Monday, 28 November 2011


A footballer died, in the arcane  phraseology of CoronerSpeak, by his own hand, he took his own life, as officialdom routinely says.  In simple language, he hanged himself.  Always seems an unequivocal rejection of les joies de vivre, not what you would call a cry for help, stepping off a ladder or a chair with a  rope around your neck.  It's not a George Michael kind of event, hanging yourself. It's not a staged, Lady Sir Elton John tantrum.    What shocked me was hearing one of the skymadeupnewsandfilth gabshite soccer pundits hyperbolising that when he heard of Mr Speed's death he thought the report  was some sick and twisted joke.  Now, I know the premiership is filled with nancyboys and gangrapists and drug fiends and creatures, like Sir Alec Ferguson, of an entirely different species but surely they don't make jokes like this, especially about one of their own., This prick, of course, didn't actually think that, it was just another variation on sick as a parrot, to'ally and u''erly gutted;  scratching about in his cliche box, this was the best he could come up with - I thought it was some sick and twisted joke.

In the feverish coverage of celebrity reaction all expressed disbelief that a man so successful and happy could top himself, especially after  having, shortly before, broadcast, himself, some of that dire telly punditry,  the clunking, half-growled Hansenisms,  the chirpy cheese'n'onion flavoured Linekerisms, how could anyone so blessed top themselves, it is almost as though there was panic in the troughing ranks of ex-footballing bletherers,  'Appen tomorrow, bonnylad, might have mused the repulsive Shearer, 'appen tomorrow, oo knows, mebbe Ah'll be toppin mesen.

No-one in football was able to articulate the simplest of truths - in the midst of life we are in death,  who can know a man's mind, no-one was sophisticated enough to acknowledge  - and fuck me it's not asking a lot - that we each of us, every day of our lives, wear a mask that few if any, including ourselves,  can see behind.

God rest his soul, I am sorry for his family,  that was the proper response, not some showbiz, Victor Meldrewesque IDon'tBuh-lieveIt!  What's not to believe?  He's fucking dead isn't he? Instead, what they showed, clearly, beyond question, one after another, was that they didn't know Mr Speed at all.  All they knew was the moronic,  self-congratulatory charmed circle of professional football and that its septic bubble had briefly burst. If Mr Speed had really enjoyed an extensive network of really close and supportive  friends one would think that he' have confided in them, rather than stepping into thin air, with only the rope to break his fall. Empty-headed, vain, posturing egomaniacs, wankers all.  Never mind, lads, it'll all be back to normal next week;  talk on, talk on with hope in your hearts and you'll never talk alone.

 Britain's ever-popular salty snacks ambassador, Mr Gary Potato.


Mike said...

A sad event, indeed Mr I.

Its a fine line, as we all learn as we get older, and who knows what pushed poor Mr Speed over the edge.

Who amongst us can say we have not contemplated extreme acts in the dark hours? In an earlier post you upbraided me for saying that eating the ship's boy was unthinkable under any circumstances. I beg to disagree.

In an earlier part of life I trained with hard men under stress. Everyone has a breaking point.

It is sad when we turn for wisdom to the celebrities - as you rightly point out, inarticulate morons.

mongoose said...

Not all of them though, Mr I. This from Alan Shearer: “I am proud to have been his friend and will miss him dreadfully.” That would do for any of us would it not?

call me ishmael said...

I remember seeing Shearer as captain of England whining that he'd taken a dive which resulted in the other team getting a free kick and a goal. I was just trying to do something (ie cheat)for me country an' that's wot 'appened; maybe, in his forties, he's learned right from wrong.

I don't remember upbraiding you, mr mike, but I still think death is preferable to cannibalism.

My darkhours contemplations tend to the execution of Tony Blair and George Bush and their co-conspirators.

mongoose said...

Well, indeed. Football is just organised cheating. There not being enough rope in the land, I would gas the lot of them but Shearer's comment in this case was decent enough. That he formed a coherent sentence or two is praiseworthy in itself.