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Verán 2024. Dereito a Viaxar e Turismofobia nos Tempos do Cambio Climático

Chega o verán de novo ás Marcas Boniatas. Os habituais de toda a vida, veciños próximos de Cangas, Bueu, Marín, Pontevedra ou Vigo, moitos con décadas de contacto coa ría de Aldán, miran con sorpresa a oleada de visitantes que se achega ata este lugar do mundo procedentes de case calquera sitio imaxinable. A situación é moi similar en case toda a fachada atlántica da Galiza. A variedade de linguas e acentos -ata case antonte reducida ao galego e ao castelán que se falan no país e a pingas de portugués e inglés- é sorpresivamente grande. Acentos do interior da península ibérica conviven coas linguas do Norde de Europa, visitantes coa dozura da prosodia latinoamericana mestúranse con sonoridades probablemente procedentes do Sur: a composición do turismo que se achega ata aquí ten mutado de forma substancial. As causas desta transformación son autoevidentes: unha paisaxe privilexiada (malia a desfeita urbanística xeralizada dende A Guarda ata Estaca de Bares), uns prezos xerais sensiblemente inferiores á media dos lugares máis turísticos do estado español, un clima notablemente máis levadeiro e unha gastronomía que presenta unha relación calidade/prezo totalmente imbatible. Sumémoslle os millóns de fotos nas redes socias de calas, rochedos ou penedas a calquera hora do día (con preferencia polos solpores), o aumento notable na temperatura da auga do mar e a mellora da infraestrutura hostelera e teremos unha vista xeral que dá conta do marco no que ten acontecido este fenómeno.

Porén, este aumento expoñencial dos visitantes veraniegos suscita un feixe de interrogantes que, por unha vez, sitúan ao país na liña dalgunhas preocupacións que acontecen a nivel internacional. Parecía claro que, na era prepandémica, as zonas de sacrificio orientadas ao turismo masivo seguirían a ser Sanxenxo e Baiona, con asaltos puntuais aos centros históricos de cidades como Santiago ou Pontevedra. Porén, dende 2020 asistimos a unha expansión do fenómeno que semella non ter límite. Os habitantes do país aínda estamos na fase de sorpresa. Da curiosidade inicial de fai uns anos (“mira ti, unha autocaravana con matrícula noreguesa, como chegarían ata aquí?”) temos pasado a certo grao de incredulidade (“outra autocaravana con matrícula noreguesa???”) derivado da omnipresencia veraniega de todo tipo de turistas en todas partes. Quizais o caso máis extravagante sexa o de Vigo. De aburrida e provinciana vila posindustrial ten mutado a insoportable destino de cruceiros e excursións absurdas de todo tipo en menos dunha década. O modelo do desarrollismo turístico aplicado no anos sesenta e setenta do século XX no mediterráneo español parece estar sendo copiado de forma entusiasta nestas latitudes como se non tiveramos aprendido nada de onde leva tal paradigma. No caso de Vigo, de cidade suficientemente mutilada polos excesos inmobiliarios auspiciados polo franquismo temos pasado a pretendente ao título de cidade-marca tan caro aos dirixentes políticos e á clase empresarial. Hai algo moi triste nesta repetición como farsa da historia tráxica do turismo mediterráneo na nosa fachada atlántica, como se non importara nada o arrase medioambiental e cultural e o deterioro imparable das condicións de vida dos habitantes locais. Nas rexións máis hiperturistificadas do estado español a cidadanía xa está mobilizándose para que as administracións regulen o fluxo de visitantes dalgunha maneira. Aquí, na Galiza, nunha posición moito máis favorable para facer as cousas ben, semella que a vontade política e empresarial vai pola vía de “máis é máis e ademáis é mellor”, o que augura no medio prazo unha situación similar a que se está a vivir na costa de Cataluña, Baleares, Valencia ou Andalucía.

A discusión de fondo é sinxela. Se un turista é “alguén que mata aquilo que ama”, como facemos para que os turistas “maten o menos posible aquilo que aman”? A turismofobia -irmá inquietante doutro fenómeno insoportable e en máximos históricos como é a xenofobia- é a resposta visceral a esta democratización das viaxes polo mundo adiante. Dalgún xeito, os asiduos das Marcas Boniatas imos rondando paseniñamente esa turismofobia que vai camiño de ser fenómeno epocal. Hai algo que nos proe a todos os niveis no feito de atopar as paisaxes elexíacas e case particulares da infancia/mocidade convertidas en centros de atracción masiva. Para os locais, o turista ocupa a posición paradoxal de invasor/benefactor, un lugar que está determinado pola escala da súa presenza. Fai mil anos, nas Marcas Boniatas, unha autocaravana holandesa era un exotismo envexable, un apuntamento dunha Europa de civilización e folgura materia á cal estabamos en camiño de aproximarnos. Hoxe en día, coas cunetas das estradas tomadas por completo por automóbiles de todo tipo e gama, e cos leiraparkings a piques de estoupar máis alá das súas posibilidades, cada nova furgoneta camperizada que chega semella parte un exército de ocupación armado con sillas plegables, camping gas e tortillas de patacas. No ar, o “tourists go home” flota como pensamento colectivo evanescente aínda non expresado.

Por outra banda, recoñezamos que o turista é un ser en proceso de desacreditación permanente. Calquera de nós ten ocupado ou ocupa esa posición varias veces ao longo do ano. Que as masas poidan (poidamos) desfrutar de pasear polo planeta na medida das súas (nosas) posibilidades non está ben visto conceptualmente por amplos estratos da poboación de gran cantidade de territorios. O recoñecemento dese dereito a moverse polo mundo adiante lévanos a un punto contradictorio: por unha banda defendemos o dereito de calquera a viaxar a calquera lugar do planeta (sexa un turista, traballador, vagabundo ou migrante). Por outro, as poboacións locais reclamamos trabas, barreiras, controis, regulacións e calquera outro tipo de mecanismo que faga isto posible sempre que non nos toque a nós tal cousa viaxando. No caso do turismo, o factor de escala como elemento nuclear e intrínseco ao fenómeno que non pode ser eludido, é elemento esencial que debe ser tido en conta para determinar como abordar o problema dos fluxos de personas en movemento.

