching the highlights (the only part of cricket I can handle), and the triumph of the underdog, and a mighty feat of strength, endurance or athleticism moves me frequently to tears. As I wrestled today with a mountain of urgent things to do and an even bigger pile of 'stuff that I'd like to do but will have to wait for now', and contemplating my choice to pursue a creative and unrestrained by 9 to 5 life, I felt like the Sri Lankans facing the Aussies in the dark must have felt - having trouble being focussed, and just a little bit overwhelmed/scared.

I like watching sport when it's a struggle - when both teams are evenly matched or it's a close race, requiring superhuman effort to triumph against all odds. When there is no competition, or when the goals comes easily, it's no fun to watch. We need the struggle, the adversity, the challenge, to feel alive. At least that's the only reason I can come up with why anyone would sign up for being a rugby hooker, for example. The struggles are what makes a life worth living, and taking the easy road makes for a boring match and a slow attrition of the heart and soul. When you're on the bottom of the scrum, and losing with 1/2 a minute to go (or you feel like your life is over), is precisely when we have the opportunity to fill our hearts and lungs, cry the battle cry that rouses our team, and pull ourselves up and over the line. These are the moments that are talked about for years, and which continue to lift us long after the moment of struggle has passed. Facing the fast bowler of life and giving it our best shot despite the gathering darkness, whether we win or lose the match, is what makes the game of life worth living.

So I'll continue with my creative life despite the fear, and try to keep my eye on the ball - or at least a paintbrush in my hand.