Notes from the tourny...
Enghiem is miles away. And I don't think that's how you spell it. Sorry, did I say miles? I meant kilometres. Oh and now the American spellcheck is telling me I've spelt kilometres wrong. Well if that's your attitude feel free to invade my computer and lie about it.
Anyway, enough of us have satnav to be able to make it. We get off at exit 26. (On the phone to Christophe) Is it exit 26? No, it's 21. You're miles away. A few moments of panic.
It was 26.
We have no goalkeeper. We have players from all the teams, most of whom have never played together before. Christophe is in defence. Michael is in goal, just for the first half, promise.
The first game is against a team called Centre. They're pretty good. We have barely warmed up. Enda shows up with ten minutes of the 15-minute half already gone. Dave Barrett makes a horrendous sliced clearance, and Conor tries to rugby tackle the bloke as he's through on goal. It didn't work. We're 2-1 down at half time. Michael, can you go in goal again? Yeah, I knew that was coming. We lose 3-1. Everyone is pissed off. It feels like it's going to be a long day.
The two lush and perfectly manicured fields are surrounded by farms on one side and a swimming centre on the other. And nothing else. While we wait we watch the other teams, some of whom are shocking. There's no TV. No entertainment really. I should have brought a book. All I have is Peter trying to explain how great Spurs will be when about a million different things happen. The quiet musings of Alvaro, the Spaniard, are also quite entertaining. He can't believe I've never tasted a burger. Dave Barrett is wearing about four shirts even though it's 19 degrees, and keeps asking inappropriate questions about my sister; I foolishly let slip that she recently broke up with her boyfriend and, more importantly, that she is around his height.
The second game is against some team in light blue. They're decent, and will be playing with our third team this coming season. I'm back up front, the thin, aging legs of Kevin beside me, Sigve behind me. A dream combo. Nick has arrived on his motorbike, but he has to leave later. With him in goal and big Michael and Enda in defence we look a much better team. I score two simple goals, set up Connol (Conor? Connoly?) for the third. In between the second and third goals Sigve is through after muscling out the defender. The defender didn't like this and kicked him with the ball miles away. The ref is senile and gives a free kick to them. Michael lets out a torrent of abuse. We win 3-0.
It rains on and off so we keep having to go back inside, then back outside when it gets too hot. The third game is against the worst team of the lot. We have to win by a lot to stand any chance of winning the group and thus making the final. We start with Sigve and Peter on the bench. Kevin and I each score one in the first half, and then in the second half they completely fall apart and I get two more. After my third Dave lobbies to have me substituted because he knows it will piss me off. Christophe agrees, so off I go. It finishes 5-0. I had the ball three times, says Peter, who came on in the second half and played on the right. And two of those times it was the opposition who gave it to me. For the next game Peter is in goal.
The 3rd and 4th place playoff is against some team I've never heard of. They're not great. It's pissing it down at kick off. Sigve does great down the right and plays me in for a tap-in that was much harder than it looked. All the lads are giving me shit because all my goals have been from between 6-12 yards. Ruud-esque. Kevin scores the second. With the final kick of the game Sigve gets the third.
We sit around drinking beer and eating crisps, waiting for the presentation of the trophies. We do a vote, and I get player of the tournament with Conor a close second. He was a terrier. Finally we are all hungry and can't any more crisps or burger or cheese sandwiches, and so we leave.
Saturday, 30 August 2008
Tuesday, 26 August 2008
The Africa Museum, Tervuren
I’ve lived in Brussels for nearly a year, and have only been to one museum (the Museum of Fine Art). Today, I doubled that tally. I went to the Africa museum in Tervuren.
The museum is located near Tervuren station, the terminus of the 44 tram from Montgomery. It’s actually the rear of the building that looks out onto the road. The entrance is round the side.
As you enter you’re greeted by a large elephant sculpted by planks of wood held together by large iron bolts. Beyond this stretches a large, impressive garden, one that makes you think that the whole property must have once have been in the hands of royalty. Turns out it was.
Before the entrance, more wooden elephants. The small signs asking you not to touch them are about as effective as a Belgian Olympian. Such bizarre and unprotected sculptures are magnets for the curious hands of kids.
