Wimbledon

Wimbledon a picture parade of elite players, rousing audiences, and commentary of worldwide proportions once again entertains us long into the Australian night.  I can sit mesmerised for hours, my head going left and then right and my uttering of oh, wow, hmmm, yes plus other utterances never before have I vocalised.
Nadal who recently won the French Open was out in the first round.  I had to go to bed before he succumbed to his opponent's hand.  I had sat rigid in my chair  as long as I could; willing him to win, to have a go, to break loose, to go the extra mile, whatever it would take.  The following day loomed ahead and sleep was what was calling me.  I succumbed.
When I woke this morning I went straight to the computer to find as expected he had been beaten by his opponent.  Nadal being 5th in the world of tennis and the opponent 35.  I wondered how he deals with the expectation of winning only to find the reality of loss enveloping him.  Maybe he sometimes says, Í should just get a day job and work 9-5 or maybe become a tennis coach or personal trainer (lots of them around lately).  At least the work would be regular and the pain of losing without a fight would be more of a hum drum existence.
In hindsight the magic of Wimbledon captivates the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline which changes Clark into Superman,  The goal to achieve outweighs the need for job security.
It is the brave, the trailblazers who side step the 9-5 jobs to risk everything for the limelight and to compete and win at their craft.
Nadal will be back.  Nadal will win once again.