The REAL reason behind why there's no video tech in football

ZURICH, SWITZERLAND – JANUARY 09: FIFA President Jospeh S. Blatter during the red carpet arrivals for the FIFA Ballon d

Please note that the following article is satirical and does intend to poke fun at FIFA and UEFA

It’s midnight in Donetsk, and Michel Platini sits behind his desk, having watched the game on television with his fellow UEFA cronies.

He’s not had a pleasant evening. He fully expected his beloved France side to wipe the floor with Sweden, but that upstart Zlatan Ibrahimovic – who is a disgrace to pure football for snubbing the gods that are Barcelona – has made sure he can eat his smorgasbord with satisfaction.

To compound matters, England have topped the group after beating Ukraine. That English fop Wayne Rooney has scored the game’s only goal. His Facebook page is already being inundated with troll football feeds. One of the more popular ones reads ‘What’s the difference between soup and Samir Nasri?’, with ‘Soup is always a starter’ answering that question. ‘All the Manchester United and Arsenal fans like this,’ shows up just below the post, showing the (un)popularity of the French midfielder.

Richard Scudamore, the Chief of the Premier League has already flooded Platini’s Twitter feed with short, sharp, but highly effective diatribe. ‘Swede of you to concede 1st,’ says one tweet, while another says ‘Smorgas-bored to death. Lol #Michel Platini #Uefa suck.’ But his last jab is the most effective. ‘England are on top of the table,’ it says. ‘U need to kraine your neck to see us up there.’

While Lord Treisman, former Head of the FA, has decided to invade Platini’s mailbox. He is not familiar with what he calls the ‘namby-pamby load of tosh’ that is social networking. ‘Dear Mr. Platini,’ it reads. ‘Suck it. Sincerely yours, Lord Treisman.’

Platini wonders how much more he can take of this. He is after all chief of UEFA. How dare they mock him, the head of football’s most prestigious organisation. He remembers, though, that he has one crumb of comfort. Marko Devic’s shot looped over the line before John Terry cleared, although replays showed the ball crossing the line.

Platini can’t help but grin to himself, shaking his head in quiet disbelief. A great victory for football, he says to himself, where the endeavour and passion of the human spirit have once again triumphed over the cold, relentless march of technology. Just as he allows himself another chuckle, his secretary pokes her head through the doors of his office.

“Monsieur, Sepp Blatter is on a collect call from Nyon, Switzerland,” she says.

“Patch it through,” says Platini. “Stupid Sepp,” he grumbles to himself. “Is he so obsessed with siphoning money that he can’t spend on a phone call?”

Swallowing this dark thought, he makes his way through the motley collection of half-empty pizza boxes, stained Chinese takeout containers, several now-drained cans of beer and what’s left of four bags of tortilla chips and salsa dip that litter his office. All expenses he can claim under ‘employee motivation’. Tips not included.

Blatter’s calls are usually a momentous occasion, and this one is no different. “Michel, mon ami,” he crows enthusiastically. “What a great day for football. They will be talking about this game for years.”

“But people will talk. I was thinking we just ignore them again,” argues Platini

“To hell with them,” retorts Blatter. “Who wants to see Ukraine in the knockout stages anyway? Shouldn’t a tiny nation like them be content with hosting the tournament. The nerve of some people!

“And it’s not like the England game was one that kept you on the edge of your seat. I could’ve sworn I nodded off at least a couple times. Of course that could’ve been my nasal wart medication.”

Platini is intrigued by this anatomical conundrum that Blatter is facing, but decides to keep his own counsel. It would go very well at the next bitch-about-the-people-at-FIFA-cocktail party.

Speaking of bitch, Blatter says, “Rejoice today Michel. At least the English will keep quiet about Lampard’s goal being disallowed in South Africa. They’ve been wailing about that for two years now. For years they’ve been saying ‘Karma is a bitch’, when they conveniently forget about Geoff Hurst’s goal in ’66″

Platini decides its best not to interrupt. Let the chap continue. After all, being President of FIFA is part of the package deal which includes loneliness and a significant lack of friends.

“When I was young, <Platini smothers a laugh at this point> there was no argument about whether the ball didn’t cross the line. People used to come to watch football, shout insanely at the opposition and get sloshed after games. Back in my day, there were no cameras to monitor the goal, and people had fun.

“Yesterday’s games were so boring. What other explanation could you give for Andrei Pyatov falling asleep in front of his goal along with two of his defenders? And if Pyatov fell asleep despite being in the thick of the action, how can one blame the poor fifth official behind the goal for going to sleep with the (lack of) action in front of him. That guy’s been to so many games he’s used to sleeping with his eyes open.”

Didn’t you have fun in 1984 when you won the Euros, Michel? There was nobody saying the ball didn’t cross the line when you scored in the final.”

“Grffnk, grffnk, er, oh, hello, yes. Yes, I had fun,” says Platini, who is on the verge of nodding off.

“You see Michel, video technology is not the future of football,” drones Blatter. “I’ve managed to take advertising to the next level. Nicklas Bendtner’s Paddy Power experiment was an absolute success. To take out your underwear and show it to the world on Europe’s biggest stage requires guts. There’s the triumph of the human spirit. If one man can generate so much buzz, think about how much more revenue we could get when every player in a tournament wore branded underwear. Today, Paddy Power, tomorrow, Nokia. Who knows, someday we’ll see Microsoft on Mario Balotelli‘s bottom.

“We could stop fining people for inconsequential things like racism and hooliganism to generate revenue. We could concentrate on the really important things like getting rich quick and bribing more officials so that we can keep in the good books of the betting syndicates and corporates. They are the ones, after all, who fund our elections and arrange ‘accidents’ so that we win our elections, non Michel?”

Platini takes some time to respond on account of dollar signs having replaced his eyes, but manages to ask: “Then why was Bendtner fined a hundred thousand Euros?”

“Merely a finder’s fee,” answer’s Blatter. “It was, after all, my idea. Take an absolute prat of a footballer and paste an ad on his bottom. People will divert focus from the ad because he’s such a prima-donna anyways. But every time they talk of Bendtner, Paddy will also get a mention, and thus will worm its way into people’s brains. We’re more the richer, they’re none the wiser. Bendtner was ‘suspended’ for a game because he has not decided what underwear to show for Denmark’s first World Cup qualifier. The decision as to what underwear he should wear will come around the time his appeal turns out to be successful.”

Platini’s mouth is now steadily filling with saliva. He manages an “excellent” but is unable to keep from drooling all over his phone.

“Thanks, Sepp”, he says, after administering a hanky to his mouth. “You’ve made my day. That French loss is now but a dim memory in my head,” and hangs up.

Platini takes his chauffeur driven car back to his hotel, changes into his Ralph Lauren pyjamas – a gift from the man himself – and clambers into bed, but is interrupted by a knock on the door.

He opens his room to see a rather thick Manila envelope. No need to check the contents. He knows the money fairy has been. ‘Your share of Paddy,’ says a note on top.

Outside, a man in jeans and a t-shirt hitches up his Paddy Power underwear – very similar to the one Bendtner wore – and drives into the distance with a smile on his face.

The End

This is only my second attempt at satire. It’s an experiment, and I hope you guys like it.

A big shout-out to one of my closest friends, Zarshis Avari who offered me his support throughout the time I was writing this article.