Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Addendum: What he said

This is important. Jim has tapped the vein a little bit here and I felt I should add to his thoughts.

Excellent. People need to know that they shouldn't let themselves be held down by this crap and these spinsters. The faux olive branch this puppet offers, to say that nevertheless, this incident will not affect Sino-British friendship, is so blatantly see through. Much in the same way it's all too easy to reach out and hit that snooze button at 6:00 a.m., and it's the same reason that alarm should be set prior to burning down the city the night before. In a nutshell, it's what they want. 

And, quite frankly my dear Jiabao, I don't believe you. Not when your coffers are being stuffed with the over-flowing debts of those to whom you speak.

They say the man 'whistled in his t-shirt." ... (do yourself a favour and read that second article that Jim links to down below, the comments are right out of Sir Alex Jintao's playbook, I can almost feel the match officials cowering in a feeble attempt to display their compliance with The State)

I say good for him, good for that long-haired protestor from the continent with a non-English speaking accent. Go on, son! What would you have him do? Come around to your way of thinking. Say, oh ok, I've got it now, your way of life is the true path. Your gold tongue answers the riddles I've been unable to decipher. You're right, I should have seen it all along. Arsenal are shite, Liverpool aren't worth a damn thing, Villa never stood a chance and no one else is capable of putting on a display that encourages or inspires a shred of imagination - be they Fulham, Newcastle or Stoke City. United are the light. I'll go out and buy the shiny new kit right now and memorize 10 new songs to hurl in the faces of all those who dissent.


A world without dissent is a world where people have stopped sticking up for themselves. Where they've stopped daydreaming about Gourcuff, stopped endless shouting Toulalan simply because it's so damn fun to say, stopped singing the praises of the long since departed Louis Garcia and his reported lust for sangria, stopped wistfully picturing little Cesc
(allegedly) winging a slice of pizza at Sir Alex Jintao, stopped honoring Patrick Vieria's indelible smile as he wound up Roy Keane in The Highbury tunnel, stopped pretending the ice cubes in their double tall vodka tonic are performing Zidane's La Roulette, stopped celebrating the World Cup with 15 hour dance parties or even stopped licking their chops at Aston Villa's April 9 visit to that gulag they call Old Trafford. 

Was that a song I just heard or the rattle of a tin cup being run across a slate of bars in a cell that stifles the very core of our imagination?

No comments: