Sports enthusiasts puzzle me. How they feverishly follow teams, how much emotion they pour into sportsmen, and how when they meet they argue about matches and races and whatnot.
How much time do they spend in bars, looking up at the screen? I’d love to see what happens to their necks in old age. I admire it. This commitment. This passion.
I saw it when Eliud Kipchoge failed to take the gold, silver or bronze in the Boston Marathon. How personally they took it.
They grieved with him. They wore the loss on their backs. But I also saw how gracious they were to his loss.
Sports brings the ugliness of competitiveness but surprisingly that ugliness can also emerge with such great kindness and compassion.
The sports nut heads I watched the race with, never said a bad word about Kipchoge. And we are talking about some crazy potty mouths here who really go hard when Manchester United or Arsenal is playing.
One bought a round of Jägermeister and toasted to the GOAT.
“Maybe it’s time to go home. Even GOATS need to rest.”
I can’t recall the exact words but it was from a good place, a place of the heart. I liked that, from the ogre of competition can also possess angelic wings.
The irony also is that sports enthusiasts are predictable. In that, they watch their sports in one sport. You will always find my two friends at Ibury Lounge.
They are Formula One fans, another sport that I don’t understand. They keep stats in their heads. They get to the bar early on race days and they only drink beer and sigh a lot as the cars take sharp bends.
They wear branded jerseys and they moan losses for days. It’s fascinating.
Once in a while, I will join them during a race but only to eat the chicken kienyeji at Ibury Lounge, which will never disappoint you as sports can.
There is always a grill going out there that has chicken too. And samosas. So yeah, some people go to bars for athletics, others for roadrunners.
