In a stunning display of administrative incompetence that would make a Keystone Cop blush, FIFA has announced that fans at the World Cup were herded onto concourses like particularly reluctant livestock. Yes, the same organisation that brought us corruption scandals faster than I can drain a gin and tonic has now decided that spectator safety is an optional extra.
Let me paint you a picture. Thousands of bleary-eyed supporters, who have spent their life savings on tickets, flights, and overpriced lager, are told to watch the beautiful game from a grim, concrete corridor. It's like being at a particularly disappointing disco where the DJ has forgotten his records. FIFA's excuse? Something about 'operational challenges'. I have an operational challenge for them: try operating a conscience.
The official statement, no doubt drafted by a committee of suits who have never sweated in a stadium queue, reassures us that 'safety is our priority'. This is the same priority they gave to the migrant workers who built these very stadiums. The irony is so thick you could spread it on a croissant.
What really rankles, dear reader, is the sheer arrogance. Fans are not inconvenience-sponges to be shuffled about like numbers in a spreadsheet. They are the lifeblood of the game. Without them, football would just be a group of men in shorts overpaid for kicking a bag of wind. But FIFA treats them like cattle because, let's face it, the corporate boxes are full. The VIPs have their champagne and prawn sandwiches. Why should they care if the plebs have to watch from a corridor?
I propose a solution: next time, FIFA executives should be forced to watch from the concourse. Let them experience the joy of trying to see a match through a forest of heads, with the acoustics of a shopping mall. They might suddenly discover a newfound appreciation for seating arrangements.
In the meantime, we have a football tournament where the only thing more frequent than goals is the number of safety violations. The match continues, but the real game is watching the organisers trip over their own hubris. Pass the gin, please. The world has gone mad, and I need something to steady my nerves.
