I am an atheist. This is to my grandmother’s eternal disapproval seeing as she has grown increasingly more religious during the final chapters of her life. Seeking solace in the comforting warmth and promises that religion offers is understandable for an eighty-two year old woman. As for her grandson, he could tell you about the time he held a chimpanzee in his arms and could see in that moment the clear, fleeting connection humans shared with primates before our evolutionary paths forked. Or he could spend the best part of a thousand words debunking the myths of religion. But I am no Richard Dawkins. I am neither zealot nor crusader. Believe what you want to believe.
Tag Archives | Brazil
Shearer For England by Hayden Shaw
The final Wednesday Dispatch of 2011 sees Hayden Shaw gazing into his crystal ball and telling us the future. It doesn’t bode well for England fans. Ladies and gentleman, may we introduce to you…
Charlie Don’t Surf: How Football’s Past Could Save Football’s Future by Winston Cuthbert
Winston Cuthbert has a plan. And he wants to tell you about it with a little help from a footballing pioneer. Take it away, my good man…
It’s not often I’m actually asked for my opinion, which is why I so often tend to give it. Graciously invited to join Dispatches’ ranks, I am grabbing the opportunity to make a proposition. Seemingly nonsensical considering the world we live in today, my proposition remains a eulogy to football, mirroring the ethos and spirit of Dispatches. It is a simple yet radical proposition, inspired by the Father of Football.
The Gospel According To Sepp
Live and direct from his parish in Zurich, Pastor Sepp Blatter addresses his global congregation.
Brothers and sisters. Hear this. When I woke up this morning, I heard a disturbing sound. I said, when I woke up this morning, I heard a disturbing sound! What I heard was the wail of those who would have you believe that the souls of men aren’t pure. That a man’s heart can be poisoned by the shade of a man’s skin. Don’t be fooled, my people. The non-believer, the heathen, would lead you into a road of dangerous sanity. He would deceive you into thinking that one man has the darkness of heart to cuss and curse against another on that most sacred and hallowed place of worship, the football arena.
Some tell you that the world wasn’t created in seven days and seven nights. Others tell you we are evolved from apes. I cannot comment on this. But what I can emphatically and proudly tell you is that, I, your humble servant, having contemplated and worked tirelessly to re-pay the faith that you have placed in him, has indeed forever eradicated the scourge of Man; racism. The Tower of Babel is no more. I have brought nations together as one family and every four years they congregate to give thanks and adulation to me. For who else is capable of saving the planet from the fire of eternal damnation that is the Football Association of England?
Terry and Lamps: An Homage
Dispatches From A Football Sofa was fortunate enough to obtain a secret recording from Chelsea’s training ground this week. What follows is a transcript of a conversation that took place between stalwarts John Terry and Frank Lampard as they discuss the failed attempts to bring home Roman’s Holy Grail. Maybe.
Seeing Is Perceiving
The Rose Bowl, California. July 17th 1994. As the sun beats down onto the field of play after over two hours of tussling deadlock, the talismanic, pony-tailed figure of Roberto Baggio steps up to take the penalty which seconds later will become the defining memory of the USA’s World Cup. We all know what follows. Baggio, hands on hips. Looking down at the ground. Serene and tranquil in the acceptance of the painful fate that has been dealt him. I was sixteen years old at the time and the side-on image has lived with me ever since, resonating beyond the emotion and celebration experienced by Brazil’s triumphant squad.
My Eyes Have Seen The Glory
Sometimes there a moments in life that burn themselves into one’s psyche. They promise numerous re-tellings with the passing of years and serve to capture a small essence of just how glorious human endeavour and capability can be. The night of Tuesday 2nd November 2010 was, without falling into the trap of over-exaggerated hyperbole and believe me that is a distinct possibility, one of those splendidly rare occurrences. It was a night which demonstrated just how a collective will, working in tandem with the singular flair of an individual can triumph so comprehensively over the gargantuan obstacles of history, received wisdom and seemingly superior resources.
Taking The Mick
Here’s an oft-cited philosophical question for you to mull over: is it it better to live a life in blissful ignorance rather than have the instinctive thirst for knowledge, with all its attendant futility and soul-searching weighing heavy upon your burdened shoulders? After all, does a passing understanding of the never-ending Israeli-Palestinian dispute or a being able to offer an intricate analysis of Wittgenstein’s oeuvre really have any bearing upon one’s day-to-day life? Is it more preferable to switch one’s mind off in front of the television and feed your soul a daily soup of Phil Mitchell’s battle with crack addiction or whether Paris Hilton has resolved her dispute with Lindsey Lohan via Twitter? In the end, isn’t our opinion so crowded out amongst the din that if we take the time out to care, all we do is just get bogged down with worry? It’s quite telling that Americans have a guaranteed entitlement to the ‘pursuit of happiness’ written into the Declaration of Independence with the operative word being ‘pursuit’. If you’re ignorant and happy is it far better than being informed and depressed?
El Mayor Espectáculo del Mundo
It may not have been pretty. It may not have been the spectacle of extravagance and style that we would have hoped. At times it resembled a slugging contest with some truly thuggish gamesmanship but in the end the team that attempted to play with a fluidity of movement and expression of freedom prevailed. Spain are the World Champions. And despite my belief that neither Spain nor Holland were truly deserving of their place in the Final itself, it cannot be denied that of the two finalists, it was the Spaniards who did the most to warrant the title now bestowed upon them.
Impressions of Africa
The news emerged today that, health permitting, Nelson Mandela will be in attendance at the Final at Soccer City on Sunday and if this is the case, he will be asked to present the trophy to the new champions. I sincerely hope this is what comes to pass. This is how it should be. Because from the moment the reports broke of the tragic and premature death of his great grand-daughter on the eve of the tournament, some of the soul was ripped out of this greatest of parties. As I wrote all those weeks ago, this was to be the crowning glory of the great man’s ‘long walk to freedom’ and to have been so sadly denied the opportunity to bask in the sunshine of his nation’s open embracing of the rest of the world is perhaps one of the most callous hands fate could have dealt. (see va-va-vuvuzela)
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In Defence Of Luis Suarez by Rachael Singh
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What’s The Point Of Scottish Football?
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Captain Caveman: The De-evolution of John Terry
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Alan Davies Is Here All Week
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Liverpool Football Club, 1892 – 2012 – An Obituary
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