I decided to take advantage of the fact that it wasn’t raining and explore the garden a little bit. As you exit the garden of the museum you come to a long man-made lake whose grassy banks are filled with ducks. Ahead of you is Tervuren forest. On a quiet Friday afternoon like this, with the air warm and still, it was as tranquil and agreeable a place as you are likely to find in all of Belgium. There were a few joggers, the odd dog-walker, the odd old man sitting on a bench. Other than that this huge expanse of greenery was empty.
I walked into the forest a little before hunger, and the fact that the museum would be closing soon, drove me back.
After the beauty and expanse of the surrounding garden and forest, the museum itself was a bit underwhelming. Four euros was a fair fee. The collection of artifacts is impressive, and the displays of African wildlife are great for the kids. I kept looking out for African artwork, but sadly there was very little.
What was impressive was the crepe I bought in the museum café. I was also intrigued when the young man behind the counter asked, ‘Tu es FC Irlande?’ ‘Yes’, I replied. How did you know? Turns out he plays for the third team and was at training recently. Brussels is like that. Full of chance meetings and friends of friends.
The most interesting part of the museum was the part on the Belgian Congo. In my opinion they were quite easy on themselves, although one picture of two handless children is quite chilling. With this in mind, the enourmous bronze statue of King Leopold II (the man who claimed the Congo as his personal property and turned its people into slaves in his rubber empire, in which bad workers, runaways and other trouble makers had their hands cut off) that guards the entrance to that part of the museum is an odd choice.
I met my friend Andy and we went for a walk with his dog Sputnik in the nearby forest. At one point you come to a clearing in which three large chunks of rock (that were evidently once part of the same rock) point you off in about eight different directions. We chose the one less traveled by, and that made no difference really because most of them lead to the same place, and there were plenty of maps to guide us if we had got lost, albeit maps in Flemish.
“This is paradise for me,” I said. A thick forest, an empty day. We walked on. Sputnik is a nutter of a dog, a small Jack Russell type. He was constantly pulling at the lead. I asked Andy if he ever let him off. “Nah,” he said. “He wouldn’t come back.”
We walked out of the forest and into Tervuren. Into Flanders proper. Not a French word to be seen.
It’s a pleasant little town. At this time of year I imagine the people were struggling to stay awake. The cafes and restaurants were filled with only a smattering of people. We got to the tram stop and when the 44 came we said our goodbyes. A minute later it started pissing down.
I would end the story there, but for a curious and sad observation I have to make about the tram journey back to Montgomery. The long, straight dual-carriage way that leads into Tervuren is divided by a wide grassy strip of land. On this land dozens and dozens of horse chestnut trees have been planted in a neat line. There must be hundreds, in fact, because the road is at least 2km long.
What’s sad is that these trees are dying. Where I boarded the tram – one stop before Tervuren station – Andy pointed out two fully-grown horse chestnut amongst all the newly planted ones. They were all that were left, he said, after a disease wiped them all out a few years ago. Imagine, said Andy. One day you had a long road all lined with trees. A week later they were gone.
In case you don’t know, horse chestnut trees are deciduous trees with large, oval leaves, and dark brown seeds that form inside a spiky green shell. Little boys will know them as ‘conker trees’. I don’t know what the disease is, but I’m quite sure it’s affecting the newly replanted ones on the road out of Tervuren in the same way it affected their predecessors. On and on the tram went, and every tree, with perhaps one or two exceptions, had leaves that were a sickly brown colour. It wasn’t just the horse chestnuts that lined the road. Many that were on the edge of the forest were also affected. I kept asking myself why the authorities would take a chance with the same species of tree after so many had just been killed? Why not plant another species?
As a tree-lover the whole affair saddens me deeply. Why is it only the horse chestnuts that are affected? And why only in that area in and around Tervuren? Outside my apartment there is a section of Boulevard Louis Schmidt that is lined with horse chestnuts, all of which are healthy. This mystery requires some investigating.
The museum is located near Tervuren station, the terminus of the 44 tram from Montgomery. It’s actually the rear of the building that looks out onto the road. The entrance is round the side.
