Holy shit father

Thanks to We Goats for the image

Fascinating.  A comment on a Metafilter thread about the latest reports of paedophilia in the Catholic Church (as is often the case) really really made me think:
 
“I'm in agreement with those who see the Catholic orders as a refuge for homosexuals in cultures that were hostile to them. In fact, I suspect that "the calling" was, for the most part, a metaphor for homosexuality. Priests would take confession from boys who admitted to homosexual desires and recruit them into the secret brotherhood. This was a structure that worked well at perpetuating itself up until homosexuality became socially acceptable.

" One of the side effects of adult priests recruiting teen-aged boys into the fold was that it also provided a safe place for paedophiles to operate. I suspect that they formed a deeper secret cabal within or parallel to the homosexual secret society that was the backbone of the priesthood. With the reduction of the stigma against homosexuality, paedophiles became the major source of "the called," and the evidence of how the church's hierarchy has not just protected paedophiles but facilitated them leads to the conclusion that there is a strong, perhaps even dominant, paedophilic presence within that hierarchy. Benedict's homophobic pronouncements are natural from the leader of an organization that depended on homophobia in order to perpetuate itself. He is fighting the tide, but I doubt that he can see any other path. The only population that is really suited to the overt life of a priest are asexuals, and they are not common, nor are they likely to reveal themselves in confession. Neither are they likely to be racked with the guilt that is such a central component of Catholic life, and so they are entirely unsuitable.

" It strikes me that the whole structure built on concealed sexuality and secret corruption is no longer tenable in the modern world. The only possible way to rebuild the Catholic Church would be for it to honestly become what it has portrayed itself as, a spiritual cloister in a sinful world. But that is the kind of thing that will take generations to achieve, and the church probably does not have generations left to it.”

The gist of the comment, as you can see, is that the Catholic Church – historically – was at least partly a haven for homosexuals.  The celibacy provided adequate cover for the frowned-upon (to say the least!) behaviours of gay love and enabled (through the Confessional) the recruitment of younger men into its ranks.  As homosexuality has gradually become less stigmatised (though not necessarily in Oswestry) the new secret society is all about paedophilia, with the same secret structures being used to cover up this new perversion.  Now, I am a little uncomfortable with the homophobic undertones of some of the argument – especially when the Church itself has used the defence that paedos are in some ways analogous to homos – and would like to distance myself from that.

I am however, intrigued by the Derridean (no such word, I’m sure, but I like the cut of its jib) element that the evil (of the sexual abuse of children) is somehow contained within the good (of the belief in Christ) and that the one is entirely dependent on the other.  See my bold highlight of ‘Jimmy Havok’s’ comment above for clarification.

Dripping

It's like God (I do realise that precipitation is not a divine phenomenon, ta very much. Do you mind if we go with it?) is a repressed fucker standing at the urinal in the local after a couple of Fosters, praying (can He do that?) that the bloke next to Him will not have a bladder the size of Canada and will finish sometime soon so that he can have a little privacy. He could of course unleash a thunderbolt, or - if the Zeus thing is a bit crass for Him - just be omnipresent and move (simultaneously and instantaneously) to a time when He is pissing. Like a Horse. At the same time, He could be having sex with a virgin I suppose, which does throw up some interesting (if not already well explored - even hackneyed - via internet pr0n) ideas

But He doesn't. The dark clouds loom above and I left my bike in the underground garage at work for no good reason (apart from a nagging pain in the small of my back) in anticipation of a Noah-esque deluge. Then it was down the park with the kids for a kick about, and the odd spot made a pathetic attempt to douse the scorched earth, but never produced that Peter North moment. I settled down to watch a decent bit of 5 a side in the court, but didn't get anything there either. Blacks v whites and it was shite - largely because of some really annoying fans sitting close by me.

As I write, the sky is still lowering and the only dampness in the house (and even outside) is down to my sweat glands.

Ann the Pan

So much blather in the world, don't you agree? I've seen it on Twitter, on the news, and at the last on Facebook, but the original telly viewing was where it counted. And I'm not talking 4OD or iPlayer or ITV Player or Demand Five or any of that shit. No, this was viewed as God intended, when it was scheduled to be broadcast, and I was sitting in a chair with toast when I watched it. I felt positively vintage.

What I watched was part of a strand, as I believe the TV pros call it, on the history of the Bible. Perfect Sunday evening viewing, because it fits in with those Natural World type docs and Lost Kingdoms of Africa - you know the shit I'm talking about - and I had certain expectations of such a programme. Howard Jacobson has been heavily trailed as part of it, and I have always liked his style - erudite and impassioned - with a sense of humour to boot. I had not really seen any, planning as I was to catch up at some point, and was rather disappointed to find that the Right Honourable Ann Widdecombe MP was fronting (and that, dear readers, is very much the cromulent word here) the episode I was due to watch, which was to be on the theme of the Ten Commandments.

After a minute or two, I realised that I have met people like Ms Widdecombe in my life. Presented with an argument she doesn't like and/or cannot respond to, she chooses to ignore it and carry on regardless, and such was the case in this hardly exhaustive and utterly pointless quest to discover the origins and lasting appeal of the Mosaic Law. Seeking to find out more about this Moses character, she pushed her enormous (presumably) un-sucked knockers up the steps of a university somewhere so that she could pick the large brain of a rather foxy professor and find out a little more. Oh, and find out more she did; to the effect that most Biblical scholars these days do not think that the great man ever existed, largely because there is no archaeological evidence whatsoever to substantiate any of the stuff probably written several hundred years after the event by a number of chiselers in order to make capital on it. The numbers in the Bible, we were told by the foxy (Mediterranean looking, as it happens) prof, would certainly have left some mark on the land, as we would expect several million people to have been involved. There was no proof of Moses' existence. Ann was having none of this. She became very frosty very quickly, and her tone grew brusque - almost peremptory.

