Dem Politik

Hello.

I’ve been listening to various (mostly constructive) criticisms from various mates on my blog so far. After a long period of meditating in the lotus position whilst having a tearful wank with one hand and lacerating my back and thighs with the reeds in the other, I decided to act.

Firstly my pal Hatchy told me to be more opinionated. After writing poncey essays on postmodernism, cosmology and the like at Uni and then sports features thereafter I was used to balancing arguments with both sides of the story etc. etc. Thanks to the Hatchmeister I saw the error of my ways and, never one to do things by halves, wrote a piece about Mick McCarthy getting his sheriff’s badge busted open by Sir Alex Ferguson.

Opinion can go too far though, especially mine depending on my mood. I wrote my next blog in the midst of reading Frankie Boyle’s autobiography and possibly my mind dial was turned to nasty mode. My mate Harry said he was embarrassed to be reading it and had to look over his shoulder as he did. Well Harry, I’m afraid the dial has broken and snapped off.

All the best things on the internet (porn basically) are thus. Treat my blog as office-friendly porn. It looks like a normal document, but if your boss/mum comes over, take the mouse for a little trip to that x button. No harm done.

Another friend (I now have three!), Jacko, said I shouldn’t limit myself to sport and should broaden my horizons. Jacko works in ‘Politik’, or something like that. So I decided to find out more about this new phenomenon and see if I have anything to contribute….

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One day not too long ago I used the internet to research this Politik. I found out that the movement was started in the late 1980s by Gustav Politik. Politik started a football team called Real Politik, who were set up in Moscow as Russia’s answer to Real Madrid. Due to the cold weather they wore big jackets and thin neck scarves to keep warm during games. Real Politik managed to gain entry into the Champions League in 1992 and decided they needed a grand stadium.

Thus Red Square was built, with the Kremlin as a clubhouse. However, Real Politik soon started to argue with visiting teams about ticket prices and transport to the stadium, and between themselves regarding who should pick the team. The wild debates soon started to take over the football. A team from London, Westminster Athletic, visited Real Politik in the group stages and liked what they saw. They named this banal argumental game ‘Politik’ after the Russian side, and took it back home with them.

These days Politik is everywhere in the UK. One day, when I had read everything in the sports section, I actually turned a newspaper over. There it was! Politik! It was excruciatingly boring but, as I had nothing else to do, I persevered. I read about all sorts of crap, but one thing interested me. You can actually participate in Politik every few years without being a member of a team. Apparently there is a blue team and a red team and you have to decide which one is best, vote for them, and they win like a cup, or something.

As I am starting to be affected by Politik what with the trying to get a job in the recession and all, I decided it was time for me to choose a team. I took a look at the captains. Obviously no-one who takes themselves seriously has got into Politik yet.

Brown, who plays for the reds at number 10, is clearly a shape-shifting reptile from the lower fourth dimension. David Icke (a former Coventry goalkeeper) believes that a fourth dimension exists which is invisible to the human eye and is inhabited by society’s elite, who are actually giant lizards. Looking at Brown, I can see his point. I can well imagine him dislocating his jaw to swallow a homeless boy whole.

His rival, Cameron, who plays for the blues, is clearly a git. He’s one of those guys I met at Uni who thinks that because they come from a wealthy family and went to a posh Southern boarding school he is in some way better than anyone and everyone else.

Confidence is sometimes underestimated as a component of success in my humble opinion. As an aspiring journalist I read some articles in major newspapers that are absolutely shite. How did these people get there with an obvious lack of talent? You can bet they went to the same school as someone in the paper’s hierarchy and have an institutionalised belief that they deserve to be in the position they are in. The annoying thing is it seems to work.

Whereas Tony Blair, who was captain of the reds before Brown and won back-to-back cups (and also played at number 10), preferred a calm, competent game, these two do not. I saw Cameron in a post-match interview programme called Hard Talk. He was flustered, grinding his teeth, mincing his words, unsure of himself. Not a good sign for future matches especially as he wants to captain the blues to the cup for the first time in 13 years.

I have just started working in a bar on top of my full-time job to stiffen up my somewhat flaccid income. After my shift I was sitting around with the DJs and Assistant Manager and they started to talk Politik! I started to feel nervous as to whether I was ready, but after so many football matches have been called off recently, I can actually talk the language of Politik. It was crazy! We talked about the boot expenses scandal, the signing of immigrant players, wage tax, everything!

Having said that I still can’t decide which team to follow. Blair robbed the assisted places scheme from my school when he came for a friendly match, which from what I have seen has changed the dynamic in a negative way. But if I choose Cameron’s blue team he wants to charge me 50% of the massive wage I will eventually earn as a journalist (if I find the secret of eternal life) just to watch him play! Having said that Brown’s team of reptiles haven’t done too well with their own club finances recently, so maybe the blues deserve the cup for a bit, but I don’t want to fuel their inbred posh player selection policy.

Apparently though they keep putting the match back, like the Carling Cup quarterfinals, so at least I have a while to choose.

The chef of the bar also had some socio-racial truths to air. He is from Congo. After stifling the overpowering urge to ask him whether he drank Um Bongo, he told me that the difference between black and white people is that black women have a big ass whereas white men have a thin dick, which is why black women don’t want white men. So now I know.

Oh no the mature(ish) conversation is fading! Phew! Back to the football…