Luis Suarez, the perfect mascot for this World Cup; or, “Aliens are Watching the World Cup”.

Aliens are watching the World Cup, and there is one thing they haven’t yet seen. Sitting high up in the stars, several million light years beyond the Moon’s dark side, they have carefully taken aim with their magnificent interstellar telescope at Brazil, its streets and its stadia, poring over this our grandest of shows with infinite jealousy. They have seen jackbooted cops drive citizens from their lifelong homes, clearing them away like conquistadors hacking at stubborn jungle shrubbery; they have seen concrete needlessly poured into the humid earth of regions where, months from now, a fraction of the current crowds will ever again set foot; they have seen sweating middlemen desperately stuffing their pockets with crumpled bundles of Reais, or simply cramming the cash down their throats as crumbling hospital halls gathered dust and inadequate railway systems gathered rust;

The aliens, spectating in envy from a gas cloud a billion leagues past Pluto, are watching as the World Cup provides we humble humans with weeks of theatre so wondrously unpredictable, so spectacularly wasteful, a drama as spontaneous and explosive as that when the heavens themselves first caught fire; they are watching as Messi rescues and Neymar ascends, as England fall and France thrive, as Ghana survives; they watch as Blatter bulges bank accounts once again; and they think; there’s one thing we haven’t seen;

And the one thing the aliens haven’t seen, is one particular scene; they haven’t seen that moment, that mascot, that proud emblem of all that this World Cup, both brutal and balletic, both cruel and beautiful, truly represents; and then then they twitch their antennae in delirious recognition, because out there in the cold, hollow yet suffocating cosmos they have seen Luis Suarez, of Uruguay, sink his teeth into the shoulder of Giorgio Chiellini, of Italy, and they think Yes, this is it, he is the mascot, this is the moment! This Luis Suarez, this is the World Cup: an entity that enthralls and appals, that delights and disgusts, an expensive, gloriously unstable, untameable beast, who looks up in bemusement and bewilderment at those outraged at what they themselves have created;

And the aliens think, show us More, More, More; we should be more upset were we paying for this, but since we are not, More, More, More!

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