"But you cannot prove he didn't exist!" she said at last, with a tone of empty triumph in her voice, before heaving her vast (never milked) mammaries towards an unsuspecting Rabbi, who (with his wife present, of course) showed Ann the two of everything (sink, cooker, fridge - you name it) he had in his kitchen. He had only one wife, but he followed some 613 religious laws.

She then went on to canvas various other interested parties, all the while extolling the virtues of some kind of puritanical golden age, exemplified by a pastor in the South West of England in the 17th Century who saved the sinners with his strict adherence to the Ten Commandments, postulating that somehow by following these edicts today, we would be able to eliminate the hoody threat and turn around the awful broken families/rampant alcoholism/nihilism which blights our great country today. None of this - needless to say - took into account any historical considerations around poverty, disease, abuse and inequality which were even worse back then, although you could get a bottle of gin for a ha'penny, so it can't have been all bad.

Her humongous diddies at last came up against Christopher Hitchens, looking splendidly dissolute, and a slightly rabid Stephen Fry (and this is where the blather comes in. Twitter was almost as excited as it was about the Paperchase scandal) who flecked her with his spittle at an Intelligence Squared debate on the virtues or otherwise of Catholicism. Vociferous was, I think, the correct term to describe Stephen, and I was (and am) wholeheartedly behind him - oo-er Missus. Ann's response, in the best Parliamentary tradition, was (effectively) to tell him to stop shouting.

Silly cow.

The Man With Two Names or Simon Peter

So we say adieu to 2009. Thank Christ for that. The first Pope, rendered beautifully by Rubens above, looks down at us, rattling the keys to Heaven. Will he allow the current Captain of Jesus, Cardinal Ratzinger to enter, I wonder, what with all the paedo baggage and the ongoing craziness of the condom edicts?

Will the holy Blair (intriguing and infuriating in equal measure that the man is still so relevant. Thanks in part to the no-doubt useless Chilcot Inquiry) make it in - confessing as he did to the Messianic strain - who saw the mission to remove Saddam as over-riding all concerns of international law or morals, as well as being further exposed as a loony God-botherer who refused to take any calls while 'worshipping'? Will there be a place for Barry from D.C., clutching his Peace Prize to his chest and nipping out the back of God's Kingdom for a quick drag? Another one, he, convinced of the 'rightness' of his cause, and prepared to sacrifice whatever it takes to achieve his aims.

Is that, after all, the sign of good leadership? Continuing blindly on despite the consternation and wailing of the nay-sayers? Do we, as Christian nations, still believe that we are leading the Heathen hordes to the path of righteousness? I have heard rhetoric this year to freeze my blood. People are actually harking back to the days of the Crusades in defence of the ridiculous venture in Afghanistan. I have been accused on Facebook of conflating issues when saying that the war over there is somehow linked to oil and drugs and guns. Be that as it may be. On and on we go. Squaddies in their inferior gear getting picked off one by one in Helmand Province, car bombs exploding in Baghdad and Karachi - although at least the latter is still considered newsworthy - and yet more pointless security enhancements at airports following attempted 'terrorist' acts involving trousers, yet no end in sight to the insanity of it all.

Old St. Pete would surely think twice about opening the gates to Fred the Shred and others of his ilk who have contributed so much to human endeavour over the past year or more. The fall of Lehman Brothers back in 08 precipitated the fall of FW Woolworth (until they re-started as a net business in a hut in Hull) and the quake's aftershocks are still rumbling, so that there is now not a proper bookshop for miles from here. Maybe there will be a sign on the Euston Road, just past the British Library, saying 'Last Book Shop for 400 Miles'.

It would hardly have been thought possible, but Oswestry has sunk even further into dereliction and despair, despite featuring on Bargain Hunt (though it must be noted that this was not the Rolls Royce, David Dickinson affair, but the new, cheaper version) especially as Wollies was comfortably its biggest non-food retailing outlet. It now sells home & garden items, a la Wilko's.

I somehow doubt that Khaldoon Al-Mubarak will be granted a seat among the hosts, pre-occupied as he will no doubt be by the houris in his fragrant garden beyond this earthly toil, and I am convinced that Garry Cook will also not be ascending after he (doubtless) pops his clogs on the 14th hole. The soul of football will be down there with him, suffering the eternal torment it so richly deserves, while Sparky will I'm sure be smiling his beatific grin downwards, enjoying the last laugh. There has to be universal agreement, however, that the lovely Bobby is definitely already there in the celestial dugout.

Is the legendary Jacko also already there, his alleged dalliances with infants forgiven or forgotten? Compare and contrast reactions to Jackson's death with those to 'Steo' Gately's demise if you will, for a snapshot of the modern world.



But enough of this celebrity obsession. I try to pride myself on not being a victim of all this meeja hype bullshit, but am of course snared by it all too often.

Personally speaking, it has been an interesting year. Like a millennial rocket, I spurted high into the sky (this is all relative, you understand. It's not as if I won the Nobel Peace Prize or anything) and then sputtered out, only able to watch my own vapour trail as it fizzled out of my rectum. In all honesty, I feel as if I have let myself and others down in the way that I dealt with the (admittedly difficult) situation I found myself in. But there's no point in crying over spilt milk. I must listen to those around me - and the voices in my head - and strike out for 2010.

Hell, there's always the internet!!!1! A slow but sure increase in my online presence this year has still not seen 10,000 hits on this blog, although joining the MCFC pool on Flickr did wondrous things for my stats on there.

A Happy New Year (and decade) to everyone who reads this. See you in the Arthur C Clarke sequel.

Damned good? Or Saint Thaddeus

Only two Apostles left, and only two posts before the end of 2009. My final post will be so good that it will need to be named twice, and will include the obligatory round-up of the year. Best wishes to Mancini. I love his music.

