Monday, August 25, 2003
I watch the Little League World Series final every year, and every year I think to myself, "I would absolutely dominate those kids. They couldn't touch my fastball." Sure I'm twice their age and twice their size, but I can't help thinking it.
And every year, I root for the non-U.S. team, mostly because the U.S. fans and families usually bring together arrogance and whineyness - vices whose sum is more insipid than its parts. Strangely, the players on the U.S. team this year were disturbingly friendly, as when they low-fived the Japanese slugger while he rounded the bases after slamming a home run against them. Pat Riley would not have liked that.
I'm also always reminded of my own Little League experience during the game. One year during the All-Star game, I remember thinking that the coach didn't think much of me as a player because I was Asian, and so didn't give me the start. I can always count on being underestimated athletically. That's another reason I root for the foreign teams - they're usually Asian.
On the other hand, there's nothing quite like beating the crap (on the playing field, that is) of someone who thinks that they're better than you. Better yet is when they think your first victory was a fluke and come back, still cocky, for another beating. I've experienced this latter pleasure several times when I've teamed up with my slow, white, and deadly sharpshooting friend Jeremy playing two-on-two, mostly against callow youth who don't know how to defend the pick and roll. Strangely, this has happened even when my opponents have lost the first game 15-1 (most recently when I was playing with another friend, Wilson) - they come back, confident they'll whoop our ass now because they're gonna hustle this time, and then they lose 15-3.
I conjecture that the satisfaction of such victories does not derive from disdain for the loser, but rather from its benign revelatory effect: I am better than you, you were in gross error about that, and now you know better.
¶ 1:49 PM
And every year, I root for the non-U.S. team, mostly because the U.S. fans and families usually bring together arrogance and whineyness - vices whose sum is more insipid than its parts. Strangely, the players on the U.S. team this year were disturbingly friendly, as when they low-fived the Japanese slugger while he rounded the bases after slamming a home run against them. Pat Riley would not have liked that.
I'm also always reminded of my own Little League experience during the game. One year during the All-Star game, I remember thinking that the coach didn't think much of me as a player because I was Asian, and so didn't give me the start. I can always count on being underestimated athletically. That's another reason I root for the foreign teams - they're usually Asian.
On the other hand, there's nothing quite like beating the crap (on the playing field, that is) of someone who thinks that they're better than you. Better yet is when they think your first victory was a fluke and come back, still cocky, for another beating. I've experienced this latter pleasure several times when I've teamed up with my slow, white, and deadly sharpshooting friend Jeremy playing two-on-two, mostly against callow youth who don't know how to defend the pick and roll. Strangely, this has happened even when my opponents have lost the first game 15-1 (most recently when I was playing with another friend, Wilson) - they come back, confident they'll whoop our ass now because they're gonna hustle this time, and then they lose 15-3.
I conjecture that the satisfaction of such victories does not derive from disdain for the loser, but rather from its benign revelatory effect: I am better than you, you were in gross error about that, and now you know better.
¶ 1:49 PM
