Curioser and curioser
Another similarity between work and footy: the utter specificity of the moment and the consequent blurring together in memory. I can no better remember an amazing game in its entirety than I can remember everything that happens during a shift, even if it is exceptionally good (=lovely tables, not too busy, good tips) or exceptionally bad (=everyone in a foul mood, unhappy with their food even though it's gorgeous, no respite, and crap money). Sure, moments stick out: Rooney's brilliant backpass to Beckham in the England v Turkey game, Spring of 2003, or Pat Carroll's woeful mishandling of the ball in last weeks Man Utd v Spurs match (Spurs were ROBBED!); the guy that was all pissy we wouldn't let him stick tables together, or the couple that waited for an hour and never complained once, etc etc. And when you are in it -- in the work or in the experience of watching the game, you are completely absorbed, all of your sensory and intellectual needs are being challenged. Then, the minute you leave it, it vanishes except for the extraordinary bits.
I don't imagine everyone is like this -- I frequently had the experience of watching a match with Dan in the Hobgoblin (sweet sweet Brixton!) and then listening to him on the phone with his mates shortly afterwards, describing the game, and having the odd sensation that we had watched two completely different matches, so complex was his analysis. See also Fever Pitch, in which Mr Hornby manages to re-live (and intelligently comment on) matches from thrity-odd years ago as if they had been permanently seared into his brain.
It's still like watching Shakespeare, for me, football is: it takes me a long time to get inside, past the passive shell, and even when I sense I'm in it, flowing along, there are still universes unfolding, entire subplots and passes and fields of play evolving of which I am not even slightly aware, so wrapped up am I in what's immediately before me. A bit like the forest for the trees, I suppose: and I just haven't yet learned how to see both. I can see the forest, or I can see the trees, but it'll be some time before I can intelligently comment on tactics and strategy, how different substitutions will affect the flow of play, or even note (eeep!) who is playing on which side. Yay for wanting to learn things. Oh heavens, somebody get me a job and stop me spouting this crap.
I don't imagine everyone is like this -- I frequently had the experience of watching a match with Dan in the Hobgoblin (sweet sweet Brixton!) and then listening to him on the phone with his mates shortly afterwards, describing the game, and having the odd sensation that we had watched two completely different matches, so complex was his analysis. See also Fever Pitch, in which Mr Hornby manages to re-live (and intelligently comment on) matches from thrity-odd years ago as if they had been permanently seared into his brain.
It's still like watching Shakespeare, for me, football is: it takes me a long time to get inside, past the passive shell, and even when I sense I'm in it, flowing along, there are still universes unfolding, entire subplots and passes and fields of play evolving of which I am not even slightly aware, so wrapped up am I in what's immediately before me. A bit like the forest for the trees, I suppose: and I just haven't yet learned how to see both. I can see the forest, or I can see the trees, but it'll be some time before I can intelligently comment on tactics and strategy, how different substitutions will affect the flow of play, or even note (eeep!) who is playing on which side. Yay for wanting to learn things. Oh heavens, somebody get me a job and stop me spouting this crap.
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