June 11, 2009
On the way home from The Sister's house the other night, Daddy and I were talking about tennis. We were discussing The French Open - that's the one with the clay courts and fancier wearables (as opposed to Wimbledon where they're forced to wear white).
I'm a greatest hits sports enthusiast, so I don't watch the little events in any tournament – I go straight for the big show at the end. And when I want details, I prefer to get a summary from he who spawned me. It's more interesting that way.
My Dad has a repository in the left hemispheric portion of his brain for sports. And not just rules and regulations for the major stuff either. He follows local and high school competitions. You want to know the High School Baseball MVP for Utah in 1982? Call my Dad. He'll tell you – without looking it up on the internet. He can explain who's up for drafting, what college wants who for what and it just goes on and on. Exhausting isn't it? To think of how he stores all of that nonsense? Need a nap just thinking about it.
So back to our conversation about The French Open. He talked about the two Russian girls who made the finals (he said their names but being as I don't have the above mentioned repository, I have since forgotten them), then went on to discuss the men's finals – which hadn't happened yet. I asked what two hunks were scheduled to whack that ball back and forth. I also wanted to know who their sponsors were, their shoe size and the type of shampoo used before the match (Daddy knows all that stuff).
He replied with “I believe tomorrow's game is between Wah-wah-wah-wi-wa and Roger Federerererer.”
Remember, I am the Greatest Hits Gal of Sports. Unless you've won the French Open, like eight times, I won't know your name (hence the Wah-wah-wah-wi-wa on player number one). I have a tiny little left brain that is already jam packed with useless (yet important) information. It's full. In order to store new stuff, old stuff must be removed.
Roger Federerererer (make sure you pronounce all the extra ERs - it's more fun that way) has a net worth of 387 million 482 thousand tennis balls, 123 million sports courts and an ocean-full of Gatorade (give or take a few thousand something-or-other). The Federerererer has volleyed the great John McEnroe to surpass the mighty Pete Sampras. He's hot stuff. Has been for years.
While having this conversation about the Grandeur de Federerereruh (French spelling on purpose), I said: “I can't imagine what it's like to be that good at anything.” Then I sulked for the rest of the night.
Why did I sulk for the rest of the night? Because I'm the Mistress of Mediocrity.
I can do lots of stuff - but none of it all that well. I have my fingers in too many berry pies and my brain functions like a pin-ball machine. The runner de rabid cannot concentrate on anything long enough to be in-your-face-awesome at anything.
Let's take college for example: I wanna do mechanical engineering like my dad. Yeah, that's it. Take a few classes. This isn't any fun, all my school-mates are nerds, let's switch to, uh, general studies. Okay, that's good. No wait! Get a kickin' it job working for a software company. Sweet. But now I want to program stuff, let's switch to Computer Science and take a class about an ancient Egyptian programming language that runs on the HP 9000. Oh bother! Why would I waste my time and money on schooling that's five years behind what I learn at work? Switch again...
On and on it went. The only thing I didn't try was Family Science, (gee isn't that one a surprise with all my Suzie home-wrecking skills). Finally, I landed on the ol' BA. As in Bad Ass, Business Administration.
Now that this college crap is out of the way, lets move on to what I do now: Running, Music, Writing, Crocheting, Reading, Skiing, and Potty Training the Dog. For money it's Tax Software with a dash of Photography. I enjoy all of this, but I'm sure there's room for something else, something new... one more thing I can be mediocre at.
What could it be? Far-out Fencing? Astrology? Palm Tree Planting? Backgammon? Cycling? Oh cycling. Seems cycling is the craze these days. All the running friends are doing it. But seriously - I can't take being mediocre at one more thing!
After the sulking, I discovered that mediocrity has many advantages.
The most advantageous advantage? It's lonely at the Top (or at least that's what I hear). To be at the Top, someone or something must be worse; someone has to be your Under. We Mediocres, however, don't need someone around that's worse than us to feel good about ourselves. And if someone is better than us? We stand Under and congratulate.
Mediocres - we don't need an Under. And we're just fine if we get to be your Under.