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Peter Reynolds

The life and times of Peter Reynolds

Posts Tagged ‘Invictus

Now I Understand Why I Hate English Football

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Whinging, Whining Loser

I’ve hated football for 20 years or more now.  With the World Cup I’ve finally come to understand why.  English football is rubbish.  It’s been corrupted and destroyed by an incurable cancer of money and venality.  English football players are overpaid ponces, whores and playthings for foreign potentates.  They cannot play the game anymore.  They stand around worried that they’ll make a mistake, that they’ll bruise their poor little knees, fracture some obscure little bone in their foot or that their orange-painted slag will run off with their best mate while they’re training.   They seem much more concerned about getting their name in the newspaper than on the scoresheet.

I do remember a rare glimpse of sanity in this crazy world when a year or so ago the great Bobby Charlton apologised for the £80 million pound transfer fee for Ronaldo and described it as “vulgar”.  He had that absolutely right.  Screaming and curling into the top corner from 40 yards in the last minute of extra time right.

Talent. Honour. Pride.

I’ve just watched the most riveting, scintillating, magical game of football between Spain and Germany.  It reminds me how much I used to love the game and how much I and other British sports lovers are losing out.  It was a joy.  I saw beauty there in the poetic movement and interplay.  There is nothing beautiful about the English game.

In 1970-71, when I was 13, I was lucky enough to attend every home game at Highbury stadium.

My Hero

Arsenal won the double that year and Bob Wilson was my hero.  I played in goal too and even today I still treasure that special camaraderie between goalkeepers.  Even as I’ve lost interest in the game I’ve still retained that love hate relationship with the most important position on the pitch.  I’ve been angered and bemused once again at the inane remarks of commentators.  Only occasionally do they compliment a goalie or even understand what it involves .  Usually it’s either a “blunder” or an “easy save” or  “straight at him”.   Don’t they realise that it was “straight at him” because he was in the right place to begin with.  There’s no such thing as an easy save.  Bob Wilson used to have a reputation as an “unspectacular” goalie – because he was almost always there before the ball arrived!  There are no excuses when you’re a goalkeeper.

There isn’t any passion in the English game anymore.  I don’t think they know what it is.  Passion for that bunch of losers is what you get in a lap dancing bar – innit bruv?   There’s very little pride either.   Even at its very best football can never compete with rugby as a real sport so when the BBC had the audacity to hijack Invictus and try to apply some of it’s wonderful, uplifting qualities to the English football team – well, I was just disgusted.

The Spain Germany game was wonderful and I expect the final will be too.  The Spanish were inspired and fluent.  The wonderful Xavi is a powerful symbol of how useless the English chavs are.   The multiracial German team was a redemptive lesson for us all.  They were proud, positive and every colour of the rainbow.  Schweinsteiger, the archetypal aryan stormtrooper, strong, fearless and utterly reliable.  These players are so talented they don’t need to feign fouls or injury.   They just get on with the job – beautifully.

So the World Cup has been a very big but very pleasant surprise for me.  I’d fallen victim to the propaganda that the Premier League is the best football in the world but that’s been proven to be a great big lie.   It might be the richest league but that’s exactly what has ruined the game.

As a Welshman, for me nothing will ever come close to rugby. I’m glad I’ve found pleasure in football again but English football has finally proved itself to be the very worst football in the world.

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The World Cup Beckons

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The Big Match

I despise football.   I really do.  It’s everything it stands for – the appalling, vulgar display of tasteless, oafish, dare I say “chav” behaviour.  It’s a thin, insubstantial sport populated by overpaid primadonnas who behave appallingly and set a terrible example to youth.

What a pompous old git I am!

It’s a completely different thing isn’t it when it gets infused with the spirit of international competition?

It’ll never be rugby though,  so those that want to see the original, totally uplifting South African story go to the 1995 Rugby World Cup finals.   That was a similar occasion but with a proper sport.  In fact,  go to Invictus, the absolutely fantastic movie which tells the whole story.

I have been taken up by it though.  Africa has a wonderful exuberance and I was caught by the romance of the first match, delighted that South Africa managed a draw.   Then, who could resist a chance to see the French go down?   And go down they did!  Well, they scraped a draw against a 10 man Uruguay side when they were the favourites.  Lovely to watch!

So it looks like I’m hooked in.   There’s nothing else on anyway.  It’s been a welcome relief from the tribes of harridan, conspiracy-obsessed bloggers in the US.  As a Brit, a Welshman living in England, I am grateful to live in a country which has a sense of perspective.   We are not of Europe.  We are certainly not of either the Middle or Far East.  Thank God we’ve got more history than the Americans.  This is still the land of the free.  Nowhere else comes close.

And tomorrow Barack Obama is going to find out whose arse is “gonna get kicked”.  Then maybe he’ll mind his manners and remember who his friends are.

En-ger-land!

Invictus

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The Real Thing

This is the new film, directed by Clint Eastwood, about how the South African rugby team, the Springboks, won the Rugby World Cup in 1995 and helped to reunite the country on a wave of patriotism just five years after Mandela was released.  Morgan Freeman is simply mesmerising as Nelson Mandela and Matt Damon is superb as Francois Pienaar, captain of the team.

I’m a complete believer in the idea that international rugby is more important than most things in life so, granted, I was almost certain to enjoy this movie.  I didn’t expect to be quite so emotionally overwhelmed though.  This film is a wonderful, triumphant experience and a lesson in life.  See here for an excerpt.

Invictus bears no resemblance to the anodyne pap that Hollywood has fed us this year.   It is a work of art, a political manifesto and an inspiration to the human soul.  The title comes from William Ernest Henry’s poem of the same name in which Mandela found comfort while in prison:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

If “Up In The Air” is up its own a*** and an insult to its audience;  “Avatar” is an adolescent technogeek’s fantasy, terribly badly realised; “The Hurt Locker” is just another good but not great war movie then “Invictus” is a wonderful, uplifting story that deserves all the praise, all the admiration and all the awards.

The Movie