Sporting Reflections

By Bill Johnston, Barnsley College

The Old Man

The old man: awoke, bathed, breakfasted, and strolled down to the “golden” seaside shore, abounding the lush property - Sunday mornings were delightful, if not predictable…

Weather permitting our dear chap promenaded along the esplanade, onward, to the tartan -plait, lounger - situated most optionally to capture, scene, shelter, agreeable solitude. Bird song, crimson, scented azaleas, violet rhododendron profusion, rolling tide - this idyllic Shangri-la, peace personified.

Customarily, scanning the horizon, his field of vision, savouring, sight and sounds of harbour life – porpoise, tide, sailing craft, cacophony of albatross on the wing. Today, sea faring monoliths – anchored in the becalmed bay, conveying moneyed gentry to that south sea island of treasures. The 16th century distillery, Blandy’s branded fortified wine, unrivalled throughout the seven seas and continents - the premier attraction.

The Son

In stark contrast, preoccupied of late, our aging gentleman had been - shaken by the veiled and subtle accusation of fault, of failure to sponsor, coach, drive his once youthful son – to a sports profession. The intelligent by-stander, long-ago, opined the boy had talent, a level above average, however, our onlooker admitted, surreptitiously, the youth lacked certain attributes that truly distinguish the professional from the ubiquitous amateur. Six thousand miles distance could not salve the old man’s conscience this surreal morning.

Our subject ruminated frequently in cerebral torment. Countermanding pros and cons his peaceful retirement regularly crushed by the accusation, by the reflection – he had indeed failed. Given a second chance, surely, he would plan and secure a greater opportunity for his often melancholic, dejected progeny. For truly he loved his son.

The Contemporary Professional

Our beleaguered soul sought refuge in old maxims, Prodigious Ability, esprit de corps, birthright. Moreover, to attain unrivalled parallels requires, dedicated, singular mastery - by constant, unyielding practice. In professional sport, those who reign supreme bless the creator for the exceptional gift. Paraphrasing the premier tennis professional [example] “investing typically 6 to 8 hours a day, I continually push, seek improvement in my game – this can only be achieved on the practice court, there can be absolutely no let-up, no compromise.

That protégée desiring the elite level of performance and competition is devotedly, self-driven. Our current onlooker opines the dearth of such examples, such rare individuals, abiding in faraway pastures of the motherland.

Sporting reflections

The receding, setting sun, the breeze, enfolding, causing a discernible drop in ambient temperature – stirred the old man’s repose, rising slowly he returned home vowing to call his son, on the morrow, apologise once more, weep silently for lost opportunities.

Perhaps now, the discerning reader may deduce the fundamental difference between father and son.

Dear reader, our aged gentleman, once a youth, once a professional sportsman, himself, was born, in poverty, of different skills, of tougher material, in an epoch, profoundly unique.

Deep in sporting reflections John Henry was greatly comforted – performing at packed professional stadia, during the best days of his young life, was reward indeed.

John Henry, late of Aberdeen: RIP