Corridor of Uncertainty
First Class Captain
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2009
- Runs
- 5,134
- Post of the Week
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There was a debate on radio a few days ago on this topic, "is there any euphoria that matches the euphoria of sport?" For an hour they debated, and I was mesmerized by the discussion.
The guttural cry of triumph when Tiger sinks the final putt. The final minute goal in a Livepool-Barcelona Champions League game. The last ball Sharjah six by Miandad that caused deaths due to the euphoria it caused. What can match it?
Not just that, all the pain, the anguish, the absolute agony that accompanies the journey to the destination. It builds and builds and then it erupts.
Why do fans travel on a rainy, gloomy Tuesday night in a cramped bus, half-dead, across a 1000 miles stretch in a godforsaken small town, to watch a league 3 game they know they will lose, with a handful of crazies like themselves? Travel back in pain and be ready to the whole thing the next week again? And when they win a game they are expected to lose, can anything match that euphoria that accompanies it?
Closer to home - why do we erupt with joy with one victory after 11 straight defeats as a mid-table team - knowing the next game against a minnow may send us back on that wretched, misery cycle?
A sport fan lives on the torture bus - with years and years of pain, maybe some golden years of triumph - and then back again. But he/she seeks those euphoric moments, nay lives on them, like a drug addict.
The only other occasion that could be in the same league - and I am being dramatic here, but only just - is the birth of your first child.
A successful closing of your lifelong company IPO? A promotion? When she says yes? All great, joyous occasions? Euphoria? Don't think so.
There is no euphoria like the euphoria of sport, and there is nothing like all the pain that precedes it.
Those who do not love sport are condemned to never know it.
The guttural cry of triumph when Tiger sinks the final putt. The final minute goal in a Livepool-Barcelona Champions League game. The last ball Sharjah six by Miandad that caused deaths due to the euphoria it caused. What can match it?
Not just that, all the pain, the anguish, the absolute agony that accompanies the journey to the destination. It builds and builds and then it erupts.
Why do fans travel on a rainy, gloomy Tuesday night in a cramped bus, half-dead, across a 1000 miles stretch in a godforsaken small town, to watch a league 3 game they know they will lose, with a handful of crazies like themselves? Travel back in pain and be ready to the whole thing the next week again? And when they win a game they are expected to lose, can anything match that euphoria that accompanies it?
Closer to home - why do we erupt with joy with one victory after 11 straight defeats as a mid-table team - knowing the next game against a minnow may send us back on that wretched, misery cycle?
A sport fan lives on the torture bus - with years and years of pain, maybe some golden years of triumph - and then back again. But he/she seeks those euphoric moments, nay lives on them, like a drug addict.
The only other occasion that could be in the same league - and I am being dramatic here, but only just - is the birth of your first child.
A successful closing of your lifelong company IPO? A promotion? When she says yes? All great, joyous occasions? Euphoria? Don't think so.
There is no euphoria like the euphoria of sport, and there is nothing like all the pain that precedes it.
Those who do not love sport are condemned to never know it.