The Modern Two Minutes’ Hate
have to be released somehow. Else, they might erupt in unpredictable
The state understands
this and desires that strong passions be released in a harmless
to the state way. Enter the modern, near universal
obsession in particular, the male obsession with fuuuhhhhhhhhhttttttttttball
and organized, mass spectacle sports generally. These things are
the actualization of the fictional Two
Minutes Hate in Orwells 1984. A means by
which the passions the frustrations and anger of men in particular
are diverted and dissipated. In order that they arent
directed at anything actually important such as the ever-increasing
control exercised over men by the state. The stifling
of independent action, the punishment of deviation from any official
and most of all, the relentless suppression of independent
judgment and self-reliance.
thwarting, simply put of a normal mans inclination
to be a man.
man has virtually no real control over his life in modern America.
He must Submit and Obey at every turn, from the moment he awakes
to the moment he lays his head down on the pillow at night. He must
never raise his voice, at work or in public. He must avoid confrontation
at all costs. (This lesson, in particular, is really being
hammered home to todays boys who are told in no uncertain
terms by the authorities that they cannot even defend themselves
when attacked by a bully. And the boys fathers are
told they must teach them to accept this.)
He stews in
silent, impotent fury as a cop half his age lectures him about buckling
up for safety in front of his kids. Or as he submits to having
his wife and kids get fondled by useless-eater (and probably pedophilic)
blue-shirted poltroons at the airport. He must put up with being
told what to do and even worse, what not to do
by smarmy little busybodies, stretchpants-wearing fraus.
From the PTA to the DMV to the HOA, he is hectored and hemmed in
at every turn.
cant even paint his own damn house without first begging permission
from the local Gertrud
and if he doesnt beg permission
first, the old bag will just make a call. A lien or some other encumbrance
will be put on his place. Or, the thug scrum will come. So, he surrenders.
and Obeys. He Does What He is Told.
And along the way, he becomes something less than a man. At some
gut level, he knows it, too. And the rage boils within him, silently,
He feels emasculated
because he has been emasculated.
awaits. He can click on the TeeVee and feel temporarily
empowered. He can bask in the reflected glory of his
team. He imagines himself to be a part of the spectacle a
member of the community of men once more. If we win,
he feels proud and strong. He will literally puff out his chest
and strut. He feels as though something has been accomplished. By
him personally. Because a team of paid entertainers won a game
a childs contest.
On the other
hand, if we lose, he is dejected sometimes, for
days on end. He feels like a failure. And, he is angry. But
in a way utterly harmless to the state. He seethes, he yells, he
shakes his fist
at the enemy team on the screen.
last we win! Hurrah! He bellows like
a Cape Buffalo because his team has made the play-offs!
Go, team! He swells with second-hand pride pathetically
displaying the flag of his team on his vehicles
even sometimes to the extent of having an actual flagpole erected
on his lawn. He wears the colors, he buys the merchandise
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automotive columnist and author of Automotive
Atrocities and Road Hogs (2011). Visit his
© 2012 Eric Peters
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