Mud

I imagine that Churchill had image consultants who did not manage to hide his marriage with alcohol and cigars.

But it is clear that only he could have come up with the kamikaze certainty that only blood, sweat and tears awaited the British people at the beginning of the Second World War.

And it must have been an adviser who suggested to John F. Kennedy during his visit to the reconstructed Berlin, cradle of the greatest barbarism in history, that he close his speech with the anthological: "I am a Berliner."

But I wonder what well-paid brainiac invented the speech given by a certain Infantino, supreme leader of soccer's Cosa Nostra, at the opening of the World Cup in Qatar.

The surrealists would have rejoiced at his audacity and his shamelessness.

Shakespeare, who wrote the impressive speeches of Brutus and Mark Antony in the magisterial

, or the incendiary Groucho Marx

They would have laughed when they heard the tragicomic Infantino say: “I am a Qatari, gay, Arab, African, disabled, migrant worker and I was a discriminated child.

Criticism of the World Cup is hypocritical.

No one can give us a moral class."

I have never trusted moralists, but neither have I trusted genetic or professional corrupts who try to grotesquely disguise the mud of their business.

And I already know that corruption is tempting for everyone who has something to sell.

In the case of football and politics, it is not the exception but the rule.

Of course, big money sweats the outlawed rights of women, homosexuals, or the immigrant job in pasta paradises.

In the absence of bread, the people are satisfied with the circus, religions, nationalisms.

They say that the very sunken Argentina has passed the evils to be world champion.

Everyone feels like gods, the rich and the poor.

The business will be eternal if you know how to manage it.

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