The Cup of
Success
by Amit
Parmessur
I just didn’t
know the revelation in my latest press conference
would create such a commotion in the NBA world.
I’ve only reinforced the idea that I am the
perfect embodiment of contrariness, which is
getting more marked as I reach an age fit to stay
at home to run after my toddling grandchildren.
I just revealed
the root of my philosophies, how I wouldn’t
be the manager I am today were it not for my
upbringing in a small Amsterdam pub. I’m all
down to the simple fact that my father ran a pub
and as a silly kid I was subjected to the endless
drunken drooling and rantings of his clientele.
Juggling glasses
from table to table I would listen to their
meticulous discussions on formations about the
local town team, promptly realizing the best
course of action was to do the exact opposite of
what the drunkards suggested. Throughout my
managerial career this has been my sole
methodology.
Now people have
understood why I’m a man passionately
opposed to alcohol, a successful foreign manager
seeing absolutely no profit in an athlete
touching that worthless liquid. The press funnily
now considers me as a terrorist brought up by
pacific parents, or an atheist brought up by
ardent missionaries.
Witnessing people
gulping death at a tender age also explains why
I’m exceedingly against retirement. Like a
couple of my aging rivals I’ve decided
I’m not going to surrender. As long as my
health allows me, I shall carry on. The joke is
going around that even if my eyesight declines to
the point I can no longer even see my own team
winning I’m here to stay. I love that joke.
History barely
counts in sports. Criticism has it that my team
is losing stylishly nowadays. Why should I spend
the club’s money unnecessarily when I still
believe home-grown talents have the same match-winning
qualities as the foreign finished article?
Certainly I have won so much during a decade for
this club that no one will dare move me out
before I decide to call it a day.
I’m not
stubborn. It’s just unfortunate that a two-year
lack of silverware has quickly made people forget
that I’ve won so much following the same
principles. Winning is everything in sports, I
haven’t yet forgotten this. Those who are
convinced I’m passed it and I have already
said my last word let me politely tell them I
haven’t yet spoken my first words. I’m
ready to share a drink with them, provided they
let me foot the bill.
95 percent of the
country’s clubs would murder to have me at
the helm, for those who are not statistically up-to-date.
I myself don’t have the faintest intention
of stepping away. Not even the bravest soul at my
club would ship me away. My detractors would
better head to the nearest bar. At least that way
they know they won’t see my face for a while.
The coming season
shall be mine.
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