Puts you There Where Things are Hollow.
Reeva Steenkamp
As a South African I am well aware of the implications of the ugly drama unfolding there.
There are many things about my disowned homeland that disturb me deeply, not lease how little the mentality of the average white South African has changed over the 20 odd years since the end of Apartheid.
Sport remains the closest thing to religion and sportsmen, especially winning sportsmen, remain in the realm of godlike adoration.
The sports minded, indeed the sports mind, is something I have never understood, believing as I do that the crowd, the audience is a mindless fool and those who take part do so in order to evade their own thoughts – since physical and mental exercise are mutually exclusive.
All this aside, the Pistorius circus only relates to sport in the minds of its South African audience who are, no doubt, having a difficult time coming to terms with the accusations against their hero.
Sport, for Pistorius himself, has been, I hazard, merely a vehicle for achieving his ambition to be famous; to beat everyone; to win every race.
The first indication that his fallibility came during the Olympics after he was beaten by fellow ‘blade runner’ Alan Oliveira and then claimed that Oliveira had cheated by using none-standard blades.
Ignoring for now the huge white elephant that asks us to judge whether he is guilty of murder or not – I think we should not forget that he did in fact kill Reeva Steenkamp on Valentine’s Day.
Could it be that the very demon that drove him to turn his disability into ability has now caused him to cross the line that is drawn between the excesses of money and fame and the reality that no man can own those around him?
There are many things about my disowned homeland that disturb me deeply, not lease how little the mentality of the average white South African has changed over the 20 odd years since the end of Apartheid.
Sport remains the closest thing to religion and sportsmen, especially winning sportsmen, remain in the realm of godlike adoration.
The sports minded, indeed the sports mind, is something I have never understood, believing as I do that the crowd, the audience is a mindless fool and those who take part do so in order to evade their own thoughts – since physical and mental exercise are mutually exclusive.
All this aside, the Pistorius circus only relates to sport in the minds of its South African audience who are, no doubt, having a difficult time coming to terms with the accusations against their hero.
Sport, for Pistorius himself, has been, I hazard, merely a vehicle for achieving his ambition to be famous; to beat everyone; to win every race.
The first indication that his fallibility came during the Olympics after he was beaten by fellow ‘blade runner’ Alan Oliveira and then claimed that Oliveira had cheated by using none-standard blades.
Ignoring for now the huge white elephant that asks us to judge whether he is guilty of murder or not – I think we should not forget that he did in fact kill Reeva Steenkamp on Valentine’s Day.
Could it be that the very demon that drove him to turn his disability into ability has now caused him to cross the line that is drawn between the excesses of money and fame and the reality that no man can own those around him?
6 comments:
Watching this story unfold is, just, strange. Whether or not he knew it was Reeva he was killing it was still murder. Hm, I'll try my best to ignore that white elephant.
Thanks for your comment on one of my poems recently. I've been wondering, are you on the evil fbook? If so, feel free to add me (I can be found here).
The whole thing is bizarre. I wondered briefly if he was secretly a Kennedy.
Lxx
PB: Your poems remain the most erudite out there.
I have not found a use for FB yet so no, I'm not on it :/ sorry
Letitia: I don't think there is such a thing as a secret Kennedy :) I wonder at the distinct possibility of excess testosterone playing a part in the whole scenario...
It is a bazaar situation, no doubt. I don't buy the intruder story at all.
One of the greatest athletes in my neck of the woods is a 50 something African man, called Bertus Rinke,
He can complete an 11 mile, sitting kayak run, in less than an hour and a half, even when the river is low and not so swift.
He walks right out of the river like he hasn't even been in a race.
Their are young men half his age who strive to beat him and lose. He seems a right happy man.
Fear is an ugly beast to be consumed by.
Cheers!
Lobe.
Shit... make that Their into There!
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