Podcast Episode 4 is now up. I thank yew.



St. Thaddeus is not the most tedious of all the Apostles, although very little seems to be known about him, and even his name is shrouded in the usual confusion. In common with many Jews (it seems) around the turn of the BC/AD thing, he may have been called Jude. Most interestingly, he is the patron saint of lost causes, and as such has no doubt been called on by many a football fan in moments of extremis. He is also the patron saint of Flamengo in Brazil.

One footballing icon who definitely would not have invoked this (or any other, given that the only thing he believed in was himself) saint, as I am currently finding out, is Brian Howard Clough. I was fortunate enough to receive both the book and the DVD of The Damned Utd over the festive season, and am rattling through the book at a fair lick right now. The blurb makes claims that the book is among the best ever written about sport.

I haven't finished it yet, but would struggle to contest this claim, marvellously enjoyable as I am finding it to read. It is a riveting subject, and pretty well written, though repetition is perhaps, er, over-used as a literary device. Additionally, repetition is perhaps, er, over-used as a literary device. However, there are few others I can think of which would compete, especially in the realm of fiction. I have enjoyed various biographies and autobiographies (Maradonna's stands out particularly) and many good books ON football, but this is right up there with fictional/historical sports writing. I can only hope that the movie matches it and is an improvement on Goal! although that would not be difficult. Middlesbrough??!! I ask you. That there is a Goal! 2 is something of a surprise.

Best wishes to all for the New Year, though I will return before the end of 09.

Jesusland or St Andrew

St. Andrew (BTW, some of the ads in that link are pretty egregious. Two paragraphs of text and then it's straight into the 'St. Andrew charms and bracelets for sale' schtick. Jeez Louise!) lived in Jesus Land.



The shape of the famous Scottish saltire is said to be derived from the fact that Andrew elected to be crucified on a cross designed in the shape of an 'X' as opposed to the traditional Jesus hook. This was done because - it is said - Andrew did not feel worthy to die on the same type cross as the saviour. Which is of course very admirable, and no doubt illustrates clearly his character as a highly principled and devoted follower of the Lord. That the jockos should have chosen him as their patron saint is I suppose slightly ironic - and I'm being no more racist than Frankie Boyle when I say that, thank you very much.

Thanks to my Jocko friend - Toppski - for the image!

Well, by the time this post goes live, we will be in the white heat of the Christmas cauldron. What could be termed the climax of the day, with the Queen's Speech and all that jazz. It hasn't been a bad one so far for me, with one bottle of port sunk already and another warming up. Only two mince pies have been consumed (up to now) and one cracker has been pulled. I will have my mother for additional company, and that should be good, and will be scratching my head trying to work out how to set up the new XBox.

I actually prefer the period between Christmas and New Year, because the footy is on (and we have a pretty crazy fixture calendar this year, thank fuck) and there's a feeling of the country waking up from some torpor, shaking itself a bit and getting back to business again. How much business, in these times of financial crisis, remains to be seen. But we must always be optimistic, for life goes on, and those of with children have an innate duty to say that the future's bright, the future's not shite. So on with the show.

Bring on 2010 and the World Cup.

Boiling Oil or Saint John

St John the Apostle is the patron saint of writers (as well as theologians, publishers, booksellers, editors, friendships, painters, burns and poisoning [?]) for perhaps obvious reasons, being as he was probably the most literary of the 12 (ish) followers of JC. Despite being dipped in boiling oil, he seemingly survived and died peacefully in his old age at Ephesus. Although disputed, there is a school of thought that the same John what wrote the Gospel and the Epistles also wrote the insane ramblings of the Book of Revelation. One could say of course that all of this is merely more of the church attempting to create historical echoes later on by contriving connections with Old Testament figures (comparisons are made between John and Daniel) and thus provide gravitas for the fairy tales and political machinations of the Christian faith.

Which brings me nicely on to the subject of the hour, which is of course the parting of the ways between Mr Hughes and Manchester City FC plc.com or whatever the fuck it is. You might assume from previous vitriolic outpourings that I would have been happy with the departure of the boy from Ruabon. After all, my picture clearly illustrates where the true roots of the man lay (and still lie, I'll warrant) and although I am of course not so naive as to think that I can possibly change the tide in the world of football by demanding or expecting that ex-United players are not involved with City, it does still rankle. I know that some of the decisions made over the past few months have not been made by Sparky, and I have to admit that there have been some fantastic matches (the recent display against Spurs aside) and even grudgingly accede that we are indeed still the 'same old City'.

I have warmed a little towards Hughes I suppose, though it would never have been a true love affair, even if he had taken us to the title and the Champions League final. However, evil, as President Obama told us recently, really does exist. Evil is always relative, and there is a far bigger pantomime villain than Hughes currently stalking the corridors of the CoMS. I speak of course of Mr Garry Cook. A first class twat who makes Peter Kenyon seem like a nice bloke to have a pint with. And that takes some doing. We've all been here before of course, with Spurs leading the way over the ridiculous Jol/Ramos situation, but it doesn't get any better with the watching - knowing that it will end with a massive cash payout and a nasty taste in the mouth.

As for Mancini, in common with the few people I've spoken to, I know very little about him, and the game against Stoke on Boxing Day will not be an easy one. Let's hope the pathetic dressing room rifts can be healed and we can get on with the football for a change.

Merry Christmas. Happy Yule. To one and all.

Brahmin Spear or Saint Thomas

You can now listen to my latest podcast. Which is a philosophical treatise on the state of the universe. The first of many chats with mates. I just have to advise you that the whole Rentaghost section at the end is somehow gone forever. Between Audacity and PodOMatic is a mighty digital chasm into which the nuggets have disappeared for good.

This is a shame, but please click on the link below and enjoy the first 8 minutes or so.