As you enter you’re greeted by a large elephant sculpted by planks of wood held together by large iron bolts. Beyond this stretches a large, impressive garden, one that makes you think that the whole property must have once have been in the hands of royalty. Turns out it was.
Before the entrance, more wooden elephants. The small signs asking you not to touch them are about as effective as a Belgian Olympian. Such bizarre and unprotected sculptures are magnets for the curious hands of kids.
I decided to take advantage of the fact that it wasn’t raining and explore the garden a little bit. As you exit the garden of the museum you come to a long man-made lake whose grassy banks are filled with ducks. Ahead of you is Tervuren forest. On a quiet Friday afternoon like this, with the air warm and still, it was as tranquil and agreeable a place as you are likely to find in all of Belgium. There were a few joggers, the odd dog-walker, the odd old man sitting on a bench. Other than that this huge expanse of greenery was empty.
I walked into the forest a little before hunger, and the fact that the museum would be closing soon, drove me back.
After the beauty and expanse of the surrounding garden and forest, the museum itself was a bit underwhelming. Four euros was a fair fee. The collection of artifacts is impressive, and the displays of African wildlife are great for the kids. I kept looking out for African artwork, but sadly there was very little.
What was impressive was the crepe I bought in the museum café. I was also intrigued when the young man behind the counter asked, ‘Tu es FC Irlande?’ ‘Yes’, I replied. How did you know? Turns out he plays for the third team and was at training recently. Brussels is like that. Full of chance meetings and friends of friends.
The most interesting part of the museum was the part on the Belgian Congo. In my opinion they were quite easy on themselves, although one picture of two handless children is quite chilling. With this in mind, the enourmous bronze statue of King Leopold II (the man who claimed the Congo as his personal property and turned its people into slaves in his rubber empire, in which bad workers, runaways and other trouble makers had their hands cut off) that guards the entrance to that part of the museum is an odd choice.
I met my friend Andy and we went for a walk with his dog Sputnik in the nearby forest. At one point you come to a clearing in which three large chunks of rock (that were evidently once part of the same rock) point you off in about eight different directions. We chose the one less traveled by, and that made no difference really because most of them lead to the same place, and there were plenty of maps to guide us if we had got lost, albeit maps in Flemish.
“This is paradise for me,” I said. A thick forest, an empty day. We walked on. Sputnik is a nutter of a dog, a small Jack Russell type. He was constantly pulling at the lead. I asked Andy if he ever let him off. “Nah,” he said. “He wouldn’t come back.”
We walked out of the forest and into Tervuren. Into Flanders proper. Not a French word to be seen.
It’s a pleasant little town. At this time of year I imagine the people were struggling to stay awake. The cafes and restaurants were filled with only a smattering of people. We got to the tram stop and when the 44 came we said our goodbyes. A minute later it started pissing down.
I would end the story there, but for a curious and sad observation I have to make about the tram journey back to Montgomery. The long, straight dual-carriage way that leads into Tervuren is divided by a wide grassy strip of land. On this land dozens and dozens of horse chestnut trees have been planted in a neat line. There must be hundreds, in fact, because the road is at least 2km long.
What’s sad is that these trees are dying. Where I boarded the tram – one stop before Tervuren station – Andy pointed out two fully-grown horse chestnut amongst all the newly planted ones. They were all that were left, he said, after a disease wiped them all out a few years ago. Imagine, said Andy. One day you had a long road all lined with trees. A week later they were gone.
In case you don’t know, horse chestnut trees are deciduous trees with large, oval leaves, and dark brown seeds that form inside a spiky green shell. Little boys will know them as ‘conker trees’. I don’t know what the disease is, but I’m quite sure it’s affecting the newly replanted ones on the road out of Tervuren in the same way it affected their predecessors. On and on the tram went, and every tree, with perhaps one or two exceptions, had leaves that were a sickly brown colour. It wasn’t just the horse chestnuts that lined the road. Many that were on the edge of the forest were also affected. I kept asking myself why the authorities would take a chance with the same species of tree after so many had just been killed? Why not plant another species?
As a tree-lover the whole affair saddens me deeply. Why is it only the horse chestnuts that are affected? And why only in that area in and around Tervuren? Outside my apartment there is a section of Boulevard Louis Schmidt that is lined with horse chestnuts, all of which are healthy. This mystery requires some investigating.
