I have never been a fan of the Olympic Games. It’s always struck me as an extremely overblown exercise in physical jingoism that leans uncomfortably towards hale and hearty fascism of the kind that was all too obvious when Hitler got his hands on the games in 1936. It’s not that I want to see them stopped. If folks who like that sort of thing want to go off on their own somewhere and run and jump and throw stuff, it don’t have problem as long as they don’t preempt too much of my TV content. When, however, the situation is so out of hand that – in the supposed name of national and Olympic security – the army needs to mount SAM missiles on the roof of a block of flats in the ultra dense borough of Tower Hamlets and more in Blackheath and Epping Forest, I really feel the urge to hold up a hand and cry “hold on a fucking minute.” Okay if so you cancelled the games because a bunch of jihadists decided to plant a DIY nuke or fly a 9/11-style suicide aircraft into the proceedings, a loud wail would go up about how the terrorists had won. As far as I’m concerned, losing the Olympics is a small price to pay if it spares us being incinerated or irradiated, but as I’ve already said, I find Olympics nothing more that an irritating nuisance and wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if they were called off. It might also be cause for some serious and much needed historical examination of why groups all across the planet are so damned keen on blowing us up in the first place.
Click here for The Pretenders
The secret word is Fatwa