Arnon Grunberg

This Sporting Life

Nowadays we don't expect our sportsmen to die for their sport. Rumours that a certain dictator incarcerated the national soccer team for their disappointing results have yet to be confirmed. Most intellectuals tend to think, that it is much worse to incarcerate a poet for his opinions than a soccer player for his poor performance. Today, all we ask of our sportsmen is for them to be the best, to win, and to do so as often as possible.
The idea that the expression of your feelings, opinions - or whatever can be put into words - is itself a kind of sport would be an insult to many people. Sport is, by its nature, frivolous. Even when people die or are wounded after a soccer match because some youngsters believe defeat is an open invitation for civil disobedience, the nature of the sport remains unchanged. It is still frivolous, an innocent pastime, entertainment and, of course, business.
Reading poetry, or a novel for that matter, is not considered a frivolous pastime. Yes, of course there is something called a "beach read". But describing a book as a "beach read" means that it comes as close as a book can to being a sport; something akin to, let's say, watching a tennis match on a balmy Sunday afternoon with white wine and smoked salmon at arm's reach.
The relationship between the sportsman and the spectator can be compared to that between the writer and the reader. They need each other desperately. Sometimes they hate each other and more often than not, the reader and spectator think they can do better than the writer or sportsman. Both readers and spectators have their preferences for certain writers and sportsmen based not upon knowledge, but rather upon inexplicable, sentimental feelings.
Of course, I am speaking here about professional sportsmen and writers. I'm not referring to all the men and women who work out to look younger or to die later. Nor do I speak of those who write secretly before going to bed - not to entertain anyone (I consider making people think a form of entertainment), but rather to overcome certain obstacles or because their psychiatrists can no longer stand the sound of their voice and have asked them to write down their thoughts instead.
In sport, at least the sports I know, the winner wins and the loser loses. Occasionally, and for a short period of time, there might not be a clear winner, but in the end there always is. Sport cannot exist without appointing a winner. This is why it is an entertainment which confirms the commonly held opinion that the winner wins and the loser loses - and for good reasons. The winner was stronger, played better, showed greater stamina. Sport comforts us, and this is probably one of its most powerful attractions. It assures us that somewhere on this planet, justice can be found, if not in the real world, then at least in the world of sport.
We all know that there can be injustice in the sporting world as well, but we try to overlook it. We even try to believe that being lucky is a virtue of the true winner. Take, for example, a team that should have won but lost due to bad luck or a referee that made a bad call. The soccer player Diego Maradona once described such an occurrence as "the hand of God". This statement confirms Maradona's genius, for only a genius can invite God into his sport, thus turning God into a being that is interested in sports and maybe even a sportsman Himself. Indeed, among many sports fans, their favourite team or athlete assumes a godly mantle. They are credited with enormous powers, their every victory or defeat celebrated or mourned accordingly.
Literature differs from sport because in literature our world-view is not necessarily confirmed. In literature a winner can lose and a loser can win - or there may be no winners at all. There are books, many books, that confirm our commonly held world-view, but these are the books we speak of as "beach reads". Apparently, the beach is one place where we don't want to be disturbed by a reality that is less pleasant.
Literature doesn't offer the obvious comfort of sport. Sometimes, novels and poetry offer no comfort at all. That is why these books are scorned by many and championed by a tiny, but not unimportant minority. Nevertheless, I am always surprised when a professional reader, i.e. a book critic, asks why he should be the one reading about losers. This is to confuse sport and literature. You go to a sporting event for the suspense, and to celebrate the winner. In books you encounter the people you try to avoid on the streets, in supermarkets and while riding the subway.
Literature is a sport for the gods who lost, for the gods who take pride in losing. Which brings me to my main question: why have we heard about the death of the novel and of literature, but never about the death of soccer, tennis or hockey? An obvious explanation might be that sportsmen are less vain than writers. A writer thinks that after his death, no book worth reading will ever be written; and he dares to express that opinion without ever mentioning his death.
A tennis player, however, knows that after his or her retirement, tennis will still be played; probably good tennis, maybe even better tennis. The fact remains that more people prefer sports to literature. To many, literature is like broccoli: you eat it because they say it's healthy, but if possible, you feed it to the dog under the table.
We love sport so much that we have applied its basic laws to our society. Life itself has become a sport where winning is everything and fame is the ultimate reward. Yes, winners get money, but money you can hide. Not fame. Fame that is hidden is no longer fame.
Ironically enough, by turning life into a sport where winning is the only thing, we deny ourselves a taste of life as a game. Isn't this a more substantial, delicious taste? When winning becomes a substitute for survival, life stops being the game that it is.
And there's more. A sport is played on the premise that the players know the rules of the game and obey those rules. The rules of society are less clear and it is a dangerous assumption to think that our opponents will obey our rules, or that even we will obey our own rules. We cannot help it. We are a dangerous species and we will break the rules whenever we think it is in our favour to do so.
Gravitas needs understatement and lightness to exist and survive. Understatement, irony, frivolity, the certainty that there are no easy or comforting answers — these are the opponents of winning, for winning is an absolute and doesn't want to be challenged. Winning is not to be found in the content of a book, nor is it in its form or style, but rather in the end-of-year sales figures. Nevertheless, literature can still be an antidote to the concept of life as sport.
I cannot agree with the poet Joseph Brodsky that reading will civilise human beings. By no means is literature a proven medicine. But I do agree with Brodsky's statement that it would be wise to cast our vote for politicians based on their reading lists, not their beliefs.
Publishers, governments and writers have tried to make literature more attractive by making it look more like a sport. Think of the Booker Prize where you have six nominees and one clear winner. Thank God there is also an award for the worst writing. And if it helps, why not also a competition and an award for the worst dressed author? One of the virtues of literature is that it helps us to remember that a winner is just somebody who, by accident, forgot to lose. Or, as an 87-year-old friend told me one evening in a coffee shop: "When I found out that we have absolutely no control I stopped worrying." We call it the hand of God, confidence, fate or luck. But in the end it's all the same: no control.
Betting on life is betting on a dark horse. And what would betting be if we were in control? You don't even have to enjoy betting to realise this: the art of losing should never be underestimated.