Imagine that Herbert von Karajan, once the most famous conductor in the world, once conducted with a baton in the village orchestra of Oberentfelden. And Hansueli, the third trumpeter and at the same time the cashier at MG Oberentfelden, would have made a remark to the Maestro.
Or imagine that Paul Bocuse, the best chef of the 20th century, swung his spoon at Schwanen in Entlebuch. And a sophomore teacher would tell the maestro that his foie gras was too salty.
Or imagine Mrs. Meyer from the Zurich Oberland, who always knits warm and colorful winter socks for her grandchildren at Christmas. And for that reason, I feel called to tell Giorgio Armani or Donatella Versace about the latest fashion trends next spring.
Or how about AC/DC’s Francine Geordie Angus Young want to explain how to make an awesome hard rock track.
Mario Balotelli now feels like other greats in his field. Once one of the greatest talents in world football. In his perception as a development worker, he sank to the Swiss Mickey Mouse League. To show the Helvetian wooden legs and the booming provincial footballers the beauty of the game.
In his mind, opponents would have to distance themselves every time he touched the ball and click their tongues admiringly. And the judges and leaders of the league would have to carry him on a stretcher from the penalty area to the penalty area. So that he does not waste energy between his tricks with tiring and exhausting long-distance runs.
Super Mario has been trying to make things look casual for weeks now. Like 50 percent of his potential is enough to take Sion to the title. “Look how easily I surpass you.” He wants to scream this conviction with his body language with every move he makes towards the stands. And he’d like to whisper to his opponents all the time, “I’ll push you low-paid small traders ten tunnels a game if I want to.”
But it’s not so easy. Now the unfinished wonder feels misunderstood again. He is trampled underfoot. They reproach him, give good advice, clip his wings. An insult to majesty that pisses him off. “Mafia!” he shouts. And he will return home to his mansion during the next quarantine and look at the video of his exploits of the past days. And think: these ignorant Swiss do not deserve me at all.
Ah, Mario. Life doesn’t get any easier than that. Your opponents are not standing on your feet. But you yourself, you are further on the ego’s fatal journey into no man’s land. And ends with a faint. It’s a pity.