This writer recently listened to a podcast interview with the journalist Wolfgang Münchau, the tenor of which took a negative view of prospects for Europe, particularly Germany. The discussion about the perilous state of German and European industry certainly merits an extended consideration at some point, but for today I am most interested in a comment made near the end of the discussion. It concerned the culture of consensus within Germany, and how its political orientation, which has shaped industrial strategy and foreign policy for decades, is the product of the political class, major industries and other significant stakeholders developing a long-term common position. This can be highly successful for a period of time, when domestic and global conditions are conducive, and, importantly, when a decision treated in isolation has little to no further ramifications.
Given the fluid nature of the world’s flashpoints, making predictions about what is to come is a brave gambit, even if it is increasingly obvious that we are undergoing a transition to something very different to the world that was created in the late 1940s. The 20th century is definitively ending in this era, in the sense of a world order and the institutions that underpinned it becoming defunct.
This writer spent a worrying amount of his waking hours in 2004 obsessing over the US presidential election of that year. Hours spent poring over polls, looking for tiny shifts in the hope they signalled decisive momentum. Watching the talking heads bloviating ad nauseum. Reading the pundits, digesting all their guff. Like a good European liberal, I was pinning all my hopes on John Kerry to save us from George W Bush. But why? What did I think would actually change under a Kerry presidency? The United States had already invaded Iraq, and unwinding that wasn’t going to be swift. Kerry’s convention speech, where he accepted the Democratic nomination, included multiple references to a “strong military”. Even then, I had the awareness to wince, but another part of me was trying to pretend I couldn’t hear. Recounting this period serves as a reminder that if this writer has a mantra or philosophy or outlook at all, it is to be endlessly unimpressed with younger versions of myself.
This post was originally to be titled “In praise of Gareth Southgate“, but I had a change of heart. To back up for a moment, this writer has previously joined that football is the only true meritocracy that actually exists. A country’s national football team will reflect its nation more authentically than most other assemblages that one could put together. But that tends not to satisfy the nativist wing of the fanbase. A manager isn’t answerable to these people, or the media. But with regard to the latter in particular, there is always a latent demand placed on public figures to pander in various ways.
The Olympic Games have elicited the hostility of this writer in the past, so much so that one wondered if one should let these summer games just concluded pass unremarked. I had, after, intended to steer a reasonably wide berth this time, adopting the mantra that I would only follow events the ancient Greeks participated in (and perhaps those I could envisage their historical antecedents sanctioning). Naturally I will never reconcile myself to the nationalism of the Olympics. The irritation with dopey sports, and dopey events within sports remains. The politics, as ever, is highly dubious. The hypocrisies are more blatant and appalling than ever. The medals table is still chauvinistic and gross.
Tennis is a sport in which many people are vying to breathe the rarefied air of a congested summit. The rankings continuously churn relative to other sports. Those who get to hang around at or near the top don’t just have talent. They probably have above average good fortune with respect to injuries, and nowadays they have an entourage of people preparing them for success (you’ll note that during the speeches at the end of Grand Slam tournaments these days, congratulations are offered to the “team” around both finalists). And, crucially, players must possess copious amounts of mental fortitude.
It was when Bruce Springsteen headlined at Glastonbury in 2009 that I first became aware of his reputation for being in no hurry to leave the stage. At that stage he was about 60, and I wondered about how much he was able to give at that stage of his career. Such a stupid thought, especially in light of having seen him a few weeks ago on his current tour of Europe, continuing to make a mockery of the notion of age. That night he finished with Born To Run, and the energy was incredible, immediately palpable even watching on a TV screen.
The last time I wrote about snooker was when Kyren Wilson dramatically reached the final of the world snooker championship in 2020. Wilson is there again, this time with less fuss, although his opponent in the final, Jak Jones, is likely to provide a stiff test. However, the focus of this piece is the way the game is officiated. The last fortnight has once again elicited a fascination within this writer regarding the snooker referee, an avatar of calm, judicious authority in a contemporary world where such a thing is increasingly difficult to find.
This writer spent a summer in the United States many years ago and spent many a night in a particular watering hole in Connecticut. I learned one night that one of my friends there had two favourite movies. One felt that, when push came to shove, Cool Hand Luke would have been the movie he’d nominate if he only had one choice. The other film he really liked was Rocky, which, my friend averred, “made you proud to be American”. Rocky in many ways is a kitchen sink drama, but unlike its British equivalent, it provides a pathway for its protagonist to take on the world. The life path of Rocky Balboa is often held up as a great American story, and it is. But what if the more authentic American character is Apollo Creed, the original nemesis figure of the story?
It is a throwaway term this writer has been hearing for many years. It is contemptuous and drips with condescension. One hears it quite a lot now, for reasons I’m happy to speculate on in this blog. That it is a matter for speculation is interesting in itself, because it is clearly the case that many of today’s conflicts in the public space are not acknowledged. That there is a conflict taking place is undeniable, but many people – usually the ones holding the microphone – are often coy about the real bone of contention. But wait, you might be asking, what am I even talking about? Well, surely it is obvious. I am referring to that apparently shameful thing called “student politics”.