Great article published two weeks ago in The Times Saturday Mag on the rise of the 'Snark' in our cultural landscape. It was largely condemning the media commentators, political hacks and Private Eye satirists for their snidey, sarcastic brand of humor as well as their constant diatribe of 'in-jokes' that people outside of London's media-centric circles supposedly don't understand. One example cited was The Eye's referral to individuals involved in extra-marital shenanigans as being "engaged with 'Ugandan Affairs" though I thought this was a poor choice on the part of Hugo Rifkind who penned the essay.
Now personally I'm a great believer in 'Snark,' it is rightly the leading style of rhetoric in the condemnation of public personalities and erring politicos in this country and is a far more interesting and vibrant form of glib public discourse than the usual guff cooked up by the red Tops and Lads magazines that presuppose a level of knowing on the reader's part that would embarrass a nine year old from Burnley. (Sorry but I hate that glorified BNP voting town/Alistair Cambell supported football club right now for obvious reasons.)
I find that the magazines/writers I most enjoy reading: The Spectator, Private Eye, Red Issue Football Fanzine, United We Stand, Charlie Brooker, Craig Brown, James Delingpole ect employ large smatterings of 'Snark' in their musings on the world and its insanities and this not only makes them enjoyably rude but also gives one an agreeable sense of separation from a world where people actually think Richard Curtis writes funny films and that Sky Sports has had a positive impact on English football. I would argue that instead of alienating the reader 'Snark' actually allows them to nod their fatigued head with happiness; safe in the knowledge that at least some brave souls haven't subscribed to this bizarre, bland culture of free-sheet newspapers, Danny Dyer films and Tracy Emin beds.
As well as all this it was a fascinating article because it highlighted just how powerful the use of 'Snark' can be when used correctly. (See Sir Alan Sugar's litigation against Quentin Letts another serial abuser of 'Snark.') Someone somewhere once said the 'pen is mightier than the sword' or something along those lines. Now tell that to a disgruntled Iraqi poet or a whimsical drug dealer on the streets of Baltimore (a la The Wire) and they would tell you to shove your pen back up you're metaphorical 'sword' and fuck off. Lets face it that's one phrase that's about as realistic as Burley beating United in a competitive fixture. On the other hand a quote such as: 'The Snark is mightier than reasoned argument or balanced judgment' makes much more sense and underlines everything I've been trying to explain.
One writer who loves a bit of Snark is Armando Ianucci (is that how you spell it I'm lazy today?) From Partridge to The Thick of It he presupposes the viewer's encyclopedic knowledge of everything from politics to popular culture, Norwich to shit rock bands and Julie Andrews to Bond Films. And he does it fucking well. Having just ordered 'In the Loop' his scathing satire on Blair's decision to invade Iraq with White House hawks, I'm looking forward to watching Malcom Tucker, Armando's fictional Scottish spin doctor and general cunt, tell someone he is going to 'Punch them into a prolapse.' Or something similar. What a character and what a film, it almost makes me want to become a 'Spinner' or failing that a useless 'Civil Servant' just so I can enter this strange labyrinth of political intrigue, bumbling ineptitude and inventive use of swearing.
You see, this film is a great example of 'Snarking' and its positive influence. It subtly and poignantly ridicules the incredible idiosyncrasies of modern Britain, a country effectively run by the editor of the Daily Mail, Rupert Murdoch and a couple of slimy political spinners ie. Mandleson, by delving into areas of political and popular life that have hitherto been ignored. I know precisely fuck all about English government, the electoral process ect. but I still 'get' Armando's humor. It's as much about the delivery as the content which is why 'Snark' is good and 'Snark' is right. End of. Till next time.
P.S Check my review of 'Inglorious Basterds' over the weekend.
Friday, 21 August 2009
Monday, 17 August 2009
The Big Kick Off
Two weeks since the last post and three live games attended, each one a separate microcosm of English football and each one somehow both heartening and depressing at the same time.
