feminish

France, 10-something p.m….

I’d begun to think the World Cup, with all its macho aggressive drinking prostituting big-money big-ego competitiveness, was a bit tedious from a feminish point of view, when (while enjoying tonight’s game)…

“Quoi? Qu’est ce qu’il se passe? Quoi? Quoi? … ”
“Pas ca!”
“Oh non! oh non! oh non!”
“Qu’est ce que ta fait, Zizou? Qu’est ce que ta fait?”

Quelle horreur!

Devastation in just another room in just another village in France tonight. The shock was galling (pun ’scused). How he, how that? As the commentators kept saying - the whole point is what happened before the head-butt? What on earth could have warranted that? Words - and probably about his mother, I idly half-jokingly mused.

In fact it seems (at least for the moment) that I wasn’t wrong. The word on the French street (which hasn’t yet made it onto the Wires) is that Marco Materazzi slandered Zidane’s mother and, in his last match of a stunning career, in the World Cup Final, with his team a hair’s breadth from victory, with hundreds of millions world-over watching his every tango with the ball, the cool-as-cool hero of La France lost his presence of mind and unleashed his fury - with unfathomably huge consequences.

The immense force to revenge his Mum’s honour overwhelmed Zizou’s guard, and That, as they say, was That.

Thing is, Bet he wouldn’t've done it if Materazzi slandered his Dad.

Why not? Why did Materazzi’s bear baiting hit the spot? Why was it this that unspun the king of cool? What is the whole Mother’s Honour thing, anyway - and can it be a good thing? …. For me there’s a bit of a whiff of the Oath of the Horatii about it (what with us being in France and all that): men swearing to sacrifice everything (even their lives) for the honour and protection of a feminised ideal (La France, La Libertie), for women, and almost over them.

France, 10-something p.m….

I’d begun to think the World Cup, with all its macho aggressive drinking prostituting big-money big-ego competitiveness, was a bit tedious from a feminish point of view, when (while enjoying tonight’s game)…

“Quoi? Qu’est ce qu’il se passe? Quoi? Quoi? … ”
“Pas ca!”
“Oh non! oh non! oh non!”
“Qu’est ce que ta fait, Zizou? Qu’est ce que ta fait?”

Quelle horreur!

Devastation in just another room in just another village in France tonight. The shock was galling (pun ’scused). How he, how that? As the commentators kept saying - the whole point is what happened before the head-butt? What on earth could have warranted that? Words - and probably about his mother, I idly half-jokingly mused.

In fact it seems (at least for the moment) that I wasn’t wrong. The word on the French street (which hasn’t yet made it onto the Wires) is that Marco Materazzi slandered Zidane’s mother and, in his last match of a stunning career, in the World Cup Final, with his team a hair’s breadth from victory, with hundreds of millions world-over watching his every tango with the ball, the cool-as-cool hero of La France lost his presence of mind and unleashed his fury - with unfathomably huge consequences.

The immense force to revenge his Mum’s honour overwhelmed Zizou’s guard, and That, as they say, was That.

Thing is, Bet he wouldn’t've done it if Materazzi slandered his Dad.

Why not? Why did Materazzi’s bear baiting hit the spot? Why was it this that unspun the king of cool? What is the whole Mother’s Honour thing, anyway - and can it be a good thing? …. For me there’s a bit of a whiff of the Oath of the Horatii about it (what with us being in France and all that): men swearing to sacrifice everything (even their lives) for the honour and protection of a feminised ideal (La France, La Libertie), for women, and almost over them.