Somewhat lost in ‘Beatlemania‘ was the sheer musical genius of Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys. The problem was Wilson’s attempt to run from the pigeonhole of songs about surfing and poppy tunes about girls into more meaningful art was met with opposition. As his bandmate Mike Love put it, “keep to the f***** formula!”

Sometimes we can create our own pigeonholes, in our own minds as much as the way we are perceived. Sport has been a crutch that I have leant on for the best part of 25 years, playing and watching taking up an absurdly large percentage of that time. Some of the joy of watching sport has evaporated with time, as the joy of witnessing something new and fresh is harder to find. The seven year old kid captivated by a flick pass try or a long range goal is now more nonchalant.

As I basked in the pure melodic joy of Wilson’s Pet Sounds, I wondered if there was more beauty out there that I had overlooked in trying to catch the next winning goal or try. Avant-garde film? Poetry? Taking my piano to the next level? My late teacher always said that I had the touch but no discipline, and she correctly predicted that I would stop playing when I was no longer forced to for sake of grade completion.

Sport is a capped hobby, where playing success is limited by the absence of a transcending athletic advantage, and writing is stunted by the restricted breadth of content

Right now I slowly edge to the end of a confusing 2019 in a dead zone, trapped trying to finish a degree I have no interest in with the motivation once again being completion not passion. A crucial next five years awaits. Fast forward to 2024 and I’ll either be hopelessly lost or ignited in a new interest. In Wilson’s case, five years on from the demise of his ambitious orchestral album Smile, it was the former- the beginning of a twenty year spiral he thankfully broke out of.

Maybe part of the issue is my tunnel vision with sport. I’ve always been a daydreamer- escaping the dullness of a tutorial room imagining a parallel where I have fame- not for the fortune, but for the fulfilment. Sport is a capped hobby, where playing success is limited by the absence of a transcending athletic advantage, and writing is stunted by the restricted breadth of content.

I feel though that ultimately satisfaction is what quenches the moment. Retrospectively questioning what made me happy is as pointless as abandoning hobbies just because they fall under the same bracket. What’s important is realising the need to break out of a stale cycle. To expand interests is one thing, but more pressing is my desire to have a clear, open mind to encounter new experiences and challenges.

I’m not claiming to have even a fraction of the unique brilliance of Brian Wilson. But I can relate to and heed the lessons of his cautionary tale over half a century ago. To willingly remain in an uninspiring role is to front up daily with a fake smile, and the feeling of being a pretender whilst others assuredly carry on gnaws away. Whilst countless advertisements flashing on our screens preach the value of ‘taking the plunge’, sometimes the most daunting challenge is to take a step back from a setting that just isn’t working.

In all, the essence of sportcorner is here to stay- as much due to the locked in website url as anything. The sport reviews with a dash of attempted humour will be back soon, I promise. However I’m beginning to recognise the pressing need to unlock my mind as I hit my quarter-life crisis, and will branch out against the tide. Please join me for the ride.