Is there anything worse than listening to those hucksters in South Africa going bananas over the ugly game called football? Modern society is dominated by emotion and propaganda, not to mention profit, and when all three are combined what we get is the World Cup. Technicolor pictures of fat men and women jumping up and down while blowing into a contraption called a vuvuzela dominate the front pages, as if an order had come from on high to feature the most boorish and the fattest cheering for the most foul-mouthed and overpaid.
Posturing peacocks spouting gibberish go on ad nauseam about the brilliance of holding the cup in South Africa, a once wonderful country whose people will revert to murdering white farmers and each other the moment the hucksters move out. Papa Hemingway said that one goes broke slowly, then suddenly. The same goes for culture. It started in the Sixties, whiteness becoming a bad thing, and it’s been downhill ever since. All those who stand in the way of political correctness and Third World immigration are in the firing line, with special protection for racial minorities, alternative lifestyles, feminists and whatever else the Left is about nowadays being paramount.
I must admit I snuck a look. I’ve never liked the game, although I was captain of my school team in my senior year, and goalkeeper to boot. So I felt badly for the England goalie, but the new ball is playing tricks. (Fifa and Adidas change it every four years in order to make more moolah.) I am fascinated by that swollen-nosed, non-stop f-worder Wayne Rooney. He sure can play, but he is to vulgarity and crudeness what Hogarth was to squalor.
Magazine articles are subscriber-only. Get your first 3 months for just $5.
SUBSCRIBE TODAY- Free delivery of the magazine
- Unlimited website and app access
- Subscriber-only newsletters
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in