My struggles with the truth

THE FOLLOWING BLOG CONTAINS THEMES AND LANGUAGE WHICH SOME READERS MAY FIND DISTURBING. INTENDED FOR MATURE READERS ONLY.

I made reference to the peerless Cyrille Regis in my last post. He was a late 70s striker who played for West Bromwich Albion and, alongside Laurie Cunninham and Brendan Batson, was one of Ron Atkinson's pioneering Three Degrees. This clip on YouTube shows them destroying Man U in the 78-79  season, the black footballers being booed every time they touched the ball. So things have moved on considerably, but I'd like to say a heartfelt "Well done" to Jason Roberts and Rio Ferdinand for their actions this weekend in not wearing the Kick It Out anti-racism campaign T-shirt. It looks like Rio's going to get a good kicking from Sir Alex Ferguson. SAF described Rio's actions as "embarrassing" and promised "He'll be dealt with it, don't worry about that".

Roberts and Ferdinand are protesting what they perceive to be a lack of action by the 'Kick It Out' organisation in combating racism in football. In light of the high-profile Suarez and Terry cases and what happened in Serbia it's time for something more than words on a t-shirt. I hope they get the opportunity to explain their positions rather than being vilified for rejecting the prevailing orthodoxy.

The reaction of the Serbian FA to the criticism they've received for their monkey chanting fans has been curious. They posted a heavily edited video on youTube suggesting that Danny Rose is lying when he says that he was the subject of racist abuse. It's pathetic, asinine, utterly witless and smacks of a Lance Armstrong style two-fingered denial.

There's a lot of that denial stuff floating about. I was on a sports news website and was perturbed by the amount of racist abuse offered by Football fans in defence of John Terry, which, of course, I had to challenge. There was one fella who had an onscreen name of THE TRUTH. The following are all pretty awful, but illustrate that racism is alive and well. I've copied and pasted his posts without editing or correction:

THE TRUTH

WHY DO NIG_GERS CARRY A TURD IN THERE WALLETS ?

 I.D.

THE TRUTH

WHY DO MONKEYS LOOK SO WORRIED ?

BECAUSE THEY KNOW THAT IN A MILLION YEARS THEY WILL EVOLVE INTO NIG_GERS.

THE TRUTH

WHY DID STEVEY WONDER ALWAYS LOOK SO HAPPY ?

BECAUSE NO ONE TOLD HIM HE WAS BLACK.

THE TRUTH

WHY DO NIG_GERS STINK ?

SO THAT BLIND PEOPLE CAN HATE THEM AS WELL.

THE TRUTH

THE DISCOVERER OF DNA DR JAMES WATSON SAID BLACK NEGROS

HAVE A VERY LOW IQ AND PREFER TO DANCE AROUND TO BONGO DRUMS

AND MOST SCIENTISTS BELIEVE THIS TO BE TRUE.

THE TRUTH

WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOU SEE A NIG_GER WITH ONE LEG ?

STOP LAUGHING AND RE-LOAD.

THE TRUTH

MOST SCIENTISTS THINK NEGROS HAVE THE IQ OF SMALL CHILDREN AND THE ONLY WAY TO CONTROL THEM

 IS TO GIVE THEM A GOOD THRASHING

THE TRUTH

ITS AN ""INCONVIENIENT TRUTH""

NO ONE WANTS NIG_GERS OR PAKIS HERE

THEY ARE SUB HUMAN IN EVERY WAY

ITS NOTHING PERSONAL

ITS JUST THE TRUTH

THE TRUTH

YOU HAVE ALREADY LOST THE ARGUMENT IF YOU TRY AND BAN SOMETHING..

WHICH MEANS YOU ARE UNABLE TO ARGUE YOUR POINT FOR OR AGAINST

THE TRUTH

ANYONE NOTICE HOW BLACKS ARE ENGLISH WHEN THEY WANT TO BE

AND SUDDENLY CHANGE TO  AFRICAN VICTIMS WHEN THEY WANT TO BE

THE TRUTH

 80% OF  AFRICAN NIG_GERS ARE HIV POSITIVE

 AND THE REASON IS THEY TAKE IT UP THE ARSE

 STRANGE BUT TRUE CHECK IT OUT

THE TRUTH

DARWINS LAW 

SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

WHITES ARE FIT 

NIG_GERS ARE  S_H_I_T

Horrified, I asked, quite reasonably, what the fuck the moderators were doing allowing this vile filth to be posted without censure or sanction as it indicated that they agreed with these views. There were those who posted that, like many "People of colour", I was being too sensitive, or actually a bit of  a bigot for wanting to restrict THE TRUTH's right to free speech.

