Ever wondered what a bench-warmer, or a reserve thinks? Better yet...ever been in that position?
I have...And it's suddenly came back to me these past few days. On a whim, I decided to share just what it looks like from the perspective of a reserve.
Being a reserve, a backup, a substitute, a bench-warmer or worse still - a 'water-boy' has been common for me. Only above average in sports despite my passion for it in my school days, I recalled having the ability to grasp the basics of almost any sport in lightning-quick manner - Only to realise that the advanced techniques and tactics were very slippery fish that could not be caught without the net of guidance and support, both of which I lacked.
I recalled being enthusiastic about soccer, yet the only real good ability I had was that I loved to run and hassle opponents. Even though I was tired, I remembered chasing after more skillful peers like a bloodhound who smelled the game in the round thing that was (figuratively) glued to the feet of the star player on the other team.
As time wore on, influences from various mediums - books, television, fellow soccer enthusiasts - began to help me evolve my game. It helped
everyone evolve theirs. Slowly I began to be aware that I had a better sense for when that through pass was coming, or which direction my friend was going to feint to.
But that was it. That was the extent of my abilities. I could not cross, nor take a thunderous freekick. I could not do long throws, or calmly slot in penalties. I could not do the Zidane turn or the nutmeg properly without looking like an idiot. I could not pass properly, nor even shoot.
And despite my efforts to improve, that was the end of the route. While others improved, while others were fortunate enough to have a company of people they were always with to form a team, I was relegated to being the 'bloodhound' or when there wasn't anyone willing to do it, the goalkeeper. The custodian who has to face the onslaught of attackers and where every mistake is magnified a hundred times.
The relegation remained, of course, all the way into university. While injuries forced me to remain in the futsal courts and I did relatively well, I was never the best. My teammates were sometimes hesitant to switch me to a outer role for fear of my lack of composure and ability.
It didn't feel good, of course. It never did, knowing that you were just the substitute. Ever since primary school, I ignored it.
"Just have fun!" A part of my mind, still innocent then, cheered me on. But that part has been stifled, or it has passed on.
The only bright spot, perhaps, was that I managed to make something out of the substitute role. A dash of hard work, a dollop of determination, and I felt as though I had pulled it off. Not quite rags-to-riches, but certainly something akin to it.
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I wasn't so lucky with my badminton school team, however. Things started out fine. Being without a bit of background at all at Secondary 1, it was almost a glorious moment when I heard my coach said that I was alright for 'C' division regular doubles the following year.
Yet, an unexpected (and I still believe, highly unintentional) betrayal came when a fellow player who knew my number, was close to me in the CCA and in class did not inform me that there was holiday training. Being an ignorant young pup, I had no idea...And it was unfortunate he did not inform me either, despite knowing my contact.
The axe came swift. After I found out and got to my coach as soon as I could, I got a great roasting from him, was nearly kicked out had it not been for some of my seniors and suffered a huge dip in form and confidence.
That was the beginning of my nightmare as a bench-warmer then. It soon became apparent that I will never regain my form or confidence despite the hard work I put in, and I daresay that I worked the hardest among all the players.
And I remembered the feelings, the perspective of a bench-warmer. Always being the cheerleader, the water-boy, the praying man, the man to count on for the regulars to warm-up. The man to be the linesman in a badminton match for other schools.
Always acting, but never in the main role.
Always working, but never lauded.
Always around, but was never paid any attention.
And though I finally, finally FINALLY got my turn as a regular in JC, it turned out I was probably put there because we already lost. Simply put, the other school was too strong. To rub salt into the wounds, The first singles that I played against was, in actuality, their third singles.
And I was beaten easily despite good spells.
Just a sacrificial lamb, thrown on to 'see what you can do'. Till the very end, it was all for naught.
Perhaps it was after that I thought that working hard amounted to little. Unless you had good support. Unless you were likable. Unless you had talent.
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Depressing as the whole thing sounds, I did learn things as a reserve. Being more helpful and kinder to those who were weaker because you knew how it felt to be inferior and looked down upon. Being able to cheer those on the frontline and build a cordial relationship with some of them.
In the end, though, it feels like I'm still a reserve. The Michael Owen of Manchester United. The player you always benched,
"Just in case", but only played when all is won - or already lost.
Even now, sometimes it feels like that.
But the move of God can be mysterious, no? He uses the foolish to shame the wise, no?
Those few strands of hope...are things that a reserve can hold on to.
And once given the moment to shine, I can only hope that I will wow the crowds so greatly that no one else - even if it was for that one fleeting moment - dazzled as greatly as I.
I can only hope.