In a world of smoothness and perfection, failure becomes the vanishing point of our desires. They are supposed to look like a tear in a CV, like a life lived. Why does football attract the masses even morocco rcs data though almost every move fails? That's why. We know subcutaneously that magic does not come into life through flawlessness and mechanical success, it forces its way through the cracks, the gaps, emerging from the futility of human provocation of chance.
Footballers are examples of what we all are: late grandchildren of Sisyphus. In Albert Camus' "The Myth of Sisyphus," the last sentence is: "We must imagine Sisyphus as a happy man." Happy? Because he makes the stone his business, and is on his own mission up the mountain. Like footballers, who on the field of notorious failure kick the ball even more cleverly, even smarter, even faster. Like happy Rolling Stones.
After an eventful week: Dorer comes, Büchner goes. Only one remains: Frank A. Meyer. He is based in Berlin and has protected the new SoBli editor-in-chief. The outgoing Messiah knows one thing after his short experience in Switzerland: There is still God.