I'm going to come right out and say it: I couldn't care less about the World Cup. I find most TV sport insanely dull, and watching a bunch of playboys huffing around on a patch of grass strikes me as a particularly brain-numbing way of spending one's time. Unless either England or France get into the final, I won't see a single match.
Unless I'm forced to. By the time you read this I will be in Cannes, and having been there for previous World Cups, I know what I am in for. Appointments will be mysteriously changed or cancelled. Conversations, particularly with men, will become unintelligible. And many of my favourite bars and restaurants will have been invaded by giant screens, which I will spend most of the week trying to avoid. Brazil's anger at the travelling caravan of excess that is the World Cup came as no surprise to me - I've always felt that way. A recent article by Simon Kuper in the Financial Times weekend magazine suggested that Silvio Berlusconi and Rupert Murdoch had actually improved soccer by putting it at the centre of their media empires - and creating the need for super fit, superstar players. In my view, they created a colossal money machine with all the heart and soul of a video game. Of course, I know that millions of people disagree with me. And you have every right to enjoy the event. Just don't oblige me to enjoy it with you.
