I remember when I was young and depressed seeking an escape from the world. My life was dull and lathagic lacking any color. There was no focus to my lense and hence nothing to capture. Brain dead, I switched on the television set and a game was on. I had nothing to do and so I watched. The team with the red and blue colors played exquisite football. It was moving around in trigonometric patterns and sequences around the field. It was shared and distributed all around the field, it was one touch football. They kept the zones small and the opponents chased ceaselessly after the ball with no avail. The crowd was in awe and offered their appreciation for this type of football, they applauded, it was heaven, it was beautiful, they scored a lot of goals. The players had grace, they had elegance, they had a swagger and an arrogance. They had complete autonomy, almost like they didn’t have set positions, every role was interchangeable and vacated as the moment demanded. It was chaos and opponents didn’t have a reply, everything about that play defied structures and systems. It was a marvel to watch, the players on my screen turned the commentators into poets. I watched poetry unrevel right before my eyes and the commentators captured the magic of the moment. I fell in love, with the colors, the badge, the flags, the stadium and everything about that world. The red and blue hue spread out from my television set into my life to give it some color. From the seeds everything metastasized and blossomed into rich colors. The red and blue team saved my life.
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