And The Winner Is ...
Last night my husband was watching TV and kept shuffling between two programs that it almost drove me mad, but what can I do, I mean, he was so absorbed in what he was watching. Ironically, the two shows were -- 1) a boxing match and 2) a beauty pageant. Actually, if I was in control of the remote control, I would have probably done the same thing because I ended up joining him and found myself watching intently. After all, I've already seen parts of both and I felt compelled to watch it to the finish.
There is an underhanded perverse thrill to watching these things. You sense the mounting pressure on the protagonists as they fight for the crown which is their goal for the night. The more stressful it becomes, the better it is to watch, or so it seems. You see, so much is at stake here. At the risk of the loss of something much more than their self-respect, for the participants, bagging the title assures them of a place in history - the promise of temporary immortality - and pushes them farther into the path of their chosen career of winning. To them it is worth it.
Winning here consists of someone ending up being all bloodied and beaten up to the point of surrender, in the case of the boxing match. Picture the winning boxer with raised fists, panting and spitting out blood and saliva, perspiration pouring out furiously, eyes half shut from the beating and to the point of tears, ever grateful that the whole exercise in pain is over. In the case of the beauty contest, the winners are pronounced at the cost of rejection to those who are not beautiful enough to make it to the magic circle reserved only for the fairest. Picture the winning beauties, all glowing in the wonderment of the crown, the affirmation of new found confidence and celebrity, giddy with champagne wishes and caviar dreams, standing on with as much grace as they can muster on 4-inch high heels like the also-rans, now flanking them, hailing and conceding to their newly proclaimed majesties like a major slap to their tear-stained faces.
Boxing matches and beauty pageants are spectator sports and the contenders all have the courage to see it through the blood, sweat and tears. It is all in the spirit of 'healthy' competition, where the winners will prove themselves worthy and the ones who don't quite make it are left with bruised egos and scars which will remain with them as a reminder of the evening. Last night I was witness to the spectacle of both. And like any other spectator, sure, I 'paid' for the ticket as I watched the glory of winning side by side with the spirit-crushing blow of defeat unfold right before me. And let me tell you -- it was not a pretty sight at all.
Filed Under: Pain
There is an underhanded perverse thrill to watching these things. You sense the mounting pressure on the protagonists as they fight for the crown which is their goal for the night. The more stressful it becomes, the better it is to watch, or so it seems. You see, so much is at stake here. At the risk of the loss of something much more than their self-respect, for the participants, bagging the title assures them of a place in history - the promise of temporary immortality - and pushes them farther into the path of their chosen career of winning. To them it is worth it.
Winning here consists of someone ending up being all bloodied and beaten up to the point of surrender, in the case of the boxing match. Picture the winning boxer with raised fists, panting and spitting out blood and saliva, perspiration pouring out furiously, eyes half shut from the beating and to the point of tears, ever grateful that the whole exercise in pain is over. In the case of the beauty contest, the winners are pronounced at the cost of rejection to those who are not beautiful enough to make it to the magic circle reserved only for the fairest. Picture the winning beauties, all glowing in the wonderment of the crown, the affirmation of new found confidence and celebrity, giddy with champagne wishes and caviar dreams, standing on with as much grace as they can muster on 4-inch high heels like the also-rans, now flanking them, hailing and conceding to their newly proclaimed majesties like a major slap to their tear-stained faces.
Boxing matches and beauty pageants are spectator sports and the contenders all have the courage to see it through the blood, sweat and tears. It is all in the spirit of 'healthy' competition, where the winners will prove themselves worthy and the ones who don't quite make it are left with bruised egos and scars which will remain with them as a reminder of the evening. Last night I was witness to the spectacle of both. And like any other spectator, sure, I 'paid' for the ticket as I watched the glory of winning side by side with the spirit-crushing blow of defeat unfold right before me. And let me tell you -- it was not a pretty sight at all.
Filed Under: Pain
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