In celebration of my love for Gene Simmons my e-mail addy bears a "Demon" reference, which inspired the THE TRUTH to respond:

THE TRUTH

HAVE YOU NOTICED ITS ONLY NIG_GERS AND FAGSTHAT WANT TO BAN ME

OTHER MAY NOT AGREE WITH ME, BUT THEY RESPECT MY RIGHT TO FREE SPEECH

DEMONFAG.... ITS CALLED FREEDOM OF SPEECH

COS YOU CANT HANDLE THE TRUTH

This was a step too far for me. I channeled the spirit of Malcolm Tucker and offered a brusque riposte:

Do not address me, you f@%king moron. You're a waste of skin, rather like the useless moderators who've allowed you to say stuff that you should be arrested for. And what's with the 'fag' reference? Scared of the big black dick, are we? If I'd known you were going to turn out this way, I would have insisted your Mother swallow instead of...

Despite the warning in red at the top of this page I cannot reproduce the concluding thoughts of my rant. If you can bear to, read this imbecile's crass posts again. They pinpoint precisely why wearing a t-shirt is not enough. Kick It Out need to do more than offer slogans and promotional t-shirts, because racism is still a very real problem.

Bringing you up to speed

Sudden realisation can have a profound physical effect. You read about it in books and see it on TV and it seems so hammy and cliché, but it's true. Try this for size.

I used to play as a striker for the British Council football team. I modelled myself after Cyrille Regis: muscular, powerful and quick. Very quick. My scoring record was pretty good: better than a goal every two games. My favourite goal saw me run from midway inside my own half, head the ball past the last defender, dummy the keeper and roll the ball into the bottom left hand corner of the goal. I was so elated I ran off to celebrate with the two casual bystanders who were watching by the corner flag. It later turned out that they'd pissed all over my kit bag and my copy of Vibe magazine which featured a Public Enemy cover story. Bastards.

A couple of weeks later I scored a 25 yard screamer which curved outrageously as it arrowed into the top corner of the net. Buoyed by having notched what was obviously the goal of the season I found an extra enthusiasm. An exuberance which gave me an extra yard of pace as I chased our opponent's playmaker back towards the centre circle. I executed a perfect sliding tackle, gathered possession of the ball and passed it back to our holding midfielder before sprinting my way back upfront for the next phase of play.

As I ran I became aware that my left hand felt weird. I figured it must have been caught underneath me as I slid in to win the ball. I looked down and saw my thumb bent back on itself at a grotesque angle, as if it had decided independently to pack up and emigrate to my elbow. I knew immediately that it was dislocated and ran to the referee to ask him if he would pop it back into place. His response, after a wince which pulled his face into a horrified 'O' was, "You've been watching too many movies, mate. I can't do fuck all about that. You'll need to go to hospital."

The understanding that my injury was serious and wasn't a Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon momentary inconvenience acted as the trigger for the physical response referred to above. Not, as you'd imagine, one of excruciating pain, but a wave of nausea the like of which I've never experienced, even after a dodgy kebab which is the exclusive fare of my local high street eaterie. My legs were suddenly unable to bear my weight, I swooned and collapsed like a 19th Century woman suffering an attack of the vapours. I was helped back to the dressing room by a couple of colleagues where I waited for an ambulance to arrive.

I had a similar revelatory experience this week. About 3 months ago I had an appalling day at work. I finally gave up smacking my head against the brick wall at about 7pm and, in a supremely bad mood, drove home. A month later that I received a letter advising that I'd been caught by a speed camera doing 36mph in a 30mph zone. I was so angry at myself, but hey, that'll teach me. I'll be paying much more attention when I get behind the steering wheel from now on. Luckily I was given the option of attending a speed awareness course rather than have to pay a fine and accept a 3 points penalty on my licence. So that's what I was doing on Tuesday morning.

