Such sad news to wake to 😢
This was my go-to song whenever I felt like 'I was falling apart'.
Thank you for sharing your wonderful, husky, Welsh voice with us, Bonnie Tyler.
Sleep tight 💔
The Curious American Habit of Invading Every Conversation With World War II
It is one of life’s great mysteries.
Mention football. Mention beer. Mention bicycles. Mention the correct way to cook chips.
Sooner or later an American will appear, clear his throat, and announce:
“Belgium wouldn’t exist without the United States.”
Imagine that level of confidence.
It’s like turning up to Wimbledon and claiming you deserve the trophy because your grandfather once helped rebuild Centre Court.
The historical irony, of course, is delicious.
The United States exists because Europeans crossed an ocean, founded colonies, financed revolutions and, in the case of France, emptied vast amounts of treasure into helping the Americans defeat Britain.
Without Britain, France, Spain and the Netherlands, there is no United States.
Without Europe, America is still a very interesting collection of forests.
As for Belgium specifically, the story is even less convenient. Large parts of Belgium were liberated by British, Canadian and Polish forces. American troops fought bravely as well, particularly during the Battle of the Bulge, but the idea that Belgium owes its entire existence to Washington belongs somewhere between Hollywood and fan fiction.
The more interesting question is this:
Why does every discussion with certain Americans eventually become a military history lecture?
A refereeing decision in football somehow ends with aircraft carriers.
A debate about healthcare becomes aircraft carriers.
Public transport? Aircraft carriers.
Cheese? Believe it or not, aircraft carriers.
It’s as if the national emergency exit for losing an argument is simply shouting “World War II” until everyone goes home.
Which is rather odd.
Because genuinely confident countries don’t constantly remind strangers how powerful they are.
They simply get on with life.
Perhaps that’s why Europeans can argue passionately about football for hours without feeling the need to deploy the 82nd Airborne.
Although, judging by recent online debates, some Americans appear convinced they should.
You’re probably thinking of the help that showed up fashionably late, after Canada and England had been in the fight from day one. You didn’t join the war, you joined the victory lap. The table was already set, you just grabbed a seat and started carving.
And let’s be honest, you’d need to rewrite your own history books to cover what actually happened, because half the country was cheering for Hitler right up until Auschwitz made that a bad look at dinner parties. Old habits die hard, I guess. You’re doing the exact same thing with Russia today.
🤡
@AntiTrumpCanada I agree, but after listening to that drivel, I might need a nap!
What the hell is going on about?
If the US (unfortunately) win the cup, it will mean NOTHING. He has sullied the entire game by allowing them to cheat.
And so, inevitably, we arrive at the USAians. Their goalscorer got a red card. A ban. A game in the stands. The rules every nation on Earth accepts. You foul, you sit, you come back. Simple.
Now, the Americans insist it was never a red card at all. And who knows, maybe it wasn’t. Even if the opponent’s leg looked like it might snap in half, referees get things wrong all the time. That is football. We love it and hate it for precisely this reason. But here’s the thing everyone else on the planet understands: a red card means a suspension even when the referee is wrong. Even when VAR is wrong. You can rage about the decision all you like, but the consequence stands. It always stands. That is the entire deal.
Think of it this way. A defender hacks someone down in the box, the whistle goes, penalty. Maybe it was soft. Maybe it was a dive. Doesn’t matter. The other team takes the penalty. What does not happen, what has never happened in the history of the sport, is a president ringing FIFA afterwards and having the goal quietly removed because his team didn’t fancy the outcome. The decision on the pitch is the decision. Full stop.
Except America’s response was to have the President of the United States, the actual man with the nuclear codes, telephone FIFA. FIFA, the most gloriously bent organisation in world sport, an outfit so crooked it makes a corkscrew look principled. And lo, the ban evaporated, the rulebook was rewritten, and Balogun trotted back onto the pitch as if nothing had happened.
Belgium complained. Obviously. And the American answer? A lecture. “We don’t understand the whining. We Americans always want to beat the best team. That’s when victory feels earned. Anything less is loser mentality.”
What a load of drivel. Belgium wants exactly the same thing. They want to beat the best American team. Nobody in Brussels is hiding under the bed because one striker is good at football. That was never the complaint.
The complaint is that this is cheating. Plain, old-fashioned, unambiguous cheating. Getting your head of state to lean on a governing body until an ordinary suspension disappears.
And everyone knows what we say about cheaters. Nothing they win counts. Ever again. Every goal from here carries an asterisk the size of Texas. If they lift the trophy, the entire planet will know how it was done, and nobody, not one single soul outside their own borders, will ever accept that this team won anything. What they’ll see instead is a squad of snivelling, cowardly, crying children who screamed until daddy fixed it.
There is no honour in this. None. A tournament that began so well for them now ends the only way it can: as a permanent embarrassment for American football. Forever.
And the tough-guy speech about always wanting to face the best? LOL. Embarrassing as well.
If they win now, they’ll never admit how. And honestly, they’ll never need to. The whole world already knows.
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Europeans are simply built from sturdier stuff than their pampered cousins across the Atlantic. The American weeps if the thermostat drifts two degrees from a holy 21, while the European lies awake at 3am in a sweating concrete flat thinking: this builds character. They’ve got AC in the bedroom, the car, the office, probably the fridge. We’ve got a fan from 2004 and sheer willpower.