The Grand Theivery of Art; or, How an 18th-Century Novel Made Me Think of Pele

If you haven’t read “Breakfast of Champions” yet, you’re dumb, dear reader. Don’t worry, according to the previous conditional clause, I was dumb too until very recently. Then again, I’ve always had clarity of mind and superior intellect, which would have counter-balanced any resulting dumbness. OK, let’s not get too hung up on who’s dumb (perhaps you, dear reader?) and who’s not (me).

Kurt Vonnegut’s playful novel contains very immature illustrations by the author himself, such as this one:

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That little star is Vonnegut’s rendering of, yes, you guessed it, an a$$hole. He also enlightens us with crudely-drawn beavers and flamingos, among other things. The fact that Vonnegut is considered a master of contemporary American literature may explain why English, and not computer science, which I failed miserably at, is the field for me. How cool is it that reading this stuff counts as work?

As I read more and more of “Breakfast Of Champions”, an activity which usually led to the nasal expulsion of Starbucks coffee and other beverages on my part, I realized that the book reminded me of another novel: “The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman” by Laurence Sterne. I read that book for one of my MA classes, and when the professor asked me what I thought of it, this exchange transpired:

“It made me think of a very pertinent thesis question, Dr. Ashley.”

“Very interesting. And what is that, Tariq?”

“Did they have crack in the eighteenth century?”

If they did, it would explain Sterne’s utter, masterful craziness. Up until “Tristram Shandy”, that eighteenth-century-novel course was not very exciting. I mean, “Clarissa”? Seriously? But Laurence Sterne was on some other wavelength.

So, naturally, I had to pit “Breakfast of Champions” and “Tristram Shandy” against each other in a death-match where, to paraphrase Optimus Prime, one don’t-get-high-on-your-own-supply masterpiece would stand, and one would fall. If I could erase one from my memory and read it for the first time all over again, it would probably be “Breakfast of Champions”, simply because Vonnegut is more accessible. But I have to declare Sterne the victor, because without him, I don’t think Vonnegut’s intelligent buffoonery would be possible.

Which brings me to Pele.

A lot of Saudis my age like to describe the player regarded by many experts as the greatest ever as “A one-eyed man in the land of the blind”. Admittedly, I don’t much care for Pele. Maradona is the shiznit, my friend. And while the Argentine frequently, and justifiably, pops up in comparisons with the great Brazilian, there is no denying that Pele is indeed great. Just like all those ancient Celtics probably were. But while I don’t know much about the 60s Celtics outside of Bill Russell and Bob Cousy, I am positive that Pele revolutionized the game.

See, in 1958, the way people played football was a lot like how Samuel Richardson wrote novels: in 1,500-page, epistolary form. Now that, dear reader, is excruciating. So for Pele to come along and play like he did, which wouldn’t look out of place in 2007, is not to be sneezed at. If you want to understand how he changed the game, you only need to look at one clip:

It was against Uruguay, and Pele was running to receive a long pass. The goalkeeper comes out to stop him. The ball is coming from Pele’s left, at a 45-degree angle to the approaching goalie. Pele continues his run, going to the keeper’s right, and the latter dives at Pele’s feet, but there’s only one problem: the ball isn’t there. Pele had continued his run without bothering to take the ball with him, so the keeper was left stranded, having dived at thin air, and Pele was thus free to run AROUND the keeper and meet the ball, which had continued in its path untouched, with only an empty net in front of him. Unfortunately, Pele’s shot was from an acute angle and narrowly missed the target. Still, to beat a keeper like that requires not only cojones the size of summer honeydews, it calls for unparalleled imagination.

So now, whenever I see Ronaldinho do something that makes me go “%#1$$)@!!!” or Messi nonchalantly glide by 17 defenders, I try to imagine what it must have been like to live in a black-and-white world and have someone do something truly youtube -worthy. I’ve finally come around; I confess that Pele is better than Cruyff, Zidane, Beckenbauer, Zico, van Basten, Platini and Ronaldo.

But don’t get me wrong…he’s still not as good as Maradona!