The Sporting Life

team sports

rampant fervour

patriotic regionalism

squash

non-competitive

I'm doing something a little different with my post today. See by the original timestamp the genesis for this post was 5:19 PM on December 27th, 2007. And the above bullets were what I wrote at the time. Now often when I have an idea, I'll just put a little something down and save it as a draft for "later." Now sometimes later is a long time away. Currently, later is just over five months. By the time later comes around, well let's just say I had different expectations when I opened this post saying its time has come. More references to flow of space-time, mainly. Now let's see what I can make of this. Blogpost, Ho!

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I try to stay active. But there's only so much one can do. There is something purely rote, about isolated exercise, a "workout," spotter or not. It's just motions, no poetry. These days I spend about 70 minutes everyday on a treadmill. Now I don't necessarily enjoy this. It can feel like an obligation, too much of one sometimes. And anything that is an obligation often and irrefutably will breed procrastination (this blog for instance, for something that as a writing exercise and as such would expect to be fun, is often procrastinated). So often the treadmill will be procrastinated, sometimes until the late afternoon.

Now how do I do something everyday that gives me no joy? Well I love books and I love music, so often with me on the treadmill are a book to read and music to listen to. So this gives me time to read. Now I might love the idea of books more than I love the idea of reading so this makes me make time for reading where otherwise I might not. Likewise, while I exercise my brain, I also get to exercise my body. Obviously reading is not very easy to do while moving at 8.5 km/h, so some of my time is split between speedwalking, a steady gallop really, at 6.4 km/h. A good reading speed. And at the end of these daily sessions, I do feel good. A self-esteem boost! Take that, chronic depression.

But maybe still, was I looking for something more? So, then I come to the conclusion that sports are something that are both exercise and fun. But which sport? There are certainly so many. Each likely with their benefits, and their many many many detractions. I'd occasionally watched sports on the telly, but I had never gotten into them at any really "fan-like" level. There was always a distancing effect created by the rampart fervour and patriotic regionalism inspired in the diehard hardcore devotees (Two birds, one stone; Take that, past-me).

Certainly there were many solo person sports as well. Hang-gliding, snowboarding, boogie boarding, and other singles sports that John Kerry used to distance voters in the 2004 United States presidential elections while George W. Bush threw around a football, and which I quickly dismissed as too blueblood.

And for some reason I decided upon squash. There's always been something about squash. That room, maybe? Is it from the future? Maybe. But there was more. Maybe this idea of my childhood. You don't exactly see squash played, you see. Sure, a lot of courts had viewing galleries. But I'm thinking back before I knew that. Before I could think of it as something competitive, that had star athletes (at least stars in the world of competitive squash), before YouTube clips, before (again) the viewing galleries, it was something where you and your opponent entered a closed room, equipment in hand, and later you exited something decided. There was something mysterious and desirable about that idea.

And that's still something I desired.

Now a closer look a squash. What is all this special equipment you need? Who's going to play this, kings? Definitely a rich person's game, no? Let's see you need a racquet, a ball, probably goggles for safety's sake (stay safe, kids), and most vexing of all this room. This long room, with the hardwood court, and the walls, with the lines going up and down and maybe on angles (say what?!) and what is that, did someone weld a chunk of scrap metal to the front wall? The door closes behind you, everything about it flush with the wall, to be unobstructive, and you're sealed. A space capsule, right? Ready for the future? Well you better be.

So now we have decided upon squash. It's awesome, right (see previous paragraph)? It's a simple sport, requires little material, your relatively free university gym membership, and two or four people. Not exactly team, but less masturbatory than windsurfing. And I'm inclined to say it's not technically a contact sport but... Well think of tennis. Now think, instead of boundary lines, you have walls: you run into those walls. And instead of a net, you have a wall. This results in the two sides of the court (i.e. tennis) becoming mirrored as one (i.e. squash) and both players playing in the same field. Therefore, you have people colliding. Which is usually avoidable. I personally bounce off the wall far more often. Although, those person-on-person collision sometimes also including the floor while keeping the ball somehow in play is the most glorious wonder of this sport as seen from my imaginary perspective from the sometimes nonexistent viewing gallery.

Now you the skeptic say this sounds more like DeathBall 3000 than any fun. Well, fuck you, mister, I ate the horse you rode in on, he was delicious. Squash is pure fun. There's a certain rush going on with all this. When I play it's sort of noncompetitive. I barely keep track of the score (What is it 5-2 me, 5-3 me? Let's say 5-3). It doesn't matter that much. Instead it is a collection of moments. Those collection of moments, like life, add up to something so much more than statistics.

There is a certain moment that comes that I wish to highlight. There's a certain rush of playing that I mentioned. You're pumped. Blood is flowing. Maybe some endorphins being released in your brain from when you flattened your arm against the wall running for that return shot. You're wearing your goggles (stay safe, kids) and they're fogged up, likely from your sexy sexy perspirations (with all the sweaty sweaty pheromones in the air, the sealed room, the close proximity, squash is a highly erotic and sexually charged sport... hey there, wink, you're looking good to all my past competitors).

A calm comes over you. Everything slows down. Everything makes sense. You're moving at the same speed but processing it differently... faster. As if you have conquered time. The squash ball (single yellow dot... long the competition standard before the advent of technology allowed the development of the single yellow dot. What's that smell? The Singularity.) becomes a superdense orb, its own gravity field becoming the new point of relativity, warping the space-time continuum around it. (Or maybe its like that Futurama episode "Three Hundred Big Boys" where Fry uses a tax refund to buy 300 coffees in a day and reaches a moment of zen at the pinnacle and saves the day. Yeah, its a lot like that actually).

Everything slows down. Your perspective is different, warped, better. You have reached enlightenment. That is why I play squash. For those moments of zen, and pure bliss. Then you come down from the mountain, your pact with God made, you look at your partner, wondering if he/she understands, or even made the same pact. Then you make a return, and the cycle begins again.

I wish I could play squash more than I have as of late. I think I played three times last month. And only once, maybe twice a month, the four previous months (i.e. whenever I came to town). I might, I just might, have to join the squash league in the fall. I'm pretty sure that's a real thing.

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Well, I think I acquitted myself well. Happy D-Day, everybody!