We're all f***ed. So what?
Does John Terry’s personal life have any bearing on his skills as a footballer? No. He just happens to be shit at both
Last week’s Black Sheep certainly got the column started with a bang. At least I thought it had, for the first hundred words. Then I realised the noise was coming from me smashing my head through the paper onto the desk underneath it.
The column, headed with the whorish grandmother of all rhetorical questions, "Is infidelity such a crime?", was initially on pretty sane territory. Does John Terry’s personal life have any bearing on his skills as a footballer? No. He just happens to be shit at both. Does Jennifer Aniston’s love life have any impact on my day to day living? Not since I stopped stalking her in the late nineties. But then the article hits engineering works at Sanity Junction and diverts itself straight on to Crazy Towne. The problem is this – infidelity is a weakness of character.
That some members of Imperial are direly in need of a Filofax to organise their romantic engagements doesn’t mean that it’s an understandable human condition. We’re such a fickle bunch of wangs in this day and age. If we can’t repress knowledge of our own faults then the next best thing is to make it acceptable. Smoking. Drink. Donations to ‘Save The Dolphin’ charities. Why is it that when we do stupid things our instinct is to pretend it’s normal?
It wouldn’t be so bad if the Black Sheep had maintained the moral high ground for the duration, but by the end they’re pouring scorn on Wayne Rooney for "repeatedly" lying to someone. What? Really? John Terry slept with his friend’s ex-girlfriend behind his wife’s back. We’re not in the business of drawing straight lines on a graph here, you only need one data point - the guy’s a tosser.
Humans are flawed. I’m currently eating pear drops in quantities that will give me glaucoma by the time I’m thirty. Is that acceptable? No it’s fucking not
Humans are flawed. I’m currently eating pear drops in quantities that will give me glaucoma by the time I’m thirty. Is that acceptable? No it’s fucking not. Are they uniformly delicious and am I stuffing three into my mouth as I write this? You damn well bet I am. Will my girlfriend try to hide them when she reads this article? Yes indeed. Will it be too late by that point? Most likely.
Orgasm-inducing boiled sweets aside, let’s reiterate that ‘humans-are-flawed’ point. If you’re disloyal, cheat, pay women to do things to you that no sane person would do in a full biohazard suit, then you are less of a human being. If you resist the temptation to stuff any and all rhubarb and custards you see into your mouth, then you are more of a human being than I.
No-one should lose their job over it, that’s plain to see, but should they lose the respect of their friends, family and society as a whole? Yes they should. But even if this doesn’t happen, even if you can’t be bothered to summon up any contempt for them, what you absolutely must not do is try to justify it. “Well, we all do it, don’t we?” is the anthem of the slowly decaying chain-smoker, the casual racist, and the serial adulterer.
So just slap yourself in the face now, reader. Go on. Because you’re a horrible person and you probably deserve it.
Have you been reading other columnists behind my back? Tell me they meant nothing to you at
anangrygeek@googlemail.com.
You two-timing shit.