Pensaba nestas cousas tras o pasado partido do 1 de outubro de 2023 en Campañó. Más alá dos resultados (e, como neste caso, das humillacións), o elemento turístico está moi presente na vida anglogaliciosa. As visitas a un e outro país (Galiza/Inglaterra) propician a posibilidade dun coñecemento certamente intenso duns outros lonxanos. Se no noso imaxinario o turista inglés ven sendo un practicante asiduo do balconing experto en pasearse espido a berros polas rúas de madrugada, grazas a AGC é posible desmantelar o estereotipo simplemente compartindo mesa na NaSantiña cos Stags. Ignoro cal é o estereotipo dos galegos nas terras británicas, pero teño claro que os intercambios futboleiros continuados probablemente teñan contribuido a arrualos. É dicir, hai, no feito do turismo, un potencial que vai por riba dos clichés máis trillados (malia seren estes con frecuencia preocupantemente certeros), unha capacidade para desfacer tópicos e propiciar o recoñecemento dos outros como persoas significativamente parecidas a un mesmo que pode ser reivindicado.

Se viaxar non pode ser o patrimonio exclusivo dunha elite poseedora dos medios necesarios, o impacto da democratización das viaxes non pode ser tampoco unha carga para os poboadores das zonas turistificadas (cada vez máis numerosas). Non nos importa que a xente veña coñecer a “Nosa” paisaxe, a desfrutar da “Nosa” gastronomía, a fuxir das condicións climáticas insoportables (tampouco que veñan escapando das intolerables condicións de vida nos seus países de orixe, pero este é outro tema) ou a coñecer as astracanadas locais (o nadal en Vigo) ou as marabillas patrimoniais e naturais que atesoramos. Agora ben, esperamos que neste proceso de visita non se mutilen as condicións de vida co encarecemento dos alugueres, co deterioro dos lugares, coa alteración de todo o existente polo exceso de complacencia para cos visitantes. Que todos os turistas sexan como os Stags na Galiza ou como os Porcos Bravos en Inglaterra: motivo de celebración e confraternidade, exemplo de camaradería e terreo fértil para o coñecemento do alleo, para desfacer tópicos e facer emerxer os lazos entre os seres humanos de toda procedencia.

Finalmente dicir que agardamos que a camaradería non sexa obstáculo para que os Porcos Bravos arrasen Inglaterra en setembro coa galaica elegancia habitual, Campañó style, you know. Non esquezamos aquilo de “amiguiños si, pero a vaquiña polo que vale”.

Peludos Mamuts Giganteos Contra El Teutón Militan. Treufest


What do you make of the competition so far? The fancied teams have progressed as expected but all, apart from Spain, have been woefully underperforming and frankly tedious to watch. England needed a miracle and France are in the last eight without scoring from open play. What will this round bring? Will the big guns finally fire? Let's hope so.

Spain 2 Germany 1
The Spanish have certainly been the most entertaining of the tops teams so far. Even going a goal down to the brave Georgians didn't put them out of their stride running out comfortable winners and scoring some excellent goals along the way. They still miss a hatfull of chances and this may haunt them but for football's sake I hope they progress. The Germans have been underwhelming and not a little lucky with VAR their best player in the game against Denmark who should feel aggrieved. If the competition had been played anywhere else Denmark would have got the goal and the German penalty not given. On that basis I hope they lose and of corse, because they are German.

Portugal 0 France 1
Who wasn't moved by seeing Ronalda crying like a baby after missing a penalty? Me, for one. He's been one of the world's greatest but his sense of entitlement is immense. How many bleeding free kicks was he gonna take before he got one on target? Anyway Portugal deserved the win but it was a damn near run thing, as the Duke of Wellington once said. How the heck have the French got through? It leaves the feeling that their name is on the trophy despite playing shite. I wonder how much you'd have got at the bookies if you bet them getting through with a penalty and 2 own goals? Outrageous. And if Mbappé is anything other than a show pony he has to start proving it now. Taunting the opposition after conceding an own goal is poor form. I hope they lose but I think the Gods are on their side. Lucky Frogs Bastards.

England 2 Switzerland 0
Speaking of Lucky bastards, what can I say about this shower? 4 terrible performances saved by one moment of magic from Saint Jude the Bellend. I just can't believe we can play this badly again. The Swiss have been excellent so far and I haven't given them enough credit for their performances. They will be tough nut to crack. Despite all the evidence I have England to win but I suspect that's heart not head and we'll limp out with a whimper without having a shot on goal......

Netherlands 2 Turkey 1
The Dutch finally turned up and swept aside a dissapointing Romania side. They certainly should have scored more goals and can't afford to be so wasteful this time. The Turks were involved in one of the classic games in holding on to beat the Hapsburgs. That last minute save was reminiscent of Gordon Banks v Pele or Santi Brea v Dave Thompson. This should be an exciting encounter but I expect the Orange Army to be celebrating come full time.

Well here we are at the sharp end. Thing's haven't changed much from the quarters. 3 of the 4 sides are still struggling to find their best form. Spain are the only side to look like prospective champions. I just hope their is a modicum of entertainment along the way but I expect these games to be tense, not a little boring affairs settled by the odd goal or penalties, Main forbid.

Spain 0 France 1
The Spanish again entertained us in an enthralling games against the hosts. (I had to despair at England fans chanting "you're going home" to German fans. The competition is in Germany you morons) Anyway the Spanish have shown more of a threat upfront than any of the other semi finalists though they still miss too many chances and this will be their downfall where chances will be at a premium. The French have stunk the place out and must be the luckiest team in history to get to a semi with a forward line with all the penetration of a eunoch. I still think the lucky bastards will get through with an own goal or dodgy penalty. It just seems pre ordained. I just hope I'm wrongband they get the battering they deserve.

