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The main raison d’être of soccer is that it is an excuse to drink beer. The most widespread song in Spanish-speaking stadiums goes something like “we’ve come to get drunk/and we don’t care who wins.” As a soccer fan, that is, a Real Madrid fan, I don’t consider it a sport. Besides, if it were a sport, I would lose weight, and soccer is very fattening: you only have to look at the fans’ bellies.
At the height of the corruption in soccer’s elite, the World Cup has ended up in Islamic Qatar, a country at the forefront of money, oil, and whipping women. In the end, FIFA and other rotten institutions have forced the players to go to Qatar, play while pinching their noses while they look the other way from the abuses of human rights, and keep quiet about the number of enslaved workers who have died during the construction of the stadiums. These are their quaint customs, you know; in Rome they tell tourists “next you can see the Sistine Chapel,” and in Qatar they tell them, “and here the 6,499th worker was stripped naked during the construction of the World Cup stadium.”
I find it funnier about sexual relations outside marriage: seven to fifteen years in prison. The same amount of years in prison you can get for drug possession.
I find it funnier about sexual relations outside marriage: seven to fifteen years in prison. The same amount of years in prison you can get for drug possession.
FIFA keeps bragging about how many customs the Qataris are going to change during the World Cup to make Westerners feel comfortable there.
