Part I. My story

I just watched Spain win the Euro2008 cup. They played well and deserved the win.

I wonder how much we are spending our resources on this. Entertainment I mean, sporting events specifically. Billions of Euros & dollars every year.

It all has to have some value doesn’t it. Our collective desire to watch and participate in these types of events must mean there is some value, or else it shouldn’t exist.

The bulk of the people who do most of the work receive only a small share of the profits. In return they get sporting events.

I sound like a pretentious prick. I drink my double espresso, read intellectual books, and stick my nose up when sports is mentioned.

I don’t know. I’ve watched a LOT of sports in my life. Even now I still watch some sports here in Europe, just because so many people do it. They, just like Americans really get into their sports. I’ve watched the World Cup. Germany was already out. France eventually lost to Italy. In the European Cup, Spain wins and Germany loses. I see people get so excited when their team wins. I don’t see too much sadness when they lose. I biked to my friend’s place to watch the game. I was late and was leaving around half-time. The streets were empty, and it seemed like the entire city was deserted.

I do get into the game once I’m there watching with the other people, the fans. I played soccer/football from grade school up to before high school. I know the basics. I was an OK player. I understand the tactics. I understand some of the strategy. But I don’t have that in-depth knowledge of a true fan. Which brings me to my point.

We invest so much time, money and effort into these sporting events. I know I sound like one of those liberal wankers.

If I were a sheet metal worker earning just barely enough to feed my family, then watching my team win the championship would mean a lot. I get to be a winner by proxy. I understand all the explanation for our need for this. But I think of all that brain power wasted on remembering and analyzing football, or any sports: American football, baseball, hockey, basketball, cricket, tennis, and so many other sports. Could we not harvesting the “gaming” brain for a constructive purpose?

But then you say, wait. Aren’t you wasting all your time writing this blog to no one? How much more constructive is this intellectual doodling? All these people writing blogs and self-publishing mostly crap. How much oil am I burning? How much CO2 am I releasing into the atmosphere to bring you this crap?

I don’t know.

Well, as Inigo said in The Princess Bride,

"when a job went wrong, you went back to the beginning. And this is where we got the job. So it's the beginning, and I'm staying till Vizzini comes."

My life/job hasn’t really gone wrong. In fact, it’s quite good right now. But I am 39 years old. It’s around this time that you start reflecting on life. Back in Jesus’ time you were getting ready to die at 40. You were lucky to make it to 50.

So I go back to the beginning.

I was born a poor black child… no wait. That’s Steve Martin, and not me.

I was born to the new upper middle class of a divided Vietnam. Ironically, it was the end of hippy love era. Americans were busy killing Vietnamese then in order to liberate them from the evil clutches of Communism, much like they are killing Iraqis now in order to introduce them to Freedom.

I was born in March of 1969 to a extended family of mostly teachers. Teaching, I think is in my blood. Damn, I was born awhile ago, well… 39 years and a few months ago to be exact and I haven’t taught much in those years (except for some useless chemistry crap). My father was a seasoned high school math teacher long before my current age. He still meets some of his students.

I was born in the early morning if one believes my mother’s memory, 7:30am perhaps. That would make me a Pisces. A wooden, earth, Fish with double gills or something like that if you are really into Astrologicalogomumbojumbo stuff. I was a quiet child and could be given a box to play with. It would keep me busy for hours. I didn’t cry much, if one believes my mother’s memory.