The Horn of Hate

“It’s the biggest mismatch in World Cup history,” a commentator tells me as I type. Actually, he’s talking about the point gulf that separates North Korea from Brazil. He can go on and on about the legacy of Pelé all he wants. But, really, who has the sensory wherewithal to care about the football anymore? SHUT UP WITH YOUR TRUMPET SOUTH AFRICA.
Just Fuck Off
Outside of the shorts of the hot Spanish goalie (I have included a picture which you may find of use in future onanism roadblocks) horns have no place at the World Cup. SHUT UP.

Mismatch? “Too right,” I yell at a television that will not stop emitting the sound of injured wasps. There has never been a greater mismatch in television history than that of my ears and the frigging vuvuzela; that blasted South African horn FIFA has not yet seen fit to consign to the waste-basket of unwanted noise.

Have you heard the arse-hatted thing? It is said to evoke the gentle hum of African bees. When in fact, it sounds like a gassy march-fly after a night of spicy food and cheap brandy. It sounds like sleep apnea strained through a filter of Miley Cyrus outtakes. It’s worse than the music they play at my Body Combat class. FOR GOD’S SAKE FIFA: this is the noise a rat makes during labor.

For inscrutable reasons, FIFA is content to give birth to further baby ear-rats. This is despite the fact that the wretched trumpets of evil have been identified as a threat to the auditory health of all attending matches. And it is despite the fact that this crappy little ear-splitter has an occasional history that DOES NOT EXCEED A DECADE.

That’s right. The vuvuzela is as new and disposable as the plastic from which it is rendered. Borrowed from the football stadia of Mexico, the tainted little toy did not travel to South Africa until the 1990s. Its name is faux-exotic. Its “history” is an invention and has nothing whatsoever to do with African bees. So, you can drop your multi-culti guilt about Zulu rhythm right this instant. Don’t blame the Zulu for this acoustic flatulence. Blame the hearing-impaired administrators of FIFA.

Despite medical evidence, complaints from eminent players and full knowledge that the vuvuzela “tradition” is every bit as long and as august as the career of Katy Perry, FIFA will not budge. They described the din as an “integral part of South Africa’s football-watching culture.” Which is (a) bollocks, and (b) about as logical as upholding the grand English tradition of beating your opponents to a bloody pulp with an iron bar in the car park after the match.

No one likes this blare. In fact, clever geeks have identified its hateful frequency to help us eliminate it from broadcast.

What the frig is wrong with FIFA? Is the organisation actively working toward making me hate the World Cup. For the sake of Maradona and all that is good: I finally learned the off-side rule in preparation for 2010. And now, there’s a hornet in my ears that makes me long for the soothing sounds of Norwegian death metal.

There is nothing, save for the fact that it took my mind briefly off Australia’s wan performance, to redeem this bugle of hate.
republished from original post at citysearch

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