Tunnel
I don't know if it happens to you too, but I've been traumatized as a bad dream: I'm driving around listening to the radio, and the moment when, after a lot of confusing observations, you start commenting on something interesting, right then, I get into the tunnel and among terrible curses, I lose the end of the story.
Isn't it pathetic? Just in the car, in the middle of the tunnel, looking at the sign that I'm missing out on my extended ear. The tunnel, always at the worst.
What happened a month ago particularly irritated me. In the afternoon program of Euskadi Irratia, they spoke of a young black referee who was playing an important role. Apparently, on Saturday, when he was judging a match between teenagers, a father yelled at him that “it would be almost better for your parents to come in a kick if they had drowned in the middle of the sea.”
Well, you think, unfortunately, because another unfortunate father, out of his boxes, his son or daughter has not been told by the referee such a clear penalty. Unfortunately, these are often seen on a Saturday morning basis.
And as I said to him, I wanted to know what had happened next, exactly in front of the Massine tunnel.
Suppose the referee was in the middle of the football field and the piece was in the stands. Of course, if the referee had pronounced the name of the patera in an audible tone, not in vain, everyone next to him would have heard it, would he not? My doubts and questions begin here.
Did any other spectator come to him, grab him by the ear and ask him to leave there, among the applause of all the other parents, or perhaps because everyone else mocked his complicity and, after all, remained silent, which he did to help the group?
If someone had denounced what had happened in the club or in the police station, or after the party they had gone to take a bird with a txakoli to celebrate that their team had defeated, in the end and with difficulty because the black referee was very bad.
We are white and myceful, because what we never do against what makes the most noise is better for peace than the scandal. So let us not go to nothing easy and bleach ourselves in the name of peace, because after we have been silent, we have told what has happened in an article. We are accomplices, obligatory pieces for intolerance to persist. Palm trees, warm, white.
So if any of you were in the party of a black referee on Saturday morning this month, please tell me how the thing was done.
Otherwise, I will have to go through the black tunnel.
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