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BATTLING ON: Despite the repeated snubs of non-selection, a desire to prove that he belongs drives Sourav Ganguly.
On Sunday, in China, Michael Schumacher wore a smile as thin as a razor blade as he sat next to Fernando Alonso, the man who wears his crown and questioned his sportsmanship. No fighting words were exchanged. What for? Schumacher's performance had said enough, for he had driven like a man wanting to eat Alonso's heart. A scorned champion was making a point. Rarely is what an athlete does enough, and thus rarely can he sit in comfort. Always there is another hill in front to climb, another opponent closing in behind. Always they are proving a point, that they're better than the next man, that their gifts have not waned. Even now vanity drives a brave Sourav Ganguly to prove he belongs. Proving a point is not the athlete's sole stimulus, but a powerful one. Trainer Angelo Dundee once said of Ali: "Muhammad was always at his best when he felt he had something to prove." Against Frazier, he proved his courage, against Foreman his intelligence.
Ego at work
Ego is at work here. Athletes, for instance, do not like to be embarrassed. Years ago, Henry Olonga dismissed Sachin Tendulkar by having him fend a bouncer like a timid tailender. Tendulkar's response was a savage assault in the next game, and he conceded then to proving a point: "Yes, you can get me out once like that, you can take me by surprise, but it's not going to happen every day." Athletes are easily roused by criticism, a sort of adult equivalent of the child's `I'll show you'. They will paste clippings onto walls and memorise every slight. But not all will admit to proving a point because it suggests they require an incentive to win, that they are uncool fellows who react to provocation. To admit to responding to a media slight is to admit to taking them seriously. To admit to revenge is to admit someone was able to get to them. Still, not all are coy. Routinely batsmen will score a hundred and point at the press box. While disinclined to do so himself, Rahul Dravid knows some athletes are spurred by criticism. "I think sometimes players provoke themselves into the right state of mind by saying `so-and-so wrote something and I'm going to prove them wrong'.
Joy is in victory
"But proving someone else wrong doesn't give you a lot of joy. The joy is in victory, in scoring the runs that give you victory. The joy of proving someone wrong is fleeting." The great ones do not look outside for challenges but within. All provocation comes from the self. Dravid for instance is undaunted by critics and more concerned with proving things to himself. "Like proving I can keep improving, proving I can play different kinds of bowling or different types of innings in one-dayers, proving I can still win games. Like with my wicketkeeping (in the one-dayers), I told myself, `I can do this'. If you don't have this (challenging of the self), why play.'' Michael Jordan saw it similarly. Returning to basketball after his first break, he responded to criticisms he wasn't the same player, saying: "I take it as energy to motivate myself and become better as a player ... to prove to myself that I can play better or play at the level I've been playing. "It's always going to fall back on proving it to myself, not to that individual who may have his own opinion. By no means am I ever going to please them anyway." Schumacher has never been in the pleasing business. He is hunting down Alonso just to confirm to himself he still can.
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