Keyboard Warriors, Lovers Of Despair, And…
JOEY BARTON; ANY LAW SUIT SHOULD BE DIRECTED AT….
TERENCE BANYARD – UNCENSORED
Twitter and Football. A match made in heaven some say. Presumably by those whose idea of heaven is for total strangers to casually ask each other to burn in hell for the merest difference in opinions. It’s a fun place to be. However there is a pattern I’ve started to notice. A pattern that pretty much puts all football fans into three simple categories. Let me take you through each one:
A classic, I’m sure most of you are aware of the term. Upon first hearing it can be quite confusing. Personally I thought there was some sort of bizarre, yet terrifying, new school of fighting that computer lovers across the world had embraced. Imagine it, world of warcraft players everywhere equipping themselves with customized keyboards and marching across the world bemusing everyone in sight whilst shouting obscure warnings such as “CTRL, ALT DELETE THEM!” Alas, I digress and the truth is much more mundane.
The keyboard warrior is basically someone who will go on a rant of unbelievable ferocity, usually regarding something of grave importance like a handball decision or the length of grass the opposing team have sanctioned and then will personally threaten another person, almost always someone they have no acquaintance with whatsoever. It’s a bit like getting a poison pen letter, expect said person has no idea where you live, what you look like or in more extreme cases, if you are indeed a real human.
These encounters usually go either of two ways:
1) The two people involved exchange insults for a while before both eventually becoming embarrassed at their futile attempts to frighten each other and go off to abuse someone else, or defeat the dark Wizard of the Shadowing Garden of Mirth.
2) One of the ‘warriors’ gets angry and start sinisterly suggesting that the other person stop otherwise ‘things might happen’. These ‘things’ mysteriously have no detail but consequences seem severe, and often hilarious. My favorite such threat will be one of them saying, with absolute unerring accuracy, “you have no idea who I am”. Indeed.
Now, however, there is a new breed. I call them the Princes of Keyboard Warriors. Like Ozzy Osbourne the prince of darkness, but far worse and probably far more inclined to bite the heads off small animals. I’ll give you the prime example:
Stan Collymore is the main Prince of Keyboard Warriors. Now Collymore, deservedly, gets a lot of an abuse. It’s hard not to argue he’s an awful person but that’s for a different time. Collymore has embraced the trolls, embraced the keyboard Warriors, made them his own and in some roundabout way become the biggest keyboard warrior of them all.
For example, a typical football keyboard warrior might say to Stan “you wife beating wanker. Give me 30 mins I’ll fight you behind the Shell garage in Rusholme.” A hilarious and frankly impossible scenario which most people would either ignore or get vaguely irritated at, but not Collymore. Collymore will then counter this with an equally impossible scenario but one then somehow makes him seem genuine.
Example, “Ok we can meet, you can have one free punch on the pitch at Old Trafford, you won’t get two”. Stunning. This will ensure that Collymore’s many fanatical followers will then look at him in admiration and abuse the other sad fellow without realizing that there is no come back to that. What if he says yes? What then? Will Collymore literally arrange to meet someone on the pitch, at the Stretford End and let them punch him? Really? It’s brilliant, there’s no comeback and it makes Collymore the Prince of the Keyboard Warriors.
Lovers of Despair
Twitter is full of all sorts. As mentioned before they are almost always angry but then again there is always someone willing to egg them on. I call these people the ‘lovers of despair’. These are the people who can turn any good result, goal, individual performance, team performance or indeed any positive interaction with the human life into one of dark, gloomy misery, and enjoy it.
I am one of those people. One of those people who, as a kid, claimed to have knew that Santa didn’t exist first and went around telling other kids that he had died after an argument over coco pops with an elf. People like us don’t have a high capacity for happiness, and it is also very hard for us to change our opinion once we’ve expressed it. For example, it took me 4 years to reluctantly admit that Thierry Henry might be on par with Tore Andre Flo, and a further 3 to admit that Jordi Cruyff wasn’t quite as good as his dad.
Other times we just do all we can to dampen the general mood of other people. With Twitter it can be subtle and sneaky, just the way we like it. For example, Liverpool beat Newcastle 6-0 and I actively looked out for stats to put Liverpool down. “6-0, that will help you get into Champions League this year…” and so on. Just a re-tweet, nothing direct, but enough to infuriate even the happiest supporter! In short, as friends and as humans we probably should be avoided at all costs for the sake of your mortal souls.
Quite simply, some people really are cunts. Good example, Joey Barton. The King, the God of all cunts. Someone who can’t quite grasp the fact that a lot of people think he’s a cunt, despite the thousands that tell him on a daily basis. These people seem to live off the mantra “I am what I am, take it or leave it”. A concept that has always baffled me. Most people have the self awareness and humility that they will sometimes do things wrong. It’s natural.
However, these are the sort of people who will forget a birthday and instead of owning up will come up with some sort of philosophical nonsense that they Googled which suggests that birthdays actually do not exist and by conforming to the Capitalist way of living you have no brain or soul. A rather startling and aggressive way of avoiding buying a birthday card.
So, inspired by these glorious individuals, I wish to start my own campaign. Along with the admirable ‘Kick Racism Out of Football’ campaign I would like to start my own ‘Kick Cunts Out of Football’. It’s essentially a new disciplinary system that takes into account how much of a cunt you are, on and off the football field, and comes up with an appropriate punishment. Below is an example of how a possible day could go…
Committee: “Who’s in first today, come on through”
John Terry: “Me”
Committee: “Ah John, again! What did you do this time? It wasn’t leaking secrets to the Russians again was it? That was a palaver!”
JT: “No, sir. I cheated on my wife”
Comm: “John John John. You know adultery is a 10 game ban, who was it with?”
JT: “mumble mumble”
Comm: “What was that?”
JT: “Team mates g/f”
Comm: “Good grief! Right 15 games, off you trot. Next”
Ryan Giggs: “Hello”
Comm: “Sweet Mother of Lucifer, Ryan, what on earth are you doing here?!”
RG: “Cheated on my wife”
Comm: “Well I will certainly be phoning my wife after this day eh lads?! Dear lord. Well it’s 10 games as a standard, who was it with?”
RG: “Brother’s wife”
Comm: “MAN ALIVE! 25 games, get out of my sight!”
Head of Commitee (mumbling to himself): “I must check where Betsy is.. Ahem. Right. Next!”
Luis Suarez: “Hello you old white bastard who will spend the rest of his days in the 7 circles of hell”
Comm: “Erm, what?
LS: “Oh I’m sorry, you don’t understand. It’s how everyone in Uruguay greets each other”
Comm: “Ermm right. Ok. What did you do?”
LS “I bit someone”
Comm “What?! Why”
LS: “I like to win”
Comm: “But how did that help you win?”
LS: “I’m a survivor”
Comm: “Are you saying your life was in danger? Who is that at the door?”
Brenden Rodgers: “Just me. Just a quick word if you may. On the day Luis bit Ivanovic, Venus was at its closest to Mars and the thunder God himself guided Luis into eternal glory that day”
Comm: “What? What?! GET OUT THE OFFICE”.
BR: “You racists!” (Slams door)
Comm: “Right. 30 games, Luis. You may think this is unfair but all things considered you are undoubtedly a cunt. Get out.”
Comm: “OK one more then we get to go home chaps. Did Betsy get back to me? No? Oh. Will just check again.. Last one of the day, come on up!”
Joey Barton: “You sniveling maggots. You’ve got no passion! An eye for eye, fight to the end. (Breaks into song) I would go out tonight, but I haven’t got a stitch to wear…”
Head of Committee: “Gentlemen, this is going to be a long night…”
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