The Feet of Reason
I just got invited to play for Manly in this year's Nationals. It's going to be my first all men's tournament (at the Nationals level no less) and I was pretty stoked to be selected for the team. So of course instead of promptly doing sprints around the park to start training, I did what every true-blue Filipino frisbee player does.
I went shopping.
Finally, an excuse for me to go to Rebel Sport and peruse the latest range of cleats (or footy boots as they're called here). Nevermind if my holiday in Manila left me wanting in cash. I needed to replace my worn out Total 90's ASAP.
It took me a whole hour to decide which shoe to get and it came down to two choices-
a) A nice comfy pair of Asics. Australian Podiatric Society recommended. Simple, yet utilitarian.
b) A nice white pair of Nike Tiempo Mystics. White in a "you can't guard me" sort of way. Flashy, yet understated.
No contest really.
Say hello to my leetle friends.
Anyways, the thing I realized about this trip is that men are not that far from women and their legendary lust for footwear after all. Material desire exists in all of us, even if some choose to deny it (or even develop meditation techniques to block it out). It's times like this that make me realize I am no different from all the girls I have gone out with who froth at the mouth whenever Nine West goes on sale. In those situations I have always found myself to be the voice of reason, the dispenser of logic convincing them that spending a month's salary on a pair of heels really isn't a good idea. One of the few instances in life where a man makes perfect sense.
Today, in Rebel Sport Testosterone Land, it was the other way around for a young couple, who were taking their son to be fitted for some cleats. The father and son immediately spotted the latest pair of Adidas shoes, which looked like some sort of alien weaponry. They came in special hard plastic boxes, and a picture of David Beckham was etched on the front, smirking in a manner that pretty much said "buy these shoes mate, and at least look like the bottom half of me." They also cost about 300 dollars, but that's not the point.
"Erhm." The mommy coughed. She motioned for the son to come over where she was. Above her was a sign- "Discount Bin- All Crappy Unwanted Shoes In This Box Must Go." Ok fine, it didn't say that, but that's what the son must've interpreted as he begrudgingly walked over to his mother, shooting over one last "why'd she have to come along" look to his dad, who could only shrug helplessly.
The mom had her boy try on different cleats- all functional, all in good working order, but were as unstylish as me in a room full of Manila socialites. You could see this boy's enthusiasm slowly ebbing away. What's the bloody point of me playing soccer if I'm wearing cleats that look like they were worn by the German Army in 1945? he was probably thinking. The mom looked awfully pleased with herself as she spied a pair she thought was perfect.
"But it's two sizes too big." The son moaned.
"That's perfect, you'll grow into them."
Cue ominous Amadeus music. Son is in near tears. Mother cheerily whips out the wallet. And as she pays, father and son are left scratching their heads wondering what the hell just happened. Because in this one particular day, the voice of feminine reason stood out, a voice that quickly errupted into squeals of delight as she spied a store nearby with a sign that said Jimmy Choo, New Line Out Now! And off she went, miserable family in tow.
No contest really.
I went shopping.
Finally, an excuse for me to go to Rebel Sport and peruse the latest range of cleats (or footy boots as they're called here). Nevermind if my holiday in Manila left me wanting in cash. I needed to replace my worn out Total 90's ASAP.
It took me a whole hour to decide which shoe to get and it came down to two choices-
a) A nice comfy pair of Asics. Australian Podiatric Society recommended. Simple, yet utilitarian.
b) A nice white pair of Nike Tiempo Mystics. White in a "you can't guard me" sort of way. Flashy, yet understated.
No contest really.
Say hello to my leetle friends.
Anyways, the thing I realized about this trip is that men are not that far from women and their legendary lust for footwear after all. Material desire exists in all of us, even if some choose to deny it (or even develop meditation techniques to block it out). It's times like this that make me realize I am no different from all the girls I have gone out with who froth at the mouth whenever Nine West goes on sale. In those situations I have always found myself to be the voice of reason, the dispenser of logic convincing them that spending a month's salary on a pair of heels really isn't a good idea. One of the few instances in life where a man makes perfect sense.
Today, in Rebel Sport Testosterone Land, it was the other way around for a young couple, who were taking their son to be fitted for some cleats. The father and son immediately spotted the latest pair of Adidas shoes, which looked like some sort of alien weaponry. They came in special hard plastic boxes, and a picture of David Beckham was etched on the front, smirking in a manner that pretty much said "buy these shoes mate, and at least look like the bottom half of me." They also cost about 300 dollars, but that's not the point.
"Erhm." The mommy coughed. She motioned for the son to come over where she was. Above her was a sign- "Discount Bin- All Crappy Unwanted Shoes In This Box Must Go." Ok fine, it didn't say that, but that's what the son must've interpreted as he begrudgingly walked over to his mother, shooting over one last "why'd she have to come along" look to his dad, who could only shrug helplessly.
The mom had her boy try on different cleats- all functional, all in good working order, but were as unstylish as me in a room full of Manila socialites. You could see this boy's enthusiasm slowly ebbing away. What's the bloody point of me playing soccer if I'm wearing cleats that look like they were worn by the German Army in 1945? he was probably thinking. The mom looked awfully pleased with herself as she spied a pair she thought was perfect.
"But it's two sizes too big." The son moaned.
"That's perfect, you'll grow into them."
Cue ominous Amadeus music. Son is in near tears. Mother cheerily whips out the wallet. And as she pays, father and son are left scratching their heads wondering what the hell just happened. Because in this one particular day, the voice of feminine reason stood out, a voice that quickly errupted into squeals of delight as she spied a store nearby with a sign that said Jimmy Choo, New Line Out Now! And off she went, miserable family in tow.
No contest really.
posted by Carlo Ledesma at 7:35 PM
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