Hold firm
There is always hope, nobody can take that away (unless you let them)
My favourite sports team is the mighty Queens Park Rangers F.C. A team that has swaggered, stumbled, bumbled and bamboozled its way through whichever English football division it has happened to find itself playing in since 1882.
QPR, as they are better known, have, strictly speaking, only won a single major trophy, in the form of the League Cup. They won the competition after defeating West Bromwich Albion (the holders of the cup) by 3 goals to 2 at Wembley Stadium in 1967.
The Super Hoops (so named due to their blue and white hooped shirts) have come close to repeating such feats of glory, particularly in the 1970s and 1980s, but since then it has very much been famine rather than feast. But the fans keep coming back to watch them live. Partly because they love the sport, partly because QPR have been known to play entertaining football and partly because, well, you support your team no matter what. Then there’s another element to it.
Of what do I speak of, pray tell? Of hope, of course, ye of little faith! Yes, hope!
Hope that they will win, keep winning, and so eventually win or achieve something meaningful.
And there is also hope in the enigma that is QPR. Hope that they will always exist as an entity. And so, for some football fans, for ever be a constant in their lives. Life may be a hard slog, punctuated by only small bursts of happiness, one of which is watching QPR. I think a surprisingly large number of sports fans feel this way. (This whole flaming blog is a ruddy enigma, never mind QPR! - ed)
I have hope, most days, that my wife will find the set of keys, glasses, store card, or other item that she has misplaced. Today, I managed to muster up some hope of being able to write a blog post despite having had to hand my laptop over to the repair shop after spilling water all over it (I am using my boys’ laptop).
In my novella I Must Stay at Home, this sense of hope is no trivial matter. It is not merely tied to temporal or trivial fortunes. It is tied to life and death itself. The nameless protagonist almost becomes another victim of lockdowns, but finds hope eventually, via an unlikely route. And it is this hope that preserves him and allows him to go on.
Those in despair can sometimes find hope by simply reaching out to those that want to help. A friend, a family member, even a pet. Some find hope by calling up helplines set up by charities, such as The Samaritans here in the UK.
Some prisoners must hope, perhaps beyond all hope, that they will be freed. That they will not die in prison, one way or another. Others accept that the rest of their earthly existence is in fact one that will spent behind bars. So they look elsewhere. They look beyond death, and hope for a better life in eternity.
Collectively, groups of people can find hope too. In a leader, a freedom fighter, a religious figure. Or they simply cling onto the hope that tomorrow will be a better day.
I imagine that many people during the Cuban Missile Crisis must have been scared out of their wits, desperately hoping and praying that Kennedy and Khrushchev would come to an agreement. That they would step down; would see sense.
Further back in history, in 1571 to be precise, Europe was under attack from the Ottoman Empire. The Ottomans had arguably superior, and certainly more numerous forces, particularly when it came to their navy. So when they decided to launch an attack to seize control of the Mediterranean Sea, the picture looked very bleak for Europe. With command of the sea, they would be able to safely land ground troops, attack ports, and instigate mass land invasions. And at the time, Europe was hopelessly divided and being torn apart due to the rise of Protestantism. However, thanks to a number of advantageous turn of events, a cobbled together navy of Spanish and Italian ships managed to ward off the Ottomans in a fierce sea battle that came to be known as the Battle of Lepanto. Before the battle took place, the pope at time, St. Pius V, requested that people earnestly pray the rosary to bring about a victory for Europe, placing his hope in Heaven. And that triumph was so unexpected, that the pope then instituted a feast day to be celebrated on every subsequent 7 October, to commemorate it.
Without hope, we are lost.
Shout out
To Micheal Beale, the current coach/manager of QPR, who is doing a fantastic job, on a tight budget.
Progress report
If I get my laptop back in one piece, then I will be achingly close to commissioning a front cover for my new novella The Gaff. And then it will be ready to go.
I will then crack on with trying to get The Man Who Wore Hats (working title) into some sort of shape.
Take it easy. And thanks for reading.