On how modern spectator sports -- especially football -- are designed to make men feel alive again, if only for a few moments. As I've written here before, modern spectator sports (along with many other mindless pleasure-seeking activities) are panem et circenses to keep us fat, dumb, and happy. It's no wonder the state invests so much money and energy into making sure that these artificial spectacles are as grandiose as possible. Enjoying them is one thing, but I truly pity the men who invest their passions in them, kind of like greyhounds chasing a stuffed animal in circles until they break a leg, and are euthanized.
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