Here come the Olympics! Once again, nations from around the globe send their representatives for this multi-sports competition. As a backdrop, the sweet ideal of the Baron de Coubertin, Pierre Fredy: “What matters is not to win, but to compete.”
When the teams walk onto the field, it is customary to perform national anthems to present the athletes. In single file, the Argentines sing:
“Let us live crowned with glory
Or full of Glory, we swear to die.”
The glorious Poles erupt at the top of their lungs
“Poland has not yet perished,
So long as we still live.
What the alien force has taken from us,
We shall retrieve with a sabre.”
Not all too sporty after all it seems… The martial tonality heats the blood and hints towards close combat. And if it is with the French team, things might get ugly, as the “Marseillaise” announces:
“The bloodied banner is raised.
Do you hear in the countryside
The roar of those ferocious soldiers?
They come right here among us
To slaughter our women and children
To arms, citizens!”
Do you think the Baron might have been mistaken about the athletes’ true intentions? Soccer is perhaps the best example of this misconception. Come see what I mean…
The field (of battle) is divided into two territories: “ours” and the “opponent’s.” The game is carried out in attack and defense, attack and counterattack. It’s all about striking the enemy’s target and protecting your own target at the place where the goal keepers fight, that is, the trench guards.
The word ‘ball’ is a euphemism to avoid terms like bomb, howitzer, missiles or buckets of boiling oil. The ones who score many goals are gunners, soldiers of artillery. A strong kick is a gunshot, a cannon ball, a barrage. In midfield, the strikers (as in armed strike?) deliver attacks.
When dealing with a knockout game, we know it as “kill-kill.” How about it, Baron?
On the sidelines of this amphitheater, two other armies reside. One, a legion of fanatics, dressed in the national colors, armed with swords and clubs, chanting war cries. In civilized countries, armed police have their backs turned to the dispute all throughout the clash, trying their best to prevent conflicts between the hordes of spectators.
Like a Christian thrown to the beasts, the poor referee pointlessly attempts to shield excessive aggressions with two flimsy colored cards. No one is able to prevent inappropriate references to the unhappy progenitor.
At the end of the war, one group declares itself winner. The other: bitter defeat. If there is a tie, we just wait for them to come back, as the fighters always promise to return and start all over again.
As the ironic Baron would say, “Higher, faster, stronger…”
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