In the Proximity of Greatness
1. Ideopolise. Post-industrial city wherein lives a populace driven only by ideas and feelings. Postulated as the home of cultural “elites” by Ruy Teixeira.
Should be a word.
2. Cultural Boutique. Safe space in afore-mentioned city. Also Teixeira.
Seems redundant.
3. Interregnum. A period of pause between two periods or eras.
No reason, just a super cool word.
4. Proximity. To greatness that is. What must it be like to spend your life in the presence or proximity of true greatness? I’ve long publicly held that I am not in possession of the genius gene. Rather I seem to have a rather dominant expression of the “Salieri” gene, that certain ability to both identify and promote the genius of another. Unlike the real Salieri I also inherited the gene that prompts me to protect any of those geniuses with whom I may come in contact (Salieri famously was said to have destroyed Mozart the man while promoting, and profiting from, his genius).
To be in the presence of the giants in any field is a privilege. In my day job I have reached a stage (I’m old enough) and have acquired enough status (a few people know who I am) where I occasionally share a stage with the giants upon whose shoulders we all ride. Just today I found myself sitting next to Marguerite McDonald, one of the pioneers in the tiny slice of eye care where I may have made my mark, and staring down at Dick Lindstrom in the audience, sitting in the front row. Not gonna lie, it was hard not to be a little bit starstruck up there.
Which makes me wonder what it must be like to spend your entire career recording the exploits and the thoughts on the same of some of the best “whatever” in the world. More than that, what if in so doing you become one of them, so good at how you let the rest of us into the world of whoevers, athletes or musicians, artists or scientists who are simply the best at what they do. Sometimes the best ever. Hemingway taught us about soldiers and war in his early works. Jimmy Chin and Jon Krakauer have likewise opened the eyes of flatlanders everywhere to what it’s like to stand on the top of the world. There’s really no one quite like that in the world of my day job recording the highlights of the Marguerite McDonald’s and Dick Lindstroms of my work world.
Pity, that.
Sportswriters are classic examples of individuals who spend their days in the presence of varying degrees of excellence. Of genius. Most give us a fair rendering of the facts, sometimes leavened by insight, but an occasional writer stands out among the others through their own sheer excellence. Grantland Rice, Red Smith, and Jim Anderson form a kind of Mt. Rushmore of pioneers. Perhaps Dan Deford and Bob Ryan belong there as well. If you follow athletics at all you have favorites. At some time, though, these men and women either pass from this life or simply pass from writing. My point, then, is a simple one: those who spend their working lives in the presence of other types of genius who are, themselves, the very best at putting together the words that let us, those who are at best a Salieri, see into the world of the best athletes, and should themselves be treasured. Recognized and enjoyed while they ply their gifts on our behalf. Their words, like “A Farewell to Arms”, will live on, but there is something special about reading those words when they are freshly off the pen or the keyboard of the living scribe.
Do yourself a favor. Pick up or surf to Sports Illustrated and read Tim Layden’s piece on Tommie Smith and John Carlos. It’s a story more than 50 years in the making that in the hands of Layden feels as fresh as last week’s news. Yet like so many of Tim’s pieces you know that it will feel just as important 5, or 10, or 50 years hence. Read it and be in the presence of greatness.
I’ll see you next week…
This entry was posted on Sunday, November 10th, 2024 at 3:01 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.