Through the prism of sport, thus can we observe the internal workings of our own lives: the boldness of spirit, creativity and urgency, or alternatively the reticence, torpor and impotence.
So it was with the football match between Romania and France on Monday just gone. I've spent two days thinking about one particular incident that associates a country and a person (me) forever.
Romania had done well to restrict a powerful France team for ninety minutes. The French were frustrated and angry that they could not cause the yellow wall to come crashing to the ground.
With the score goalless, the opportunity came for Romania to build one last attack down the right-hand side of the midfield. Two outcomes were thus likely - either put the ball into the area and attempt to win the game; or run into the corner and waste time by kicking the ball off a French leg and into touch.
Romania ran the ball into the corner, showing reticence not boldness, torpor instead of creativity, impotence in place of urgency. I commented to a friend later: "They of course did the right thing. Why try to win when you can be almost certain not to lose?" It at that moment struck me that I frame my own existence on similarly conservative lines.
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One of the unresolveable debates in science concerns causality - that event a can be some way linked to event b.
Within the framework of the prevailing epistemology, does stroking cats lead to nosebleeds? Conduct your double-blind experiment, collate the statistics, and submit your findings to a peer-reviewed journal - 'Review of the American Cat-Stroking and Nosebleeds Society.'
Similarly, is the appreciation - no, enjoyment of - the Romanian football team's timidity somehow linked with a passive, cautious stance outside of the confines of Euro 2008?
Do those who felt a rush of empathy when the ball ran into the corner fail more, love less, and hope less than those who balled their fists in a rage? We need a thousand volunteers - the Romaniaphile and the Romaniaphobic - to test our theory. Does the first part of the sentence beginning 'do those' even imply the part beginning 'fail more?'
I remember distinctly one moment when the yellow line of Bucharest reared up in front of my own eyes - a terrible, destructive truth that emptied my then-girlfriend of all her willpower, even if only for a moment. It confirmed, as if I didn't already know it, that I belong in the empathic and not the fist-balling camp.
She asked, for whatever reason, whether I'd 'put up a fight' for her in the event that her exit from my life became a possibility. Whether the question was posed for the purpose of vanity/validation or genuine curiosity, I'm uncertain. The answer was given irrespective of motive: no.
I don't fight, and I won't fight. Should your wish be to disentangle yourself from me, then do so without a moment's hesitation, and I'll relinquish you. I built an attack down the right-hand side of my lover, and ran the ball into the corner of her being.
