Not My Skill Set

Thanks to the magic of video on demand, we're getting to watch the HBO series 24/7 Penguins/Capitals.  Just finished the first episode, on our way to the second. And it's so great.  Just really great.

One thing that quickly becomes clear is that there really is no part of me that could have pulled off a life in sport. Particularly on a team.  But I think probably individual sporting would not see me fare any better.  Rhythmic gymnastics or synchronised swimming are equally out of my reach, and were from very early on.

There is the obvious requirement for physical skill and some degree of co-ordination.  To be honest, I've always secretly believed that probably my body could have come through on that front had it been given the opportunity. I'm lithe-ish, with healthy organs and no glaring deformities that would have prevented me from pursuing my athletic dreams, had I had any.

As we all know though, I am not one for dreams. I mean, there is the Top Secret Dream That Shall Not Be Named (Yet), but other than that, I'm not so much the dreamer.  I guess I've always been too busy pursuing my Passion. 

So there's that. No dreams.  But at this point, watching these players, I don't think this is so much about their dreams either.  I mean, they've arrived at the Dream Come True part, and for most of them, they've actually wandered right through that room and straight into the Plain Old Real Life one. I can't imagine that it takes all that long before the wonder of being paid to play a game kind of wears off and now it's just a day job (well, evening gig mostly) that pays unusually well.

Watching the Capitals wrangle with a wicked losing streak and feeling their helplessness as all their fixes fix nothing, I think, that's not all that different from depression or disordered anxiety.  You know you've won before, but there is right there, all the time, the lingering fear that you will never win again.  Not disimilar from the fear that you will never be happy again.  The looks on their faces as they walk back down the tunnel after another bad period is so frikkin' familiar. I think I had that look on my face walking out to make breakfast in the midst of the Advent Debacle of 2010.

And this is why I wouldn't make it in pro sports.  Because they keep playing.  Together.  They show up the next day.  And I don't think I would.  I think I'd turn on them. I'd spend all my waking hours planning monologues that would let every single one of them know why they sucked and were bringing us down. I'd phone my mom and tell her how the coach is a moron and should be selling shoes or something.  I'd email  Karen and moan about how that other guy is totally cheating at practice and not even trying.

But mostly I'd know it was my fault.

Don't worry though. If we were winning all the time like the Penguins, I'd be secretly pretty certain that it was because of me too.

I think this is tied to what they call mental toughness.  I don't think I have the brand required for sports.  It appears I may have the kind well suited to Advent Recovery, but I dont think it's transferable.

Does anyone pay for pro-Adventing?