Mirror, Mirror

In a bold attempt to shrug off its reputation as an elitist collection of ponces perennially pandering to the PC demands of the Islington set, the Beeb decided to devote 2 hours 20 minutes last Sunday to live coverage of women’s football.

I didn’t know that at the time – I was just watching some people run very slowly. It’s when only when I noticed the high representation of designer stubble that I realised what was going on. Here’s the thing though – I could tell it was an international because the English team has shirts that looked just like…no, in fact, it was exactly the same shirt as worn by Becks and Co. Anyway, I flicked through the channels later on, and yes, the Beeb is still trying to ram it down our throat, except this time the game must have finished because – yep, one presenter and three experts in a studio facing onto the pitch. Déjà vu ? Yes indeed – that’s the self-same set-up the Beeb uses to cover actual football. Then again, thinking back to the absurd ‘dancing dinosaurs’ football earlier on, it occurred to me that these fat chicks weren’t actually trying to play football – no, they were trying to play a bloke playing football. Hence, why the whole thing was so inescapably weird.

Derivative is too weak a word. Derivative suggests some attempt to adapt, to adjust, to leave your own mark on it all. Even plagiarists have to make some effort. Not these girls. That was the irony of it all. Here they were, mau-mauing their way onto prime time TV with the equal-representation thing, demanding that women get the same treatment as men – including the studio with the big window - but when they get all that, what do they do ? Produce a seventh-rate facsimile of male football. Ladies, please, you may indeed be condemned to suck at football, but you could’ve at least, y’know, done something with the shirts - something – wear red, stick a blue stripe on it, anything really, but no, not a thing.

Isn’t that just the perfect metaphor for feminism in general ? A group of whiny chicks with nothing to say and a firm belief everyone should be forced at gunpoint to hear them say it. Look at the Blair Babes for proof of that. These people were supposed to revolutionise Parliament. Don’t ask how or why – they’re girlies, that’s all you need to know. Meanwhile, ladies who aren’t in the sob sister sorority, who actually do stuff, like, oh, I don’t know, serve as PM for 11 years and revolutionise Britain, they can go to Hell.

Feminism: - losers only need apply.