Resistance is futile

12 Grand-a-week Hoofball FC 4 Inbred Mongs 1

Welsh Premier League

Earlier today I went for a ride in my time machine. I was in an adventurous mood so I set it to random; I ended up in New York 10 years hence. I felt the need for a haircut. I found a nice little barber shop just off 5th Avenue. Whilst I waited to hear the barber’s jive talking I found an old copy of Newsweek from 2010. There was a very interesting article in it;

“North Wales, UK – 13/3/10

Today Amazonian tribes move with a noticeable spring in their steps, hard bitten Texan Oil barons are refreshingly jovial and Parisian philosophers take a less serious view of their ennui. The whole world has now realised that we have undergone a quantum leap in evolution. It was all so different last year but then it usually takes a year for these things to become well-known.

The starting point, or “small thud” as it has become known, was an event in North Wales. This event was something so banal, so mundane  that it would normally pass without comment. It was merely a soccer match between two of North Wales’ oldest teams. But, as with most important historical events, things start from a small beginning.

It is now accepted that during this event, 12 Grand-a-week hoofball FC (Seasiders), one of the two teams,  played a brand of soccer that was so revolutionary and so avant-garde that it made people assess their own lives to see what could be possible, many have asked themselves since “If a soccer team can do it then why not me?”, “Why should I be constrained by convention?”  However, at the time, tthe style was so avant-garde that people didn’t possess the sufficient language to adequately describe it. The style of soccer has since become known as “Totalised Football” (a knowing nod to it’s Dutch precursor Total Football. Totalised Football is the logical conclusion of the project). It may not have had a name at this point but this small action encouraged others to follow and the desire spread like avion flu across the globe.

During the match the seasiders certainly offered a tantalising glimpse of what could be done. The stunned crowd were awe-struck at the sheer artistry of their play. The crowd (well known fine art aficionados) noted the glorious symbolism of  the juxtapostion of grass and ball, they were said to have become intoxicated with the mind-blowing subversive actions of the antagonists. The Seaside team played with a disdain for convention; the ball was lost in the maelstrom of artistic endeavour. The ball was propelled toward the the heavens with joyous abandon, the seaside players didn’t seem to care where the ball landed. This is the mark of the true artist; they care not for convention.

There were some cynics at the time who saw this match as a triumph of style over substance; they looked on the rumours of extra wealth spent on the Seasiders as evidence of the corruption and decadence of modern society. Others came up with the idea that the Seasiders should be displaying even more artistry as the amount of money invested in this ongoing piece of performance art was vast. All have been disproven since, the cynics are now silent.

Another group threatened to spoil the party; the other team, “The Scum” – to give them their widely held nickname. This group nearly allowed their philistinism to overwhelm the artistry. Luckily for humankind the Seasiders overwhelmed their visitors. The scoreline (the wholly inelegent method of deciding the worthy) did not amply reflect the gulf in merit between the artisans and the artists, between the scum and the beloved. 4 goals to 1, what a banal phrase with which to describe art.

While the success on the pitch may have been a triumph of the artistic will the circumstances surrounding the match were so odd. It seems that in order to provide the correct backdrop there was a campaign to attract members of the public by the offering of free tickets. The only qualifying condition was a simple question; “What do you know about 12-Grand a week hoofball FC?”. If the answer returned was; “My mate told me that the only thing you need to know is that we hate the Scum” then a free ticket was handed over. “We hate the Scum, we hate the scum” chanted the art-lovers, closely followed by the incantation “Who are ya? Who are ya?” Even the chanting had a postmodern ironic twist!!

So there we have it, a small bell was peeled in a small corner of the UK and it caused global vibrations, a new world began that day”

Of course it would be churlish to disagree this article from the future. Only the bitter, the delusional, the misguided and the “inbred mong”, to use the in-term, would doubt that the inevitable coronation of 12 grand a week hoofball FC represents a new zenith in world football.

In fact why not go further,  reducing today’s events to anything less than a new landmark in world history,  like one single football match in human history (or even as a match that could have been 2-2 at one point but instead became 3-1 shortly after that point (a missed penalty) because of a goalkeeper miskicking the ball straight to an opposing attacker), would be scandalous.