I promised I will never talk about politics. It will be a hard work, above all after yesterday’s match between Germany and Greece and after watching the whole bar shouting with the goal of the Greeks. We all know it, friends. We all read the newspapers, no more words about that.
Today is a great date for Spain. We can beat France for the first time. I think we won’t do that, but I have a secret hope we can do it… yes, I like football. In USA, people talk about soccer but here in Europe we talk about football, a sport invented by English people and the most popular sport in Europe. Every kid here dreams to be a footballer when he became big and strong… no kid dreams to become a hangover writer.
I would like to talk you about this. No, I won’t talk about football or Messi. I will talk about one question: why there’s a tendency to underestimate sports by intellectuals? I think just Camus loved football while the rest of writers or artists used to depreciate sports. Yes, I know the idea of an European artist is probably an arrogant and dilettanteman reciting Dante’s verses in its original Florentine but… well, why this hate for sports? I don’t like very much this attitude from artists to the people likes and, in fact, I don’t think this attitude can be very smart… I am thinking about it and I must confess: I am wrong… or not! I can think of Victor Hugo with people… that man was called Paris mayor and he was not a politic! I can imagine Dostoyevsky too… or even Tolstoy and they were something more than a simple dilettante… they were very popular! And this is very important to sell books because people are the readers and you can be the best writer in the History of Literature but you are less than a mosquito if you cannot listen to the opinion of people and his likes and worries (it’s funny, the word ‘mosquito’ is exactly the same in Spanish).
Then, I can see one kind of mediocrity in this attitude of some artists. Of course you’re free and you like some kind of things or not but the artists must describe one kind of particular thing… it can be mental or social… it doesn’t matter! But artists must be close to people and talk about people thinking. My loved Joyce knew it and he became for the people of Dublin as a part of the History of Myths and Literature. Wise decision, eminent Dubliner! We can see in the texts of the greatest writers the indelible marks of the lands and their people, their fights and their deceptions… we can feel the blood and we can hear their thinking blowing inside their phrases, fluttering around the words and their meanings… the meanings of the people who lived and die there… in a book, in a painting in a long or in the little poem that we forgot.
There’s something brilliant and clear… something real in this fake we call art. Yes, I want to watch the next match… but I want to listen to those people who will probably shout and, maybe, cry. That’s life… and that’s amazing.