There is no greater misdemeanor of the soul than that of underestimation of others. For surely our worth must stand in the exact relation as those who peer into ourselves and take our measure, and thus stand we at each other like towers, seeing in the slant of those before us our own sad lean as if in a mirror and decrying our weakness as theirs; it is precisely the knowledge of our own shortcomings that so vouch us in the identification of others’. An equitable state is reached, for if we all guilty of projecting our faults outward onto those we meet, and they do so to us as well, the excesses of vanity become achieve, in their very misplacement, a veracity, as two drunks leaning onto each others’ shoulders do hold very much hold one another up.
But one might detect movement around the base of these towers—for not all loom so high as to come into the purlieu of misjudgment—and it is here that the misdemeanor of underestimation becomes a felony perpetrated back upon the self. Indeed, one may never miss the high floors of a Drew Brees, a skyline of talent visible even to those who try to turn away, and it is a truth surely old as sport itself that that which we may never miss will in the end never get by us. It is while we rest our eyes upon the sky-reaching personages, those celebrities of athletic craft who do our attention all consume, that we miss the nameless practitioners of that selfsame craft, who, for their very diminutive presence, sneak right by us. We may not find ourselves capable, at least in the moment, of naming a member of the 49ers, as indeed a Roman general may pride himself on not being able to name any particular barbarian at his gate. But his is the felony of underestimation. From up in his tower, he thinks the anonymity of his opponent a measure of their power, but it is only an estimation of his own. Thus will the 49ers gather at the gates of the second round, known to none, a skyline too low to set off its silhouette against a setting sun, and before we have even noticed them they will be in the endzone, nameless still, but victorious nonetheless.
Henry James’ Pick: San Francisco 49ers