England 2 Netherlands 0
Well knock me down with a feather we finally won a penalty shoot out and with some aplomb. Without setting the world alight with flowing attacking football we we definitely the better side and deserved the win. Looking at the Dutch they too have struggled and were fortunate to get past a plucky Turkish side who deserved better. We know most of their players from the Premier league so there should hold no fears. I think we may be more comfortable that we suspect though with England they usually put you through the emotional wringer.

 

Te convertirás en cerveza y lloverá por ti.

Well here we are, the Final game of a competition I've personally enjoyed tremendously. OK some of the football has been subpar at times but there have been plenty of drama, great goals and bonkers finishes. Some of the more unfancied teams gave it a real go and the Germans went out early ha ha ha. What will the final bring? England have had the rub of the green to be sure but they have been resilient and played to the last kick, literally. They were clearly the better team against the Dutch and could have been out of sight by half time despite conceding early. The Dutch stilled us in the second half and were clearly playing for penalties, the boring bastards so justice was done when Watkins rifled in with the last kick. You've been tangoed you Orange walkers ha ha ha. The Spanish have been an exciting watch from game one and are clearly favourites to win. I was so pleased they dispatched the lucky Frenchies in the semi. Having said that they have vulnerabilities which I hope we can exploit. A few of these lads play in the Premier league so should hold no fears. If we let them control the ball we'll lose but if we compete and press them hard, take our chances we can pull off a shock. I'm sure the rest of the world will be hoping we don't but come on you do want to hear a few thousand more chorus of "It's coming home" don't you?

England 2 Spain 1

Salchichas, Panzers, Y Valkirias. Euroscum In Fritzland. IV Try.

EURO 2024

Lets be honest we have never been popular with the rest of Europe (Eurovision nil points) and obviously the shit show of Brex*it has made up a laughing stock. It’s that backs to the wall, thin red line that brings out the best of us (no I don’t believe this bollocks either} but as one of the favourites can we actually pull it off this time. I bloody well hope so. I’ve listed the teams in order of how I think they will finish.


Group A
GERMANY

As hosts they will have the advantage of playing in familiar stadiums in front of their own fans, This however, won’t mask the fact that this is an ordinary team who have struggled recently. The jury is still out on the manager and most of the players come from the piss-poor Bundesliga, They have been given an easy task in heading a weak group (obviously) but they will struggle beyond the next round. Franz Beckenbauer will be spinning in his grave.


SWITZERLAND

The Swiss always seem to qualify for the majors. Made up of some experienced old timers and young bucks they usually have one or two decent results then lose against any decent opposition. This will be no different. They will qualify behind the Germans but that will be it.


HUNGARY

There are some who fancy the Magyars to spring a surprise and qualify for the next round. They are a much improved side but I don’t think they will do it. They will be difficult to beat and their games should be close but if they qualify I’ll watch a Sunderland match all the way though as penance.


SCOTLAND

Let’s face it the Jocks were bloody lucky to qualify but their luck will run out here. Completely devoid of any star players this Flower of Scotland is a stinking pansie. They won’t win a game and will make Ally’s Army look like Brazil. They’ll be back in Glasgow crying into their pints of heavy before they know it.



Fixtures
14/6 Germany 3-0 Scotland
15/6 Hungary 1-2 Switzerland
19/6 Germany 2-1 Hungary
19/6 Scotland 0-2 Switzerland
23/6 Switzerland 1-2 Germany
23/6 Scotland 0-1 Hungary

Group B
SPAIN

No surprise these lads are one of the favourites for the competition. With quality players at most positions they can beat the best. They will perform here as they do in every game, Dominate possession win 1-0 until their lack of a quality striker comes to bite them in the arse and they get knocked out. Then they will sack the manager for underachieving.


CROATIA

Another side who usually perform well in big competitions. They have masses of experience and are never a push over. It’s a tough group but these are tough lads who always make it difficult for the opposition. That’s why I have them to qualify above the Italians.


ITALY

They are defending champions but this is a poorer side that got a lucky win last time out. I just don’t see them getting past Spain and Croatia who have superior squads. They are still reeling after the shock resignation of Roberto Manchini and are playing without a quality striker. So it’s arrivederci Azzurri.


ALBANIA

Remember King Zog? No. me neither and no one will remember this bunch of no hopers once the dust has settled. Their 0-0 draw against Faroe Islands tells you everything you need to know. Scoreless and pointless they will get shafted in every game.



Fixtures
15/6 Spain 2-1 Croatia
15/6 Italy 3-0 Albania
19/6 Croatia 4-0 Albania
20/6 Spain 2-1 Italy
24/6 Croatia 1-0 Italy
24/6 Albania 0-4 Spain


Group C
ENGLAND

Surely we can’t blow it this time can we? We clearly have the best squad in the competition with some real top class performers at the highest level. But this is England we are talking about. We have a tendency to play teams off the park then retreat into our shell. Allow them to level then lose on penalties. I honestly think it will be different this time and we’ll actually pull it off and you’ll never hear the end of it.


DENMARK

They always seem to qualify for the majors and are fancied to do well but never quite deliver. They performed poorly in the World Cup too. So whilst they have the experience to qualify from the group I don’t expect fireworks from this mediocre squad. Another team without a recognised striker who may struggle to score goals so entertainment may be at a premium.


SERBIA

These lads were frankly shit at the World Cup and I expect a little more from them this time. They will be competitive and won’t finish bottom but it will not be enough to upset the big boys. 3rd place in this group will qualify as a success.


SLOVENIA

Surprise qualifiers it stops being fun from here. They may not be pushovers but will run out of steam and have a hard time competing over 90 minutes. Expect no points and a short Hotel stay for these minnows.



