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We woz robbed
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Friday, June 25, 2004 |
OK actually I never really watch football - even though I live in the north of England where it's practically a bye law. But I've always liked the drama of the big game and can find myself screaming like a banshee at crucial moments (much to the disgust of nearest and dearests), throwing things at the screen (only cushions - I paid for that TV)and even (occasionally) weeping when we lose. "We" for the purposes of this post, is the England team - that brave bunch of hugely overpaid lads who risk their all to delight and diappoint us time after time.
It's weird. In my rational head, I'm with Chomsky on this. I hate those morons who chant and swear and probably bum each other in the toilets whilst touching up their face paint. (no Jojo Chomsky is not a queer basher - he just hates nationalism - yeah well me too - but I also hate latent gay queer bashers like these inbred undereducated scum) But when they play the national anthem and the camera pans over the boys, mumbling their way through the words and looking daft, I wanna go "Aahhh". And when I see little David wander uncertainly to the penalty shot in front of thousands of people and make a complete arse of himself I wanna - well, slap the back of his legs, actually.
Dangerous stuff. So it's probably just as well that a short-sighted (or wilfully blind) ref disallowed poor old Sol's goal and we're out again. All those flags will have to come down from the bedroom windows of every boy in town and the taxi drivers will have to go back to using verbal abuse to show their support for their country. I'll revert to despising nationalism and all forms of tribe and being the sweet, caring pacifist I always was. No, really. It was just a temporary lapse. I'm a poet, me. |
| 1:00 AM
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