There were 24 of us in a room being looked after by 2 facilitators, one of whom had the demeanour of a sorrowful, empathic, avuncular prison officer, the other the gloomy aspect of an undertaker from Rotherham: each one of his anecdotes ending with, "Ploughed straight into 'em. Never stood a chance."

I saw this course as an opportunity to reappraise my attitude to driving and get back into the good habits that I'd long slipped out of. The other people there...? Hmmmm... Not so much.

The first question was offered by the sad Uncle: what is the speed limit in built-up areas? Easy. That's 30mph. Although in some circumstances the police will apply a formula (the speed limit + 10% + 9) that gives drivers some leeway up to 42mph. Interesting, no?

Second question. What is the speed limit on motorways? That's right, 70mph. Use the formula and you get 86mph. A middle-aged woman with badly died hair (she had plainly forgotten to do her roots) and who steadfastly refused to take her brown anorak off said, "Well the limit's going to be 80 soon anyway. So..."

"Yes, but the limit is still seventy miles per hour," said the doleful trainer. The funeral director was out of the room.

"They'll put it up to eighty. They have to," said a bloke in a chunky grey pullover which looked as if it was rather itchy. The whole room shifted its attention to him. "The government want us to drive faster so we use more fuel and give them more money in taxes."

His pronouncement was met with silence. Apart from me. I coughed up a giggle. His stern face told me he wasn't joking. I stopped laughing. This fella's enunciation of his conspiracy theory was the cue for everyone else to give voice to their sense of injustice.

A woman at the back with her glasses perched on the end of her nose said, "The thing you don't appreciate is that society moves much faster now. We all work, we're all pressed for time and for the most part we're all being penalised for just keeping up with the flow of traffic."

"They friggin' trapped me - excuse my language. They were hiding behind the bushes with a speed gun," said a woman in a nurse's uniform.

"I'd like to see the breakdown of deaths on the road. I bet most of 'em are just ordinary people in a hurry to get to work," said a man in a tracksuit at my table.

A woman with a number two haircut and very pink, shiny skin - which reminded me of spam - got very animated and punctuated her shrill speech with a jabbing index finger. "Right. Let's get right to the crutch(!) of the matter," she hissed, flecks of spittle spraying from her downturned mouth. "You lot want us to speed so we can keep you in a job. We have to speed," which sounded a lot like the same conspiracy theme enunciated by the grey pullover: as if David Cameron had clamped their foot to the accelerator pedal.

Many whiney voices were raised at this point, crashing around the room in a bitter cacophony, but I tuned out as I began to swoon with the realisation that I may well be a misanthrope. Suddenly X Factor and 50 Shades Of Grey made perfect sense. I spend most of my life fully engaged in responsibility avoidance (I construct my own little world within which I can draw upon resources to help me remain creative - that's my excuse anyway), but even I accept that the reason I received a speeding ticket is because I was driving like a wanker and I could have hurt, or even killed, someone.

I'm aware it's a bit of a touchy feely notion, but we are all of us connected. Whatever I do, or don't do, has an impact on the wider society. A more apposite example of this is our lust for the new iPhone 5. The working conditions in the Foxconn plant where they are manufactured are so awful there was a spate of suicides. In reaction to this the employee dormitories are now equipped with safety nets to catch those who might want to jump. Earlier this year around 150 workers threatened to commit suicide by leaping from the factory roof in protest at their working conditions. This is emblematic of life in the Western world: poor foreign workers, stripped of their rights and dignity, and forced to make gadgets for the wealthy (ie. us). We point to our gadgets as a sign of the advancement of the human race and this is true, but at what cost.

These workers do not receive what any person would consider a living wage. A Foxconn production line worker would have to work 60,000 years to earn what Tim Cook, CEO of Apple, takes home in 365 days.

And the wider implications if we cede our responsibilities to each other are manifest. We end up in a special relationship with a rapacious America who's foreign policy in the Middle East is clearly delineated by the scary and comical John Bolton, but no-one gives a flying finger of fudge:

"...Persian Gulf, the critical oil and natural gas producing region that we fought so many wars to try to protect our economy from the adverse impact of losing that supply or having it available only at very high prices."

So, what have I learned this week?

1) I'll be sticking with my iPhone 4 for a while. Well, at least until my present contract runs out.

and

2) Only a fool breaks the 2 second rule. Unless the police take time out from tasering blind people of pensionable age and force you to drive faster.