Originally Posted by
Odysseus
The cultural and educative excellence of the RWO site is an under-appreciated gem, shielded from the glare of the outside world only, perhaps, by our exceeding modesty and humility. Here we discuss the significance of NAPLAN testing, gently correct one another on matters of modern manners (under what circumstances it is appropriate to dangle a scarf from a car window, for example), engage in discerning discussions of modern music (the musical merits of Sweet Caroline against Up their Cazaly), and discuss the intricacies of irony.
It is in regard to the last that I write. There are four types of irony: verbal, situational, dramatic, and Johnsonian. This last was not named in reference to S. Johnson, �the most distinguished man of letters in English history�, but in reference to another S. Johnson, yet a fellow of somewhat lesser renown � words said, it may be admitted, more in truth than kindness.
Johnsonian irony is like watching a Greek tragedy. One in which a Greek god receives the adulation of those who supplicate his favours, and considers it but his due. Deploying the unfair tactics that only gods who stand beyond morality dare use, he smites an opponent � of course a hero � with a near fatal blow.
The cruel and cowardly intervention secures victory. The vanquished lament. Chaos ensues. The order of the universe is broken down...
Yet what yonder god is this that comes? Chronos � the god Time!
The victory was but a skirmish, and he who delivered it is forced to retire from the next battle merely to observe. And so it is from the stands of the theatre that he sees his team ... defeated.
It turns out that the one whose intervention secured victory is indeed a Greek god � one of those capricious gods whose intervention is as a much a bane (and more) to his own as it is to his opponents.
It is, of course, a common psychological reality that those who inflict harm on the innocent are sometimes intellectually incapable of understanding the breach of morality that their own behaviour represents. Myself, I am a generous fellow, and I am sure that Stevie, even if only dimly through darkened glass, can see that his cheap shot on Kennedy may have stunned his opponent, but it did worse to his friends.
And the Johnsonian irony is this: the more highly Stevie regards his own footballing prowess and the greater his belief that his own unique presence would have got them through to the Big Dance, the more it must strike him � not with an elbow or a head, a hip or a shoulder, yet no less forcefully � that his folly has let down his own.
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