Friday, April 27, 2012

A BRIGHTER DAY

"A DAY WILL COME when your arms will fall even from your hands!" A day will come when all this will seem as absurd and impossible as it would seem impossible and would seem absurd today if Kyle Walker beat Sergio Aguero to be the Young Player of the Year (or YPOTY as some will surely one day call it). A day will come when the mind games will stop making any difference, when minds don't play games anymore, but concentrate on the task in hand. Unscrewing that bottle top. A day will come when good hard work and graft reigns sovereign over play acting and cheating, when the  Zabaletas of this world will be held in higher esteem than any flimsy airborne Ashley Young.

A day will come.



A day will come when your eyes will pop out of their sockets. When the flag flying high at the top of the mast, on the highest roof, is blue, sky blue, unadulterated sky blue. A day will come when the great organ of the press, that flaccid hanging fillet, recognises the worth of your work. That day will come. When the absurdity of do-gooders and ne'er be gones, flashing their false teeth and waving their arms, will be seen by all. When the brickbats and the wailing will cease.

A day will come when the loudest voice is not the one heard first, nor the one still being heard above all reasonable voices. A day will come when the bullies are chased from the playground, never to return. A day will come when the claret in the cupboard turns to sops and the false fluff parts down the middle in a dripping frizz of curls and dye, fish wire and glue.

That day will come.

A day will come when the stopwatch ceases to tick, when the flapping arm, the pointing finger, will petrify and freeze. A day will come when all eyes will be diverted. When children can uncover their ears once more. When the display of cups and shiny baubles that makes others stare will gather dust and will lose its lustre.

A day will come when others will applaud, stand unabashed and show their appreciation. When eyes will smile and shoulders will shake uncontrollably. A day will come when we can say e pluribus unum and we stood together. A day will come when respect reigns supreme and slides in from all directions.

A day will come.

A day will come, when the sun will shine and it will never have shone out clearer. When those stories that stayed with you all your life will suddenly have resonance, that will mean something, even if you were too small to understand why when you first heard them. A day will come when they will all make perfect sense. We will understand why. Finally. And on that day, the bells will peel.and when victorious, masters not only of our foes but of ourselves and our own fears, we will see who was for us and who was against.

A day will come when hyperbole and exaggeration will cease to matter. When ill-thought words and crass comments will fly up into the ether, never to fall back down again. A day will come when that muddied sphere will roll slowly to a halt and we will all breathe again.

That day is near.




Acknowledgments: Victor Hugo "Union of Continents", JR Tolkien "Lord of the Rings", Winston Churchill "The War Situation", Ronnie Corbett "Marching Down the Scotswood Road Using Very Little Steps"  

4 comments:

  1. don't worry pal, your day has come, deal with the expectation

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I've been in the smallest room in the house all weekend trying to deal with it

      Delete
  2. What if your whole life has been built on the waiting, your every impulse tuned to dark thoughts that Unseen Hands worked to thwart you, your every expectation focused on next year? What happens when the money comes, and the talent comes, and the luck comes, and you don't have to wait any more? How will you feel when wearing a sky blue shirt isn't a token of some fraternity of shared suffering, but the latest en vogue fashion statement? What do you do when victory leaves you feeling both elated and deflated, feeling a little like you've just been hit in the groin while riding the world's biggest roller coaster? How do you explain to your youngest son, whose memory doesn't really go much deeper than Anelka and Elano, that, yes, you're happy, really happy, but also a little sad, too?

    How do you keep from going mad?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That's easy: I'm already nuts. It was Neil Heaney wot done it

      Delete

Other Tedious Stuff

Poets and Lyricists