Fixtures
16/6 Slovenia 0-1 Denmark
16/6 Serbia 0-2 England
20/6 Slovenia 0-1 Serbia
20/6 Denmark 1-3 England
25/6 England 3-0 Slovenia
25/6 Denmark 2-1 Serbia



Group D
FRANCE

Most peoples favourites to lift the trophy {not mine. I hate the arrogant bastards} there is no doubt they possess a squad filled with World Class players including one who is purportedly the best in the World. I’m yet to be convinced. They will no doubt stroll through this group and it seems the only thing stopping them will be that self-same arrogance where they totally underestimate an opponent. It won’t happen in group stage but here’s hoping for a slip up further down the line.


NETHERLANDS

Oh for the days of Total Football where Gods could be seen in Orange jerseys. This is a half decent team who have quality players in defence and midfield but the lack of a quality striker will be crucial. They have some of the best fans in the world too but they need to enjoy it early as it won’t last past the group stage.


POLAND

A team with a rich history of international competition but one that is a shadow of the great teams of the past. They were very lucky to squeak past Wales to qualify, thank goodness, they will be found out here. They have one of the Worlds best strikers but he’s getting on and has little support. They will be vying with Austria for bottom spot.


AUSTRIA

A team of dullards who would be happy to play out 0-0 draw every game though that will be beyond them here. Expect a couple of severe beatings along they way. The only sound of music will be the ball hitting the back of the Austrian net.



Fixtures
16/6 Poland 1-2 Netherlands
17/6 Austria 0-4 France
21/6 Poland 3-1 Austria
21/6 Netherlands 0-2 France
25/6 Netherlands 2-1 Austria
25/6 France 2-0 Poland


Group E
BELGIUM

Always fancied they have a habit of imploding at the big moments. This squad have lost some of their Golden generation – not sure why they say that as they won fuck all- they still have some world class players though Father time will be having a word soon and this will be the last chance to win something significant, They will have tougher days ahead but will easily head this weak group.


UKRAINE

They have a half-decent squad with some quality and a whole lot of passion which should be enough to qualify from this piss-poor group. They will also obviously have the sympathy of the majority of the neutral fans. given world events but this will only take them so far. They will enjoy the ride I’m sure.


SLOVAKIA

They qualified well but in a weak qualifying group so will be severely tested here. They certainly won’t unsettle the big boys but one win could be enough to judge the competition as a success. Small wins but sometimes that is enough.


ROMANIA

Vlads lads had zero wins in their last appearance in the Euros and there is nothing to suggest this will be anything different. In the past their rough and ready playing style would upset opponents but nowadays you can sneeze near a player and he’ll go down like he has been shot. Expect a raft of yellow cards and the odd red from these musclemen. At least it will be fun I suppose.



Fixtures
17/6 Romania 0-1 Ukraine
17/6 Belgium 3-0 Slovakia
21/6 Slovakia 1-2 Ukraine
22/6 Belgium 2-1 Romania
26/6 Slovakia 2-1 Romania
26/6 Ukraine 1-3 Belgium


Group F
PORTUGAL

They could be considered outsiders to win the whole shebang but will breeze through this group. They have top quality players throughout the squad and won’t be worried about the quality of opposition thus far. They play attractive football and are usually worth a watch but will be tested against tougher opposition at a later stage.


TURKEY

Another team who promise much but underperform on the big stage. I think they have enough quality and grit to qualify behind the Portuguese in a very weak group but will come a cropper later against better opposition.


CZECH REPUBLIC

It is between Turkey and these lads for second place and do not be surprised if they nick it. They finished second to Albania in the qualifying round so that tells you the current state of a once proud football nation.


GEORGIA

Let’s face it they won the cup when they qualified but Georgia won’t be on anyone’s mind for long or just as long as it takes to concede the first goal. Hey at least they have a decent Rugby team.



Fixtures
18/6 Turkey 1-0 Georgia
18/6 Portugal 3-1 Czech Republic
22/6 Georgia 0-2 Czech Republic
22/6 Turkey 1-2 Portugal
26/6 Czech Republic 0-1 Turkey
26/6 Georgia 0-3 Portugal


The English Really Suck At Beaches


Hubo una vez, allá por el tiempo sin tiempo, un rey de Galiza que tenía nueve hijas. Todas loquearon una noche de esmorga y mataron a casi todo bicho viviente. Su regio padre, perplejo ante el espejo, no entendía como había podido engendrar a tal milicia del abismo, pero como no quería matar a quienes eran de su propia leche y sangre, las condenó al destierro. Las llevó al norte de su Norte, las embarcó en una dorna, y las empujó mar afuera, a la deriva.

Los vientos y las corrientes jugaron su papel, y encallaron en una isla envuelta en niebla, en el límite del mundo conocido. Como no tenía nombre, la mayor de las asesinas le puso en suyo: Albina.

Al cabo de un par de meses en la ínsula, tuvieron que aceptar su nueva realidad. No había hombres, sólo bestias con cuernos, trolls, endriagos y tiburientes.

Las nueve fornicaron incansables con aquellas criaturas y parieron una estirpe de gigantes y demonios, que a su vez follaron con sus madres y crearon más de su género. Este linaje se extendió por todas las brumas de la isla. No había gobierno ni leyes. Tampoco tenían forma de medir el tiempo pero sabían elaborar cerveza.

Tras siglos de anarquía, fueron derrocados por Porco Bravo.

Porco, el primero de su tribu, nació en Berobreo, Marcas Boniatas. Se sabe que tuvo que huir de aquellas tierras después de matar, se dice que accidentalmente, a tres ciervos orientales. Convertido en líder de una gavilla de patibularios, no se sabe nada de sus andanzas, hasta el momento que roba un drakkar en los Puertos Grises y zarpa a la aventura.