LINK BELOW

One of the more interesting Apostles seems to have been Thomas - famous for his doubt of course - and known as Didymus (meaning 'twin') he is reputed to have been the only Apostle to preach outside the Roman Empire. He is said to have been killed by stoning and then piercing by spear at the hand of an angry (at Christian poaching of believers) Brahmin on a mountain-top near Mylapore in Kerala, Southern India. To this day, there is still a significant Christian community in this part of India.

Some have postulated that Thomas (as above, the English name Thomas derives from the Aramaic word for 'twin') was in fact Jude, brother of Jesus, though whether he was his twin brother is not stated. I think it unlikely, given the whole immaculate conception thing, which would mean that a twin brother in the mix would somewhat muddy the waters, I'm sure you will agree.

Thomas is patron saint of the blind, thanks to his own occasional spiritual blindness, most clearly illustrated by his unwillingness to believe in the resurrection until he actually saw the marks of crucifixion on the Messiah's body. Many Christians really believe that his actual remains reside in Italy.

Seeking Inspiration, or Saint Philip

I do appreciate the imagination of those who compile the Catholic Encyclopedia, as well as those in general who have made up stories based on a few inconclusive lines from inconclusive books. Get this (from the Catholic Encyclopedia) for example:

• Before the miraculous feeding of the multitude, Christ turns towards Philip with the question: "Whence shall we buy bread, that these may eat?" to which the Apostle answers: "Two hundred penny-worth of bread is not sufficient for them, that every one may take a little" (vi, 5-7).
• When some heathens in Jerusalem came to Philip and expressed their desire to see Jesus, Philipreported the fact to Andrew and then both brought the news to the Saviour (xii, 21-23).
• When Philip, after Christ had spoken to His Apostles of knowing and seeing the Father, said to Him: "Lord, shew us the Father, and it is enough for us", he received the answer: "He that seeth me, seeth the Father also" (xiv, 8-9).

These three episodes furnish a consistent character-sketch of Philip as a naïve, somewhat shy, sober-minded man.

How the hell could those three episodes furnish a consistent character sketch of anyone? Let alone of a shy, sober-minded man? Yet it is accepted as part of 'doctrine'. They're all mad I tells ya. Mad as boxes of frogs.

With the increasing likelihood of my not finding employment (gainful or otherwise) in the near future, I need some inspiration. I have been afflicted with some dreaded lergy or other over the past week or so, and feel a shadow of my former self. Simply because I can, I will go into some detail, which may be repulsive to some and entertaining to others.

Whilst in Oswestry a couple of weeks back I developed a sore spot (looking back, I blame it on the Turkish Cypriot barber who gave me a trim before I left. Probably didn't sterilise his cutthroat properly) on the back of my neck, and a few days after returning to London, it had developed into a monstrous carbuncle of Charles Windsorian proportions. I'm not unusual I think in avoiding visiting the doctor, so things had degenerated pretty badly by the time I did finally make an appointment, the thing had grown to almost an inch across and was dominating my body. The doc took one very brief look (he didn't even come close to me, let alone touch the damned thing) and prescribed a sackful of flucloxacyllin and penicillin to be taken 4 times daily for a period of one week plus, the which I am still forcing down my neck.

These medicaments in themselves had a negative effect on my system, and contributed to the general feeling of malaise and enervation I was suffering. Then, finally, on Wednesday evening, just after enduring the pathetic City display, things came to a head. Enough detail for you, I reckon. Save to say that I doubt I will ever be able to eat toffee sauce again. Two days later, and still the goo was draining out, and still my guts were troubled by the fungal antibiotic activity.

One could hardly say the weather has been perfect, but there have been some days when I could feasibly have taken the bike out for a bracing spin, but I have not felt in any shape to do so. I am therefore reduced to Twitter and Facebook, along with regular flips into my Gmail to see if any of the numerous applications I've sent are going anywhere. Nada, if you want to know.

It is imperative, now that I am at last starting to feel almost normal again, that I find a couple of activities to occupy mind and body. I will aim to write a book, and resolve to get out on two wheels on the mean streets before I lose my sanity. I will have to ignore the countdown to Christmas, difficult as that will be.

Fair play or Saint Bartholomew

I was thinking of taking in a match tomorrow. My kids said the other day:

"Why do you never take us to football matches, Daddy?"

I could have answered that a) I never go myself anymore and b) that they would undoubtedly be bored after about 10 minutes, being as they are totally uninterested in the beautiful game.

It would have to be a lower league match, you understand. I'm just disappointed that Orient are playing at Walsall, as that would have been my match of choice. You can forget the Premier League for a walk-up ticket, especially as Fulham are hosting the Rags. Championship games in the capital (QPR v Sheffield Utd and Palace v Barnsley) don't look particularly attractive, due to the fact that I don't like either Loftus Road (a soulless ground) or Selhurst Park (a nightmare to get to and from, not improved by the sight of the world's largest kebab spinning in one of the many shops on the interminable walk to the ground from the station, which of course is NOT Selhurst Park, and a horrible ground to watch a game in) so I've been looking at a potentially spicy affair.

Charlton/Millwall.

Although not West Ham grade, this is a fixture often notable for the wrong reasons, and which for those reasons will mean that getting a ticket in the Jimmy Seed stand will be nigh on impossible.

Maybe my high flying dreams of going to watch some football tomorrow will not be realised after all. Ah well. Saint Bartholomew would have understood.

Bust or Matthew the Tax Collector

Update - 15/12/09. Check out a podcast of this post at the following URL:

http://myeralan.podOmatic.com/entry/2009-12-16T02_14_43-08_00

How exciting!

Preaching as far afield as Ethiopia, or so it is said, the Apostle Matthew (Christians insist that the Gospel writer and the companion of Jesus are the same person, although some dispute this, based on the likelihood of languages a typical tax collector might have been familiar with, and the language in which the Gospel was written. Whatever) has been adopted as the patron saint of the money men.