Wednesday, 20 August 2008
The Underwear Game
Here’s a fun game to play. It’s called the underwear game. I first heard of it from a bloke I was working with at Dean Close International Summer School this past summer.
If it’s amusing…Funderwear
If it’s nice outside…Sunderwear
If it’s a bit stormy…Thunderwear
If you put it on by mistake…Blunderwear
For those who are slightly large in the waist…Rotunderwear
If it was made on a spinning wheel…Spunderwear
If it makes you vomit…Chunderwear
For Swansea City’s most famous striker…Lee Trundlewear
If it feels really heavy…Tonderwear
If it causes people to ignore you…Shunderwear
Perhaps suitable for a soldier…Gunderwear
For a cruel 5th century European warrior…Attila the Hunderwear
If you’re trekking through wild Alaska…Tundrawear
If it’s the only pair you’ve got because other countries are boycotting you…Sanctionderwear
If you’re playing this game…Punderwear
If you’re going commando…Nonederwear
If you’re going jogging…Runderwear
If you’re wearing them for the second day in a row…Rerunderwear
If you’re playing baseball you might want to hit a …Homerunderwear
If it stops people in their tracks…Stunderwear
If you’re a fugitive…On the runderwear
If you wear a striped football shirt and speak with a thick, unintelligble accent…Tyneandwear*
If you’re George Bush searching for WMDs in Iraq…Gunsarewear?*
If you’re a religiously devout woman in a convant…Nunderwear*
For a Chinese film director…FatChowYunderwear*
*Created by Thomas Morgan
If it’s amusing…Funderwear
If it’s nice outside…Sunderwear
If it’s a bit stormy…Thunderwear
If you put it on by mistake…Blunderwear
For those who are slightly large in the waist…Rotunderwear
If it was made on a spinning wheel…Spunderwear
If it makes you vomit…Chunderwear
For Swansea City’s most famous striker…Lee Trundlewear
If it feels really heavy…Tonderwear
If it causes people to ignore you…Shunderwear
Perhaps suitable for a soldier…Gunderwear
For a cruel 5th century European warrior…Attila the Hunderwear
If you’re trekking through wild Alaska…Tundrawear
If it’s the only pair you’ve got because other countries are boycotting you…Sanctionderwear
If you’re playing this game…Punderwear
If you’re going commando…Nonederwear
If you’re going jogging…Runderwear
If you’re wearing them for the second day in a row…Rerunderwear
If you’re playing baseball you might want to hit a …Homerunderwear
If it stops people in their tracks…Stunderwear
If you’re a fugitive…On the runderwear
If you wear a striped football shirt and speak with a thick, unintelligble accent…Tyneandwear*
If you’re George Bush searching for WMDs in Iraq…Gunsarewear?*
If you’re a religiously devout woman in a convant…Nunderwear*
For a Chinese film director…FatChowYunderwear*
*Created by Thomas Morgan
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
US to Russia: "You can't just invade a sovereign nation."
If you ever want to give a student a real-life and very relevant example of what ‘hypocrisy’ means, watch this clip from ‘The Daily Show’.
http://movies.crooksandliars.com/TDS-Georgian-Conflict-081408.mov
This clip is a brilliant take on the US government’s condemnation of Russia’s invasion of Georgia. In it you actually hear Bush, Rice and McCain condemn Russia for, “invading a sovereign nation.”
It’s astounding to watch. My jaw dropped when I heard them say it. Jon Stewart makes the glaringly obvious point – what about Iraq?
Unlike all of our bullshit reasons for invading Iraq, Russia’s reasons for invading Georgia were quite genuine. The breakaway region of South Ossetia, on the Russian border, contains a large number of Russian citizens. Russia claimed it was simply protecting them after Georgia invaded.
Now of course Russia had sinister alterior motives. It wanted to topple the pro-western Georgian government and make sure they never attempted to take control of South Ossetia again. Nevertheless, it is still astonishing and infuriating to hear members of the Bush administration condemning them for something they did just five years ago.
