Humble

Humble

To put to shame.

An exquisite meal, particularly to those who consider themselves toque-worthy, comes with a mellow aftertaste. This lingering flavor, diluted by the hope that the dish’s quality was derived from a mysterious (and likely divine) intervention between the kitchen and the table, is envy. Join the artist at their work station, and this sensation intensifies. FKJ’s YouTube page is an invitation behind the swinging double-hinged door where the dreadlocked Frenchman scurries around, looping himself until the studio is filled with phantom duplicates, each attending to one element of his masterpiece. His physical singularity—his movement between instruments—magnifies the presence of every ingredient and assures us (and our unfortunate egos) that what he has plated is far from an exercise in post-production.

Humble

Courteous.

I’d like to see a heat map, not before goals have happened, but just after. There’s an obvious magnetism that emanates from the corner flag, but what about the pull of one's teammates? After watching Ross Barkley wheel away in celebration, not in search of the provider (a certain French striker whose regal good looks are second only to the beauty of the eye-catching scissor-kick he used to service the ex-Evertonian), but in search of his own accolades, I saw a freckled pitch and a team that lacked a sense of community. Chart the aftermath of nearly any goal from Barca’s MSN years (Catalonia’s best-ever trio), however, and you’ll see the a different image—three red dots converging into each other’s arms. Appreciation is an acknowledgement of value, value that one places in their teammates to mature into trust. And trust, in a team sport, is power.