The crowd sits in anticipation. Their allegiances have been tossed around in a sea of dramatic pauses and collective gasps. Each one of them went to the event to see the giant, possibly roided up team that has previously dominated. Now they are all banded together in a wistful jubilation, coupled with a hushed and painstakingly treacherous pause. Fore they are now in agreement that their new heroes are on the lovable and seemingly uncoordinated band of underdogs that have now won the heart of the stadium.
Each point the dominate team makes, be it Iceland, the top-notch Yankees, or the Monstars is greeted with both acceptance and regret while each point the new band of heroes scores, be it the Ducks, Bears, or Looney Tunes is held as a treasure. Perhaps the treasures shall outweigh the regret when the final tick is tocked? If only the expectant crowd can pray that hard.
The sad fact is that in the real world a team like Iceland would murder a team of bright eyed teens from the Twin Cities, no matter how innovate their practices or quick their one-liners. The cards are just stacked as such. Money buys you lots of things, personal trainers, professional equipment and training facilities, as well as state of the art luxury and convenience. The fact is that they can outright cheat, but win the favor of the judges in spite of this and succeed.
I hate to break anybody’s bubble but the cold fact is that the ball busting, menial resource utilizing, underdogs are more than likely going to be overcome and trounced by their silver spoon fed, rich, douchey opponents. Not that there isn’t an Emilio Estevez, Michael Jordan, or Walter Matthau that can properly bring the low man on the totem pole to the top of the pile, it’s just highly unlikely.
But it’s still fun to root for the underdog. And that tinge of reality where the hero loses is something that I have always thought was missing. I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist. I don’t see the glass as half empty, I see it as a cheater shot glass that you paid way too much for because you’re at a hotel where rich men wipe their asses with 100 dollar bills. Let an audience get that dose of reality so nobody’s hopes are ever raised above a proper level. I think that’s why I’ve always preferred Little Big League to Rookie of the Year.
Peace..