The UK also has no credibility in condemning this act. And, similarly, the US-UK Dream team of Destruction has no credibility in condemning China’s human rights or enviornmental record or their exploitation of poor African states for their own economic gain. In fact, we have no credibility for condemning anyone for just about anything, given the level of sin we have reached these past 50 years.
So why is it always these two countries who start blaring out indignation whenever another country does something they don’t like? Why do they not let a less sinful country voice their opinion? Belgium, for example.
Now Belgium has its flaws. All that Emmental cheese, for example. And their colonial record in the Congo was quite brutal. Since then, however, Belgium has quietly gone about creating a moderal liberal democracy, in which two very different provinces co-exist in relative harmony. No pre-emptive invasions, no torture, no attempts to keep things like landmines and cluster bombs legal.
Russia must listen to the US-UK telling it off and think, ‘are you fucking joking?’ I think if Belgium was leading the diatribe of disapproval it might just listen.
http://movies.crooksandliars.com/TDS-Georgian-Conflict-081408.mov
This clip is a brilliant take on the US government’s condemnation of Russia’s invasion of Georgia. In it you actually hear Bush, Rice and McCain condemn Russia for, “invading a sovereign nation.”
It’s astounding to watch. My jaw dropped when I heard them say it. Jon Stewart makes the glaringly obvious point – what about Iraq?
Unlike all of our bullshit reasons for invading Iraq, Russia’s reasons for invading Georgia were quite genuine. The breakaway region of South Ossetia, on the Russian border, contains a large number of Russian citizens. Russia claimed it was simply protecting them after Georgia invaded.
Now of course Russia had sinister alterior motives. It wanted to topple the pro-western Georgian government and make sure they never attempted to take control of South Ossetia again. Nevertheless, it is still astonishing and infuriating to hear members of the Bush administration condemning them for something they did just five years ago.
The UK also has no credibility in condemning this act. And, similarly, the US-UK Dream team of Destruction has no credibility in condemning China’s human rights or enviornmental record or their exploitation of poor African states for their own economic gain. In fact, we have no credibility for condemning anyone for just about anything, given the level of sin we have reached these past 50 years.
So why is it always these two countries who start blaring out indignation whenever another country does something they don’t like? Why do they not let a less sinful country voice their opinion? Belgium, for example.
Now Belgium has its flaws. All that Emmental cheese, for example. And their colonial record in the Congo was quite brutal. Since then, however, Belgium has quietly gone about creating a moderal liberal democracy, in which two very different provinces co-exist in relative harmony. No pre-emptive invasions, no torture, no attempts to keep things like landmines and cluster bombs legal.
Russia must listen to the US-UK telling it off and think, ‘are you fucking joking?’ I think if Belgium was leading the diatribe of disapproval it might just listen.
Sunday, 17 August 2008
Back to the old tricks
Yesterday was the first pre-season friendly for FC Irlande. With Alec on holiday I took over captaincy duties. Just like my last stint as captain it was a masterclass in inefficiency.
The first problem was getting a team together. The 15th is a national holiday in Belgium and, coupled with the fact that it’s still the summer holidays for most people, numbers were low. After a succession of increasingly desperate emails we had, on paper at least, fourteen players, encompassing the full spectrum of footballing talent; pro, semi pro, first, second, third and fourth team.
My first mistake of the day was not getting directions to the pitch. As we stood around laughing about the fact that no one knew where to go, I rang Christophe. He’d know. He did. Or at least he thought he did. He ended up directing us to the place where we had the tournament with La Lorgnette. Luckily it turned out to only be a couple of kilometres from the right place.
For his next trick Christophe then showed up ten minutes late. Similarly, Rafa was nowhere to be seen. We lined up with a very makeshit 3-5-2, and kicked off under a warm, sunny sky.
Considering the fact that few of us had played togeher we played some decent stuff. After 90 minutes, some slack defending, non-existent tracking from the midfield, wayward goal kicks and one truly memorable free kick from Christophe we ended up winning 4-3. At 3-3 and with just a few minutes left my decision to switch from 4-4-2 back to 3-5-2 paid instant dividends as our Spanish winger, Alvaro, grabbed the winner. As I said to the lads afterwards, I’m a tactical genius.
