Archive for September 2009
Imagine literally watching paint dry. Sitting there for, to pluck a figure out of the air, say 90 minutes, and just staring at it while someone shouted out regular updates about the progress of the paint and people occasionally clapped and cheered, at the paint.
You could have a beer or two to make it all a bit easier but, when it boils down to it, you’re still essentially just sat there watching paint dry.
How about if I said to you that this was extra special paint because it was super duper British paint and therefore you should really get into it. Pride for your country and all that.
I’d imagine you might reply with something along the lines of “the fact that it’s British paint makes no odds to me, I’m still watching paint dry. And quite frankly, this analogy’s gone on far too long. Get to the point sunshine.”
And here it is (the point, that is): to me, asking me to watch football or express any interest in it whatsoever, is the same as me asking you to sit and watch paint dry. And guess what? I couldn’t care less if it’s England playing. Just as paint drying is still paint drying, wherever the hell it happens to come from.
I’m not particularly patriotic at the best of times so the thought of loads of people shouting and clapping at a television screen, or even at real life men running around a pitch, just puts me off even more.
How exactly a group of fit fellas in shorts can inspire a sense of national pride in some fat knacker whose only form of exercise is lifting cans of Stella into his pie hole and scratching his balls, I do not know. You just happen to have been born in the same country. By chance. That’s all. It means nothing. If some other people that were born in the same country as you happen to be good at kicking an old pig’s bladder around, well what does that say about you? I’ll tell you shall I? Nothing.
That, my friends. Is why I do not give a tiny rat’s ass about football. And no, NOT EVEN IF IT’S ENGLAND.
I thank you, and good day.