Reading about Gareth Bale’s expected Euro 120 million fee and seeing Shimon Peres pass to Leo Messi in Bloomfield, this spectator is overtaken by nausea. And a headache. Soccer is being desecrated.
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Take the beautiful game, add money, plastic politics, more money and more plastic politics; add political interests, more money and narcissistic interests. All these repel and scare away these who hope to escape to the comfort of the game. This isn't soccer anymore, but rather synthesized goods, sold on the market; cheap entertainment for the masses. This is a circus, the joke is on us and we're the clowns.
When will soccer fans awaken? When will they say 'Euro 120 million? Half-a-billion shekels? For what? For Gareth Bale? Is this for real? A Euro 580 million price tag for Leo Messi?'
When will soccer fans awake from the moral degeneration that has taken over the game? When will they understand that these impossibly inflated figures are the symptoms of stupidity and lawlessness that characterize empires a moment before their collapse; a moment before hubris leads to their downfall?
Sometimes, I think about a person who woke up very early, travelled for a few hours until he arrived at my house and then started carrying sacks of sand up to my apartment on the third floor. He then transformed the sand to cement, and poured the cement into the floors and walls. He then carried tiles, heavy tiles, to the third floor. We don't have an elevator.
He worked for hours on end, for NIS 30 for an hour; a bit more than NIS 1,000 for three to four days of work, exhaustion and backaches. Cut to Gareth Bale, Leo Messi, Real Madrid, Monaco, PSG and Barcelona, travelling to Asia, America and Australia. What a circus. Such degeneration.
And watch all the businessmen with their suits and pens, the free market people, the men of tomorrow, those who believe in money and worship money. Those who always tell those who lost hope in humanity and life: that's how the free market works! It's a simple matter of supply and demand! The market balances itself. And their eyes are always empty, always vacant, always hoping to be filled with that which they never have enough of.
And they never distinguish between the man carrying cement sacks for NIS 30 an hour and the man who kicks a ball for NIS 30,000 an hour. He's worth the money if someone is willing to pay for him, right? No, he isn't, even if there are a million idiots willing to pay for him. He isn't worth the money, because nothing in the world is worth that kind of money. They aren't worth half, or a third or a quarter or even a tenth or a hundredth. It's only the deep boredom of the world that allows the soccer entertainers to become kings.
I love soccer, and I hate what has become of it. I despise the darkness imposed on it, pretending to be light. It is no more than an abyss. One can see the end in sight, not the end of popularity or admiration or prosperity, but rather the end of the emotion and excitement of those who truly love the game; those who love soccer because it is soccer.
This isn't because of Peres or due to the Asia tours or the Champions League anthem or the Barcelona circus. Think of those who walk in the street and can't seem to pass the opportunity to kick a small stone on their way, hoping it will hit a nearby electrical pole. The small stone representing the ball is the fantasy, the reason for the game's popularity. And those kicking the stone on the street simply cannot understand how it rolled into Euro 120 million.