Heard it through the Great Vine!

jones

There are some things that really lend themselves to a 7-second repackaging. Hilarious Freudian slips on live television. Exquisite roulettes performed mid-sprint. The very nature of our lives, one could argue, is made up of these fleeting sensorial highlights. I mean, memories are but fragments, repeating continuously just out of the reach of our grasping fingertips. They run on a loop, moments of past glory or shuddering failure. Especially the failure… Oh God, the crushing failure that never ceases… strangling my very soul with anguish, a mistake, a terrible, terrible mistake…If only I could just…but I digress… where was I? Ah, yes, all of this waffle brings us nicely to the perfect marriage between the Vine and American Football touchdown celebrations. Yes, I believe that’s where I was heading.

A touchdown is a sumptuous moment, crafted by the eruptive, sudden collective motion of a group. It is, in essence, the exquisite result of a system of finely tuned and meticulously oiled teamwork (except, of course, the rarity that is the punt-return TD). Every cog in the team’s offensive unit must turn in harmony, at the exact right moment, for the score to occur. But after the deed is done, and the crowd explodes in ecstasy, the moment belongs very much to the chosen individual holding the pigskin in the endzone. And, as is often the case, the stunning limelight transforms this subject; a peacock, foliage preening, posturing and prepared, appears and the gyrating dance of celebration begins.

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