Meanwhile, In an Alternative Universe

I would like to congratulate Liverpool on winning their first ever Premier league title and their first league victory in a generation. Their fans will undoubtedly cherish the victory, as they won in the season Manchester United fell dramatically from their pedestal. It is to United's credit that they gave way so quickly after Alex Ferguson's exit, retiring to the mid-table without any fuss or delay. Many of you are unaware of the fact, but when I was a sporting lad in my teens, I was an avid Manchester United fan. Perhaps it was the influence of friends that made me support them, or perhaps it was the noble spirit I felt pervaded the team. Perhaps it was this song. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact they won so much silverware.

For those who are unfamiliar with English football, please allow me to explain. For a long time, Liverpool FC was the belle of the ball, winning trophies galore. In the 1990s, after a couple of decades of supremacy, Manchester United usurped their tiara and dominated English football. They were seemingly unbeatable with the help of their fairy godmother Sir Alex Ferguson. Liverpool could not tolerate United's success and watched helplessly as she eventually overtook her place as the most beautiful belle of all time. Liverpool fans took a relieved delight in watching United occasionally come second, first to Blackburn (a meretricious, flash-in-the-pan stunner, who quickly succumbed to obesity and old age) then, briefly, to Arsenal (the belle with the winning personality, whose fans are like martyrs). Eventually, two real challengers came along: Chelsea (plausibly a girl's name, especially if she's from California) and Manchester City (plausibly a girl's name, especially if she's from California). Both had been average girls, but they were beautified by cosmetic surgery, paid for by their rich Russian and Saudi Arabian daddies. Manchester United could still fend off these younger models, however, much like a 40-year-old who keeps in great shape through yoga. Liverpool, in recent year, has transformed so much, it is as though the mother has been replaced by her nubile daughter (after all, it has been a generation). Other contenders include Everton and Tottenham Hotspurs, who are perennial also-rans. Their supporters are like loyal partners, who perfunctorily tell them they think they are beautiful even though its clearly not true.

Liverpool have walked alone through a difficult 24 years. A team with such a heritage was inevitably going to return to glory, even though they took the long route. Let us not forget the fallen soldiers, who toiled in times short of glory. Their hands grasped haplessly for silverware and got little more than the Coca Cola Cup (back when it was called that). Remember Phil Babb, Steve MacManaman, Robbie Fowler, John Scales, Steve Nicol, Jan Mølby, Steve Harkness, Stan Collymore, David James, Neil Ruddock, Lee Jones, Jason McAteer, and Jamie Redknapp. Great losers one and all. Despite being a former United fan, it is only right I also salute their current, victorious team. I would never want to spitefully take pleasure in the dominating team losing, especially when it bears little relevance to my non-existent title contentions. I would never want to rattle on for years about past glories or how the dominant team deserve their defeat. Now that… that would be sad. 

If the sexy pictures won't work, the cute ones certainly will.

Sneakers Looking Fresh to Death, I'm Loving those Shell Toes

When I returned to the gym this week, after several weeks of illness, I was pleasantly reminded that the Shittiest Haircut in the World Campaign had started. Regular gym-goers, who spend many hours per week perfecting every contour of their flesh, ruin their attractiveness with patently hideous hairstyles. The campaign runs from the beginning of April until the end of March every year, and the proceeds go towards combatting male body dysmorphic disorder, which plagues gyms internationally. Every year, young men fall prey to body image issues, caused by negatively comparing themselves to images of disgusting, bronzed hulks. Unable to avoid mirrors, they become completely despondent and soon find themselves taking desperate measures to get bigger. A brief walk around the gym reveals the appalling lives these wretches have eked out for themselves. Behold Jimmy, a boy of twenty-two. He read somewhere that bigger legs can only be achieved by ultraheavy, deep squats. With weight well in excess of one hundred kilos, he does six sets, with ten reps each, which annihilates his legs beyond use. Unable to cope with the pain of calf training in close proximity to his heavy squats, he riskily tries to target them by sitting iron plates under his heels during the squats. This desperate attempt to target his calves, which he fears cannot be stimulated to grow, is undoubtedly a cry for help. The gym staff fear that Jimmy may abandon the pain of heavy squats and risk breaking two sets of joints by jump squatting on the leg press machine (I have actually seen a gym instructor do this).

A Darwin Award in the making.

 Jimmy is just one of the many victims here. On this mean circuit, muscle is the name of the game, and these kids will do anything to get it. Sucking hard on protein shakes, the young males worry whether their body is in a net catabolic or anabolic state, and they couldn't say which one they would prefer. All they know is that they want the perfect exercise/diet balance to 'melt away'  fat and maximise their 'lean muscle' — no other type of muscle will do, especially that fat muscle. Swinging helplessly as they lift a barbell that weighs too much, they see no progress in their bodies and feel weak in the presence of the many Lycra-clad beauties that glide around the gym floor. (So prevalent is Lycra in the gym that a virginal male may could be forgiven for thinking it part of the female anatomy.) These young men have to make up for the discrepancy in desire with disrespect, too much respect, pining, misogyny, resentment, crying, chauvinism, self-deception, pornography, voyeurism, flesh-lights, Chatroulette exhibitionism, arguing anally about the minutiae of bodybuilding, recommending squats to women without any thought about the efficacy of squats compared to other gluteal exercises, critical comments about beautiful women's bodies made of pure sour grapes, frequenting tanning salons, and transvestism.

'But what can I do to help?', I hear you ask. There are plenty of actions you can take to lessen this dreadful scourge. Take a shitty haircut selfie and bravely post it on Facebook to raise awareness. Perhaps you could post an article or an Upworthy video about the topic, asking 'What's really happening in the gym?'. Criticise the mainstream media for not tackling this social issue, even though all you ever read in the papers are human stories, thereby discouraging them from printing more important news. Use lots of hashtags to start trending. Religious hashtags (e.g., #prayfortheukraine) might lose some of your audience, so you may want to try something universal, like eating (e.g., #chickenkievfortheukraine). Most importantly, invent simplified labels for complex issues. If the cause doesn't make you seem like a passionate, interesting person, drop it. If it does, be sure to hold on to it for no more than six months. Cringe at your posts two years later. Holding onto a political cause for too long results in situations like Kony 2012 or those people protesting outside the British parliament because Deirdre Rachid was imprisoned in Coronation Street. I'm unsure which one was worse. It doesn't matter anyway. What really matters is addressing the issue with absolute solemnity and taking offence to anyone who disagrees with you. Political causes on Facebook are there to establish your projected identity, and if you are in anyway compromising or lighthearted about things, people may not take you seriously. And before your take-offense-to-everything reflex sets you off on a whinge-fest, I will concede that there are worthy causes and people who need help in pursuing them — much in the way that your well-being is a worthy cause and some people go to the gym for the good of their health.