Heros and Wars: An Ageless Parallel

Much talk in the first parts of The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony is of Heroes and how they applied/apply their enhanced attributes for the good (or sometimes not so good) of those fallen victim to the Fates. However a note of Plutarch's thoughts of "men who, for deftness of hand, speed of legs, and strength of muscles, transcended normal human nature and were tireless" (61). Does this not sound much like, if little, of the professional athletes that now grace our television sets, bedroom walls, and gleaming billboards? Perhaps the best analogy that I can provide at this time would be NFL players, moreover of two teams, full of heroes and villains, battling for an unclear but concise victory on the gridiron. Could you not say that the athletes, in the exact moment of battle, "never used their physical capacities to do good or to help others, but reveled in their own brutal arrogance and enjoyed exploiting their strength to commit savage, ferocious deeds, conquering, ill treating...whosoever fell into their hands" (61). That those players, "for them, respect, justice, fairness, and magnanimity were virtues prized only by such as lacked the courage to do harm and were afraid of suffering it themselves" (61). Can you all not imagine/remember/envision that 285 lb wall of muscle Safety dodging snarling blocks and swinging grasps? How he leapt, as if Medea herself had chagrined him the reins of her flaming chariot, and with a hit like thunder in a china shop bears down the Quarterback in a gasp and crunch of bone and muscle. The small, yet immensely huge, cry and dance of victory; pantomimes of ripping a chest open in the pure barbaric savagery the crowd goes wild for. But it is accepted and applauded, and in the background John Madden mumbles, very nearly incoherently, "Now that's how football is played!" Are these men "athletes on behalf of men" (61)? Mind you, not off the field, not away from the gridiron, but in the heat and thrall between the bursts of small silver whistles. In our society the Clay Matthews', the Marshawn Lynch's, are our revered heroes. Performing tasks that we only dreamed about in the park on sweltering hot afternoons, while we reared in our imaginary armor and helmets, all for the glory of the touchdown, of winning.

You can see where my mind is divided in this stage of the semester, with Myth following like a shadow sewed to the boots of time, never wavering, never faltering, but unobtrusive as a slap to the face. If there was (and there always is) anything to be gleaned from class today, it is that Myth lives in the very fabric of... there is no one word to encompass the eons of mythos and logos rippling out (as Scott so eloquently put it) from that first shatter of not knowing to knowing.
Could we all be Heroes in some form, however small? Does getting out of bed in the morning not reminisce of Odysseus's leaving of Calypso from Ogygia? Food for thought...

A side note to one of my earliest memories--

When I was of an age three years past my personal origins beginning, I was gripped...if not compelled, to climb the Mount Bathroom Vanity in our house. It was a long and treacherous trek, full of drawers, and nobs and unconscious fears of being discovered by the all-mighty Mother. When I had attained the summit of Mount Bathroom Vanity, I found myself gazing...well at myself. The mountain had an ability so that whoever summited it would find themselves staring at themselves ( I learned later this majestic piece of magic was termed as a mirror). Gazing was not enough for me though so I grabbed the sacred bottle of Perfume, the Holy-Grail of Scent, the feminine eau de Cologne. My young, sharp mind knew there was only one perfect use for this Perfume; what better to do than apply it upon the self-gazing piece and trace ancient symbols that could uncover the secrets of the universe (or the correct way to draw a cat). Feeling invincible in my lofty, scented euphoria I failed to notice the approach of the all-mighty Mother. The lash of her wrath was enough to curdle sour milk to cheese. It seemed that I was wrong in my quest, that Perfume found atop the summit of Mount Bathroom Vanity was not for delving and studying ancient symbols on the mirror. It was for making the all-mighty Mother smell of lavender fields and crisp mountain springs. It was in the moment of punishment that the Origin of Scent and all of its power (both stinky and fresh) spanked its way right to the forefront of my mind and learned and understood (if only minutely) not to mess with other peoples scents, least of all a woman's perfume.