First up was Chelsea in the Charity Shield. I tried to make a point of not buying a ticket directly from the club having attended a truly woeful tie against Portsmouth the following year; never has following United seemed so distressingly hollow. Anyway come a drunken weekend and the fact United would be playing up the road against the odious Rent Boys and I gave into temptation, heading up to Wembley Way still pissed from the previous evening and eager to get my first 'dose' of United since January 2009. What can be said about the Charity Shield that has not been said before? Thousands of fans hailing from the home counties wearing both Chelsea and United colors. A unabridged cross section of fuck wits, jester hat wearing numpties and hyperactive children drinking far too much Pepsi. People with about as much connection and love for their clubs as they do for a night at the cinema. An inconsistent referee, a cunt of a man in Ballack and a wonderful injury time equalizer from the Spud Faced Nipper to silence the braying clowns waving their stupid fucking sticks of celery. People taking a friendly Charity games very seriously. Basically a day of mostly downs turned occasionally by the odd surprising up.
Pre-match we found ourselves outside the famous Torch pub, which incidentally United always seem to get these days, drinking a couple of cans. A reworking of the Carlos Tevez song portraying him as 'a money grabbing whore' was appreciated and passing rentboys were summarily abused without exception. Personally I quickly returned to a state of incoherent pissedness which in turn resulted in me lobbing a couple of half empty beer cans into various Rent Boys on the concourse up Wembley Way. They appeared to be quite angry, an emotion reflected by the three mounted police who grabbed me out of the crowd two minutes later. A swift bollocking and a fearful apology later and I was handing a crisp twenty to a friendly Red for a face value seat up in the gods. All in all a mixed bag of a day out that taught me one invaluable lesson: piss in the can before you throw it at a hated rival/enemy.
Next up a rather surreal day out in the midlands for Peterborough-Sheffield Wednesday. Having promised my younger brother (who is a Wednesday fan) many moons ago that I would take him to a game as a birthday present, he persuaded me to take a detour en route to Manc for a visit to the Posh.
My previous trip to this strange town stuck between East Anglia and Leicester culminated in me throwing up for twenty minutes of the first half during a pre-season friendly between United and the aforementioned club. Sometimes all this drinking just gets too much. Anyway more sober and less excited I enjoyed a KFC and a swift pint in the away pub (truly a shocking establishment that took a good half and hour to serve ten cusomers) and then it was onto the Moyes End Terrace with the 2000 or so other Wednesday fans for 90 minutes of 'Leeds Scum' chants and fairly boring football. Observations: fantastic ticket price of £14 for a student and £17 for an adult, opportunity to buy away tickets on the gate, a good loyal Wednesday away following with the usual mix of dour old men, fat middle aged men and designer clad, drug taking young men dreaming of emulating Danny Dyer in a 'Football Factory' style ruck. Also Championship football ain't great, terraces should be brought back to every ground in the UK, Posh fans are shitter than most and the wonderful discovery that Leeds are universally despised as a nasty, scummy club supported only by sheep shaggers, sister fuckers and BNP activists.
Lastly but by no means least Manchester United's opening day at OT against newly promoted Birmingham. £36 for my ticket, and a stadium as resolutely silent as ever, though Strettie Tier 2 where I have moved this season is still standing and still loudish at times. Rooney and Berbatov look good, as did Darren Fletcher, John O'Shea and Evra. Foster made a nice save and Owen fucked up a one-on-one. Birmingham should stay up. By far the best entertainment however was provided by the plebs waddling around the ground proudly sporting their new Chevron emblazoned home shirts. Owen 7 was a dishearteningly common feature, as were slogans such as 'United 18' 'Fact 18' 'I 8 Scousers' and 'Cunt 1.' Ok I understand wearing the shirt is one way of proclaiming you're love for the club ect but why not invest in a T-shirt with United on, or a subtle polo shirt with the crest or just a fucking bar scarf for fucks sake, why spend a small fortune on an ugly piece of nylon covered with sponsors including as the odious AIG and then waste even more money plastering official premiership badges on the sleeves and getting some idiotic 'hey look at me' load of shite on the back? Kids up to the age of twelve are the exception but after that it should be nothing but the odd scarf, t-shirt or wooly hat.
So two weeks of differing emotions, surprisingly good value tickets and the Vermin loosing on the opening day. But then again so did United back in 1996 before going on to win the domestic double with 'kids' and making Alan Hansen look like a twat. It's going to be an interesting year, I just hope it doesn't involve too much of Alan Shearer on MOTD or people wearing stupid clothes. Til next time.