Corrientes y vientos vuelven a intervenir. Porco Bravo y su patulea desembarcan en Albina. Los gigantes y demonios sacan su vena hooligan y acuden a la playa a hostiarlos. Los acaudilla Gogmagog. La cosa está muy igualada, pero al final, una flecha en un ojo del líder local inclina la balanza.

Lo miren como lo miren, todo empieza con una carnicería. Porco Bravo reparte tierras entre sus hombres, rapta sabinas y brigantas, y funda Nueva Bon en el lugar que hoy ocupa Sheffield.

Dos centurias después llegaron los romanos, ¿Qué han hecho los romanos por nosotros? Respetaron el emblema del jabalí en sus legiones, pero impusieron conducir por la izquierda.

Damos otro salto en los albos acantilados. Los romanos se baten en retirada. Pictos y otras razas salvajes, vástagos de los Porcos Bravos originales, campan a sus anchas por toda la isla ensangrentada. Ahora responde al nombre de Inglaterra, que tiene más gancho, pompa y circunstancia.

Y en esos tiempos de caos y hecatombes, apareció Arturo, el oso, descendiente directo de Porco Bravo, casado con cuatro mujeres nominadas Ginebra, que unificó el Reino el Poder y la Gloria desde su corte de Yardley Gobion, y cuya tumba está en los cimientos de Anfield, pero deben entender ustedes que no está muerto en realidad, sólo esperando que vuelva a llegar su hora para salvar Occidente otra vez, con ayuda de nuestros cuervos.



Sus hijos caen del cielo. Él observa desde el trono, a su alrededor se extienden acres y más acres de la verde Inglaterra; vuelan hacia el Oeste, las alas negras, unas miradas llenas de sangre y memoria.

Por debajo de cada historia, hay siempre otra historia.

Tolemia Marzal. Si Te Vences, Que Sea Sólo Para Gormar.

La memoria se vuelve sedimento. La mirada turbia es cosecha. Ve incendiarse el cerezo salvaje y ve con cuervos deshojada la rosa de nadie. El barco ebrio que circunnavega el abisal Mar que une mediante los reinos de Galiza e Inglaterra ha perdido la mitad de la tripulación. Toca enrolarse otra vez mientras ríe la primavera.



La Anglogalician es escarcha a contraluz. Voy siendo una niebla alejada. ¿Es la Tolemia Marzal una suerte de entrenamiento suicida para os Porcos Bravos?.  El orgullo es pavesa de ceniza que me quema en rescoldo. Me miro las mangas en la casa de citas. El verde que señorea estos fastos me recuerda al ejército stag derrotado. ¿Pido otra? Sí, ponme otra.



Es la hora rauda de una ciudad abstracta. Fijo que hay alguna taberna abierta. El jabalí no sospecha que al girar sobre sí mismo dibuja la sed eterna. En ambos desagües del puente, los mismos rituales, distinta provocación. De refrigerio en la refriega, hígado encebollado. Alguna vez ya es tarde; pero nunca hay prisa para arrepentirse.



El vómito presente que el mañana escribe. La pose maldita que cicatriza el abismo.

Algo cruje y empieza de nuevo. Está bebiendo y sin querer. La Tolemia es ávida e insaciable. Es cólera y desprecio. Es roja alegría y arrogante desdén. Como si la  promesa del no lo volveré a hacer remontase en un vuelo kamikaze, y la conciencia fuera bruma de un sueño que se despide hasta el próximo marzo.

La Bestia Alude Al Abismo Mientras Elude La Inclusividad

Los conceptos sirven para caminar a través del abisal territorio anglogalicioso, pero no son la Anglogalician en sí misma. Pueden ser herramientas afiladas u oxidadas, al igual que los noúmenos huérfanos son astrolabios de navegación para los náufragos de la orfandad, y la teoría de categorías es la caja negra para la teorización de las heces, pero todos acaban a orillas del río Bann.

Por tanatopraxia, las hiperzonas de exclusión del Porco Bravo purgado no son geotraumáticas sino cronotraumáticas: agujeros en el presente, cronozonas. Así, la cronozonificación de Galizalbion por el tecnocosmopolitismo pathomediático del Rodillarato es propulsada a su vez por el entorno tribal de imágenes y narraciones distópicas. No somos capaces de encontrar un burdel alternativo al que está regido por todas las megaestructuras contingentes, en el proceso de comprender el derrumbe del orden cérvido que se vive en las herrumbrosas lanzas de Sheffield.

Las cenizas de Yardley Gobion nos enseñaron que la metalepsis recontextualiza y describe de forma bella y radical la exaptación evolutiva, donde una vejiga natatoria puede llegar a ser un testículo sin intentar ser un pulmón ni tenerlo como objetivo o propósito de los viajes ingleses. No fue lo unico que aprendimos. Con la lava de la volcánica Dùn Èideann supimos que cada erupción de la tricotomía es capaz de afirmarse como portavoz estándar de la posición desintegracionista de la cerveza tibia.

La hiperstición es la auténtica verdad de la Anglogalician. Los buenos druidas nos mostrarón en Gales que toda invocación requiere de un diagrama maligno. La Bestia montaraz de la próxima corrida, cabalgará una nueva era de esta competición hacia cualquiera que sea el futuro retorcido que los remolinos de la supremacía hayan designado en su cladograma de reacción anastrófica.

Nuestra lealtad a la Causa no es un tic psicológico, sino una obligación rigurosamente práctica. Se basa, ineludiblemente, en una ley de peltre histórica.
Mirar al lado oscuro es el único modo de ver.

For A Young Stag Has Now Taken The Torch. (We Are Bladesmen)

"The next generation will always surpass the previous one. It's one of the never-ending cycles in life." Masashi Kishimoto


So for the first time the next generation of Stags took to the field. Noah Ellis (Nunu) returned to the shores of Galiza for the first time in over ten years, the last time he was a 6 year old out there with his Dad (Shabba), Uncle David (Thomo) and Grandad (Homer) for a more sedated visit with the families.

