New York
I’m not sure which of the two sights was funnier: hundreds of Brit bargain-hunters huffing and puffing and laden with enormous shopping bags while taking advantage of the shot-to-hell dollar, or the English football heroes huffing and puffing and being sliced up by the national team of a tiny country which didn’t exist 20 years ago. Crossing the ocean in order to shop used to be the privilege of the very rich. Now it’s the overweight and over-tattooed who do the overseas shopping. I have witnessed more dignified scenes in Africa while the Red Cross distributes food to the starving. And as far as football is concerned, there is an old Greek saying that one does not mention the word rope in the house of someone who has been hanged. English football stinks because English players do not understand the difference between brutal play and technical virtuosity. Running like wild men up and down the field and physically lashing out at their opponents cannot match pinpoint passing, skilled, precise, graceful and relaxed play. How do I define English sport in general and football in particular? With one word, choke. Enough said. Just don’t mention the word football in an English household for couple of years or so.
Remaining totally relaxed is the secret of champions. Sure concentration and preparation count for a hell of a lot but, once you’re in there and the bell rings or the whistle blows, it’s the more relaxed one who will win. Floyd Patterson, the youngest boxer ever to win the heavyweight title back in 1955 or so, never mastered it. When he fought Liston he literally froze and was knocked out twice in the first round by Sonny boy, who was to leave this world in Vegas with a needle up his massive arm.
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