The Beautiful Game

I'm trying to get back into the habit of maintaining a semi-regular blog although it's not a sure bet as I have a hard time remembering tasks that aren't staring me in the face. I have been gathering up the resolve to sit down in front of this computer and write for some time now but I'm always fighting off the temptation of another external stimulus, in the case of this month, it's World Cup Soccer, which I have been engrossed in.
The game is aptly named the 'beautiful game' -- it has symmetry, grace, a mesmerizing flow and artistry, not to mention strategy. I count myself as a recent convert to the ranks of World Cup soccer enthusiasts even though my familiarity with the game itself reaches back to my childhood where I played it (although I was not much of a competitor). It's a game that hasn't caught on in North America because winning is almost secondary to skill -- and because victory itself is hard-fought and of such a low-margin that it doesn't appeal to the North American impatience with process. Soccer, (or Football) is also, hands-down, the world's game, and it brings nations together to revel in their tribalism for a brief-period every four years.
I've heard the predictable refrain that international competitions like this, are divisive and manifest crass expressions of nationalism. Some of this may be true, but who can deny the outcome of a match won fairly between two talented opponents? In the end, people are brought together by the love of a well-played spectacle.
In this post-feminist age, men are being culturally emasculated. The hunter-instinct is being legislated out of existence. In light of this, team sports serve as the last outpost of the warrior code where the ancient ritual that exults male prowess is provided a safe venue.
Once again, the critics of the male domain of team sports are completely wrong. Our biological evolution has not yet caught up with the social and political strides that have been made in the last four decades, although the purging of instinct through social engineering is well underway. In the absence of noble masculine virtues such as honour and gentlemanly conduct, a troubling trend has been developing in the western world aided by young men who are growing up to embrace thuggish, idiotic role models in the vacuum of traditional male role models. I believe we're looming over the cliff of our social evolution in which the human progress is in direct tension with the confusion and decadence that it engenders -- and at times, the latter appears to be tipping the scales. This is very often confirmed when I am subjected to the brute thumping and chanting of rap music, which is defended by liberals as somehow a legitimate "cultural" expression right up there with Mozart or Miles Davis. Sports offers a constructive 'directing' of our collective aggression and that's not going to change anytime soon.
The nature of masculinity in the west, especially in the younger age group, appears to be morphing into two directions -- it's either cowardly effete or psychotically macho, and the shades of grey in between seem more inconsequential. Team sports as become hijacked with the pressures of the marketplace and an ego-driven, win-at-all-costs mentality has replaced the quaint civilizing values of character-building and teamwork. Despite this, a well-played World Cup soccer match is a far less-destructive means of channeling our testosterone than UFC fighting which is merely a barbaric, Road-warrior-like grotesquerie. Soccer is about the collective and the individual supporting each other in the interest of an advantageous outcome, like components of a machine working in unison, it is simple in it's application and rules and only requires minimal investment vis-a-vis equipment. A third-world village has a greater chance of producing the next Pele than it does the next Wimbledon champion, and it's mere accessibility alone is testament to the sport's enduring appeal.
The World Cup is universal because developing countries have as equal an opportunity to shine in the limelight every four years as their richer counterparts. Unfortunately, the results of the matches often underscore the economic disparity of the world as the poor African countries competing in the tournament, rarely stand a chance against the wealthier European nations. How does one explain the perennial success of the South Americans? It's an obsession verging on religion down there and the economic and political instability in South America, I'm willing to bargain, is still relatively less than in sub-saharan Africa. Economics does have alot to do with sports and obviously in a country like Nigeria or Cote d'Ivoire, there are simply fewer resources available for promoting and nurturing football talent compared to places like Europe or Brazil for that matter.
I had been cheering for the African nations all the way and was disappointed that Ghana, the last remaining African side in the tournament, was eliminated by a pesky Uruguay. A Ghana win, psychologically, would have been a substantial boost to pan-African morale and on this level, the game is epic -- it becomes a symbol of an entire continent's pride.
In actuality, I'm not really attached to any outcome in this tournament because in reality, no matter who wins the World Cup, it's an opportunity to feast on dazzling skills and breathtaking drama. And, I can't help but think that a fraction of Canada will win the World Cup. There are hyphenated-Canadians from every continent flying the flags of their countries of origin and whoever the two teams are in the final match, there will be a roar of celebration by one ethnic group in one neighbourhood and the moans of defeat in another.
When all is said and done, it's about watching the very highest-level competitors trying to out-think and out-run each other, this is the evolutionary contest at its very finest.

Futility Factor

This blog has seen a long drought of neglect, mostly due to my energies being consumed by the demands of the workaday existence. I've settled into a bit of a routine that has carried me along for the last few months now and so much of my mental capacity is used up teaching, (as anyone who's ever taught before knows) that finding the motivation and discipline to maintain a blog is not easy to summon. Often I just want to find a comfortable horizontal position when the demands of my workday are complete, and stay there. I would be lying if I said I didn't have time for this however. There are a myriad of reasons why someone decides to continue or discontinue their blogging habits, and my situation is no different. There's the whole "blogging is futile" factor. When I stop to consider how massively saturated the blogosphere is, with a forum for every obscure fetish or extremist political view, I get that sinking feeling that my meagre contribution is just another forgettable blip in an ocean of forgettable blips. Why does anyone blog then? Does it give us that empowering feeling that we are candidly sharing our thoughts with a hidden audience out there in cyberland and thereby influencing change on a mass scale? Nobody can be so naive as to believe that this has the power to do much of anything other than provide an instant profile of recognition for said blogger. It's another filtering device for our egoes, one that presumes that people out there are going to take precious time out of their lives to read the self-conscious pontificating of amateur social-scientists. If futility factor weighs in heavily to discourage me from maintaining a blog then that can be used to justify avoidance of other endeavours, like making music or art or even housecleaning. If the chances of someone stopping to appreciate it or even acknowledge it are miniscule, then why bother with the whole exercise? It becomes merely another vehicle for self-indulgence in our culture -- as if we need any more, and it implies that the blog author is not someone who is doing something out there in the world of consequence like all the busy and productive people who don't have time to read blogs.
So why do I keep (or sporadically keep) a blog going? It's because, even though I know that it may not be read by many, it is a chance for me to distill and refine my views and because standing on the street corner and unleashing my disgust through a megaphone would get me arrested.