I thought it appropriate then to base this post on him, what with the continuing brouhaha around the economy, and especially in light of the alarming news about Greece and Ireland. As far as the green republic, everyone seems aghast that the once mighty Celtic Tiger economy has fallen so far so fast, but an interesting point was made on the Today Programme this morning, to the effect that things weren't exactly a bed of roses for the Irish poor during the great boom time of Dublin stag parties, luxury golf courses, and whatever the hell else fed the beast. Something along the lines of double the amount of people losing their homes and double the number falling below the poverty line. Jaysus himself knows what kind of unholy mess the place is in now. Those who work the hardest, and deliver the most value, are of course the ones most at threat, facing further job cuts and reductions in salary, while the Taoiseach and his cronies (I think we all know that Irish politics has long led the way in delivering graft to the people) continue to have the craic with abandon.

And the first republic (I do like those 'how much can I borrow?' ads embedded in the Grauniad stories - they display real sensitivity, don't you think?) as I guess it could be called, they say is suffering as a result of EU membership, forcing harsh decisions on the ministers as they skulk around Athens in their Mercedes, dodging the barricades and braziers. The dire warnings are of course that the suffering endured and about to be endured in these two places (not to mention Iceland and Dubai) will soon be heading our way. Dire days indeed.

Swing Low or Judas Iscariot

I've already spoken of one Judas (known as NOT Iscariot) and now move on to arguably (some might say that Simon Peter holds that crown) the most famous of all the 12 - Judas Iscariot. My thoughts naturally turn towards the turncoats of the football world, and I thought I would proffer a little essay on them. Tiresome Tevez has of course been cited as a recent convert to the blue half of Manchester, what with all that stupid poster rubbish, but I don't think he can really count as a true football Judas.

We have had our own of course, in the past. Denis Law is famed for the bitter way in which he (felt he had) contributed to United's relegation with his back heeled goal to give us a 1-0 lead. Similar to the way in which we were convinced we were safe from relegation with a draw under Joe Royle, only to find out that we actually needed to win, however, the fact was that United would have been relegated even if they had managed to draw with us. To be fair to the Lawman, he could not have known this at that time. Law was a City man before signing for the Rags though, and his stellar career was already in decline when he came back to us, so not a top rank Judas. Marks out of 10 (with a healthy bonus for the back-heel) I would say 6 or maybe 7.


These days you would have to say that there is a great deal less store set by loyalty in the football world, and it is a sad fact that upping sticks for the most lucrative offer is now the norm. I'm not sure how much truth there is in the story about Robinho thinking he had signed for United when he came to us, but it is certainly believable. There have been (and are) a couple of hate figures on the scene, but mostly the entirely mercenary nature of players and managers in the game seems to have been accepted with a resigned shrug by the average fan.

Of course, the lovely Ashley gets a bit of a rough ride just off the Holloway Road (and I'm not making a cheap reference to Joe Orton here, I promise) but then, although perhaps not a football Judas in the strictest sense, he is a pretty odious person in general - not just on the pitch - and pretty much deserving of the opprobrium heaped upon him, I say, what with his moral indignation at Arsenal selling him short on 5 grand and all. Marks out of 10, I think - 7. Though without the Cheryl factor, he would only have rated a 6.

Proper venom, a result of the years of bitter herbs and under-achievement, can only be spat out by the other half of North London of course. The mighty Lilywhites and their adoring fans hold a special place in their hearts for Big Sol, guilty of crossing the great divide, and of course going on to bigger and better things with the Gooners than he ever managed with Spurs. Though of course one cannot condone the atrocious chants hurled at him, neither is it acceptable that his brother should have attacked somebody for suggesting that Campbell might be gay. The whole thing smacks of terrible homophobia and racism if you ask me. Elements which are all too prevalent in modern society, despite the constant bemoaning shrieks of the anti-PC brigade. But I digress. On the Judas scale, I would have to give Sol an 8, though of course Spurs/Arsenal crossovers (whether of players or managers, and in either direction) is not entirely without precedent.

So I could go on and on, as I find this an interesting little topic, but I fear it may already have been done to death, so I will conclude with the player I consider (based on around 2 hours of internet study and a quick chat in the pub with a few blokes last night) to be the biggest Judas of all time. In a city where football rivalry has always and will always transcend mere sporting considerations, the story of Mo Johnston's signing for (yes, it's that man again!) Souness at Rangers is a remarkable one. Whatever the real reasons behind the sudden and highly dramatic change of heart to play at Ibrox, it was an act which is still a hot topic for Old Firm fans, and anyone who has a heartbeat (I mean, anyone who calls themselves a footy fan). Given the backdrop of Glasgow rivalry, the last minute decision, and Johnston's record at Rangers, he surely must be awarded a 10 on the Judas scale.

I would welcome any thoughts you may have.

Taking Stock or Simon The Zealot

Simon the Zealot (variously also associated with St. Jude, or, could have been Thaddeus AND/OR Lebbeaus, aka Judas NOT Iscariot - which I would have thought was a fairly important distinction to make in later years of the flourishing Christian faith - as well as possible confusion with Thomas) was a very obscure Apostle, as may perhaps be divined from the blather above.

He is big in the saw canon, with one legend speaking of his martyrdom resulting from a magic trick gone badly wrong, resulting in two halves of an early Christian Jew. One would have assumed that the bottom half would have been the Jewish half, but this was a spectacular trick, because old Simon/Thaddeus/Lebbaeus/Judas/Thomas was sawn in two longitudinally! Now that must have been something to see in the days before band saws. He is said to have visited Glastonbury, as so many of that crowd seem to have done, though how this can possibly be verified is clearly beyond the wit of any but religious scholars.



