It’s a hot topic, World Cup hosts. I’ve noticed the contrast in attitude towards Qatar and Brazil, not on footballing credentials, but cultural reasoning. Some commentators have been crowing they are off to Brazil, but will give Qatar a miss, indicating we should join in their boycott.
I won’t be going to either, the personal economy is sluggish, growth not likely. I’ll be watching on TV, like most. But unlike most, I’m not so enthusiastic about this Brazil show.
The screen will be inundated, saturated, plagued with women’s arses, (or is it ass) tight and slightly wobbly ones, vibrating in g-strings in front of me, again and again and again, then to the studio, smirking, cheeky grins, a little joke, “Could you do that Gibbo?” “I could give it a go but you wouldn’t want to see it,” “Hahahaha,” all that stuff, worse, relentlessly coming at me. Bum and body images will be more abused than images of the Harbour and Opera House at the Sydney Olympics.
Then I’ll have to sit around with mates. Whenever they see a hot arse, “#*$! she’s hot, hot, hot, hot.” It just won’t stop. I have to suffer it enough already when viewing a terrible movie or woeful pop song. I comment how bad it is, and then hear, “She’s hot but…”
Now all this is going to blanket bomb my usual sanctuary of football.
We are so quick to condemn Qatar for sexism, while here in truth and justice land, we say, “Come here honey, now take that garb off, you’re free here, now put this little number on and get up there and shake it! Now that’s better isn’t, what do you reckon fellas, nice set of jugs hey?” Woo woo woo, goes the crowd in their alcohol stupor.
I’ve spent time in a village where women were totally covered with cloth, carted around on the back of donkey carts. Had its confrontational elements for a little naive fellow like me. I felt like snapping the camera, “Look at that, look at that!” I could really feed hatred of these people in my parts.
I thought better of it.
Funnily enough, it felt pleasant there. I wondered why, and noticed there were no sexual images of tits and arses in advertising all over the place. I’m used to being inundated in it, trying to ignore this weeks row of breasts on the newsagent window, the legs on the back of the buses, and so on.
And you know what, it was really nice, really really nice. I didn’t have to battle constant sexual frustration from looking at these images, ruing the fact you can’t touch and that those ‘hot ones’ aren’t coming my way.
I don’t suspect either of our cultures has it right, I don’t have it right, and I don’t suggest a debate about who does, it’s all too complex for that.
But if our culture promotes the looping ‘hot’ comments and the gyrating bums during the Brazil World Cup, then maybe we should understand how offensive that just might be to others cultures – and for that matter women who aren’t ‘hot’ – and maybe, rather than boycott, we should go, have a look and say, “Hey, interesting place, maybe you should come to mine one day.”
Maybe then, sport guiding our way, we could all learn a bit from each other and paint rainbows, grow together as we dance through the daisy fields: make love, not sport.
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