I do not play tennis. I could not hit the soft spot even if I tried. But from time to time I watch the professional “Opens”. The skill and the strength of these athletes is fascinating and I cannot help but watch the ritual in awe. Lately, though, I have been thinking: here is a little white rubber ball, a toy essentially. And down on the court are two grownups in their best years which they waste on scheming how best to lob that toy over a net, back and forth, back and forth. That’s their profession, their job. A job that produces absolutely nothing, except an income. That’s all they do, 24/7. And then I watch the spectators on the other side of the court. Eight hundred noses turning left, eight hundred noses turning right. For hours on end. In the glaring sun. “Lord, what fools these mortals be”, I would have liked to say but Puck beat me to it.
I would have even harsher words for certain European soccer fans who have actually attacked and killed opposing team fans over the if or how a ball had been kicked across a stretch of innocent lawn. It goes beyond uselessness when something as intrinsically useless as a soccer game turns into insanity.
Hiking in the mountains was always a passion of mine, though, until I got too old for the strain. It was always hard for me, very hard. Breath after breath, slow step after slow step. Up and up and still up. Another switchback. And another. Pant, pant. Oh God, how many more? Nobody there to see you. You could quit and turn around. But no, you force yourself. You just stare at the ground and plod along until you practically stumble out onto the plateau at the top of the mountain, the end of the trail. And then, Ah! The exhilarating feeling of having made it all the way up. The sky, the clouds, the view of the valley below are your well earned rewards. Others don’t see it that way, necessarily. Clambering up a mountain only to come right down again strikes them as a useless exercise. Touché.
But to tell the truth, when I was a boy I also often misunderstood, even rebelled at having to do useless chores such as cleaning my room. “But I just did it yesterday”, I would object, confusing ‘useless’ with ‘onerous’. She was right, of course, my mother. I still remember the pithy way she used to counter that argument: “You also have just eaten yesterday, no?”
(c)2017 by Herbert H. Hoffman
Picture credit: Flickr Commons vy Gorilla Sushi