The Wicker Fan
“Why would I want to watch football? If I wanted to see incoherent prima-donnas sweating in full public view, I would simply watch Rob Reiner’s latest anti-smoking speech. Get a life, you pathetic mound of anal discharge.” If you have ever spoken to somebody with an apparent disdain for the footballing world, chances are that you have heard at least a variant of these words in justification for their intense dislike for the sport. In total fairness, freedom of opinion should be valued in modern society. Anyone can have the free and equal right to like and dislike whatever they see fit. Such political leeway comes under question, however, every couple of years. Every two years, the summer is the time of mindless flag-waving and the influx of blind patriotism in everyday British life. The Union Jack stands tall and proud, everyone suddenly feels the need to learn the words of the national anthem and minorities are callously beaten up on street corners (they do say that every cloud has a silver lining). The perpetrator? Football, of course.
Apparently, the same men, women and children who enjoy venting their adverse feelings towards the football culture are the first to jump on the unsteady England bandwagon when the World Cup or European Football Championship is taking place. While anti-sporting folk with the slightest inkling of common sense continue their regular lifestyles unabated, the same cannot, unfortunately, be said across the board. Thousands upon thousands of individuals emerge from their normal day-to-day schedule of writing epic poetry and snorting cocaine out of a homeless man’s rectal crevice and join in with the patriotic jingoism that would not have looked out of place in the heady days of the British Empire. After all, the likes of Beckham, Owen and Rooney have been their idols for years and will finally lead the nation to international glory. “If England don’t win”, such World Cup fans declare, “I’ll just die.” If life was really that simple, the deaths of thousands of adolescent girls might actually alleviate concerns that the average English IQ is at a sub-standard level.
When the long-awaited sporting showpiece finally arrives, the reactions of the public are all too predictable. As the tournament commences, and the England team manages to struggle past mighty nations such as Angola and Tunisia, cries of “Yes! We stuffed ‘em! Come on England!” ring through the streets. Quite what these people actually contributed to the victory remains a mystery. If the “loyal” supporters really did have such a strong impact upon the team’s fortunes, perhaps a more accurate translation of such jubilant sentiments would be “Ha! That’ll teach you to live in a Third World Country! White power!” On the off-chance that England might be pulverised by a developed Western country, however, the situation is somewhat different. A leisurely bout of good, old-fashioned rioting is followed by disgruntled supporters murmuring that they knew England would never win, or that this year’s scapegoat should be chemically castrated for having the audacity to have his penalty saved by the opposing goalkeeper. And so the circle begins again.
The bandwagon phenomenum is not, however, restricted to football. For two weeks every year, the general public remembers that a sport known as tennis exists, conveniently in time to indulge in some hard-hitting action at Wimbledon. Nobody has experienced the public fervour, that transforms dramatically into hatred and resentment, than English sport’s favourite son, Tim Henman. With “Tiger Tim” widely expected to announce his professional retirement from the game in the coming week, nothing would give me more pleasure than for him to give his “fans”, as well as the ever-supportive media, a well-earned middle-finger salute. Seducing each and every one of their wives and girlfriends would simply add the finishing touches to Henman’s conquest for revenge against a group of people who have torn away at every last shred of his credibility. Maybe a few chants of “Come on Tim!” at the press conference will be enough to finally make the Tiger snap and devour his oppressors. Come on Tim!
Such analysis of this set of circumstances seen in Britain on such a regular basis begs the question of what can be done in order to restore the long-forgotten sense of national normality. Perhaps the government could urge the public to develop a greater interest in the world of American sports, in which the mid-game fights gather much more prestige than the issue of which team wins. Combat sports, such as boxing and mixed martial arts may also be the answer, as in-ring combatants are known to be completely indifferent to the opinions of their fans. There may be no better option, however, than to bribe the English football team to intentionally fail to qualify for the international tournaments. After all, money and personal gain means significantly more to our sporting icons that honour or sportsmanship ever could. Moreover, if the authorities found out about such developments, the most probable outcome would be that England are prohibited from entering any future competitions for a lengthy period of time. All in all, a win-win situation. And when the faecal matter makes direct contact with the proverbial fan, those who were wise enough to stay out of footballing scene can leave with the delightful sense of self-satisfaction that truly makes our country great.
Popularity: 6% [?]
Discussion Area - Leave a Comment