It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming...
Remember Mark Walhberg's friend in Fear that was sitting in the gravel scratching his head with a pistol and the most curious-drug induced "what the fuck is going on here" look? Yeah, there.
Comment