I haven’t played a proper game of cricket for over two years, which for someone who professes to quite like the sport is rather a long time. Happily though, that scar on my sporting life came to an end on Tuesday when I donned the whites, picked up the bat and trotted out to play for a friend’s team against a local council.
And amazingly, despite our lack of practice, or indeed ability, we won! I still don’t know how, but I suspect the fading light which camouflaged the ball as I attempted to slog us to victory may have had quite a lot to do with it. That and the fact that everyone contributed in some way, and we were bizarrely more up for it than the other team, who play most weeks and have done for years.
That’s the beauty of cricket – it’s a proper team game where everyone can give something to the cause, be it runs, wickets or some valiant fielding. It’s also a brilliant feeling when you win and are able to share that success with ten other people. I’ve often wondered though, which glory would be greater on the professional stage – a team or individual sporting triumph?
The benefits of the individual win are obvious. The victory is yours and yours alone, all the work to get there was yours, and you truly know that you’re the best at that particular moment. But I can’t escape the feeling that the shine wears off more quickly than that of a team victory, largely because there’s no-one else who can relate exactly to that victory with you. A team win on the other hand is something that can always be discussed, remembered and enhanced because of the sharing of that story.
Maybe (probably) people who excel at individual sports will argue differently. But all I know is, when those winning runs came off the bat in the twilight on Tuesday, the first thing I wanted to do was drop the bat, run to my teammates and celebrate the win with all of them.
Thursday 30 July 2009
Monday 20 July 2009
Nuptials
‘One in three marriages in the UK fail’, ‘marriage as an institution is outdated’, ‘long-term marriages are simply not a workable proposition anymore’. And so the list goes on.
And I don’t buy any of it.
To me, marriage remains a brilliant idea. The ultimate commitment two people can make and the ultimate statement of just how much you love someone. Yes, more marriages are failing than ever before, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing – it may just be that we as a society are more tolerant than fifty or a hundred years previous with regards the prospect of failure. We’re more tolerant and accepting of making a mistake, and we’re also more socially and economically able to cope with that mistake than previously.
The key for me as to why marriage is still such an integral part of life is the numbers who are still doing it. Only when that figure starts to fall alarmingly will I accept that the idea is no longer suitable. For now though, it is, and two people close to me announced their intention to tie the knot on Saturday following a week away on holiday together.
To be honest, I already knew it was going to happen but that still didn't hide the feeling of joy I felt when I found out. It's a brilliant, fantastic, wonderful announcement and I can't wait to see them in person to say congratulations properly.
And the reason I knew was because I'd spent a slightly awkward, yet admittedly interesting (and frankly a potentially life-enhancing) sixty minutes helping to shop for the ring. Without a doubt, the biggest eye-opener during that hour of shuffled feet, hesitant conversation with shop assistants and awkward stares towards nothing in particular, was that there's a hell of a lot to learn about the science of diamonds and the art of buying one.
Apparently it's all about the four C's - cut, carat, clarity and colour. And the keywords are clean, big and clear for these words. Really though, it's a small degree subject all in itself - and you usually have only a handful of days or even hours to learn it all.
Happily though, the shop assistant's were of great help to the man in question (and his two awkward, shuffling friends) and it was generally agreed that after an hour of ring-shopping we'd done all that could be done to prepare him for the final buying session. So then we did the only thing sensible - we sought refuge back in the home of man.
One pub, three pints, and a chat about all things sporting.
And I don’t buy any of it.
To me, marriage remains a brilliant idea. The ultimate commitment two people can make and the ultimate statement of just how much you love someone. Yes, more marriages are failing than ever before, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing – it may just be that we as a society are more tolerant than fifty or a hundred years previous with regards the prospect of failure. We’re more tolerant and accepting of making a mistake, and we’re also more socially and economically able to cope with that mistake than previously.
The key for me as to why marriage is still such an integral part of life is the numbers who are still doing it. Only when that figure starts to fall alarmingly will I accept that the idea is no longer suitable. For now though, it is, and two people close to me announced their intention to tie the knot on Saturday following a week away on holiday together.
To be honest, I already knew it was going to happen but that still didn't hide the feeling of joy I felt when I found out. It's a brilliant, fantastic, wonderful announcement and I can't wait to see them in person to say congratulations properly.
And the reason I knew was because I'd spent a slightly awkward, yet admittedly interesting (and frankly a potentially life-enhancing) sixty minutes helping to shop for the ring. Without a doubt, the biggest eye-opener during that hour of shuffled feet, hesitant conversation with shop assistants and awkward stares towards nothing in particular, was that there's a hell of a lot to learn about the science of diamonds and the art of buying one.
Apparently it's all about the four C's - cut, carat, clarity and colour. And the keywords are clean, big and clear for these words. Really though, it's a small degree subject all in itself - and you usually have only a handful of days or even hours to learn it all.
