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I have never understood what it is that people enjoy about watching sports, how they can without embarrassment yell at an electrical appliance and cry after a bunch of men they’ve never met are not as successful as another group at hitting a spherical object with a long wooden or metal stick-like thing.  But yesterday, I most certainly fell prey, even wondering last evening what one does after losing a Wimbledon final for perhaps the last time.

Watching Federer duke it out with Djokovic felt personal, the emotions I identified were something akin to parental angst, and also, commiseration with a knight fighting the march of time.  Ah yes, I realized, the court is a laboratory,  allowing me to explore complex concepts that define my self-worth; victory, focus, discipline, compassion, competition, strategy, disappointment, failure.

Novak and Roger gave me another to chew on – bravery.  Experiencing the way they put every bit of their being into the match, making themselves vulnerable to vast and public disappointment, is nothing short of heroic.  Perhaps in my own little way, I can try that as well.

 

 


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