I always had a repulsive need to be something more than human. I felt very puny as a human. I thought, ‘Fuck that. I want to be a superhuman’David Bowie Rolling Stone Magazine,1976
Given the choice, would you go for superman, or average Joe?
I ask because few people have that choice. It’s bestowed upon some by dint of natural ability or talent, on others by happenstance, and still others by dynasty.
A member of my extended family had that choice from natural ability, but has chosen not to follow its call. He’s chosen average Joe.
His natural ability is in a sport which New Zealand has a long and proud history in. It’s not rugby. It’s an individual sport, which in some ways is more brutal and primal than the gladiator sport which is rugby.
I’m fudging the sport to avoid further embarrassing my nephew. So this isn’t a criticism – it’s his life, and I’m just interviewing my keyboard here.
His natural ability is such that he’s left a string of records behind him at age-grade level, at least one of which was taken from an Olympic silver medallist. It’s top-tier.
I know a lot about the sport from being halfway good at it during my teen years before retiring to sloth and decadence for 30 years. “Halfway good” means winning some school and city titles, but nowhere close to national level.
I’ve followed the sport since my teens. I’ve read widely about it, and now plod along at the Geezer Games ( parkrun.co.nz ) on many Saturdays.
So I understand that it’s brutal, and involves pushing to and through physical limits, not to mention mental ones.
For my nephew, following the call would have involved 10 or so years of training, and single-minded dedication. That’s a basic requirement, on top of tonnes of physical ability.
Then there would be the gut-wrenching pressure of performing as a pro on Big Stages. It takes nerve, self-belief, and a fierce determination to win. Boffins call it a ‘Type A’ personality.
It’s a rare beast which meets all of those caveats, which is why the air is thin at the top.
In moments of grandeur, I like to think that given the option, I would have followed that call.
My wrinkled self would, but he may have a skewed vision of my pimpled self.
So I’m left wondering whether my mid-20s nephew sometimes ponders the receding Fields of Glory, not to mention money and fame. Somehow, I doubt it. He’s ( apparently ) happily married and making his traditional way.
Clarke Kent is fine with him.
