Saturday, August 28, 2004

That fuzzy feeling that keeps idiots warm at night

Watching the British 4x100m team win gold gives me a nice, warm, fuzzy, cosy feeling that all nationialists must feel as their troops crush another country (oh dear, I just had a "liberal moment", what are these "no to competitive sports!" leaflets I'm handing out?) In truth, however, the real warm glow watching those in sixth, seventh and eighth in the 400m women's relay; how sporting, I thought in patronising, paternal tones, for them to take part, for them to give everything, knowing they are doomed not to win a medal. Nonsense, of course: if competition was all about the real prizes then a great deal of pettiness would be erased from day-to-day life; who knows, perhaps one athlete was running to out-do that bitch who's been suggesting to the coach that she's too old. In similarly patronising tones I found myself thinking "India in the women's 4x400m final, goodness they have made progress". So although I have a nice warm glow it is ultimately sappy and misinformed, but so are most feelings of positivity so it's best not to waste it with attacks of realism.


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