Voy Por Ustedes

Imagine if you will you're at the casino. You've done your bollocks and retire to the bar for two consolatory double Jack Daniels' and Coke, twice, but the Gods are in playful mood and you will be their sport. Oh yes.

There's a £100 chip on the bar, abandoned and available. You sink your two drinks and ante up again. You run it up to £1000 and then of course you lose it again. It's not the game, it's not the Gods, it's your own fault because you chose to believe and belief as Paul Merson will tell you, is unbelievable.

It's the oldest trick in the book. The Sirens used it to tempt hairy sailors into the waters, foolishly believing they were on a promise with these beautiful temptresses whereas previously they'd only been able to attract flies. The Gods have been plying us with intoxicating belief for centuries in order to make us perform for their pleasure these Sisyphean tasks under the drunken influence of ambitions and dreams. Bastardos!


Football for example; It's not Manual Almunia I blame for making David James look like Gordon Banks. It's not even Arsenal I blame for refusing to score a goal unless every member of the team has touched the ball. I don't even blame the referee for taking to the field with an almost pathological inability to make correct decisions. I blame myself.

Many weeks ago with Arsenal some eleven points adrift of first place I had surrendered the season and observed some days of mourning. It was over, I accepted this. But the Gods..the Gods were thirsty and not yet had their fill of my misery.

Under the pretense of fellowship they plied me with belief as Chelsea and Manchester United began dropping points and allowed us to creep within contention once again. I was not weak enough to resist and once again I chose to believe. I still hear the echoes of their laughter now. Laughter that rang out when Kevin Phillips scored with 58 seconds left in the game.


If Shopenhauer was right, life without pain has no meaning. Well this week I have experienced meaning and you can keep it. I choose to tie myself to the mast, fill my ears with beeswax and spread honey on my face.

I choose to forgo meaning in preference for a blissful nothing. I shall no longer be a source of amusement for the Gods. I shall not dance to their tune. I will no longer be diverted from the truth - we have but one life people, thus everything is ultimately insignificant. It's all so simple: what happens but once, might as well not have happened at all.

Barman, two more please.

Labels: Culture, Drink, Feck, Football, Nonsense