It was great to be back playing with the lads again. The dressing room banter before and after the game, and of course the game itself are always good fun. It’s what makes football at this level so enjoyable.
Playing a match in the afternoon also puts you in great spirits for the evening ahead. From the moment I joined FC Irlande in September of last year until the end of the season and beyond, all my Saturdays have been the same. Play a match, go out, drink too much. Yesterday was no exception.
It started in De Valera’s in the newly rebuilt Place Flagey. Myself and three Irishmen. We watched Liverpool scrape past Sunderland while talking incessantly about all manner of things, from the Olympics to Irish politics. There was also intense analysis of the day’s shock gaelic football result, in which Dublin were soundly thrashed by a team they should have beaten. It was dark when we headed to the Bok and Dragon in Schuman for a leaving party. “Who’s party?” I asked Dave. “Dunno”, he said.
The place was buzzing, live music playing and my Finnish strike partner, Pauli, on the drums. More drinking, more talking. I left around midnight to go to the Parc Royal. There was something called Gazon taking place. I can’t give you any details other than it involves live DJs, a beer tent and hundreds of people. The weather stayed fine and there was a great atmosphere. I spent most of the night, as I so often do, trying to track down a particular young lady, only to realise when I found her that I was incapable of speaking coherently.
At some point I needed the toilet, and discovered to my great amusement that, in typical Belgian style, one of the perimetre fences had become a giant urinal. I don’t remember leaving or how I got home.
The first problem was getting a team together. The 15th is a national holiday in Belgium and, coupled with the fact that it’s still the summer holidays for most people, numbers were low. After a succession of increasingly desperate emails we had, on paper at least, fourteen players, encompassing the full spectrum of footballing talent; pro, semi pro, first, second, third and fourth team.
My first mistake of the day was not getting directions to the pitch. As we stood around laughing about the fact that no one knew where to go, I rang Christophe. He’d know. He did. Or at least he thought he did. He ended up directing us to the place where we had the tournament with La Lorgnette. Luckily it turned out to only be a couple of kilometres from the right place.
For his next trick Christophe then showed up ten minutes late. Similarly, Rafa was nowhere to be seen. We lined up with a very makeshit 3-5-2, and kicked off under a warm, sunny sky.
Considering the fact that few of us had played togeher we played some decent stuff. After 90 minutes, some slack defending, non-existent tracking from the midfield, wayward goal kicks and one truly memorable free kick from Christophe we ended up winning 4-3. At 3-3 and with just a few minutes left my decision to switch from 4-4-2 back to 3-5-2 paid instant dividends as our Spanish winger, Alvaro, grabbed the winner. As I said to the lads afterwards, I’m a tactical genius.
It was great to be back playing with the lads again. The dressing room banter before and after the game, and of course the game itself are always good fun. It’s what makes football at this level so enjoyable.
Playing a match in the afternoon also puts you in great spirits for the evening ahead. From the moment I joined FC Irlande in September of last year until the end of the season and beyond, all my Saturdays have been the same. Play a match, go out, drink too much. Yesterday was no exception.
It started in De Valera’s in the newly rebuilt Place Flagey. Myself and three Irishmen. We watched Liverpool scrape past Sunderland while talking incessantly about all manner of things, from the Olympics to Irish politics. There was also intense analysis of the day’s shock gaelic football result, in which Dublin were soundly thrashed by a team they should have beaten. It was dark when we headed to the Bok and Dragon in Schuman for a leaving party. “Who’s party?” I asked Dave. “Dunno”, he said.
The place was buzzing, live music playing and my Finnish strike partner, Pauli, on the drums. More drinking, more talking. I left around midnight to go to the Parc Royal. There was something called Gazon taking place. I can’t give you any details other than it involves live DJs, a beer tent and hundreds of people. The weather stayed fine and there was a great atmosphere. I spent most of the night, as I so often do, trying to track down a particular young lady, only to realise when I found her that I was incapable of speaking coherently.
At some point I needed the toilet, and discovered to my great amusement that, in typical Belgian style, one of the perimetre fences had become a giant urinal. I don’t remember leaving or how I got home.
Friday, 15 August 2008
Olympics in Belgium
Spot the odd one out: Togo, Tajikistan, Belarus, Belgium.