The more I read about JC's crowd, the more I realise that he may well have had 12 men with him in the same way that David M0yes has 12 men. As in Zulu, they move about a lot to create the illusion that the garrison is well defended, snatching parity from certain defeat only because of the sheer bloody-mindedness of the marauding hordes and their 'buffalo horn' tactics, mercilessly hurling pointless ball after pointless ball over the top and into the path of the stalwart Enfields (I am definitely mixing my metaphors here, so help me) until the last ditch fierce final stand by the Yank in the hospital.

At the finish, Moyes stands bloodied, like some latter-day Michael Caine, surveying the carnage before him.

Day of Decision

I couldn't make up my mind about going to the Rainbow Theatre in Finsbury Park today. Well, that's actually a rather major lie. I made my mind up NOT to go there as soon as I saw the armies of tee shirted volunteers spreading out around the Holloway/Tollington Road junction yesterday morning.

You may possibly be aware that organised religion does not play a major part in my life, though I was warmly touched by Rowan Williams' gesture (BTW, isn't 'orotund' a marvellous word?) the other day, coming in as it did for such pathetic opprobrium. How dare a man of god question war? Really!

I do find myself getting a little irked at the harmless Presbyterians (or whatever they are) trying to coax me into a Thursday lunchtime session at their chapel as I meander back from my baguette munching in the park, but this UCKG lot really do get my goat.

Foremost among their list of crimes is of course the exorcism shit, and the involvement of one of their pastors in the Victoria Climbie case. Any organisation which can foster this kind of crap needs to be closed down with immediate effect, is all I can say.

In addition to that, they have taken over the building mentioned above, and are now looking to get their claws into another in Walthamstow - though not without a fight. But really, I just can't stand the way they are so damn well prepared. Aforementioned volunteers were all uniformed up, with the burning D for Decision Day logo prominently displayed on their chests; the printed material of the very highest quality, and the whole thing smacking of a military operation. Where the hell do they get their money from? Bastards.

War

I will not be drawn into the Kaka circus. For once, I find myself siding with Arsene Wenger, and, like Simon Hattenstone, I must admit to feeling a little bit ashamed of all these goings-on.

Instead, for what they're worth, I will express some opinions on the current atrocities in Gaza.

I recently spoke about this with an ex-pat Iraqi who drinks in my local (he is an educated man, who has studied Islam in detail, along with other philosophical tracts, and has as a result discounted the requirement to abstain from alcohol, which is a decision I can respect) who a while ago spent some years in Palestine working as an engineer. He even - and I thought this was quite impressive - met Arafat, whom he described as a 'sloppy kisser'. As such, I believe he has something of a greater authority to speak on the issue than I do. This does not mean, of course, that I don't have my own opinions.

In any case, this is a summary of what he said:

The people of Palestine are steeped in blood. It is all they know. He has given up on the whole area because there is no hope of a solution. He recalls a football match with teenage boys where a rough tackle was met with the injured party producing a hand grenade and getting ready to destroy everyone on the pitch. He said that the referee rushed over, blowing frantically on his whistle, and clasped his hand over the grenade, thus preventing a horrific incident. The children of Palestine play with weapons in the same way that children of the west play with toys. At public meetings, he would stand up and rail against the calls for brother (Fatah) to wreak death and destruction on brother (Hamas) but his words would go unheeded.

Many believe (as does he) that the Hamas was funded early in its history by the Mossad in order to provide a balance against the leftist PLO and Fatah movements, but now it suits the Israelis' purpose, and fits with the current US Crusade, to demonise and destroy them. Israelis, he says, were given the land in which they live by the countries of the west, in order to suit the political manoeuvrings of the time, and have no choice but to live there. In essence, like Pilate, he washes his hands of the whole affair.

For myself, I see something a little deeper. An illustration of the nature of the human beast. We all know that Yahweh is a jealous god, who has not been afraid to smite his enemies terribly when they have stood in the way of his chosen people. Throughout the OT are stories of merciless decimation of entire populations by the armies of the Israelites, of slaughter so terrible as never to be forgotten. The current conflict can be seen as just another of these. We are sorely deluded if we think these people will pay the slightest attention to what Ban-Ki Moon (I feel sorry for this guy) or Barack Obama (might) say.

Of course there will be a ceasefire, just in time for the inauguration, and Israel's position will again be strengthened, leaving behind a trail of murdered children and shattered lives.

Baby

By chance (nothing new there) I ended up where I am 9 months ago. One could say that the gestation period is over now and it's time for me to pop.

A feather in my cap - potentially - following a personal recommendation which seems to have taken off at work. Some years ago, whilst in the employ of the Mouse, I was fortunate enough to receive some management coaching sessions, which came off the back of some workshops for the 'team' I was with at the time (I feel a bit of a pseud using the word team sometimes) In my current post, I thought it might be useful for this trainer to come in and lead some sessions to help us all approach a forthcoming time of enormous change in a more positive frame of mind.

After several discussions, and about 4 different iterations of the programme, it was finally agreed that he would be engaged to work with around 80 people across the country in my organisation. It is of course possible that if it all goes tits-up (though I don't for a moment believe it will) that I will be the one who carries the can, and if it all goes well (which I am absolutely sure it will) that my name will magically be forgotten, but I'm doing all I can to ensure that that doesn't happen.

The sessions have been fascinating so far (though I do object to somehow being saddled with the logistics of the damn thing) and needless to say have already identified a deep-seated management sickness within the organisation. Hardly surprising in the public sector, you might say, resulting largely from a perception of people as 'things' and a tendency to forget that they are after all human. All wrapped up in a total failure to communicate.