Happily though, the shop assistant's were of great help to the man in question (and his two awkward, shuffling friends) and it was generally agreed that after an hour of ring-shopping we'd done all that could be done to prepare him for the final buying session. So then we did the only thing sensible - we sought refuge back in the home of man.
One pub, three pints, and a chat about all things sporting.
Tuesday 14 July 2009
'A Good Innings'
There are lots of words and phrases used to describe death, many of them unsuprinsingly falling on the negative side of the spectrum - grief, remorse, sadness, longing, sudden, unexpected, expected, overdue even. But the one that always struck me is the one above, as in 'they had a good innings'.
It probably doesn't take much to figure out that I've been dealing with the less than joyful experience of death today - my cat in fact, who pretty much qualifies for that phrase exactly. 15 years old, several narrow escapes, two house moves, a large garden to play in, and bizarrely finding it comfortable to lie on a grumpy teenager's bed for many an hour a few years back.
Happily, she had a great life. Even more happily I haven't really experienced that many deaths close to me in my lifetime yet - just a couple of characterful and dearly loved great aunts and uncles really. But I know that's going to change eventually and I'm pretty sure I'm in the majority when I say I'm not really looking forward to that side of life, especially not the part where you explain to your kids the concept of it, or worse have to use a real life example to back it up.
Back to that phrase though - my family seem to have a bit of a passion for using it in most walks of life. It was how my cat's life was summed up today, it was what my parents used to say when it was time to put away the paddling pool for the day, or when it was the end of the fireworks box for another year. It was even used in its true context when the time came for someone else to have a go with the cricket bat in the back garden (given my less than saintly behaviour as a child I suspect I was secretly defending myself from seeing that bat again all too soon when I refused to hand it over).
The question is I suppose, why do we use that phrase and others like it when talking about death? The logical answer (and I'd guess the most commonly cited) is that we want to remember the life now gone, to put it into perspective with others less fortunate, and to see that beings life as a successful story that has now reached the bit marked 'The End'.
I think it's more than that though. What if it has something to do with our ability and desire to alliterate further on our feelings about the concept of death? Metaphors are one of the greatest inventions of all time because they allow us to quantify, clarify and enunciate on an event or a theory that is of concern to us. Without them, life would be a whole lot whole lot more difficult to navigate I suspect - imagine any emotional event and then try and conjure up what you'd say without using a metaphor or similar tool to clarify what you actually need to say.
So, what's the metaphor I'd like to use to describe my cat's life and what I'm feeling right now? To be honest, I think this is one of those occasions when it might be best to shun the comparisons and just come out with a plain statement of fact. She was bloody marvellous and I'm gutted that she's gone.
But she did have a great innings though.
It probably doesn't take much to figure out that I've been dealing with the less than joyful experience of death today - my cat in fact, who pretty much qualifies for that phrase exactly. 15 years old, several narrow escapes, two house moves, a large garden to play in, and bizarrely finding it comfortable to lie on a grumpy teenager's bed for many an hour a few years back.
Happily, she had a great life. Even more happily I haven't really experienced that many deaths close to me in my lifetime yet - just a couple of characterful and dearly loved great aunts and uncles really. But I know that's going to change eventually and I'm pretty sure I'm in the majority when I say I'm not really looking forward to that side of life, especially not the part where you explain to your kids the concept of it, or worse have to use a real life example to back it up.
Back to that phrase though - my family seem to have a bit of a passion for using it in most walks of life. It was how my cat's life was summed up today, it was what my parents used to say when it was time to put away the paddling pool for the day, or when it was the end of the fireworks box for another year. It was even used in its true context when the time came for someone else to have a go with the cricket bat in the back garden (given my less than saintly behaviour as a child I suspect I was secretly defending myself from seeing that bat again all too soon when I refused to hand it over).
The question is I suppose, why do we use that phrase and others like it when talking about death? The logical answer (and I'd guess the most commonly cited) is that we want to remember the life now gone, to put it into perspective with others less fortunate, and to see that beings life as a successful story that has now reached the bit marked 'The End'.
I think it's more than that though. What if it has something to do with our ability and desire to alliterate further on our feelings about the concept of death? Metaphors are one of the greatest inventions of all time because they allow us to quantify, clarify and enunciate on an event or a theory that is of concern to us. Without them, life would be a whole lot whole lot more difficult to navigate I suspect - imagine any emotional event and then try and conjure up what you'd say without using a metaphor or similar tool to clarify what you actually need to say.
So, what's the metaphor I'd like to use to describe my cat's life and what I'm feeling right now? To be honest, I think this is one of those occasions when it might be best to shun the comparisons and just come out with a plain statement of fact. She was bloody marvellous and I'm gutted that she's gone.
But she did have a great innings though.
