Balls have been inflated and fields of dog hair have been dyed a beautiful grass green — the three hundredth edition of the World Cup of football has begun! As expected, the world is watching, cheering on their nations while wishing illness and death to opponents. It’s a truly global event fuelled by patriotism and sportsmanship while shining a light on the giant butts of host country Brazil.
But as the world celebrates, I will not be. I will be ignoring the frenzied event and it may not be for reasons you’d expect.
Much has been made of the disparity between Brazil’s rich and poor and how an event like the World Cup does its best to ignore such enormous issues. I don’t really care about that though, I mean, what country doesn’t have a sprinkle of poor and a dash of rich? Why should one fella having a few more bars of gold than his neighbour/slave ruin my enjoyment of the “beautiful game”? Besides, the tournament should only help to influence poor Brazilian youth to stop going to school to concentrate on football, the only high-paying job they’re likely to get unless they’re willing to sell their genitals to those who collect such things. And do the rich not deserve an event of this magnitude? Would you rather they spend their silver on fresh juices squeezed from the rain forest or betting on dolphin battles?
There’s also been heated discussion on the unethical behaviour of international football’s governing body, FIFA. To me, the controversy has been severely overblown. It’s not like it’s easy babysitting hundreds of severely stupid and entitled athletes whose education is limited to what they saw in their periphery while gazing out the school window at the apple trees that reminded them of little red footballs and/or the round breasts of soccer’s horniest female fans. In my world you let a babysitter run the house as they see fit, especially when the children are spoiled monsters. Also, I wouldn’t want to work for a boss who isn’t afraid to engage in a bit of corruption if it means a stronger bottom line and a corporate culture that screams “don’t fuck with us”. If Steve Jobs had’ve been a tea sippin’ hand-shaker rather than the hot-headed fuck face he was, would we be tappin’ on emails from grandma on a screen no thicker than the gills of a freshwater trout? Not likely.
I can handle the exploitation of the poor and ridiculously corrupt politics and you should too unless you’re a whiny idiot with too many granola bars stuffed into the pocket of your Microsoft Surface tablet case.
I just don’t know enough about football and think hockey is better. It’s just kinda boring, you know? My country isn’t participating nor is the country of my ancestors. What do you expect me to do, cheer for damn Uruguay? I haven’t even tried Uraguayan food. You agree, right? You’ll ignore the final match and come to my DJ set and BBQ bash that I booked last year before I realized there’s a World Cup, eh? Don’t be stupid, it’s a five dollar cover and that includes corn chips and obviously the hottest dance patio around. Bring this flyer and get a free glass of plum wine and a satin oven mitt from Basil’s Bitch Water: