SELF/OWN GOAL:
1 chiefly British : a goal in soccer, hockey, etc., that a player accidentally scores against his or her own team
2 British : something that one does thinking it will help him or her but that actually causes one harm
On January 31st this year, a largely independent, self-made, tiny club in the far north-east did what larger, heavily funded, state sponsored clubs failed to.
Win the under
17 Hero Youth Cup.
Their winning streak was remarkable to say the least and their
stellar rise brought that glimmer of hope that, despite the formidable challenges,
limited funding, lack of access to proper facilities to name a few, dreams do
and can come true.
It was testament to a coach who emphasized on strengthening team spirit rather than the ‘just winning’ mantra of most teams, one who had built up a team of young players, a time-consuming labour of love over the past five years, covid notwithstanding, the results being displayed in the series of matches that were won subsequently.
The everyday practices in the morning and evenings seemed to be paying off; the commitment reflected in many of the players who used to cycle back and forth over 20 kms a day come rain or shine.
A place where
talent and hard work pushed each other, and in no way defined by the ethnicity or
the faith one professed.
For the first time
ever, from a bumpy grassy pitch somewhere behind the foothills on the outskirts
of the capital city, legends were being nurtured and polished. And for the
first time ever, a glimpse into a great glory, in the passionate madness that
is the game.
Tragically, three weeks
into the month of May, it seems to be just a cruel, vapid dream. And to paraphrase
the lines from T. S. Eliot,
“April, no May is the cruellest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
memory and desire, stirring
dull roots with spring rain.”
And today, for the current
leadership in the state, despite the media blackout, the last 16 days have proven
to be innumerable cases of self/own goals.
What should have been a
glorious example to the rest of the nation of what sheer grit, determination,
hard work can achieve is now simply put, in ashes.
Torn, shredded, destroyed,
and burnt to the ground.
The dreams of not just
a football team, but the thousands of innocents who have had to flee, leaving
their life’s possessions, their savings, their dreams, and their lives in a
smouldering, smoking rubble of ash and ember.
The toil and hard work
of countless young men and women with dreams of a better future, every day
people, like you and I, that had put together
their life savings to building a home, children, babies, infants, nursing their
favourite toys, instead had to now deal with the rabid faces of hate and venom.
I wonder in the days
and months prior to this moment, when the seeds of puerile rage were being
sowed and fed incessantly, if the powers that be had stopped to think for a
moment, of what the outcomes would be.
Did they realize that
in what was imagined to be a crowning moment would actually be the end of us
all?
That in seeming to ‘fight
for their rights’ that it has actually meant sounding the death knell for
everyone, themselves included?
For all the parading
and pageants and international matches, the only images and visuals that will
remain now is the bitter, rancid taste of hate.
And that,
unacknowledged and unchecked would be fatal for us all.
All of us.
Denying its existence or
wishing it away would do us, bring us nothing. Rolling in it will not help
either.
And as I had shared in
an earlier post, that cliched as it sounds, if you want something bad enough,
you’ll find a way. If you don’t, you’ll always find an excuse.
Its up to us, each one of
us, not the tottering group of blithering elected idiots. As we have seen
recently in the south, the people have spoken.
It is time for us to speak
up too. Speak for our children, for the ones whom we have lost, for the ones who
have wronged us, yes even them. But speak we must.
Until a better day.
Until we are one.
I had written this
three years ago, burdened as I was with all that was happening in my nation.
Today, I share this again, how long must we?
https://judithnv25.blogspot.com/2020/02/thewe.html
THE. WE.
WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
~ THE MINISTRY OF
TRUTH, 1984
Who knew?
The. We.
Bigotry.
Fallacy.
Spiralling
Into the
Infinity.
Invincibility in
The visibility
Anger, spilling
Blood, Crimson
Ink putrid,
Purity.
Immersed in
Inanities
Words, screaming
Silent
Silencing
Hands raised
Eyes down
How dare we?
How long?
The We?
How long?
Must we?
Liberty.
Equality.
Fraternity.
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