So Wunderkind Wayne Rooney does it again, saving England from an embarrassing result against those footballing soccer lilliputians, Lichtenstein. Old Mottie and the Brookmeister even blessed him, as is traditional, with those epithets of glory, “he’s a natural”, and “he’s got a great footballing brain”. Ah yes, the memories of Peter Beardsley came flooding back, that face, the one of a bulldog chewing a wasp. But Wayne Rooney! Is he really only seventeen? It hardly seems possible. He’s a bull, he’s a monster, his touch is awesome, almost Pele-esque. Are we blessed with the next Maradonna, the next George Best, or is it just the next Wayne Rooney? This is what I love about genius. The idiot egalitarians of socialism want every man and woman to be ratcheted back to the level of the lowest of the low, to be smacked into the most feeble of the feeble denominators, but when it comes to sport, they are the first to proclaim the greatness of the individual, the uniqueness of human ability, and the sacredness of talent. What is it about sport? Is it the only human arena in which all can acknowledge individual human greatness? If only we could extend this to other realms of human endeavour. Whatever the case, God Bless you Wayne Rooney, a nation turns its lonely eyes to you. May I only be there when you score the winning goal against Brazil in the next World Cup Final.