The Midfield is in Between. Because the Story Matters.
Making sense of the inconsistencies of the world we live in can prove to be a difficult task. We tend to fabulize disparate fragments of our everyday lives, trying to make sense of our biological, organic decay in a time-lapse, patting ourselves on the back, assuring our minds it’s for a greater cause. The nerves can be shaky at times, we go through all kinds of emotional crises with a firm belief of a cathartic ending to our via crucis. We lump together various contradictory beliefs, hoping they will end up being syncretic and thus constructive, trying to connect all of the various, incomprehensible dots. Jesus didn’t die in vain and the first blow at Saint Petersburg Winter palace marked the beginning of emancipation for the disenfranchised. Every square foot of soil within my picket-fence is a God-given right, while a grey block of condominiums is the only ethical way of collective cohabitation. Everything carries astory, and it’s these very stories that add momentum to our will-power, setting our lives apart from the others’, outlining our goals and visions, making us better people. The story matters. Period.
It’s these very stories that add momentum to our will-power, setting our lives apart from the others’.
With sports, there’s virtually no difference. We can observe it rather mechanically, counting assists and goals, rebounds and turnovers, or we can create a story. What made you fall in love with your favorite club? What makes you follow it loyally to this day? Why were sports movements such a powerful driving force and indicators of social changes? Do you like Barcelona FC for its republican history? Or do you like Real Madrid for its royal aristocratic classiness? Do you like Sankt Pauli because of their almost anarchist stance? Some bleed black, some bleed red, but at the end of the day, they all make up a one heck of a good story. And that story matters. Period.
For instance, the sheer thought of a phrase ‘Hungarian football’ makes me want to explode in a laughing frenzy. There’s no way I could relate those two words in a meaningful and valuable sentence. But that would be a textbook case of provincial narrow-mindedness. I could laugh, sure, had I not had the opportunity to stand in front of a colossal superstructure called the Ferenc Puskás stadium. Or had I not seen the remnants of a majestic imperial megalopolis entirely covered in green and purple. Or had I never read about the epic gladiator battles on a muddy field before over a hundred thousand bloodthirsty Hungarian football fans. To Hungarians, the near myth of the Magical Magyars is a streamlined novel-worthy fable of national pride. Because the story, clearly, matters. Period.
That’s where we step in. We love sports. We love history. We love stories. We’re not counting rattled crossbars, assists or photo-finish milliseconds. We’re looking for insignificant curiosities as well as complex ideological mechanisms that form a kaleidoscope of sports, a series of spectacular mass-culture events. Sport is not a hermetic, self-sufficient social anomaly. It should be viewed through a kaleidoscope. Because it is only by seeing the plethora of wildest color gradients that one can understand the vast impact of a virtually meaningless ball-kicking and quick-stomping on the world. Because it carries a significant story. And that matters. Period.
Sport is not a hermetic, self-sufficient social anomaly. It should be viewed through a kaleidoscope.
Nowhere on Earth does a rainbow shine as bright as in the grayest of fields. In the same way, no sports stories shine brighter than those found on the outskirts of the Western world. Nowhere does a kaleidoscope of sports manifest more colors than in the most dynamic and constantly changing social background of the East. And that’s a syncretic contradiction, or even a paradox.
Nowhere on Earth does a rainbow shine as bright as in the grayest of fields.
The shades of gray in the monotonous ideological sphere of the East are a very fruitful canvas to splash some colors on. The littlest drop of color makes all the difference. The stories come in tones, varying from Spartan mimicry to exile attempts, from national pride and class struggle to eating caviar in Paris. And that is the middle ground we cover. We are in a position to make the final, venomous, deadly pass to the striker, or perform a sliding tackle to cut off the opponent’s offense, helping our boys in the back. We’re The Midfielders, and we’re the true number 10 of sports coverage. We try to be creative and inventive and do our best when every other aspect turns dull. And we cover The Midfield, a position in which the gladiator meets the poet. For your enjoyment and for the cheers of the masses. For the olive wreath. Because the story matters.
Period.
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