If you’re like me, you’re sick and tired of seeing ‘inspirational’ type quotes with pictures of sunsets with cliché pearls of wisdom.
“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” (F.D. Roosevelt)
“Without fear there cannot be courage.” (Christopher Paolini)
“Fear: only chickensh*ts are ever afraid, you coward! Ner ner ner ner!” (The High Shot)
The only thing I fear when I see that typical sunset is instantly passing out from boredom.
People who play sports are particularly fond of these sorts of sunsetular aphorisms. Cruelly, you leap to the conclusion that this is because sportspeople don’t have the attention span to properly absorb and digest wisdom unless it’s a) one line long and b) accompanied by a pretty picture.
That’s not very nice of you now is it?
I play a couple of sports in which fear is not really a noted feature. The first of these is beach volleyball.
The only fears to be found here are whether my sweat stains are visible to the pretty lady on the other team, whether tonight’s the night my heart explodes from the effort and whether the local cats have buried something nasty just under the surface of the court.
The other sport is indoor cricket. Cricket is a sport in which real fear exists – just ask Piers Morgan.
Indoor cricket removes some of the risk by using softer, lighter balls making short-pitched bowling (off a four step run up) therefore quite useless.
There’s really nothing to fear then, right?
Tell that to the bloke I saw get hit squarely in the face as he was backing up at the non-striker’s end. His mate nearly hit the stitches out of the ball with a fierce on-drive; it was a literally cracking piece of fielding albeit for the wrong team.
Down he went, blood spurting, eyes swelling, nose doing a convincing impression of an overripe beetroot.
As he dragged himself into the ambulance, we dutifully made clucking noises and questioned his manhood. It was the last ever game at the centre so we were pretty sure we’d never see him again.
I wonder if he fronted up again at another centre and I wonder if he chose to bat with a new partner.
Maybe he got to the emergency ward, looked up past the registry nurse at a poster behind her and through barely openable eyes, spied a sunset superimposed with words like:
“Fear makes idiots out of us all, at some time or other.”
So do cricket balls.
I imagine he took immense courage from this, straightened his spine, immediately passed out from the concussion but consequently got looked after a lot more quickly.
Cricketers, MMA fighters, boxers and rugby league players are always going on about the fear they feel when they take the field.
Allan Langer allegedly vomited from anxiety before every match. This would not be pleasant when you’re built as close to the ground as he is.
There is a real risk of permanent physical harm inherent in these sports, yet they go out there and confront it.
Could it be sportspeople have access to some sort of mystical wavelength in which tired one-liners and accompanying sunsets really do provide a wellspring of inspiration?
If so, how did they get there?
Did a parent or a coach talk it out of them? Did they learn how to use the fear as motivation – ‘I’m gonna beat this hobbling feeling and do my best (right after I chuck my guts up)’?
Maybe the love of the sport and the thrill of competition outweigh the various fears they carry onto the field.
‘Don’t be afraid of the ball – if you’re afraid, that’s when the real damage can be done’ is something I’ve heard said.
Well, as a born coward I can safely say this is true. But I’m such an unco that my level of fear probably has very little to do with how good I am at a particular sport.
There’s a reason my position in my junior rugby league team was reserve winger and it wasn’t because of my blinding pace.
Still, it’s never too late to look fear in the eye and go out to do what must be done for the team.
Case in point: my most recent indoor cricket game was against a team of young Queensland representatives moonlighting in the local A-Grade indoor comp. Somehow I too am involved in this comp.
Their team was one player short, so we had to pick two of their bowlers to bowl an extra over each.
Naturally, I picked the two shortest and slowest bowlers. These kids could not have been older than fourteen.
Our team was on track for a win and I was batting last. Bravely I faced up to the five-foot-zero, squeaky voiced demon with the banana-yellow hand grenade gripped in his hairless fist.
Courageously, I backed away as he ran in like a beardless Gimli. I staunchly watched his delivery crash into my middle stump and politely nodded my appreciation.
I guess I was brave enough to acknowledge the bleeding obvious – his skill was already greater than mine would ever be or has ever been.
Still, I faced up to the next ball and managed to bravely get off strike.
We ended up winning thanks to my partner batting well. The little bloke’s face showed how disappointed he was.
I realized that the fear of letting the side down outweighs just about every other fear. Or it should, if you want to be any good at your chosen sport.
As for me, I’ll keep an eye out for that sunset-backed cliché about conquering fear that might slap my inner coward into submission at last.
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