As some of the three people that follow this blog may know, I like football. Proper football, you know, the game where the players use their feet to kick a ball, unlike the up-armoured, stop-start, make-up and crash-helmet-wearing American game that requires it's players to suck on oxygen on the sidelines after a run of more than 10 yards and where the foot rarely ever actually touches a ball.
They call it 'soccer' over here to avoid any confusion, as if there could be any such confusion when comparing a display of the two games. One game consists of two forty-five minute halves that is generally completed in 90 minutes. The other game consists of four 15-minute quarters that is generally completed in what seems like a little under four weeks.
Both games have one thing in common though. They are both played by men that more or less, have the morals of Tiger Woods on a Viagra-fuelled 3-day binge in Vegas. I know that is a fairly broad brush, but judging by the headlines in the press over the last few years, the fine, upstanding, family man is as rare an animal in professional sports as a republican with a brain (or a conscience) is in U.S. politics.
Throughout the years we have had many stories of baseball players, basketball players, golfists, cricketeers etc, screwing their way around the planet in an attempt to spread their DNA as far and wide as possible. Each time they have been received by the general (game-ticket paying) public as isolated examples of individual bastardism on the part of the shagger. This is then invariably followed by a period of pathetic and insincere mea culpas in the press, perhaps a visit to the high priestess of confession and redemption herself, Oprah Winfrey, and then bingo, presto, a few months later, all is forgiven, everyone breathes a sigh of relief and we begin the countdown for the next sport related scandal to break.
The latest sports-related "I shagged someone I shouldn't have" scandal involves the Chelsea and England skipper, John Terry. According to the stories floating around, Captain "can't keep his dick in his pants" decided to screw a tasty bit of fluff that was not his wife. To be fair, she was a wife alright, which might have led to his initial confusion as he was poking her in the whiskers, just not his. Whose wife was she? One of his team-mates'. Yup, instead of knobbing any one of the hundreds of pneumatic, low self-esteem tarts that throw themselves at professional athletes, he decided instead to bump uglies with one of his team-mates' missus.
Now, I have never met John Terry personally, but this move seems to indicate that he ain't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Typically, the usual social protocol after saying "I do" is that you stick to shagging only one person, and typically that is the person that said "I do" right after you. Not the Maid of Honour, the bridesmaids or any other tasty strumpet that takes your fancy, and certainly not the wife of one of your mates. Capt. 'straysalot' apparently didn't get that memo.
All of this I think you'll agree, makes John Terry a bit of a bastard. He cheated on his wife and his team-mate, which is bad enough, but what made him a really big bastard was that rather than admit to what he had done after being caught, he had the story gagged in the UK media. He got his lawyers to make it illegal for anyone to even talk about it.
Until this past week.
This past week, the gag order was lifted and the sordid ugly truth has been spilling out. In the process John Terry has managed to 'elevate' himself from just being a low-life wife-cheating bastard, to being a lying, cowardly, low-life wife-cheating bastard that had the balls to fuck around on his wife and kids, but didn't have the balls to admit it when he got caught.
And that makes him a really BIG bastard.
No comments:
Post a Comment