Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Daily Update #25: "We came to see the mobscene"

[This entry was written amidst a sub-Third Reich display of Neanderthalic fandom for the New York Giants outside my office on Broadway that gave off increasingly bad vibes.]

Eighty minutes until this goddamned parade starts and they're already stirring up a chorus of shouts, boos, whoops, hollers, and a few female screams that, given the recent spate of sexual crimes in the city, are certainly jarring. All this in honor of a group of guys they've never met, will probably never meet, and all they did was move a ball from point A to point B better than the other guys.

I watched the game, and it was compelling. Everyone likes the sort of white-knuckled competition. I didn't even go into it rooting for a team, but I still found it fascinating.

I'm not anti-sports at all...but I'm definitely anti-sports fans. If Morrissey really wants to denounce a group of people as a "sub-species," rather than turn to the Chinese, how about he takes a look at our football/soccer hooligans? Continued chants, warbled like the masses in Triumph of the Will, jump right up to us on the third floor.

"Let's go Giants!" *Clap-clap, clap-clap-clap* (8x)

"Hey Jets! YOU SUCK!" (4x)

In a perfect world, the Lord above would hear my prayers that the Occupiers would come and crash the parade, armed only with gigantic mirrors to hold up to the crowds, literally giving them the chance to reflect upon who and what they really are. It could single-handedly usher in a cultural renaissance where we become a nation that actually practices self-awareness and accountability.

Then again, they'd probably get torn to shreds, like a flock of gazelles wearing steaks on their backs trotting into a lion's den. At least they'd have the mirrors to break into shards as a means of self-defense. Not that it would help them too much, since a lot of them are strictly nonviolent.

But in reality, one placard-waving hipster shows up and they'll get maced, tased, and booed back to their trust-funded apartment in the 'Burg.

It's only gotten louder. One hour to go and I'm taking aspirin with my morning coffee. They'll be coming up Broadway from Bowling Green, and upon arriving at City Hall will receive the key to the city from His Dishonor, who will give a verbally rousing but visually austere speech about how these athletes represent everything that is good about our city, all while the City University of New York faces crippling tuition hikes, gentrification continues to displace and disenchant all but the wealthiest and whitest, and the derelicts that usually populate this segment of lower Manhattan are conspicuously absent.

No matter. To this army of identical revelers - overweight chumps with immaculately trimmed chinstrap beards, diamond-stud earrings, and aviators, paired with a barrage of blonde bimbos with orange skin, unnaturally white teeth, and eating disorders - the athletes really do represent some warped rendition of the American Dream™, a world of opulent living as a reward for little more than a specialized skill.

I suppose it's unavoidable. We think of the negative side of sports and we have images of NASCAR, beer guts, wives serving up nachos for her husband and "the guys," and the parochialism that these championships inspire. At least the chance of a truly violent riot is remote compared to the soccer crowd in South America or Europe.

But still, I'd have a great view.