Porn and Football

Originally published at With the Heart of a Wolf

Millions of people right now are glued to a screen watching their fantasies play out in front of them; toned, muscled bodies on camera performing just for them- sweating and grunting with exertion. The viewers are totally invested in the action, waiting with baited breath, their sweaty hands moist with anticipation of the main star making penetration…into the endzone.

This similarity between professional sports and porn does not end there--both take in billions of dollars each year, both create celebrity status for their participants which they use to market product, and both contribute to a sickness that is weakening (predominantly) males across the world. That sickness is mediation.

With sports, this is seen even in the language fans use to refer to their chosen team--“we,” “us,” words of identity, grouping themselves in with a team of humans they have never, and likely will never meet, who they roar support for in the coliseum, wear jerseys branded with their favorite player's name and number, and debate endlessly with other fans about how good “our program is this year.” Sports fans participate in trivia nights at their local bars, citing endless statistic and minutiae. Here’s a statistic: studies show that self-identifying sports fans are on average more unhealthy and in worse shape than those who are not.

The reason for this? Mediation. So much time spent sitting and watching others perform leads to a lack of desire to perform oneself. So, too, with pornography. Statistically, habitual pornography users are more likely to experience sexual dysfunction like ED, and have less grey matter in the brain areas related to sexual stimulation. Like any drug, its continued use demands more and higher types of stimulation in order to achieve the same levels of interest.

Observation instead of participation is the name of the game in the modern world. Video games, sports, pornography, movies, reality television, even the news--it all leads systematically to becoming a “receiver” instead of a “sender,” which is, of course, what the leaders of Empire have in mind for you. If your switch is constantly set to “receive,” your brain becomes open, malleable, like a spongy mush ready to mop up and dribble out every bit of sewage they spew into it, a fucking invertebrate fit only for couch-ridden outbursts of approval or dismay at “your” team’s escapades, “your” representative’s political decisions, or to weakly leak out your pathetic seed as you savage yourself to another false representation of sexual contact between two slabs of painted meat slamming their surgically altered bodies together in feigned ecstasy.

This is not the life we were meant for: to wither or bloat like drowned corpses as the overminds dangle pretty distractions in front of our milky eyes, working for our whip-holders for a pitiful wage or a massive sum--either one to be spent on frivolous trinkets and bourgeois comforts. We were meant to bite that hand that seeks to distract us! To tear free of that leash of mediation and docility, to rend the throats of those who would keep us in thrall!

Next time you sit down to play-off or jerk-off, consider what that time might be better spent doing. Are you content to live in the cage that they’ve constructed for you, or would you rather bed down tonight after a real fight and a real fuck, with blood in your mouth, rebellion in your mind, and glory in your heart?