Take your eyes off the ball. The secret he learned long ago to beating others at their own game is turning from the ball to the players on the court or field or rink.
Gretzky knew where the puck was going to be against the boards. Jordan knew which way the defender would lean, and go the other direction. Willie Mays knew the fly ball’s trajectory by the tension in the batter’s shoulder before the pitch even reached the bat.
It is in your opponent’s eye movement pattern. And in the tilting position of their chin. In the way they broaden their chest, expanding to intake air a moment ahead of the action. Ahead of the ball.
Reading the universal language of the body human in the splits that comprise seconds is both an innate and learned skill. It came in the box with Preacher. Part of the complicated package. Was always there.
In those hectic fractions between life and death, and under the pressure of the forces of time and gravity and finality, the ability to recognize the earliest indication of a next action requires looking away from the obvious.
The answer to a seemingly endless procession of quantum human equations involving violence and submission and more violence is to take one’s eyes off the ball. There is no answer in the gun or blade or club or fist.
It is the finger, the toe, Adam’s Apple, lid of the left eye, the microscopic contraction below the skin of each and every muscle that only physicians and scientists and consummate killers can name.
It is the action away from the ball that decides the game. Preacher knows.
iPhone Notes Story
ORD – TUL 11.14.14