Friday 10 July 2009
HJNTIY
Six letters.
Six letters which I had never seen before and fully confess I didn't know what they meant, or indeed gave a monkey's about.
But then someone explained them to me today - apparently this little code is the shorthand for a growing belief amongst women as to how they should conduct their lives. And it stands for?
'He's Just Not That Into You' - the title of a popular book and now a film as well.
The central premise (apparently) is that women should stop blaming themselves for mens faults, learn to recognise some golden rules to discern if someone is 'into them' and if not, simply move on. It also apparently states that men are neither complicated, nor do they send mixed messages - in other words, we're simply, primeval creatures who will indicate exactly what we do or don't want and that's that.
Now I'm not one who is particularly fond of diving headfirst into debates about either the male or female psychy - I'm just about aware enough to recognise that my own take on life is as bizarrely different to that of others as theirs is to me. But this one did get to me a bit.
I accept the argument that women should stop waiting on something that just isn't going to make them happy, and to some extent I suppose I get the idea that men retain something of a simpleness about their character in this regard.
But reducing life and love down to one simple equation whereby if a man fails to act first, foremost and always with complete, unswerving devotion to that singular goal I cannot accept. If the world was a simple, uncomplex, A to B place where nothing got in the way, where a hundred different pressures didn't gnaw away at you, and where time was an ally not an enemy. Then perhaps I could agree with the premise and indeed be happy to do so.
But it isn't. And I don't.
And yet weirdly, I believe that this argument is flawed because of one of its own premises - that if women hint the slightest whiff of doubt, then they should haul in their line and set sail for pastures new. Because it's doubt that cripples what once might have been our solid assertion that actually We Are Into You.
Primeval creatures we might be, but even primeval creatures face doubts when it comes to jumping over a gap in the rock or choosing where to rest for the night.
Doubt is the constant, and in my view healthy, companion for the majority of people. And that includes the majority of men. It's what makes a relationship, or even better, the bit before a relationship so exciting. If this whole, often tortuous, often painful, sometimes heart-breaking process was predictable or easy, then we wouldn't do it.
HIIYHJDABYIHAHFJAMEPAYD - He IS Into You, He Just Doesn't Always Believe You're Into Him And He Feels Just As Many External Pressures As You Do.
Not as catchy I admit, but closer to the truth I'd reckon, and in a way the perfect summary of why HJNTIY doesn't work - because if they really mean it and care about it, then men can never manage to say what should take six words in less than sixty.
Six letters which I had never seen before and fully confess I didn't know what they meant, or indeed gave a monkey's about.
But then someone explained them to me today - apparently this little code is the shorthand for a growing belief amongst women as to how they should conduct their lives. And it stands for?
'He's Just Not That Into You' - the title of a popular book and now a film as well.
The central premise (apparently) is that women should stop blaming themselves for mens faults, learn to recognise some golden rules to discern if someone is 'into them' and if not, simply move on. It also apparently states that men are neither complicated, nor do they send mixed messages - in other words, we're simply, primeval creatures who will indicate exactly what we do or don't want and that's that.
Now I'm not one who is particularly fond of diving headfirst into debates about either the male or female psychy - I'm just about aware enough to recognise that my own take on life is as bizarrely different to that of others as theirs is to me. But this one did get to me a bit.
I accept the argument that women should stop waiting on something that just isn't going to make them happy, and to some extent I suppose I get the idea that men retain something of a simpleness about their character in this regard.
But reducing life and love down to one simple equation whereby if a man fails to act first, foremost and always with complete, unswerving devotion to that singular goal I cannot accept. If the world was a simple, uncomplex, A to B place where nothing got in the way, where a hundred different pressures didn't gnaw away at you, and where time was an ally not an enemy. Then perhaps I could agree with the premise and indeed be happy to do so.
But it isn't. And I don't.
And yet weirdly, I believe that this argument is flawed because of one of its own premises - that if women hint the slightest whiff of doubt, then they should haul in their line and set sail for pastures new. Because it's doubt that cripples what once might have been our solid assertion that actually We Are Into You.
Primeval creatures we might be, but even primeval creatures face doubts when it comes to jumping over a gap in the rock or choosing where to rest for the night.
Doubt is the constant, and in my view healthy, companion for the majority of people. And that includes the majority of men. It's what makes a relationship, or even better, the bit before a relationship so exciting. If this whole, often tortuous, often painful, sometimes heart-breaking process was predictable or easy, then we wouldn't do it.
HIIYHJDABYIHAHFJAMEPAYD - He IS Into You, He Just Doesn't Always Believe You're Into Him And He Feels Just As Many External Pressures As You Do.
Not as catchy I admit, but closer to the truth I'd reckon, and in a way the perfect summary of why HJNTIY doesn't work - because if they really mean it and care about it, then men can never manage to say what should take six words in less than sixty.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
