Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better
Monday, September 27, 2010
Stop The World Cup! I Want To Get Off!
As I write this, the second semi final match between Germany and Spain has yet to start, so by the time you read this, it'll probably be done. Regardless, a few matters to discuss.
In the paper today I read that there's an octopus of all things that has been predicting the outcome of games being played. The idea is that two flags, with hidden goodies, are lowered into the tank with the octopus. The octopus smells whatever's in the water, heads towards the flag it prefers, and that's the way the winner is picked. Yes, it's odd. Thus far, however, the octopus has predicted German victory again and again.
Until now. This time the octopus went with the Spanish to win. Well, we'll see in the next few hours if the eight legged beastie is right, and if the Dutch will be meeting the Spaniards in the final.
I just want it to be over. I'm not much of a sports fan to start with, but I cannot understand why billions of people around the world gravitate to a low scoring sport where a bunch of guys run around after a ball for ninety minutes (when they're not busy taking dives and acting as if they're injured when they're not). I cannot understand why fans get to killing each other, let alone players, coaches, or officials who have let them down. I cannot understand why national governments are ready to lynch team members or coaches over a disappointing World Cup. Hey! It's just a game! And a damned dull one at that.
At least the end is in sight. Which, of course, means we won't have to be hearing that damned chorus of vuvuzelas over and over again. I'm glad I haven't been watching. Just a few minutes of seeing a game here or there, and hearing that ceaseless buzzing is enough to irritate the ears. I can't imagine how painful it must be to be in a stadium with thousands of these things buzzing all at once.
I've often thought of hell as a place where Bob Dylan is going to be mumbling his way through a folk song for all of eternity, and the damned are forced to listen to it. I might have to amend that now. Instead of Bob Dylan, it's vuvuzelas, countless vuvuzelas, buzzing like angry bees until the end of all time. That's Hell.