Upon reading the title, many adjectives probably came to mind about the pillock who penned it. Killjoy, traitor, and friendless all probably come to mind, but hear me out. Yes, I hate the world cup, but it’s not for any moral objections or my lack of affection for the beautiful game.
On Monday, I found myself walking past several pubs all packed to the rafters at 1pm for England’s first game and I simply felt a strong feeling of annoyance. What possessed these people to get inebriated in the middle of the day to watch England so predictably thump Iran in the heat of the Qatari sun? It seems to me that watching national football is just a sorry excuse to whip yourself up into a booze-soaked frenzy in the name of patriotism. Then, the dregs of society, the types you forgot even existed, come out of the woodwork. Unable to articulate their misery and feelings of betrayal at England’s inevitable loss, they decide to be racist instead.
In short, national football conjures up the laziest and ugliest kinds of nationalism. So, for God’s sake, put the drink down, stop pretending you know how England could have scored that last opportunity and go home.
Image “World cup England” by @Doug88888 is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.