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Admiration

One of the uses of old age is to develop the "muscles" that can actually improve with age. By that I mean developing the capabilities and habits of Appreciation, Gratitude, and Admiration. Today's focus is on Admiration.

I once used an inspiring speech by an anti-hero, "The Hustler," in the 1962 black-and-white film noir movie starring Paul Newman, George C. Scott, and Jackie Gleason. But before re-quoting it, let's first ask why it inspired at all. Art, according to Tolstoy's "What is Art", is not really about "beauty," as most people mistakenly suppose; rather, Art is the infecting of the viewer/reader with the emotional experience of the artist, by words, pictures, or sounds. And the makers of "The Hustler" certainly did that to me. 

Maybe their trick was to exploit the inherent advantages of an anti-hero. (Does that trick also apply in the blogosphere?) If a goodie-two-shoes, follow-the-rules, smiley-face had made the same speech, I would have merely discounted it as a routine pep-talk, better off inside a Hallmark card or stuck to somebody's bumper.

Most of the scenes were dark and grim and interior, except one: the Hustler (Newman) and his girlfriend leave the urban grit of New York City and head off for a picnic on a slope above a lake. They relaxed on a blanket and took in the view.
The Hustler to his girlfriend: Do you think I'm a loser?
He had been told that he was by the Gambler (George C. Scott), who recognized the young man's talent at pool, but also saw his character flaws. The Hustler started to wonder if it might be true, as he recounted a string of recent mistakes.

Girlfriend: Does it bother you what he said? Hustler: Yea. Yea, it bothers me a lot.
One of his mistakes was showing how good he was and winning a lot of money from some second-rate players, instead of disguising his ability, as a good hustler should. It got him beaten up.

Hustler: I could have beaten those creeps and punks cold, and they never would have known. I just had to show 'em what the game is like when it's really great. Anything can be great. Bricklaying can be great, as long as the guy knows what he's doing, and why, and if he can make it come off.

And when I'm going, when I'm really goin', I feel like a jockey must feel. He's sittin' on his horse, he's got all that speed and power underneath him, and he's coming into the stretch and the pressure's on him. He just knows when to let it go and by how much, because he's got everything working for him, timing, touch... that's a great feeling.

It's like all of a sudden I got oil in my arm. The pool cue is part of me. It's a piece of wood, with nerves in it. You can feel the roll of those balls. You don't have to look -- you just know. You make shots that nobody's ever made before. Ya play that game like nobody's ever played it before.

Girlfriend: You're not a loser, you're a winner. Some men never get to feel that way about anything.
I then ended my sermon with a rhetorical question: why don't travelers seem to care whether they are good at travel? Why don't they 'raise the high jump bar,' instead of settling for imitating other losers?

Well, there is at least a partial answer to that. But let's ignore it today and focus on the rare winners that can be found from time to time.

Recall, last episode, I was romanticizing the Eurasian steppe and its way of life, and promising to find a bicycle touring blog that went through the steppe. As it turned out, this was pretty easy. Consider this post and photo, by Terry Ward, on crazyguyonabike.com :

Click here for a larger version of the picture
(Eyelashes fluttering...swoon.)

This photo by Mr. Ward shows how I would like to live, if transported by some magic carpet or time machine. The Lone Rider of the Eurasian steppe. Off-the-leash. Rampaging and marauding for thousands of miles, sacking the cities of decadent civilizations, with his loyal War Dog at his side. (Of course, I would be on a mountain bike instead of a horse. But the principle is the same.)

In this post, Mr. Ward showed what a great traveler is capable of:

The herds were always carefully watched by herders who were mounted on magnificent large horses. The horses are a wonderful feature of this region as everyone, including men, women and children ride easily on the tallest of horses. I saw a father lift a tiny girl who was possibly as young as three years old onto the back of a long-legged horse and then he smacked the horse on the rump. The girl sat easily in the saddle and held the reins expertly in her tiny hands. When they arrived at her yurt the horse stopped next to a tall pile of dirt, at which place the toddler slid off the saddle onto the top of the mound of dirt and then hopped down its side and entered her home.

I stopped breathing when I read that paragraph.

Comments

XXXXX said…
Personally I think that admiration is a phony thing when it is based on a romanticized version of anything. There is too much of that in what you said.
It's been awhile since I saw the "hustler" but it was the Gleason character that I tended to admire because though he was a shark, he had his limits, if I recall correctly, and these "limits" were at the place that his "heart" began. That is the part that got me. That is, if I remember correctly and haven't read into the whole thing over time.
Joy said…
Thank you again, this time for Terry Ward. His Silk Road blog, if carefully rationed, should get me through an even more than usually dreary winter back here on the eastern side of the Big Flat. Forgive my irreverence, but the phrase "sacking the cities of decadent civilizations..." immediately conjured an image of you on your trusty bike and Coffee Girl charging up Fifth Avenue. Sorry.
Wayne (Wirs) said…
Appreciation, Gratitude, and Admiration... some of my favorite subjects. You're running out of time Boonie. Are you huddled down in Yuma or are you out "raising the bar?"

Hope to meet up with you soon...
My "admiration" was not aimed at the romanticized version of horse-mounted marauder, of course. That was all teasing and silliness.

Rather, I admired the skill and appreciation of Mr. Ward. He accurately noticed something that many bicycle tourers would not have noticed. (You should read some of those dreadful bicycle travel blogs. What, where, how far, how fast, and weather reports. And then photographs of their morning oatmeal.)
edlfrey said…
I could not see a photo on your web page but I was able to find it on crazyguyonabike.com.( Istanbul to Seoul, Chigyrchik Pass: Over the top) third photo down. Then your blog page refreshed, showing Comments and the lost photo.
It was good practice for me to go find the photo so my time was well spent. That would be a bike trip to do if I were still in the touring mode but now I can follow along and admire what Terr has done.
I'm in Yuma, but hardly huddled down. I am rampaging and marauding (on bicycles) with my fellow tribesmen. (Many are 70 years old or more -- but they are savages!)
Say, that DOES make a good fantasy (going up Fifth Avenue, laying waste...)
Thanks for the heads-up. I wasn't doing the link correctly.
Joy said…
Ah, horses. If they don't kill you they break your heart. Craig Johnson, in one of his Longmire novels, muses on the foul disposition of the Appaloosas Crazy Horse's warriors rode to the Little Big Horn. His conclusion was that, if Custer and company had been riding Appaloosas they would have won the battle, because an Appaloosas' ornriness turns the most inept or mild mannered rider into a Viking berserker, assuming the rider manages to stay on long enough to get to the battle. I knew an Arabian mare like that once.
John V said…
Come up to Northern ID. The little kids up there ride horses when they're not busy driving the combine.
Joy said…
Well, it has been my experience that almost all geldings and mares are good with children, unless a kid is really...badly behaved (yeh, I decided to go with a euphemism.) Don't know about combines, but I have noticed that combines tend to break down just about the time the owner's bank account is on life support. Can they access the internet through GPS?!