I have to come to the conclusion that if there weren’t major sports in the US of A, the youth of America would not know where they were. Sure, they would know they were in Dallas or Little Rock or Minneapolis if they happened to live there, but knowing where you are does not equate to knowing where you are. You have to be somewhere in relation to somewhere else to really know where you are, don’t you? Well, maybe not.
America needs its innocence, even if it knows the very idea is a crock. But that’s also why it needs its movies: to reinforce the mythology of innocence lost, and to remind everybody how the system sucks the souls of the innocent like a thirsting vampire. Only the undead survive.
Weirdly enough, there’s hope in this, because the mere reiteration of the myth insists we get angry at the ubiquity of corruption, and where there’s anger there’s always the possibility of mobilisation for change. And that’s always inspiring, at least until the mobilized start to feel the old dampness creeping in. So the story is spun again: beware ye innocent, for the vampire thrives on your hope.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 