One of my consistently bad analogies is how I board the subway in the same way a technically skilled soccer player receives a pass. My goal on the subway is to get off the subway as quickly as possible – therefore, I always board the train where I expect the door to be closest to the exit at my destination. This is like a soccer player’s ‘first touch’, the term for how players tap or guide the ball as they receive a pass. A good first touch positions the ball for the fastest transition to the next movement. My analogy comes in how I describe boarding the subway as a technique to best position myself for the next movement – fleeing the subway.
My favorite part of this analogy is how most players with a poor first touch are routinely derided for being unskilled players. I think about this when I watch my fellow passengers board the subway with no thought to how their technique might simplify the future. Surely, a skilled rider would consider the future implications of each movement? The proof of my approach is in how I always stroll unhurried through the subway exits a few paces ahead of a rumbling herd of my fellow passengers, I benefiting from my impeccable ‘first touch’ while everyone behind me stampedes desperately down the platform in a race to fill the frame of the exit gate I’d just vacated.
Occasionally, station architecture prevents my first touch from being enough to win me the race out of the station. This happens frequently at Broadway station in South Boston. Though I am frequently among the first to reach the escalator, my fellow passengers do eventually catch up to me somewhere on the way up and demonstrate their agricultural interpretation of ‘the first touch’ by shoving me aside as they storm up to the street. I suppose this extends my analogy further as it is reminiscent of how soccer players often make up for the lack of a graceful ‘first touch’ with a physical, hard-charging style of play.
A good example of such an incident came last month. I was at my usual place at the head of the Broadway escalator, standing on the right hand side. I could feel the usual rumble of uncultured feet on the escalator behind me as the passengers who foolishly saw no connection between soccer and the subway reached the escalator. And then… BOOM… the first reckless passenger demonstrated his understanding of ‘the first touch’ by slamming into my left shoulder and driving me into the moving handrail of the escalator.
He’ll probably captain us at the next World Cup, I thought, as I regained my balance and gathered myself for the rest of the ride. And what kind of hurry was he in to do THAT, I wondered, as I stepped onto the street at the top of the escalator.
It took just a few moments before I had my answer. A couple of storefronts down from the station is a Subway restaurant (‘restaurant’). When I glanced into the window, I saw my assailant standing in line, breathing heavily from his sprint, undoubtedly about to complain that the Meatball Marinara footlong sandwich cost 20% more now than it did before Southie gentrified. It occurred to me at that moment that on a planet of seven billion people, there was always going to be at least one person who wanted nothing more than to get out of the subway ASAP just to get to a Subway ASAP. I suppose this isn’t very different from how on a planet of seven billion people, there was always going to be at least one person who thought the way he boarded the subway was comparable to how Lionel Messi received passes. We might not appear to have anything in common, I suppose, but at least we're both single-minded about our desire to escape the subway as quickly as possible.
