Mammals and computers, f*cking up together.
I like to think – and the sooner the better – we can learn to embrace the faceless, disruptive chaos of VAR. This weekend it was again subject to incandescent rage as Manchester City went berserk over a late goal against Spurs and then berserk again when it was ruled out. Which – let’s face it – was the funniest thing to happen since the last time City went berserk over a late goal against Spurs and then berserk again when it was ruled out. And this certainly isn’t some green-eyed agenda against Pep Guardiola and his affronted charges. Sooner or later we shall all be touched by the technological bastardry of video assistantry, but we should embrace it for all the emotional anguish it brings.
I like to think – right now please – that we can begin to realise that VAR is the greatest advancement in footballing shithousery since the birth of Diego Costa. The sheer electronic theatre of life rewound, as joy turns to fume and score-boards reverse. They say it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, and that accounts for limbs in stands and all. Instead of feeling nothing, you get to celebrate and commiserate in rapid succession, experiencing the whole spectrum of human emotion. Unlike VAR, which is essentially a glorified replay screen with a fatwa on its head. It’s just nice to see fans slagging off an inanimate object that isn’t called Romelu.
I like to think – it has to be – of a cybernetic apology to our pixellated new football friend. In an age where we fret over the singularity and being attacked by Boston Dynamics bastard-bots, there is an alternate future in which technology is just as incompetent and practically useless as us. We can live together hand-in-plug in mutually programmable disharmony, fucking up together and heralding a glorious new banter era for all. This is truly the golden age of VAR, before things calm down and teething problems are resolved, so just sit back, lean into the glitch, and enjoy the resulting meltdown – all watched over by machines of loving disgrace.
