Confrontation: no-one likes it, but it haunts us.
It’s always there, in the shadows, ready to pounce. It’s there when an argument about armrest ownership on the tube threatens to escalate. It’s there when the self-checkout machine insists there is an unexpected item in the bagging area. Confrontation even lurks in your home, licking its lips when you’re starting to get a tad peeved at the complete lack of clean teaspoons.
Rangers striker Martyn Waghorn, that bastion of truth and honour, was called “sh*te” in the street by a schoolboy and yes, confrontation was there, rubbing its hands in delight.
Waghorn was faced with a question we’re all subjected to at one time or another in life, when confrontation comes knocking: fight or flight?
He chose the former, and in doing so took it upon himself to represent all of us: all of the muted eye-rollers and the annoyed tutters; all of the quietly-disgusted head shakers and silent death-starers.
He represented those of us who’d rather not cause a fuss, because who needs that hassle. Martyn Waghorn stood up for all of us, for all that is just and noble. And…
Well, he kind of got mugged off a little bit. He storms up to his young tormentor, fish and chips in one hand, righteous indignation in the other, and asked the boy to repeat his slur to his face. And the youngster obliged. Oh.
That wasn’t quite how I thought it would go down: I was expecting a big old ruck to break out and Waghorn to teach this young naysayer a lesson, perhaps using his battered cod as a blunt instrument and curry sauce as a hot oil substitute. Life doesn’t always work out like that. But, despite the slightly embarassing outcome, I’m proud of you, Martyn. We’re all proud of you.
Martyn Waghorn: we, the silent, slightly ticked off majority, salute you.