It has started me thinking about myself. As I have been organising the sessions, and emailing invitations, some people have naturally assumed that I am the sponsor. One of the key points raised so far is that there is a 'leadership vacuum in the change management programme' (there I go again) and that there could as a result be an opportunity for me to take it on. Ever since this was said on Friday, I have been mulling it over. At the moment, I cannot claim ownership of the coaching programme, although I am doing most of the hard work, because the official sponsor is some way up the chain from me, even if she hasn't met the guy or (probably) read his proposal in any depth. If I were so inclined, I might push this and see where it got me. I have, after all, little to lose and potentially quite a bit to gain.

I think the 6 goals we put past Pompey yesterday have got to be a good omen. Oh yes!

Black hole of Calcutta keep on shinin

Thank you CERN for the image. Check out the barcodes!

Everybody seems so blase about the whole thing. I mean, there we are worrying about Darfur, Gordon Brown, the Olympics, climate change, peak oil, people eating clay cakes in Haiti, etc., while all the time a machine is taking shape beneath the mountains of Europe which will bring us closer to our conception of a creator than ever before. IVF has got nothing on this shit, believe me. We only have 3 days left, people!

The mavens at Lake Geneva may say that the chances of a sustainable black hole forming and consuming the earth are small, but why should we believe them? How small is small when you're talking about creating a black hole anyway? I downloaded a PDF of the installation schedule and one item on the schedule was tagged:

"interconnection of the continuous cryostat."

Another:

"Inner triplets repairs & interconnections."

The whole thing makes about as much sense to me (and I am - at least - interested in science) as Mr Spock's pronouncements on the Enterprise 'Computer'. Others don't even seem concerned about it. But I am. Maybe that just indicates the woeful level of knowledge (if anyone can detect a story arc here, they will gain a 5 point bonus) I possess on hadron colliders, or maybe it means that we are being just a little too relaxed about this thing.

In any case, some astounding pictures, I'm sure you'll agree, of a project which must rank alongside the Phoenix mission as one of the human race's greatest achievements. I will be watching closely as the countdown timer ticks.

The G8 and the good

With the annual circus about to commence, I thought it might be interesting to discover to which religions the leaders of the G8 nations were inclined. I realised with some shame that I didn't actually know which nations comprised the G8 - off the top of my head anyway. Obviously, the US, Japan, Russia, Germany, France... the UK... but that's where I got stuck. I thought Italy was wrong, but I was mistaken, and would never have guessed at Canada. But I suppose that the size of Canadian oil stocks means that it kind of makes sense. Can it be long before China and India are included?

In any case, I have been looking at the religious affiliation for each of the leaders of these mighty nations. Interesting reading, I thought, though I'm really not sure what the point of it all is.

Canada

I don't know an awful lot about religion in Canada, which might mean that it doesn't play a great part in the country's identity, or else there's a strong possibility that it means I'm plain ignorant - especially about Canada.

The Canadian PM (I have recently discovered) is Stephen Joseph Harper and he is a member of the Christian and Missionary Alliance. Their focus, apparently (all quotes are from Wikipedia, but I promise to read around the subjects as much as possible) is on 'missions and missionaries (especially foreign missionaries)' They also want to place a 'greater emphasis on Jesus as a physical healer' (my italics - indicating that I think this makes them nut jobs) and focus on the 'doctrine of sanctification' - whatever that specifically means, as it has different meanings in different churches and branches of churches. It appears to veer between the idea that people can actually take on divine qualities in the Orthodox Church to identification with God through our own human suffering in the Church of the Latter Day Saints.

France

Monsieur Le Président is of course Nicolas Sarkozy. He is some kind of Catholic, though his matrimonial record does shift him a little closer to Henry VIII than Cardinal Richelieu, and there are many elements of Jewishness and some Protestantism in his family background - which is quite fascinating to read about. Perhaps he just worships at the feet of Carla like the rest of us?

Germany

Due to the shallow maleness of my personality, and the fact that I only judge women on their looks, Angela Merkel reminds me a little too much of Jacqui Smith for comfort. My negative tendencies towards her are also not helped by the comparison some have made to Margaret Thatcher. She is a Lutheran, and appears (as is usually the case with this northern European, more cerebral branch of Jesus-ness) much less bothered about religion than some.

Italy

We all know about Silvio, don't we? Yet another Catholic, whose own modus vivandi can hardly be said to imitatio christi. Get my meaning?

Japan

From what I'm reading, Yasuo Fukuda may soon be 'fuked' - please excuse me, couldn't resist - with his approval rating almost as bad as Auld Clunking Fist himself. However, it's not easy (as it seems to be with Western politicians) to discover to which religion he adheres. Maybe the religion of Oriental leaders isn't important. Who knows? He could be either Shinto or Buddhist. Or both. Or Christian, possibly. Or even all three. This would be a pleasingly pragmatic approach to the whole god bothering thing, wouldn't it? If anyone knows the answer I would be grateful to hear from you.

Russia

The Plus 1 of the G7 Plus 1 is, as in many other areas of life, something of a curiosity when it comes to matters of religion. The official line, as we all know, prior to all that Glasnost and Gazprom stuff, was a lovely bit of Marxist opiate of the masses, but things have changed, and the new breed knows how powerful a tool the Good Bok (sic) can be in manipulating the peasants.

Dmitry Medvedev, quoted on the BBC:

"Mr Medvedev also describes how he worked on a building site and as a street cleaner to help fund his studies at university. At the age of 23 he was baptised into the Russian Orthodox Church, a decision he said he took himself.
"From that moment, I believe, a new life started for me," he said."

United Kingdom

Mr Broon from the manse has been written about up the wazoo. He was a Rector. Nuff said. Maybe it would be as well to look at the religious affiliations of David Cameron... Bastards both, in any case. Cameron is a descendant of King William IV, so has a fairly strong link to the Church of England, and of course makes a point of being seen going to church on Sundays. God knows why.

