Is it just me, or are we living increasingly more in the
land of narrative?
I’m not against narrative: what writer could be? But there
is something about the intersection of sports and narrative that I don’t get.
If you don’t know, Mónica or Monica Puig succeeded in
getting a tennis ball over the net fractionally more often than her opponent.
She went on to win a gold medal, the first gold medal by a player representing
Puerto Rico. That’s a crucial difference: Gigi Fernández,
who won two gold medals in women’s doubles tennis, was born and raised in
Puerto Rico, but represented the United States.
“So tell me about that again,” I asked Mr. Fernández—no
relation to Gigi, but definitely related to me (he’s my husband).
“Well, she got some flak at the time, but she said she
wanted to represent Puerto Rico, but there was no one for her to partner with…”
Is that true?
I have no idea.
OK—back to Mónica / Monica. No one can deny her personal triumph,
and no one can deny that tennis is a superbly difficult game. That she was not
expected to win, and that she did, is a gripping story. And even I, as the game
was playing out, and Mr. Fernández was cooking dinner, guiltily snuck onto
ESPN—quite a novel experience—to check in on how things were going for Monica.
Or Mónica….
Then dinner was served, and one does not, in Mr. Fernández’s
house, engage with electronics at table. Fortunately, though, there were
people engaged with electronics, since the cigar bar across the road had both
the doors open and the game on the large screen. So every time Fernández
scored, the street erupted. Sometime just before the end of dinner, the crescendo
peaked, and it became clear—the crowd outside was going crazy.
“Well, either Monica won, or Dayanara won the Miss
Universe contest again,” I said to Mr. Fernández. Dayanara Torres was the Miss
Universe of 1993, and her win was announced by similar street fanfare.
So I checked in, and sure enough, Monica Puig was there ,
standing on the center and highest dais; the Puerto Rican flag was rising
higher than the two others, La Borinquena was playing. And then Monica Puig was tweeting. Well,
after getting the medal, of course. And what was she tweeting?
“We did it, Puerto Rico,” is a poor translation. “We
achieved it,” is literal but equally
poor. So maybe it’s best to say that Monica was saying, “this is Puerto
Rico’s win.”
This is the gracious thing to say. It is also emotionally
true, since Puerto Ricans, whether living on the island or living elsewhere,
feel an amazing connectedness to home.
But is it true in any real sense? Did everybody on the
island take turns driving Monica to her tennis lessons? Work a second job to
get her the best coach? Hold her hand when it was needed, and tell her to keep
her dream alive? Or were we smoking cigars and watching her win, and
celebrating our victory?
To some degree, any individual achievement in any endeavor
belongs to the community which fosters that achievement. A Puerto Rican singing
at the Metropolitan Opera—Ana Martínez—was raised on the island, studied for a
time on the island, and then went off to the Boston Conservatory and Juilliard.
But still, Puerto Rico has some claim to her. But what about Monica Puig?
Although
the 22-year-old moved to Miami as a baby, has spent virtually all of her life
living and training in South Florida, and sheepishly admitted she doesn’t know
the words to the Puerto Rican anthem, she was overwhelmed with Puerto Rican
pride during and after the match. She said she considers herself a true
“Boricua” (Puerto Rican) and was energized by the many Puerto Rican fans in the
stands who chanted “Si se puede!” (yes you can) throughout the match.
She says more:
I
still have family in Puerto Rico. It’s my favorite place to go when I just want
to go to the beach and be with family. That island has given me so much love
and support my whole career. I just owe this one to them.”
I totally believe her. But take note:
she comes to the beach, she visits her family, and
“that” island has given her so much
support….
What isn’t
Monica experiencing? Well, she isn’t waiting for her tax refund, which the
local paper has just announced isn’t coming any time soon. She wasn’t
the victim of a murder on a court in a community center at 8:50 PM in the small town of Las
Piedras. But there is good news, according to today’s paper: the medical
evacuation by helicopter service, which had stopped providing service
when the government stopped providing funds, is now up and running again!
I have nothing
but praise for Monica Puig. I admire her fidelity to her roots, I applaud her
huge personal achievements, I salute her grace in thanking Puerto Rico.
So what’s my
problem?
There are
things—many things—that Puerto Rico can be proud of. Consider the fact that the
students of the engineering school of the University of Puerto Rico-Mayagüez
routinely win first place in national and international competitions. In fact,
the school is ranked number four nationwide.
So when a
student or graduate of the university goes on to work for Boeing as a senior engineer
responsible for “all
electrical wire design, integration and equipment installations on the 747 and
767 programs, including the new 747-8 and the 767 Refueling Tanker
Programs”—well, we can be proud. We built and maintained that university,
recruited the faculty, nurtured the talent. And while it may not be an Olympic
gold medal, well, which would you prefer, as you step onto a 747?
Am I
being a killjoy? What’s wrong, after a decade of horrendous news in Puerto
Rico, with feeling—at long last—a little pride? Joy, at seeing a hometown girl
make the gold?
We live
by narrative. We tell ourselves stories about who we are, who they are,
what our world is. And the truer those stories are, the better we get on with
our lives.
I
wouldn’t be writing this if it were just Monica Puig. But while researching
this, I found out that Gigi Fernández is the cousin of José Ferrer,
the famous actor, and where was his fame achieved? Oh, and he went to
Princeton, where he wrote a thesis on French Naturalism, and was a member of
the Princeton Triangle Club. He died in Coral Gables, Florida, but he did
donate his Academy Award to the University of Puerto Rico. Will it soften the
blow if Wikipedia tells you, not I:
The award was stolen after being misplaced during the
remodeling of the university's theater.
Ana
Martínez—born and raised in Puerto Rico, graduated from Juilliard—stepped in at
the last minute to replace an ailing soprano in Madame Butterfly. The Observer
called it “a triumph.”
And now
Monica Puig? Or remember all that business of Mónica / Monica Puig? Isn’t it
fairer to say that this island produces great talent—Ferrer, Fernández,
Martínez, Puig? And that they go off, leave, and make their successes
elsewhere?
And if
that were the narrative we embraced, we would have to look at ourselves, and
wonder what we could do to have…
…our very
best stay at home.
