Racketeering is not an Olympic sport

Paradiso. That’s where Fifa’s top dogs thought they were living. Paradiso is, of course, an anagram of diaspora. Coincidence? I think not. And if you still need evidence of a conspiracy, just consider that the word ‘diaspora’ is derived from the ancient Greek word dia meaning ‘kick’ and spora meaning ‘back’.

‘Legacy Programme’ is, of course, derived from the modern English phrase meaning, in subtext, “Here’s the money now keep your mouth shut.”

The infallible oracle that is Wikipedia disagrees. “Diaspora,” says our police minister’s preferred research tool, “has come to refer particularly to historical mass dispersions of an involuntary nature, such as the expulsion of Jews from Judea …”

Ha. I knew the Jews would somehow be involved in this dreadful business. I bet Jack Warner is one of them Black Hebrew Israelites just as sure as that jungle-faced gormandising chowhound Chuck Blazer is up there with Salvatore “Sammy The Bull” Gravano in the snitching stool pigeons’ Hall of Shame.

Jack the Rat has also decided to squeal, like rodents do when they’re backed into a corner. He says he now fears for his life and has asked people to pray for him. Alright, then. Dear Satan, please recall your toxic factotum.

Jack the Rat has also suggested that FIFA had a hand in rigging the elections in Trinidad and Tobago. No wonder America is upset – that’s their job.

Meanwhile, back in Wonderland, Danny Jordaan – who had a hand in everything to do with our World Cup bid – said on Thursday he had no reason to comment because his name hadn’t been mentioned in the US indictment. Good one, Danny. I can see why the ANC picked you to be mayor of Port Elizabeth. With your understanding of accountability, you’re going to make a brilliant politician.

I played a bit of soccer when I was in primary school. They dumped me in a team of deviants and delinquents who went out of their way to cripple the soft boys from persnickety schools like Kearsney and Michaelhouse. It was even worse once they were on the field.

I rarely watch football on the telly these days. There’s just not enough violence. When they start arming players with Ovambo war clubs and scores are in the high double digits, I might reconsider.

That’s not to say I have no interest in what’s going on at the moment. I think this is the most interesting thing to happen to soccer since half the Uruguayan national team ate the other half when their plane crashed in the Andes in 1972. Maybe that was the rugby team. It sounds like something rugby players would do.

Look, I’m not saying FIFA doesn’t need to introduce reforms. For a start, I’m all for them doing away with the offside rule so that women can understand what’s going on. Essentially, though, the only way to reform FIFA would be to replace the entire executive with Carmelite nuns, who are known to be relatively incorruptible.

Right now it’s de rigueur to spit on Sepp Blatter, but I loathed him way before it became fashionable to do so. Not because I thought he was a bullying, corrupt tyrant, but because he wears glasses and has a silly accent. I’m shallow in that way. Meet me for a beer and if I don’t like your shoes, I’ll have you killed. Just like that.

Besides, Sepp is from a German-speaking district in Switzerland. If you have to come from Switzerland, then, for the love of god, the least you can do is make sure you come from the French-speaking side.

While we’re down the rabbit hole, we may as well take a closer look at Fikile Mbalula, the glittering jewel in our political firmament of fun-loving fabulists. He cuts a dashing figure at press conferences and looks relatively intelligent with his wire-rimmed specs and suit, but then he opens his mouth and utterly ruins the illusion.

For a start, if you tell the media that Danny Jordaan and Molefi Oliphant will be among the speakers at your press conference, and they pull out at the last minute for reasons which may well have everything to do with a fear of self-incrimination, don’t kick off with a mouthful of indignant denials. The media may well be a vicious pack of butt-sniffing watchdogs, but they know the difference between the smell of whiskey and the smell of panic. And what they smelled on Wednesday wasn’t whiskey.

There exists a letter signed by the Oliphant who wasn’t in the room. There’s a similar letter written by Danny Jordaan. It is addressed to FIFA general secretary Jerome Valcke and instructs not once, but twice, that $10-million must be given directly to the original pirate of the Caribbean, Jack Warner.

Cut to black. Fade in on a hotel room in Paris …

Co-conspirator #15: “Howzit boet. Want a dop?”

Warner’s bagman: “Jus’ gimme de briefcase, mon.”

Mbalula urged the media to be patriotic. “Do not be the first to maim and vandalise your own country,” he said. No chance of that happening. Not while the president is hogging the front of that particular queue.

There is, of course, the possibility that we’re being scapegoated by America for reasons other than their righteous desire to clean up world soccer. It certainly goes without saying that the FBI’s hands are way filthier than Sepp Blatter’s ever could be. And if you’re riding the main train to Rogue Central, you’re damn sure headed for Washington, not Pretoria.

So, Fiks, ease up on the gratuitous denials and the bad jokes and let’s see how this thing unravels. If we are being played by the brother in the White House, then sure, declare war on America by all means. We’ll be fine. China has our back. Right, China? China?

 

 

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