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June 27, 2004 I watched the football last night. Well- not all of it. The last twenty minutes or so. And, although I have no interest at all in football, I found it very exciting. It was end to end stuff, with Portugal attacking one moment and England the next. When the whistle went it was a draw, so that meant the game went to extra time- and then a penalty shootout. England lost. It was a national disaster. The tv screen was full of England fans staring emptily into space, some were weeping. One man had his face buried in his hands. There were shots of England fans leaving the stadium, heads down, flags of St George trailing in the Portuguese dust. The tv experts were falling over themselves to find excuses. It was too hot for our boys. The penalty spot was in a dreadful state. The referee must have been blind for disallowing Sol Campbell’s goal. Hung be the heavens in black. This morning I was expecting every radio station to be playing solemn music. Hang on a minute here. It was as hot for the other team as it was for us. They used the same penalty spot as us, and if a Portuguese goal had been disallowed, we would have greeted the ref’s decision as a superb example of fair play. The bald truth is this- we are lousy losers. Worse than that, we are lousy losers in game that doesn’t matter. Football is not important. It is a...game...an entertainment, whose importance does not last beyond the final whistle. Nobody died. > Well actually, they did. I got an email last night from a friend of mine. ”Just to let you know, ”he said, “My old mum died a couple of hours ago, so I won’t be in touch for a while.” I could imagine what he was feeling like. He lives abroad- and he was thinking about the long journey he had to make, and his old father, and the dragging sadness which lay ahead of him. He would weep. But he would be weeping for something worthwhile. Grief is made up of many strands. It is a way of showing love and respect for the one who has died; it is like a spring of cold water, welling up inside you, that hurts as it cleanses. In grief there is an ending and a beginning. The tears shed by England football fans are nothing more than emotional incontinence- a mawkish sentimentality based on beer and bravado. Their emotion is as genuine as a replica shirt, as honest as a professional foul. Their heroes were businessmen whose only problem is spending the tens of thousands of pounds they are paid every week. I think that we need to re-adjust the way we look at things. Mums matter. Football doesn’t. ------------ About the author: Ian Stuart can be contacted at: ianstuart_99@yahoo.co.uk Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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