United States

As with GB (in both senses) above, only more so, there's little point in writing about Dubya's religiosity. Been there, seen that, got the t shirt, etc. Obama is another matter. In perhaps no other country in the world is the religion of its leader so talked about. Reliable opinion has him down as a member of the United Church of Christ. One thing's for certain - he sure as shit ain't no Muslim.

Easter my worries

I am bewildered, almost constantly. I stare at the computer screen, conscious that I have about a million tasks backed up, but still unable to take one solitary action. Events are as the sea, relentlessly rolling in and engulfing me while I pretend everything's OK. Money - and (oddly) there seems to be plenty of it - is not sufficient to prevent the meltdown, and my stern jeremiads, or pleas for help, go unheeded. There are insufficient hours in the day, and those which exist are hijacked by Machiavellian mountebanks and frivolous frippery.

I struggle to find joy in those things which used to buoy me, and the pelting of the pitiless storms about our sceptr'd isle gives no respite to its pitiful citizenry. All in all, a fairly grim prognosis, but at least I'm still standing.



Oh, to die. And be resurrected. Lucky bastard, that Jesus.

Islamophobia

With thanks to Beirut Spring (http://beirutspring.com/blog/2007/06/18/the-bikini-versus-the-niqab) for this superb image.

In the Gruaniad Gary Younge has nicely distilled an argument about the current climate of Islamophobia in the following phrase:

"If an imam doesn't like women walking past his mosque in a bikini, that's too bad for him. If an MP doesn't like women walking into his surgery in a niqab, that's too bad for him, too. Both have the right to say what they think - provided it doesn't promote violence - but women have the right to wear what they like."

This is a 'hot button issue' as my ex US colleagues used to be able to say without sounding ridiculous. The debate is centre stage at the moment, and it is intriguing because it does cause some fractures in the tectonics of normal political alignment. Also, there is a world of spin associated with it - apologias for the Iraq/Afghanistan debacles, and justification for further hardening of 'anti-terror' legislation. Elements of the left have been accused of defending the oppressive regime (in the widest sense of the word) of Islam against the values of tolerance and free speech which we in the west uphold. All of this has recently been thrown into sharp relief by - of all things - a bleedin' teddy bear. I have been trying to figure out where I stand on the question. So here goes.

My gut feeling, as I hope I have made clear from some of what I have previously written here, is that all religion (with the possible exception of Buddhism) is inherently anti-intellectual. Whatever lies at the root of the Judaeo-Christian-Islamic myths (I know little about Hinduism or Sikhism, but these religions are, I think, irrelevant in this case, so I will exclude them) in terms of helping to elucidate an understanding of humanity's place in the cosmological scheme of things, the present interpretations of them are a million light years away from that.

Organised religion and the pursuit of knowledge are ultimately mutually exclusive, but the lines are drawn in different places in each religion. At the end of the day, you have to believe, don't you? Faith is the key. Faith in some kind of force outside and above ourselves which shaped the universe and continues to shape our destinies - free will notwithstanding. It is largely irrelevant to me whether it's some nice chap in a woolly jumper at the local C of E pile, a bloke in a flowing robe standing in the street in Finsbury Park, or a man (again, a man!) in coloured ermine with a pointy hat swinging around a bucket of incense, telling me what to 'think' and do. I am capable of making up my own mind, thank you very much. Therefore, I would stand up against any form of oppression based on religious belief, and (though I can hardly claim to be a scientist) would encourage anyone to examine the facts of a given situation in a scientific manner, rather than saying 'It's God's will'. I would stop short of denigrating a person's religious beliefs directly, partly because I am aware that this is usually the hottest button you can press, and any hope of a rational discussion flies right out of the window, but mainly because I am a nice guy, and have observed that an irrational fixation on an imaginary Super Being doesn't necessarily make someone a bad person.

Then again, even within the same religion, the lines are drawn differently depending on the cultures in which that religion exists. It would be entirely fatuous to compare a Welsh Methodist with a Brazilian Catholic for example, but it does appear acceptable to lump a Saudi Arabian Wahhabist in with a Palestinian Ismaili - as long as we're not talking about state visits of course. Therein lies the problem. Politics. It is clear that the current bunch of criminals in Whitehall, on Pennsylvania Avenue and elsewhere have a need to foster a climate of mistrust against anyone who is, or appears to be, a Muslim. Back to the bikini (the phrase seems to have excited more comment than anything else in the article) and the niqab. Obviously, that 'old fox' Jack Straw knew what he was doing when he made the comment about the Muslim woman who came into his surgery (this is Blackburn after all) wearing her niqab. He may have been purporting to raise a valid and interesting argument around cultural pressures, women's rights, etc., but it is my firm belief that this was not his primary motive when he spoke (the incident occurred one year prior to him writing about it, BTW) and that is why I am concerned about slagging off the Muslim faith. Much more than I am about having a go at the Christians, who are after all bigger than elephants, and can look after themselves.

Central to this is not (as some commentators have said, and as many people attempt to portray the issue when posting to online forums) one of a secular world view pitted against a religious one. Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens do not feature in this argument, to my mind, because the forces lined up in opposition to the nations of Islam are also couching their politics in a heavily value-laden religious framework of their own. Though Gordon's upbringing within The Kirk is well known, he is less obviously religion motivated than the late great Tony B, who recently (as I posted) came out as a genuinely messianic wannabe. Dubya is an out-and-out god botherer, and who knows what kind of nut will next be sitting in the Oval Office?

Before I make the next statement, I want to make it clear that I do not think that killing civilians, whether it be in New York, London, Spain, Algeria, Iraq, Afghanistan or Iran, is acceptable.

So for now, somewhat against my better nature as well as my baser side, I have to opt for the niqab against the bikini. You have the chance to vote in the poll at the top of the page.

god

guardian

politics

religion