Back now as a man, he becomes the first of hopefully many of the next generation to grace the squares and streets of Pontevedra.
I (Shabba) his Father asked him a few questions on his time out there.


So Nunu, your second time on the Galician shores, but as you were 6 the first time, what was your initial reaction when we landed?
Well at first I wondered why we'd let my Uncle David (Thomo) sort the transport from the airport as it was late. But I was excited to see what food and drink we were going to be eating. I also found it a lot different to the rest of Spain. (Spain is not Galiza) The first meal was at a lovely restaurant and had the normal Galician family vibes to it, some lovely food and wine. What did you think of the afternoon?

Sitting with my Dad (Shabba) and Uncle Steve (Gallo) eased me in gently, but after a while it was great having a laugh with all the lads. The food was great and loved the local wine. It set up a great start to the weekend. Uncle Sergio turned up for a while as well which helped me settle in.

We hit some great bars that afternoon/evening as well, sitting in the squares was great and playing darts in a bar as well. Fran (The MAIN) took us to a great bar at the end with music on, that was a nice bar also had some nice looking ladies in there.


Let's talk football, so it was your debut for the Stags, you were the youngest player in a very ageing team. How did you find it?
It was like playing with the cast of Dad's Army. I felt great until half time even though it was so warm, but after I'd left the pitch I needed to throw up several times. I went up front for the 2nd half when I came back on and think I showed man of the match qualities for the Stags. I'm looking forward to the next one with a few younger players so we can bring the cup home.


So Sunday afternoon meal and the Pontevedra game, we noticed you weren't drinking during the meal?
I was knackered, doing all the running for the old men on the field, I needed to get some water in me. The meal was great, I think I ate my body weight in ribs. Uncle Serg then took me to the club shop but it was closed. He seemed to know everyone on the way there and back, Thomo said it's from all the gay bars he goes in.
Joking aside the game was great I managed to get to the shop and bought a shirt. Loved drinking at the match and watching the firework man do his impression and how the fans took us in. That led to a great evening finally ending up in the Grifon finally and seeing the Dirty Argie. We had a kebab as we left and it was like eating a dead cat, worst kebab ever, but was funny watching Gallo trying to talk to the guy behind the counter.


So onto the final day, the beach, the bars and me leaving you in the capable hands of Gallo and Thomo. What was I thinking!!!!!
The beach was beautiful, great driving over there and having a walk on sand. The place we went after was lovely as well the little bars and tapas was great. Gallo was funny getting the picture under the nob on the wall. The food was ok and when we got back it was good sitting in the square with all the lads and Fran. Then we went on to the bars, my best night, loved it, think it was because you weren't there. Thanks. The drinking was good and couldn't remember everything, but remember drinking Whisky outside the Grifon, not sure who bought it or how many I had. There is video evidence of me and Uncle Steve walking home, apparently PK had to bring us back in the end.


So to some up your weekend, did you enjoy it?
God yeah, can't wait for the next one. Apart from the journey back and the airport as I was hanging and had to lay down a lot. The lads were great and had the best time.


Just want to say thanks to Main, Serg, Fern, Manuel and all the rest of the guys who made the weekend for us old and new Stags. Everyone enjoyed it and all want to come again.

Up the Stags!!!!!!!

Los Montaraces De La Osa Mayor

Hace ya mucho tiempo que camino hacia el Norte, entre tractores en llamas y folerpas huérfanas.

Hace ya mucho tiempo que camino contra el Norte, como un viajero gris confederado desafiante entre la niebla.

Una verdad cifrada en XVII ediciones dejé atrás: el humo de los brezos, el rojo de los acebos, y la alegría fugaz de la cerveza, os la revelarán algún día.

En el camino del Norte, sin embargo, sólo los más valientes me acompañan.

Marchamos a la intemperie de las noches hiemales.

Les digo este relato para recordadles que su obligación es subir y combatir a nuestro lado.

En nuestras cabezas braman los vendavales, en nuestros ojos juguetean los relámpagos, bailan las nubes y se ríen las estrellas.

Malo será que no ganemos.



De La Matanza De Ciervos Como Trámite Administrativo. La Décima Cayó En Campañó.

La Anglogalician es un orgulloso vector temporal retorcido y críptico que avanza en espiral hacia el pasado y retrocede hacia el futuro.


¿No estaba prohibida la publicidad?

Las piezas de caza se clasificarán en dos grupos: caza mayor y caza menor. Tendrán la consideración de piezas de caza mayor el stag, el ciervo, o cervo, el baldragas, el correveidile, el procrastinador, el tóxico, el pelador de camedrios y cuantas especies sean declaradas como tales por el Rodillarato.

La otra crónica, la escrita según el tradicional método galeguidade ao pao, informa:


Porcos Bravos 11 - Sheffield Stags 1

Os Porcos Bravos: Manu Blondo (Gk); Frank; Nacho; Del Río; Sergio (3); Billy (2); Anxo; Xandre; Rivas (1); Pedrinho; Peter Rojo; Martín Fisher (1); Guille (2); David (1), J. Toti (1); Gael.

The Sheffield Stags: Gallo (Gk);Thomo; Shabba; Nunu; Dick Walsall; Schofe; Machen; PK; Whysall; Pátraicc Úa Muirgheasa (1).


Venue: Estrenamos campo. Agüeiros, en Campañó. Merecía el Pritzker pero... 32º putos grados na Galiza que estrena outubro. Para que luego nieguen el cambio climático. Campo en perfectas condiciones.


Attendance: 400 privilegiados en las gradas. Willy Sifones asiste de incógnito. O eso cree él.

Uniformes: Os Porcos Bravos visten de negro Nasa, con el jabalí blanco de Ricardo III como escudo. Un apaño que deviene en icono instantáneo.

Los stags, que volvían a Galiza siete años después, visten un inclasificable uniforme con distintas tonalidades de verde. Ya saben que la esperanza es una puta vestida de ese color.

