Let me tell you a story
Monday Motivational Musings.
Let me tell you a story.
Last evening, the Kansas City Chiefs, a team I’ve long dubbed “The Manchester United of American Football” won the Superbowl and the NFL’s season ending big dance in the unreal surrounds of the desert of Las Vegas. It was all rather apt. They were heavily outplayed by the San Francisco 49ers, only ever ahead in the game once, tied the scores in the last seconds of regulation time before winning the game in over-time with the final play of the season.
Oh well. At least Taylor Swift was happy.
The team she was cheering for, as we as a viewing audience were repeatedly shown, over and over and over again, looked a beaten team. But the hullabaloo and razzmatazz that surrounds the Chiefs of Kansas never dies and although nearly always trailing in a game they were struggling to gain any foothold in whatsoever they ground out a win in spectacular fashion, in “Mahomes Time” if you will, the nation cheered and their darlings had won again.
The Manchester United of American Football.
I didn’t have a dog in the sporting fight as my team from Washington, formerly the “Redskins”, now the “Commanders”, continue to be utterly dreadful whatever the name on the team jersey. But I watch a lot of gridiron during the season, always the Superbowl and, as is my way, posted a few musings in the madhouse formerly known as Twitter.
The response?
Zero. Nada. Zilch. Niente.
All par for my Twitter and Social Media course.
The day before the NFL’s “Big Dance” was an anniversary of sorts, one which I desire with all my heart not to have to remember, but do. So I posted a picture and some lyrical tributes in that maddening insane asylum we all refuse to call “X” (as well as a similar tribute on Facebook) and would you like to guess as to the response this garnered? A couple of family members remarked on my post on Facebook. Twitter?
Zero. Nada. Zilch. Niente.
I post a lot to Instagram, photographs from World Heritage sites such as Ironbridge (see image at the top of this article) or other English historical places of interest. I also post articles from here with cover pictures that Substack brilliantly turn into eye catching images. From 280 followers I get the occasional like and MOUNTAINS of “You’ve Been Added to a List” messages which, for the initiated, means either a robot or bot program or worse still, a human being, has seen my posts and not commented on them, liked them, followed me, appreciated the posts or any number of other such nonsense. No, these shithouses (an English term that loosely translates as a toilet but which really means a waste of everyone’s fucking time) adds me to a spam list of porn sites and other vacuous nonsense.
Which brings me to Medium. *this item was originally written on Medium*
For every 1 (rare) actual lucid interaction with a fellow writer you have Nena and her 99 red balloons of utter despair. I’ll post this article, out of spite no doubt, to several Facebook/Medium Groups and I’ll receive the usual array of “Genuinely Engaged” or the serial offenders who spam my article with “Read my article and I’ll read yours” bilge.
Hold on a minute there soldier. I started this silly game by writing an article and posting it here. You don’t get to dictate terms by spamming your totally unrelated article, never reading my article, and then insisting I read YOUR article before you read mine which, dare I remind you, started this whole ridiculous social media game in the first place.
“Here’s my earnings on Medium”
“10 ways to win with Bitcoin”
“7 reasons you’re in a toxic relationship”
“50 ways to leave your fucking lover”
What bunkum balderdash this all is.
Anyway, here’s Nena singing about 99 red balloons. That’ll cheer you up.
"99 Red Balloons" by Nena - Youtube
So there you have some Monday Motivational Musings. Do check back in next Monday.
Until then, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Medium, Substack and Social Media in general is a total suck and the greatest con foisted upon the general public since the last one.
I’m the greatest writer in my albeit narrow and niche field of cricket, football and film appreciation and I can prove it to you using an etch-a-sketch, a Rubik’s Cube and the teachings of L Ron Hubbard.
But unless you come from a moneyed family, have a name like Duncan Phillipson-Farquar-Jones or write for the Daily Fucking Telegraph, you are never going to be recognised or be a successful writer.
OK?
See you next Monday!
“99 red balloons go by”
Duncan Philipson-Farquar-Jones? One of the upper class twits?