On the Long Run, and a Russian Fable
                              [by Sha'Tara]

I thought that today I'd take on a longer than usual foot run through whatever this area has to offer.  So I ran through the park out back, west through the Skway reservation, up to and along the River on an old break water, then through some bush, back to open fields and on to a new causeway built to accommodate heavy truck traffic as the reserve's aggregate business expands.  From there, back to running along the side of regular roads and streets, then home again.  One hour and twenty minutes, no clear idea how many miles that was, but it was good. 

As I ran through the reserve I passed a fenced yard full of rather nasty dogs.  I guess it's a dog-caring or sitting place.  Anyway, these dogs came rushing to the chain-linked fence, snarling and barking, knowing they couldn't get at me.  You'll think, well, they're just dogs, how would they know?  Oh but they do know, they just choose to go through the motions anyway.  And that got me to thinking about people and how much like those dogs they are.

Take organized sports.  Millions of people go to great lengths to buy tickets to games, especially at play off time.  Now see this:  A bunch of people sitting on benches behind a fence, then some sporty types in colored uniforms skate onto the ice if it's hockey, or run out onto a field if it's football or baseball.  Once the "game" begins the bench sitters clap, scream, yell, holler, curse, jump up and down… just like those pathetic dogs behind the fence I ran by.  They know they can't touch the uniformed types playing their games, but can't help themselves either.  Are they participating in the game?  Do the "players" skate faster, or run faster or score more often because of all the noise? Did the dogs make me run faster?  What if it did?  What if they had? What's the point?

Reminds me of a story, an old Russian fable, if memory serves.  It goes like this: 

Once upon a time there was a woodcutter who worked very hard to feed his family.  But no matter how many trees he felled, or how much wood he brought to market, there was never enough money to feed his family.  His children wore rags and went hungry.  In winter cold and summer heat, freezing his hands or bitten by flies and mosquitoes, the woodcutter trudged out of the forest dragging a sleigh or a cart to haul his fire wood back to the town to sell.

One day in late spring when the weather was warm, dry and not too hot, a little man showed up as the woodcutter prepared to fall his first tree of the day.  The little man introduced himself and proposed to the woodcutter that they should team up and together they would cut twice as much wood.  Too tired to argue, the woodcutter agreed and fell to with his axe.  The little man jumped on a stump and began to clap his hands, stomping and dancing, singing songs of the land and increasing the tempo as he did so.  Involuntarily, the woodcutter increased the speed of his axe and sure enough, at the end of the day he had cut and piled twice as much wood as usual.  He loaded it up and with great difficulty, hauled his cart back to the town.  The little man jumped up on the wood and cheered the woodcutter all the way to the market.

The woodcutter sold his wood for 40 rubles and the little man demanded half but the woodcutter refused.  "You did nothing but grunt, clap your hands and sing and dance!" he said.  The little man ran down the street yelling, "Thief, thief!" pointing at the woodcutter.  He had the woodcutter arrested and the next morning they went to court.

The judge listened intently to the story as told by both, the woodcutter, who now sat in the front with his wife and 3 children, and the little man who sat in the dock to tell his side of it.  The judge leaned back in his chair and said, "Bailiff, bring me an empty metal milking bucket and place it in front of my bench."  The bucket in place, the judge then said to the bailiff: "Take the 40 rubles and make two piles of 20 each."  The bailiff did so.  Then the judge said, "Now bailiff, I want you to take each coin and drop it in the bucket so it makes a loud, ringing noise."  So the bailiff proceeded to drop each coin, one by one, in the bucket.  As the coins fell, the woodcutter hung his head with despair but the little man in the dock held his high and his eyes glittered with anticipation as 20 coins were dropped in the bucket: he had won his case and at least half the coins would be his.  The bailiff stopped, but the judge said, "Continue with the next pile, and make sure that when you drop the very last coin, it rings loud and clear so everyone in the courtroom can hear it."  Soon all the coins lay on the bottom of the milking bucket.

The judge turned to the little man and said, "Did you hear each coin drop in the bucket?"  "Oh yes you honor, I did!"  "Did you hear that very last one loud and clear?"  "Yes I certainly did, your honor, thank you."

"Very well,"  said the judge, "Then you have received your payment.  Noise for noise.  Bailiff, gather the coins and give every one of them to the woodcutter who earned them."

There's a lesson here, not for the dogs in the pen on the reserve this morning, but for "fans" as they are called.  They get "paid" exactly what they deserve.  On the long run, they not only get nothing for their "efforts" but in today's utter madness, they are charged for not participating and more often than not, for watching their favorite team lose.  That's called organized entertainment and in my opinion, it doesn't get any stupider than that.