the football wars

145 02 February 28th 2016

Football! Soccer as we call it in the Untied States. To solve world conflicts on a field of 115 yards by 74 yards. No bombs or missiles, and the only boots on the ground soccer cleats.

Of course, here in the Untied States, we wanted REAL football as the game of war. Those poor Canucks and Finns always living in the past, wanted ice hockey – even though nothing much freezes in the “Great White North” any more. A few countries held out for cricket, rugby, Australia Rules football, baseball, but 99% of the Untied Nations voted for soccer, er football.

Rules are the same, number of players, yellow and red cards, substitutions. Two nation states with grievances challenge each other to a game. The stands fill with supporters. The competition is fierce on and off the field. The game is telecast world-wide.

The losing side and their supporters are, of course, killed. But a much smaller price in human life than an old-fashioned war. And better television ratings, too.

Sunday Photo Fiction, February 28, 2016

@ a darkened house (adh) 2016


24 thoughts on “the football wars

    • “That reminds me, Donna,” she said, “Of how in North America, teams of First Nations played lacrosse (often for days) to settle disputes. Some say the losing side was killed (as warriors with honour), others that the losing side just lost the argument/war, not their or their peoples lives.”

      Liked by 1 person

    • In a proper world, no. The team that wins, wins the war, and everyone can go home.
      In this not-so-brave new world, it seems someone always has to pay. Some would say, what’s a few athletes and some folks in the stands compared to millions. But to me a life is a life.

      Liked by 2 people

  1. Imagine if American football was played as a literal death match. Half of both teams would be brutally injured or dead before the game even ended. All of those who survived training, that is. And you’re right, whatever the game, the ratings would be through the roof, with people clamoring to see who would be killed next. Glad this is just fiction.


the time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things . . .

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