Always racing to the front row, he is now restless and boiling. The tiered seating can no longer seat him. After every fight, he shoves his way through the crowd and, with a strong fist, he shakes every sweaty hand. A beast with a big smile, he hears their stories, while hiding a deep envy for both the winners and the losers. This man is tired of the sidelines, and is now aiming for the arena.

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; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause.

Who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. – Theodore Roosevelt

Cheers!