>>511406991>>511407431At first, the policy seems like a stroke of common sense. Who wouldn’t want fewer unshowered men in basements drawing maps with string? But there’s a problem—a fatal one. You see, conspiracy is everywhere. And theory? Even more so. The crown has unknowingly targeted Britain’s most beloved class of citizen: the soccer commentator.
Let’s begin with definitions, since those still matter—though possibly not for long. A conspiracy, according to the Oxford English Dictionary (and who are we to argue with that venerable institution?), is “a secret plan by a group to do something unlawful or harmful.” A soccer team, then, fits the bill quite neatly. Eleven men, dressed identically, communicating via subtle gestures and code words, operating in tandem to confuse and overcome an opposing group—if that’s not a conspiracy, what is?
And what of the commentator? That sideline sage who, with the wisdom of hindsight and the bravado of prophecy, explains the inner workings of the game? He sees patterns where others see chaos. He declares intent, motives, and strategies—all based on observations from a booth high above the field. He is not simply reporting. He is theorizing. That makes him, by definition, a theorist. A conspiracy theorist.
And so, the dragnet begins. One by one, the familiar voices fall silent. Martin Tyler, detained during halftime. Gary Lineker, last seen being whisked away from the Match of the Day studio, shouting something about “the high press being real.” Even the lesser-known pundits, whose tactical chalkboards once littered late-night programming, are rounded up and placed in re-education camps—where they are forced to explain things only using player names and FIFA ratings.