First up was Chelsea in the Charity Shield. I tried to make a point of not buying a ticket directly from the club having attended a truly woeful tie against Portsmouth the following year; never has following United seemed so distressingly hollow. Anyway come a drunken weekend and the fact United would be playing up the road against the odious Rent Boys and I gave into temptation, heading up to Wembley Way still pissed from the previous evening and eager to get my first 'dose' of United since January 2009. What can be said about the Charity Shield that has not been said before? Thousands of fans hailing from the home counties wearing both Chelsea and United colors. A unabridged cross section of fuck wits, jester hat wearing numpties and hyperactive children drinking far too much Pepsi. People with about as much connection and love for their clubs as they do for a night at the cinema. An inconsistent referee, a cunt of a man in Ballack and a wonderful injury time equalizer from the Spud Faced Nipper to silence the braying clowns waving their stupid fucking sticks of celery. People taking a friendly Charity games very seriously. Basically a day of mostly downs turned occasionally by the odd surprising up.
Pre-match we found ourselves outside the famous Torch pub, which incidentally United always seem to get these days, drinking a couple of cans. A reworking of the Carlos Tevez song portraying him as 'a money grabbing whore' was appreciated and passing rentboys were summarily abused without exception. Personally I quickly returned to a state of incoherent pissedness which in turn resulted in me lobbing a couple of half empty beer cans into various Rent Boys on the concourse up Wembley Way. They appeared to be quite angry, an emotion reflected by the three mounted police who grabbed me out of the crowd two minutes later. A swift bollocking and a fearful apology later and I was handing a crisp twenty to a friendly Red for a face value seat up in the gods. All in all a mixed bag of a day out that taught me one invaluable lesson: piss in the can before you throw it at a hated rival/enemy.
Next up a rather surreal day out in the midlands for Peterborough-Sheffield Wednesday. Having promised my younger brother (who is a Wednesday fan) many moons ago that I would take him to a game as a birthday present, he persuaded me to take a detour en route to Manc for a visit to the Posh.
My previous trip to this strange town stuck between East Anglia and Leicester culminated in me throwing up for twenty minutes of the first half during a pre-season friendly between United and the aforementioned club. Sometimes all this drinking just gets too much. Anyway more sober and less excited I enjoyed a KFC and a swift pint in the away pub (truly a shocking establishment that took a good half and hour to serve ten cusomers) and then it was onto the Moyes End Terrace with the 2000 or so other Wednesday fans for 90 minutes of 'Leeds Scum' chants and fairly boring football. Observations: fantastic ticket price of £14 for a student and £17 for an adult, opportunity to buy away tickets on the gate, a good loyal Wednesday away following with the usual mix of dour old men, fat middle aged men and designer clad, drug taking young men dreaming of emulating Danny Dyer in a 'Football Factory' style ruck. Also Championship football ain't great, terraces should be brought back to every ground in the UK, Posh fans are shitter than most and the wonderful discovery that Leeds are universally despised as a nasty, scummy club supported only by sheep shaggers, sister fuckers and BNP activists.
Lastly but by no means least Manchester United's opening day at OT against newly promoted Birmingham. £36 for my ticket, and a stadium as resolutely silent as ever, though Strettie Tier 2 where I have moved this season is still standing and still loudish at times. Rooney and Berbatov look good, as did Darren Fletcher, John O'Shea and Evra. Foster made a nice save and Owen fucked up a one-on-one. Birmingham should stay up. By far the best entertainment however was provided by the plebs waddling around the ground proudly sporting their new Chevron emblazoned home shirts. Owen 7 was a dishearteningly common feature, as were slogans such as 'United 18' 'Fact 18' 'I 8 Scousers' and 'Cunt 1.' Ok I understand wearing the shirt is one way of proclaiming you're love for the club ect but why not invest in a T-shirt with United on, or a subtle polo shirt with the crest or just a fucking bar scarf for fucks sake, why spend a small fortune on an ugly piece of nylon covered with sponsors including as the odious AIG and then waste even more money plastering official premiership badges on the sleeves and getting some idiotic 'hey look at me' load of shite on the back? Kids up to the age of twelve are the exception but after that it should be nothing but the odd scarf, t-shirt or wooly hat.
So two weeks of differing emotions, surprisingly good value tickets and the Vermin loosing on the opening day. But then again so did United back in 1996 before going on to win the domestic double with 'kids' and making Alan Hansen look like a twat. It's going to be an interesting year, I just hope it doesn't involve too much of Alan Shearer on MOTD or people wearing stupid clothes. Til next time.
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