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Somehow, I think George Orwell was not a fan of games “Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard for all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing violence: in other words it is war minus the shooting.”
From Orwell’s collected essays, which should be on everyone’s bookshelf.
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No. Indeed not. He obviously wasn’t an Australian, either.
Indeed. His article starts with a piece about the visit of a Russian football team to England in 1945. It shows that there has been a long-standing hatred among intellectuals for team games for a long, long time. But Orwell also makes some interesting observations about how team games arose alongside urbanisation and helped channel the aggressive urges of the populace.
Jeez, he says that like it’s bad or something.
“Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play.”
Nowadays “serious sport” has everything to do with money.
One of my favourite books! I keep his essay on ‘Politics and the English Language’ open whenever I am writing something. I love his comparison between good English and ‘modern’ English.
– Ecclesiastes
– Modern translation
But, the most amusing thing is his attack on the use of dying, meaningless metaphors by politicians. He lists the following as having lost their meaning: ‘Ring the changes’, ‘take up the cudgels for’, toe the line’, ride roughshod over’, stand shoulder to shoulder with’, ‘play into the hands of’, ‘no axe to grind’, ‘grist to the mill’, ‘fishing in troubled waters’, ‘rift within the lute’, ‘on the order of the day”, ‘Achillies’ hee’, ‘swan song’, and ‘hotbed.’ Despite that being written in 1946, it describes today’s empty political discourse perfectly.
It’s been going on a lot longer than 1945.
And perhaps well off into the future.
I enjoy American Football and Baseball like most males, but at times I do ponder on the difference between enjoying a little competition from afar, believing in some notion of the spirit of competition and professional rivalry, and the idea that a good portion of the actual players are privileged millionaires, juiced up on ‘roids, and who have a gross sense of entitlement, (and who wouldn’t give a half a hershey squirt for idealistic fans).
I think you might find that most european males would disagree. Derivatives of rugby are one thing, but adult rounders is something else…
And the hatred of the intelligensia goes back even further!
http://www.vroma.org/~hwalker/Pliny/Pliny09-06-E.html
Na! He was just crap at cricket.
And going to a Public school…..
Sport is the hunt. The moment of clarity and total absorption is primeval. One who has not experienced that moment can never understand people’s enjoyment of, and passion for, a meaningless game.
So, yes, exactly—combat without the bullets.
Not when the England cricket team get home it ain’t.
Be very careful of people whose surnames end with ‘Blair’.
Just goes to show that Orwell talked a load of rubbish at times.
My sport is rowing and I’ve never seen any violence, sadistic pleasure, or hatred and boastfulness is distinctly frowned on and therefore rarely seen.
But there’s plenty of masochism. As any rower will tell you, the sport pretty much requires the ability to inflict pain on yourself, above all else.
HJHJ, yes, the overall flavour of the piece by Orwell reeks of hatred. He had a bad time at school, was in often bad health, and apart from cricket, loathed sports. I disliked most team games when I was very young and was badly bullied by a games teacher who would probably now be locked up (I am serious, it is only for reasons of libel that I would not give out his name). The shame of it was that it spoiled by ability to play sports when young although as I have gotten older my enjoyment has actually increased.
The ancient Greeks, of course, thought that a full man should enjoy and pursue both physical and intellectual excellence. It is a legacy maybe of dualism in philosophy and some religions that people assume that if you like games, you must be a thicko, and if you hate games, you must be an intellectual. I know a few professional sportsmen and they are all pretty smart, often far more so than the average Joe.
I love the fact that Albert Camus, the great French-Algerian novelist, was goalkeeper for the Algerian national football team.
I don’t watch sport – ‘she who must be obeyed’ rails thereat, and I usually guiltily imagine that I COULD be doing something more useful with my time – but I deeply appreciate that professional sport is one of the last true meritocracies left, and a venue where Political Correctness is refreshingly absent.
As an example, the colour bar in professional baseball – both implemented, and then ended, by times a’changing, but today such a thing would be simply unthinkable. The only valid criterion: “Can he win it for us?”
Sport is fun, ’nuff said. Don’t need to justify it to anyone.
“..but I deeply appreciate that professional sport is one of the last true meritocracies left, and a venue where Political Correctness is refreshingly absent.”
Yes, the bit regarding meritocracy is correct. To get to the top requires relentless effort. Even that freak Dennis Rodman was an omnivorous student of the art of rebounding a basketball.
However, I daresay that PC in American sports is not at all absent. It is quite (un)refreshingly healthy. Pray, what was the effect of certain comments made by Jimmy the Greek, Marge Shott, and John Rocker on their careers and/or public image?
Even the sainted Larry Bird (the great Boston Celtic) took no small amount of heat for commenting some time ago, correctly, that the Nat’l. Basketball Assn. could benefit from more white superstars. He reasoned that the majority of NBA fans are Caucasian, and they would like to see more folks like themselves on the court. In the same breath, Mr. Bird admitted that the likelihood of this occurring was slim, as blacks*, superior athletes that they are, essentially own the game of basketball. (I do know that the NBA wishes it had the fan base that NASCAR has.)
*He actually used that lovely etymological construction “African-American”.
I did Orwell for A Level, and we were all grateful to have someone to study who had died recently rather than a hundred years or more ago.
I agree with Johnathan, the Essays are essential for anyone to have on their bookshelves.
But I was (and am) in two minds about Orwell.
