Chris Paul, the hope of the nostalgics

Chris Paul is the hope of the nostalgic. A fissure installed inside the Matrix built from banners of extreme numerology. Slowly, at cruising speed, he opens the scroll and presents to the world an analog basketball in the era of social networks.

It’s the library loaded with books against the Wall Street bank. Which side would you like to be on?

So, advance, then, the representative of those who are already combing some gray hair. Of those who can still tell the difference between a point guard and a compulsive shooting guard. Emotion hunters who understand that sport is different from any other art because of what it transmits. For what it mobilizes.

That is the representation of Paul to the world. The pleasure of seeing that those who take the time they need without being pushed around, can also obtain substantial triumphs. That the beauty of the different can break the pattern of mass production. The feeling that there is still room for those who read texts to the end. Those who are able to pass the one-minute barrier without ranting. Those who care little or nothing about followers and compulsive interactions. Those who know what to do when the internet goes down. Those who can make time, without excuses, to play with their children without screens in between.

Chris Paul is the icon that takes us to places that seemed forgotten. To visit pantheons of extinct sensations. To contradict the prevailing logic. He tells us, in every slow-moving offense, that there is room for those who wait without despairing. For those who listen without looking at the clock, those who put off whatever it takes to have that pending coffee, those who do not succumb to the temptation to buy whatever is put in front of them in order to belong. Those who dodge the algorithms of what should be. Great people, but really great, know that happiness is in the little things.

Maybe it’s not enough to win the championship. Maybe Phoenix Suns, with their harmonically executed basketball, don’t have what it takes to win the big prize. Or maybe they do. What I am sure of is that we, those of us who enjoy this utopian idea of form and substance, drawn from other times, will do everything in the world to make the miracle happen. So that it can be achieved, so that we can rub shoulders with whoever we have next to us and tell them: Do you see that it can be done? Do you realize that things can be achieved in a different way? To stop to contemplate the landscape. To look back once again to embrace the present in a different way.

The struggle against preconceptions, dogmas and extreme utilitarianism is an everyday battle.

The unpredictable, the marvelous, the extraordinary, is always about to happen.

Here we go.