The Citizen, 2002-06-19, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19, 2002. PAGE 5.
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Oh, those stupid male tricks
My problem is that God gave me a brain and
a penis, but onlyenough blood to operate one
of them at a time.
— Robin Williams
Suppose you were a giant male panda.
Know what you'd have to do to prove
you were the biggest, baddest panda in
the whole bamboo patch?
You would have to stand on your hands and
pee. As high as you could.
That's right. According to Angela White, a
research scientist at the Zoological Society of
San Diego, California, male pandas establish
their dominance by leaving their urine stains
high on nearby rocks or trees. The strongest
pandas can actually do handstands to improve
their elevation.
Why doesn't this surprise us?
Perhaps it's because handstand peeing
contests are not that far removed from a guy in
a diesel tanktop and a pair of Ray Bans playing
liver-curdling heavy metal on the stereo of his
smoke-windowed TransAm with BIG DADDY
stenciled across the windshield.
Stupid Macho Male Tricks. You don't have
to be a giant male panda to play them.
You don't have to be human either. Look
what the male praying mantis puts up with to
get a little romance. For these critters, going all
the way means Going All The Way.
Female praying mantises have been
routinely chewing up their partners after sex
for millions of years. And for all those
millennia, male praying mantises have been
We are presently in the midst of a
series of games to decide which
country is the world champion for
soccer. It is a safe bet to say that more people
throughout the world will watch these games
(or their reruns) than any other sport. I- use the
world "watch" advisedly since the games are
being held in both Japan and South Korea and
are therefore held in the middle of the night in
the Americas and early morning in Europe and
much of Africa.
FIFA, the governing body in world soccer
claims that the total number who watch at one
time or another will be an astounding 33
billion or five times the world's population.
This figure is arrived at by adding up the
audiences for all the games, including those
who watch news events which report the
soccer results.
But the sum total of all this is far more than
just a team from one country winning a
sporting event. To see the direction in which I
am heading just think back to the Olympics
held earlier this year when Canada won the
men's and women's championships in hockey
and both did so by beating the United States.
The resulting euphoria was much greater than
one might have expected; even God got
dragged into it, In fact I confess to being
amazed at His alleged participation in so many
events. •
At any rate the sum total of all this can be
summarized in the following formula:
World Championship Games = Nationalism
= Politics.
Forgetting hockey for the time being since it
is obviously important to just a few countries
such as Canada, let's look at the soccer games
which have drawn teams from all over the
world. Each team is accompanied or cheered
on by hordes of fans all waving flags of the
country and claiming that the players represent
all that is best of that country.
That is about as nationalistic as you can get.
It doesn't matter that some of the countries are
currently in a mess (witness Argentina) or
ignoring the bloodstains on their dates' lips,
chanting to themselves the insect equivalent of
"Hoo, boy - I'm gonna get lucky tonight."
Either male praying mantises are so stupid
they haven't noticed none of their buddies ever
make it back to the locker room after sex...or
worse — they know, but are so horny they don't
care.
The male instinct to rut is a powerful one,
but not overpoweringly brilliant. The male
salmon could end out his days hanging out
with his buddies in a nice tidal pool chasing
herring and rock cod. But no, he has to hump
his way on a suicide mission up waterfalls,
over logs, past hungry bears and eagles, all for
the thrill of making his deposit on a gravel bed
nest 'way up some freshwater creek.
My father, who was a shy man, decided to
introduce me to the mysteries of the birds and
the bees by taking me, at the age of 12, to
watch the.mating of a mare and a stallion.
Have you ever seen horses mate? It is not
hearts and flowers or candlelight and wine. It
is not Romeo and Juliet. It's not even Pamela
Anderson and Tommy Lee.
Raymond
Canon
The
International
Scene
cannot be considered as a democracy by any
stretch of the imagination (Saudi Arabia).
Forget, too, that the rules of nationality are
stretched considerably to allow a player (a
good one naturally) to play for a national team.
The team is a reflection of the country in
question, pure and simple.
From nationalism it is only a short jump into
politics.
Let's take a look at France, the country
which won the championship in 1998. Hardly
had the whistle been blown to end the game
when Jacques Chirac, the French president,
was on the air explaining the victory as an
example of a "France that wins."
Not to be outdone others among the
country's politicians rushed into print to point
out that the multiracial make-up of the team
was a reflection of the people of France
themselves. The same politicians were
strangely silent recently when Jean-Marie Le
Pen managed to make it to the finals of the
voting for the French presidency on a platform
of anti-immigration.
I happened to arrive in Frankfurt in 1988 at
the time of a "friendly" match between the
Netherlands and Germany. The Dutch won and
the newspapers I read that day made numerous
references to the celebrations in Holland which
rivalled those at the end of World War II.
Time after time comments were made about
that war and it was not hard to come to the
conclusion that it was considered as pay-back
time by the Dutch. The Germans I talked to
that day were rather reticent to comment on it;
the war was still a touchy subject anyway and
to have a soccer match dragged into it only
It's more like the attack at Dieppe.
There is dust and confusion and squealing
and biting. There is much thunder of hooves
and whinnying.
And the mare lays a beating on the stallion
that makes a guy cross his legs just to think of
it. She kicks him. Hard. Where it hurts. A lot
of times.
