Sources: The Empathic Civilization by Jeremy Rifkin and the World Cup
In Jeremy Rifkin's latest book, he makes a case for a more flexible understanding of human nature. In brief, humans have developed in accordance with their opportunities for empathic development (putting themselves in other people's shoes or lack thereof). The more opportunities, via improved roads, availability of foodstuffs, or the internet, the more empathic the civilization becomes, and the greater opportunity for healthy civilization. Admittedly, this is only part of Rifkin's thesis, and perhaps not even the most groundbreaking, but for me it was the most important. For about 24 hours after finishing the book, I was convinced.
Then I started watching the World Cup.
I'll save the bulk of my World Cup reflections until next week, but I've become decidedly less empathic as the tournament has progressed. I've had problems like this before. Brief but impassioned moments of hatred for South Korea accompanied the short track competitions in this year's Olympics. But that's nothing in comparison with the merry-go-round of nationalism/irrational hatred/Machiavellian politics that churn inside me during each soccer match.
The list of countries I've hated with belligerence in the past month:
Uruguay (because they flopped against South Africa, handballed against Ghana, and provided a safe haven for Nazi war criminals)
Mexico (because they beat South Africa and I covet Dos Santos' hair)
France (residual anger from Zidane's headbutt four years ago and Henry's handball against the Irish in qualifying)
Argentina (residual anger from the mano de Dios incident I didn't (couldn't) even witness in person)
the U.S. (shoddy play and early goals allowed)
England (Revolutionary War bitterness...well, more the War of 1812. Plus, I don't like Rooney's look.)
Slovenia (well, really Mali, but I grouped the ref and "his" team together)
Portugal (Ronaldo, bleh)
North Korea (torpedoes)
Germany, Australia, Serbia, Ghana, Netherlands, Paraguay, New Zealand, Italy, Slovakia, and Brazil.
It's as if all my real world worries, imaginary slights, and competitive anguish meshed together into a ball of ugliness that raised my blood pressure to unhealthy levels. Add to that the number of meals I ended up eating out because I was "busy" following the tournament, and the World Cup may have taken a few good years off my life.