The road to Wigan Pier and Down and out in London and Paris, for all their caring social documentary style, always struck me as something that Tony Benn, had he been old enough at the time, would have written.
I always got the feeling that Blair (that name again!) was just a phonecall and a postal draft from the folks away from escaping the society he was describing.
While all those described were trapped there for evermore.
Still he, being a hair shirt sort, and, as Johnathan said, always suffered ill health, probably killed himself in some kind of neglectful solidarity with people he didn’t properly understand.
One thing he never understood was that the poor would have switched situations with him in a shot.
And never looked back.
The wonderful thing about sport (or really anything that involves serious competition) is that while the game is on, your hindbrain wants to kill, cook, and eat your opponent; but at the end of the game, you grin, shake hands, say “Nice game!” and mean it. 10,000 years of civilization in as short a period as you could ask.
The main thing one can learn from Orwell is clarity of expression. Probably the greatest exponent of it in the english language. His politics were so screwed they would need a good psychiatrist to explain what was going on there. 1984 redeemed him where he finally glimpsed the dead-end of collectivism with all its attendant horrors. Hence why so many on the ‘right’ (rightly) admire him.
I knew there were things I liked besides Orwell’s writing. Good stuff all around and something people should remember before they believe the bollocks being peddled about the Olympics.
veryretired,
So, yes, exactly—combat without the bullets.
Apart from shooting, obviously.
BTW. Have they figured out where the pistol shooting will be held in 2012.
If they have an Uzi class, Nick
probably Brixton.
I’ve never looked for my women in a pack, and I am similarly inclined towards games of individual skill.
The last team-sport I took part in was yesterday; my good mate loaned me his custom-engined Honda Fireblade 900 for ten minutes-I got a big smile on my face, he got his bike back in one piece.
What a team.
Well, unlike poor old ungorgeous George
I was always quite good at sports.
Opening bat at cricket, centre at rugby, swam for the school too (nothing arduous or long distance just a hundred metres or so of high powered adrenalin fueled thrash, freestyle).
Ah but my first sports day at Grammar School was something else. This is my sunday night anecdote by the way (Yes I know you have all been waiting with baited breath!)
Now when I went to Grammar School, your parents got a list of all the stuff you needed to turn up with and the sports list consisted of Cricket whites and boots (they would provide bat and balls etc) .
Rugby kit. Shirt (house colours) socks boots and shorts. We didn’t play soccer at all. Considered at the time, to be a “girls game” until Terry Yoreth, who was a few years ahead of me, wheedled the head into introducing it (that is a sunday night anecdote in itself!) oh and gym. For gym all we needed was a pair of shorts and plimsoles (no shirts at all and it was bloody freezing in Cathays in the early 60s!)
So aged 11 you are happily playing, or trying to learn to play, rugby on the bone hard frosted pitch.
Then the season changes and it’s cricket and you try to get your 11 yr old head around the arcanities of that.
Then one time in late May we were told that we should turn up to games afternoon in T shirts shorts and trainers.
Our teachers brought forth things that we had not laid eyes on before.
Javelins, discus and shot. Also was revealed, at a far end of the field, a sandpit and runway, that none of us had noticed before.
So we were allowed to play with/use these things , try the long jump and triple jump etc and the teachers stood back and took notes.
Well the upshot was that come the school games, I was entered for my house in-
The 100 yards, the 200 yards, The javelin, the discus (an unbelievably stupid sport!) the high jump, the long jump, the triple jump and the shot!!!
Better yet, when it comes to Sports day we got to do it in a proper stadium (Maindy Stadium which is ajacent to the school and was built for the Empire games, circa 53).
Now what the hell were my teachers thinking of? That’s eight events I’m involved in, all in one day. Even Daley Thompson would have blanched at that, and I’m only 11 ferchrisakes!!
Well with the confidence of youth, I told my dad that he had better come fetch me that afternoon cos I wouldn’t be able to carry all the cups home on my own.
And how did I do?
Well, the 100 yards and 200 went by in a flash. The kids who won appeared to be wearing spikes. Things like the javelins and discus that I’d never seen before! I’d been my junior school sprint champion, but couldn’t compete with that kind of traction in plimmys.
The long jump, I was in with a chance there, but foot faults disqualified me. I jumped way farther than the rest but that little pit of plasticine…
The triple jump, I never even made it to the sand. Could never get the hang of the rhythm of Hop, skip, jump.
The high jump? Well this was pre Fosby Flop, so we were straddling back then and I was pretty good at that. But the psychology of that was, when you looked at the bar and the pit you would ultimately land in, well the pit was lower than the ground you launched from, and was filled with (I Kid you not) soot!
Nowadays you have airbags pumped up to 4 feet high.
Scared the shit out of us all. So we all bottled out of that one.
The Shot!! I always think it was a form teacher joke to put me in for that one! I am 6′ 2″ now and was tall for my age even then, but I still only weigh 10 stone or so.
I think the idea was that even if I managed to lift the damn thing above my head and fall forwards I could project it further than my short arsed friends could muscle it.
Ah But the Javelin I actually won!!!!
Well I was born in a house with this huge garden that had lots of growing things and had been chucking bamboo poles around that we used for growing beans etc since I could walk.
And the moral of all this is?
Sport is a substitute for war. The more sport you indulge in the less likely you are to gratuitously kill people, because you are too knackered!
Non sports fans include-
Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, Mao, Saddam….
Sleep well my friends. Another week of unsporting evil intent coming up. And that’s just from NULAB!