El Laurence Bowles (o es ya el presente Colin Davies?) al mejor jugador porcobravo es ex aequo para Billy (Álvaro), Guille y Gael. Este último, cuando empezamos a disputar la Anglogalician, no había nacido. Cavilen sobre ello.

El Derek Dooley's Left Leg al mejor jugador inglés, es para el gran Gallo. Ocupó la portería de forma accidental pero no se notó. Sin su buen quehacer, los stags se llevan 20 en un saco.

Árbitro: Afortunadamente para los de negro, no fue Wayne Barnes que debe sufrir de melanofobia. Con este tipo al pito, igual el resultado hubiese variado en cantidad.

El Dato: Se reanudó la Anglogalician Cup después de cuatro años de langosta. El virus chino, el diablo y el alcohol se llevaron al resto.

Os Porcos Bravos se alejan. 10 triunfos a 7. Nunca habían tenido tres partidos de ventaja. Contando además con la particularidad que nueve ediciones se han disputado en Inglaterra por sólo 8 en Galiza. En la XVIII, buscarán lo nunca visto en la competición. Ganar 4 ediciones consecutivas.

La AngloGalician no es un pasatiempo, es un Compromiso.

Os Porcos Bravos lo han entendido a la perfección en estos años de parón biológico, y han confeccionado la mejor plantilla de su historia. Lo tiene todo: veteranos curtidos, talento, juventud y temeridad.

El bando inglés, en cambio, ha pagado un alto precio por sus convulsiones internas. Ningún proyecto prospera en la tierra baldía del enfrentamiento cainita. Habían arreglado la parcela deportiva con Lee Gordon y sus gladiadores, pero no todo lo demás. Y así les fue. Cuanto antes empiecen su enésima reconstrucción, mejor para todos. El tema es que regresaron a Galiza por primera vez desde la década pasada, con uno de los equipos más flojos que se les recuerda. Recurrieron al comodín de un puñado de valientes expats, que saltaron sobre Campañó como los paracas en Dien Bien Phu, y con igual suerte.

La XVII en esencia, ni tuvo épica ni fue disputada. La manada local jugó con la verticalidad sin freno del rayo. Asedió a los Stags desde el inicio, marcó 4 goles en la primera parte que pudieron ser una docena, y a pesar del alud de caras nuevas en su equipo de gala, se mostró muy cómodo en el agresivo planteamiento del 2-3-2 que ha diseñado el Main.

Los de verde, que apenas soportaron el tórrido clima, bastante hicieron con defender con cierta dignidad su portería y evitar males mayores más allá de la desgraciada lesión de Dick Walsall.

La segunda parte sirvió, entre otras muchas cosas, para:
Que os Porcos Bravos exhibieran la profundidad de su banquillo, haciendo un siete.
Un irlandés que es seguidor del Leeds United lograse el gol del honor de los ingleses.
Sergio sacase un conejo de la chistera.
Martín Fisher nos demostrase que va seguir goleando hasta los 80 años.

Ahora toca preparar la XVIII. La cábala nos dice que el Nordeste inglés es territorio comanche para os galegos. Tres viajes, tres derrotas.

Pero el relámpago, ¿Qué nos dice el relámpago?

Wild Samhuinn In A Northern Sea Of Flickering Pumpkins

Mild Swimming 
Immersing oneself in new pools or other water courses is part of an urban adventure designed to be somewhat exhilarating but not as outlandish or unrealisable as an advertisement of the same theme might suggest. A reasonable lack of concern over being an unofficial member of the misadventure club is an essential part of the freedom of the individual. Going into public spaces wholly unfamiliar, excepting for the extant erudition and information of an Ordnance Survey map or Google Earth, can be frightening and exhilarating as long as you remember to remain aware of the possibilities of undercurrents, objets d'art and real sodden paraphernalia that may obstruct one's freestyle experience. Watering holes can have hidden depths, so modest excitement can be gleaned from fathoming out just how many monkey wrenches might emerge to menacingly grip one's nuts and prompt one to bolt for the fire exit aflame with fear and smokey trauma.
Moon-bathing is a romantic ideal, so midday sun-dipping is usually recommended for urban mild swimming in worlds where happiness can be all too virtual but anxiety and nervousness can be all too real. So, despite the effects of a spectacularly classic modern summer's day wherein cat's and dog's tongues hang out like eager, flesh coloured washing, one can seek the cooling shade of a classic and/or modern watering hole, the likes of which may not have been fully discovered, except by its regular mappers. In the modern British summers, it might merely be a desire to whet one's whistle to avoid getting one's whistle wet in a sudden, BBC-strength squall that has rain spitting through the winds at the earth at a belligerent forty-five degree angle. 

 

CASTLE & ANCHOR, 2 Church Road, Stockton-on-Tees.
A modestly sized establishment on a very busy corner where you can see important veins pumping on the roads of downtown Stockton. The furniture has been rearranged and there's still a feel of recent caulking intended to keep the place afloat in a sea of competitive modernisation. The internal views are enhanced by TVs displaying aspects of the world of sport, possibly to deflect from seeing the church across the road and any consequent contemplation of something more than sporting good and bad fortune. Archived and resolved contests of the beautiful game and current cards from the sport of Kings, Queens and still hopeful sections of the various British classes can be seen from every vantage point throughout the pub.
The upgrade of the husk means the regular, common folk can continue their conversations from the past about the new, technological miasma of plasma that shows the outside from a very well established inside. The pub also has a steady rhythm of humdrum popular music, which creates an ambivalent vibe. The prices are very reasonable in the current climate, and the staff are easily pleasant to all and sundry. This place is a solid house of commonplace affability in a Stockton currently in the eye of a storm of redevelopment.

