martes, 13 de julio de 2010

"Who are you?"

A frightened girls scarcely escapes a bunch of evil men. She pants, gasps, puffs and reaches a saviour corner. But, when she goes round, it literally and figuratively turns to be a dead line. The lovely girl nearly faints.The badmen stop running and begin walking solemnly. One takes out a pen knife; another the belt; the other ones a camera, a bloody-dripping syringe and a microphone. Then he appears: top of the roof, flying cape, dumb face and yellow jumping boots. He cries “Leave her alone or confront me, you of the evil stars, you worst than toothache.”
The gang look at each other until the masked hero jumps down to the blind alley. The pen knife guy receives spray in the eyes, and an expansion shock from the hairdrier-like pistol knocks the others out.

- Who are you? - says the relieved woman.
- Well, er, I, uh, I haven’t thought about a name or something. ¿What about “Heroman”?
- No, no, no. This is old-fashioned and vulgar. “Bellyman”. That’s it.
- What?
- “Bellyman”. It really fits you.
- Fuck off, you gust of disgust!
- But I only...

But the dull face saviour is long gone through igniting jets from his belt. He’s considering that “maybe I should replace this old tight costume. It makes me fat although I try to hide my float. And what the hell should I use as a nickname? The Vindicator Avenger? The Thief Eater? American Power? I will sleep on it. “Bellyman!” Fatty seal”.

miércoles, 7 de julio de 2010

Zinedine Zidane and the Gods of football

The 2006 Football World Cup Final was going to be the topping in the Algerian French player’s retirement cake, but instead, it cast the midfielder into the mists of back door goodbye, and Marco Materazzi’s chest into the bottom of French desperation.
Zidane was a genius in footballistic life and the perfect gentleman in public affairs. Honest, kind, goodhearted, but also hotblooded and moody, his career was full of brilliant plays and some shameful aggressions. Knowing that and being Italian, Materazzi exploited his dirty tricks against the core of the “bleus”. Zidane’s sending-off was not unfair, just the opposite, the French player really far deserved it. The point is, what kind of noble justice is it which allows the subterranean game to make a good person lose his tempers and –literally- his head?
Zinedine was worth a different end, maybe a Hollywoodian one, in which he scored the winning goal on the very last second of the extra time or the definite penalty in the final round. Almost nobody retires on top of the business. It football, at least, I cannot remember many. People believe in a very romantic sense of justice and rights and in an omnipresent God of football who, from time to time, put things in their right place. When the over-competitive Italy defeated the old France, he had to be on holiday watching a different TV channel. But this is life and top sport was not going to be much different. Zidane was fired because he couldn’t resist provocation or punish back in a slightly more indifferent manner.
This final blemish didn’t prevent the Algerian from receiving the Golden Ball award for the tournament, maybe because he was recognised not only for that World Cup merits, which were not very impressive, but for his complete career. At the end, people remembered him as a delicatessen with a mild sour taste at the end.

martes, 6 de julio de 2010

Coming back

I promised to come back if something happened. Well, I still don't know if "that thing" will occur, but I have decided to return anyway, whatever happens about my commitment.
I didn't want to continue this blog as, being a teacher of English, I didn't want to commit unforgivable errors. I will, but I don't care now. I won't allow self-correction to prevent my thoughts from pervading the webworld. So this is a sort of rebirth, and I'm happy about my second "web son".