The stallion keeps coming back for more.
I shouldn't have been surprised I guess.
After all, as someone once said, our biological
drives are several million years older than our
intelligence.
And a guy in heat is a guy in heat - be he a
panda, a praying mantis or a hormone-addled
teenager at a Saturday night rave.
Probably goes back to Adam and Eve.
As a matter of fact, there's a story about God
popping into the Garden of Eden near the end
of the Seventh Day with just a few odds and
ends left in his bag 'of creations. One of the
things he had left in the bag was the ability to
pee standing up. He asked Adam and Eve if
either of them would want that ability. Up
jumps Adam yelling "Oh, give that to me,
please!
Yes, I'd like to be able to do that. I could
really use a talent like that — oh, please, please,
please!"
Eve just rolled her eyes. "Since he wants it
so badly," she said, "let him have it."
"Fine," said God. "But I must have
something for you, too, Eve. Let's see what's
left in here. Oh, yes. Multiple orgasms..."
made matters worse.
But one has only to remember the war of the
Falkland Islands in 1982, a war which pitted
Britain against Argentina. The Argentines may
have lost the war but, as luck would have it, the
country-came face to face with England in the
quarter-finals of the 1986 soccer games.
Perhaps the latter may have felt that they had
already proven their point but Argentina won
and, in so doing, made no bones about
suggesting that some measure of revenge had
been gained. It should not be forgotten that
during the war the Argentine government, in
order to whip up support for the invasion of the
islands, interspersed pictures of their troops
going ashore with those of celebrations
resulting from the country's victory in the
World Cup of 1978.
Maybe the English didn't notice since they
were not above using similar tactics when their
country played, yes, you guessed it, Germany.
Since neither Switzerland nor Canada is
involved in the current round of jousting, I
must confess that I am neutral as far as any
cheering is concerned. One thing I do look for
is a winner for what I call the Canon School of
Dramatic Acting in Soccer award. What player
can put on the most convincing act of falling to
the field apparently mortally wounded only to
leap up and continue playing as soon as a
penalty is meted out?
I have no shortage of contestants.
Final Thought
If we accept and acquiesce in the face of
discrimination, we accept the responsibility
ourselves and allow those responsible to
salve their conscience by believing that they
have our acceptance and concurrence. We
should, therefore, protest openly everything
that smacks of discrimination or slander.
- Man McLeod Bethune
Call me a butterfly
Well, call me a butterfly. It's funny but
spring and summer completely
change my life.
Just a few all too short months ago, -I was
cocooning indoors. Supper over, dishes done, I
plunged into a hot tub, before wrapping.'myself
into a blankie to watch some television, or
snuggling under covers to read a book. There
was no power strong enough to entice me into
the fresh air. Even my persistent pooch had
her work cut out for her, trying to persuade me
throsugh persistent pup-like pushiness, to
bundle up for a bracing walk.
But once the sun has warmed gentle
breezes, as blooms have brightened the world,
and colour has replaced winter's stark white
coat and early spring's drab browns, my
cocoon becomes stifling. I'm drawn beyond
my four walls and take great pleasure in the
simplest things.
Windchimes make me pause. A trilling bird
could make a fool out of me as a song inside
threatens to burst forth to accompany it. I
watch with wary fascination as a bee lights
near my face as I work in a flowerbed. For
brief moments I savour the sun, its heat. I love
the feel of the grass on my bare feet. I don't
even mind getting dirt under my fingernails.
I breathe in the outdoors, sneezing of course
with frequency thanks to abundant allergies,
but nonetheless inhaling every part of this
lovely season.
But this year, it hasn't been that wonderful.
Some people blame the greenhouse effect, I
like to blame it on hockey. It's confused
Mother Nature into thinking winter lasts into
June.
The segue to spring has been uneven and
anticipatory. Keen to enjoy the colour and
liveliness of this time of year, I waited with no
small level of impatience for spring to
blossom. It arrived slow; y, after an
intoxicating hint in 'mid-March. We hid
snowfall in May and above average
precipitation.
Despite a warming trend, highlighted by
some perfect days, temperatures for most of
last week were still several degrees below
average. Sunshine teases briefly then hides for
days.
But, I suppose all of this has its pleasant
aspects. There has been, after all, no heavy
humidity to suffocate our sleep at night. Air
quality, even in the cities is good.
Well, as the cooler temperatures seem to
have discouraged the bug blight. At least I
haven't noticed them as being so bad and
information on The Weather Network had the
biting levels on the weekend as medium and
low.
Even so, I would be thrilled to f..ee a good
old-fashioned heat wave move in. (Though my
husband has warned me that if it does I'm not
allowed to say one negative word.) Spring and
summer are already way too short and there
have been many days since they began which
have kept me inside.
That's a situation which is even harder to
live with than in winter. Spring and summer
are meant for communing — with fellow
hibernating neighbours. with birds. with
flowers. There is light and colour all too
bewitching to be viewed from a window.
Where winter's comfort comes from being
toasty inside while the cold blows outside, the
sights and sounds of this time of year call you
out to play.
So, come on warmth and sunshine. Let's
kick it into high gear. Cocooning is over. It's
time to fly.
Thoughts on soccer and politics