THE ROYAL OAK, 20 High Street, Stockton-on-Tees. Just beyond the aforementioned Church Road in the heart of Stockton town.
The previous theme of necessary rejuvenation is evident in this pub, upgrading having taken place from its former historical, somewhat vibrant character. The bar is bigger than most and has two guest ale pumps amongst a plethora of popular, everyday beers, lagers and ciders. The furniture is still very comfortable, combining old wood and more modern surfaces very well. This pub, again, has a notable number of TVs dotted around the dark wooden walls, and plays popular but not pop music at a level where you can still talk and listen to the exchanges of clearly frequent clientele. The atmosphere retains a feeling of enduring steadiness under the consistent shadow of economic pressures to evolve, to develop a sense of generic salubriousness. The prices are reasonably comparable to the Castle & Anchor. My visit saw me take up a welcoming window seat that enveloped me like a satiated Venus flytrap. I was able to see the local theatre The Globe from this vantage point whilst quietly quaffing a half of Birra Moretti.

THE SUN INN, Knowles Street, Stockton-on-Tees. Less than a stone’s throw from the Royal Oak.
A small, cosy regular Cider With Rosie kitchen feel with obvious regulars already installed in their apparently appointed places, chatting about old world subjects whilst stealing a glance at the modestly sized TVs on the walls reliving moments of good and bad luck in repeats of already run races. The person serving at the small bar was very welcoming and greeted me as a stranger with a good-natured, cheeky ice breaker to put me at ease amongst the decorative red cross-hairs whose presence made an uncomfortable point of focus for anyone visiting from the not too distant future. The pub is well connected to community agencies and has music nights at weekends.
There was an undercurrent of a group identity of somewhat parochial protective mien. The obvious regulars were very comfortable with their positions, and their long in the tooth easy habitual socialising. The primarily liquid victuals on offer were the nationally identifiable session drinks but there were bar snacks available to round off the experience. 

The three Stockton-based mild swimming locations had a theme in common, that of being economically evolved to accommodate temporal compromise so as to appeal to visitors and indigenous alike. The first two particularly had necessary ambivalence to the common purpose of public places and coercive zeitgeist. All three shared an existentially lexically compromise to the point where community responsively shields itself from wider collective psychological tropes.

All three had walls which, could they talk, would regale any listener with tales of yore that might encourage, through their vital, shared voice, fresh thought and more active cognition and comprehension of the existential experience of mild swimming.

THE STOCKTON, 122 High Street, Redcar.
This pub has grand old furniture, an old-style wooden bar, new TVs on a number of the wood panelling walls and good old fashioned prices.
It has an appeal for regulars in its upgrading to visual information while retaining a tangible reminiscence of older and apparently simpler times.
The pub also has a significant amount of natural light as the summer sun is welcomed in by windows which are on the generous side. Looking onto a small beer garden the large back window resembling a lazy eye – a very large TV half obscures it - allows enough light to read any racing card by.
Although it has a couple of modern flashing-light gaming machines, one can still 'hear the gentle sound' of its regulars handing over their noiseless tenners to continue what are now seen as antiquated ways and wishes to maintain a slightly uneasy status quo. The limited, staple bar, however, means that only the diehard customers might get whatever they want, as there is no evidence of beautiful, mythical sirens pouring out their ambiguous promises from the mainstream pumps. Although I was satisfied by a high quality draught Guinness on offer.

PIG & WHISTLE, 27 Station Road, Redcar.
This pub is quietly confident of its particular and olde worlde feel: the furniture is unashamedly old and very comfortable for an extended stay. It resembles a museum with its different rooms and it has a double-faced bar to easily serve all of the various places a visitor can ensconce themselves.
Two of the rooms are reminiscent of old 'snugs' and have many pictures of old Redcar and paintings and photos of local historical referents. Only one of the compact rooms has a discreet TV that can be turned on by request, so you don't need to evoke moving images of the outside world if not desired. The main bar room has an extended area where pool can be played without distraction. This bar space also has the locals who congregate during the day time even when visitors are scarce. One drawback with this pub might be identified by the limited range of drinks on offer but one could easily feel inclined to compromise in favour of spending time in the understated convivial atmosphere.

O'GRADY'S, 18-20 Queen Street, Redcar
An Irish welcome to all-comers is offered by a well-appointed, tastefully furnished repro watering hole that serves an extensive menu of food at reasonable prices.
It has two ale pumps living alongside the customary typicals, as well as a number of significant TVs informing of the outside world of sports. There's no music in the background as the TVs have low but audible sound for those interested in the various events covered.
The layout is constituted of primarily restaurant style tables as it is also an active hotel which provides victuals for temporary residents visiting Redcar and the wider north east coast, and anyone wanting to go through an absurdist defamiliarisation of a place they live in. Its three-pronged character (pub/hotel/restaurant) means it can be confident of significant numbers of regular and irregular customers throughout the year. This place has a certain charm about it with its nicely adorned decoration coupled with genial snippets of Irish-Gaelic wisdom on the walls, and it can boast a general sense of openness that means it can flourish in the present conditions without need for any further upgrades. 


The timings of visits to these urban mild swimming holes create a kind of Jekyll and Hyde character to proceedings. Afternoons would be the Dr Jekyll as chemical experimentation is sparsely undertaken by mostly economically inactive swimmers, treading water, still staring at a starless firmament. Evenings would be the Mr Hyde aspect as dilettante debaters might raise their lubricated volubility tussling over a chair whose status is worthy of scrutiny: one arguing that the chair is freer than they feel, the other countering with a form of quantum of solace view that although empty, the chair is not free but merely physically bound by well established rules of existence.
Afternoons see somewhat tentative ripples of conversation between groups which are common to the place and are aware of the place being very common to them, without any accompanying Aaron Copland or ELP fanfare.
Afternoons are for wandering anthropologists and unattached individuals sheltering from various existential climatic variations. Evenings are for the bravest of observers whose vitality of experience is more visceral than cerebral. These timid excerpts of mild swimming are from afternoons.