The answer is Belgium. Not only is it the only one of the four that is free and democratic, it’s the only one that hasn’t yet won a medal at this year’s Olympics.
Yes, the Olympics are a difficult time in Belgium. Neighbouring countries like France, Germany and the Netherlands are flourishing in a wide variety of sports, while Belgium languishes. It’s a poor showing. And size is no excuse. Miniscule Taiwan has managed at least one medal.
It’s demoralising for Belgians, but foreigners like me are the beneficiaries. Back home in the UK I have to suffer through endless analysis of the performances of British athletes, only a smattering of whom win a medal. The bias in our coverage is absurd and infuriating. Instead of focusing on the athletes who win, we prattle on about the battling Brit in sixth place. Belgium doesn’t have this problem. With almost no medal hopes, their coverage is more or less neutral.
Interestingly the total lack of medals has little effect on Belgians pride in their country. Out last night in O’Reilly’s Nua during karoke night I spoke to a young Belgian bloke who told me he’s very proud to be Belgium. “I love this country,” he said. We may not win medals, but we don’t invade other countries.
The answer is Belgium. Not only is it the only one of the four that is free and democratic, it’s the only one that hasn’t yet won a medal at this year’s Olympics.
Yes, the Olympics are a difficult time in Belgium. Neighbouring countries like France, Germany and the Netherlands are flourishing in a wide variety of sports, while Belgium languishes. It’s a poor showing. And size is no excuse. Miniscule Taiwan has managed at least one medal.
It’s demoralising for Belgians, but foreigners like me are the beneficiaries. Back home in the UK I have to suffer through endless analysis of the performances of British athletes, only a smattering of whom win a medal. The bias in our coverage is absurd and infuriating. Instead of focusing on the athletes who win, we prattle on about the battling Brit in sixth place. Belgium doesn’t have this problem. With almost no medal hopes, their coverage is more or less neutral.
Interestingly the total lack of medals has little effect on Belgians pride in their country. Out last night in O’Reilly’s Nua during karoke night I spoke to a young Belgian bloke who told me he’s very proud to be Belgium. “I love this country,” he said. We may not win medals, but we don’t invade other countries.
Friday, 8 August 2008
Beijing Olympics
China has a bad human rights record, so lets boycott the games.
In principle I agree, but if that's your stance then you'd have to boycott London 2012 as well. At least China keeps its human rights abuses inside its borders. We invaded Iraq. We facilitated and continue to facilitate America's torture of PoWs. We supported Israel during their war in Lebanon in 2006. We forcibly removed the inhabitants of Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean to help the US setup an airbase.
Speaking of the USA, I wonder, if the 2016 games go to an American city, would anyone be suggesting a boycott? China is developing without a care for either the environment or its indigenous population, just as countries like the US developed in the 19th century. Successive US governments from George Washington onwards oversaw the slow and brutal decimation of Native American Indian tribes all across the country. The US city of St. Louis hosted the Olympics at a time when African Americans were treated as second class citizens. The LA games of '84 came just a decade after the end of the Vietnam war.
Few countries in the world have any credibility in calling for the boycott of the Beijing games on the basis of human rights record, but the complaints of Britain and the US are particularly hypocritical.
In principle I agree, but if that's your stance then you'd have to boycott London 2012 as well. At least China keeps its human rights abuses inside its borders. We invaded Iraq. We facilitated and continue to facilitate America's torture of PoWs. We supported Israel during their war in Lebanon in 2006. We forcibly removed the inhabitants of Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean to help the US setup an airbase.
Speaking of the USA, I wonder, if the 2016 games go to an American city, would anyone be suggesting a boycott? China is developing without a care for either the environment or its indigenous population, just as countries like the US developed in the 19th century. Successive US governments from George Washington onwards oversaw the slow and brutal decimation of Native American Indian tribes all across the country. The US city of St. Louis hosted the Olympics at a time when African Americans were treated as second class citizens. The LA games of '84 came just a decade after the end of the Vietnam war.
Few countries in the world have any credibility in calling for the boycott of the Beijing games on the basis of human rights record, but the complaints of Britain and the US are particularly hypocritical.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)