"But what did they get here? A team lacking any form of togetherness and a centre-forward who decided this was a suitable occasion to wear pink boots. They were the brightest shade of Barbie-doll pink imaginable and unless Nicklas Bendtner was simply being ironic, the ultimate fashion faux pas for any striker who wants to be taken seriously."
I'm a bit angry right now.
I'm sure it was a throw-away line by Daniel Taylor, but that remark about Bendtner's pink boots is really irritating. A player should be free to choose the colour of his accessories without fear of ridicule or smarmy remarks from journalists. To paraphrase Martin Luther King, a centre-forward should be judged, not on the colour of his boots, but on the quality of his link-up play.
There is a common perception that pink is a frivolous colour. It's been associated with Barbie dolls and bleached-blonde bimbos. It's the colour that little girls choose when they're playing dress-up, and it's a colour that denotes femininity, tenderness and playfulness.
But it can also be the colour of brutal ruthlessness and utter bastardry.
It really depends on how you co-ordinate. If you combine pink with darker colours (black, grey, blue), you get this vivid, flaming pink that screams dynamism and rage. The black and pink combination, especially, is incredibly arresting. In feng shui, pink is the colour of fire, and black is the colour of water. The mix of the two provides an agonising, uncomfortable tension that has nothing to do with sugar and spice and everything nice.
I use pink quite a bit on this blog. I've changed the colour scheme a couple of times, but I finally settled on the pink-and-black combination. It's edgy, it's hip and it screams out in a kind of primordial, existentialist fury about the futility of the human condition.
Plus, the pinkness looks just darling, doesn't it?
Fuck it, I don't know how that slipped out.
Anyway, I'm in Sarajevo for a few days. Took the bus from Belgrade yesterday. Sarajevo's a remarkably pretty town - it's up in the mountains and ringed by hills. The bus came into Sarajevo as the sun was setting, and the sky was flooded in pink hue. Flocks of birds circled above. Really pretty. And pink. And not at all feminine.
Damn Daniel Taylor.
P.S. No, I'm not going to do a match review, or comment on the match. 3-0 to Man City. Fucking hell, there's only so much pain a gooner can take. I'd rather focus my attentions on inconsequentials, like a footballer's fashion sense. So stay tuned next week for an analysis of Alex Song's dreadlocks.
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