August 21, 2012

3
comments
We are the champions?



Buddy, listen here.

Do you watch football?
Yes.

Good.

Who do you support?
Hmmm. Difficult one. For the past couple of years I really liked that club with the very rich owners who knew nothing about football. But then they didn't win anything last year. So then I started to support that team which had that really amazing player whose wife is really hot, you know? But then that guy moved to some other club, so I stopped supporting them also. Then one day, my uncle gifted me a jersey of some football club, and it fit so perfectly that I decided to support them until after the first wash. Finally I did my research and found out who won the league last year, and now I have decided that I will support them(for life). In fact, I feel that this year, we have made some really good signings and that we have a really amazing team and that we are going to retain our title.

Congrats on a prudent choice of football club. But what do you mean We and Our title? Do you play for any of these clubs? Do you own any of them? Do you manage any of them? Are you part of the coaching staff? Are you the team physio? Safety steward? Are you some die-hard local supporter who has been with the team through tough times and who has some emotional and monetary stake in the future of the club? Do you drive the team bus? Fuck, are you atleast a restroom attendant at the goddamned stadium?

Errm, actually none of the above. Truth is, my dad gave me 500 bucks last month to buy the club jersey from Burma Bazaar. Ever since I bought our team jersey, I have felt such a strong emotional connection that I constantly feel the need to refer to the club using possessive pronouns. Not just that. Another uncle of mine had recently been to foreign and he brought me back an official club keychain. Also, I make it a point to watch all of our matches at the club's official bar and restaurant. Plus, just the other day, I downloaded the official club logo from the official fans association site and set it as my profile pic and cover photo. Not to mention the case for my iPad, which was bought online from the official club megastore. So you could say that all of this makes me emotionally invested in the performance of my team. And it is because of passionate supporters like us that we are the champions.

We are the champions? Listen up asshole. We are not the champions. That team you support--they are the champions. And they are not even aware of your silly existence. You could die a quick and painless death tomorrow from amoebic dysentery and none of them would even know or care. You are, as far as they are concerned, a snake-charming former spelling-bee champion who was an extra in Slumdog Millionaire and currently a software engineer who owns an elephant and worships cows in a third-world country that has no representation at the football World Cup. Fucking deal with that. And maybe then you will realise that drinking pitcher beer in a sports bar over the weekend, while tracking the latest scores and transfer rumours on some app that you downloaded for free, while wearing a jersey that your dad paid for does not entitle you to proclaim yourself a champion.

Just like wearing the right speedo does not give you the right to call yourself Mark Spitz.


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