In a world where men in suits would sooner waterboard a kitten than admit the National Health Service might be a collective good, a Danish footballer has provided a powerful counterargument. Christian Eriksen, the midfield maestro who famously collapsed at Euro 2020, has been saved once again by his implantable cardioverter-defibrillator. The device, a sort of jumper-cable for the human soul, kicked in as Eriksen collapsed during a training session with his club, Inter Milan. He is now recovering at home, presumably composing a thank-you note to the inventors of modern medicine.
Let us pause to appreciate the sheer absurdity. A man whose heartbeat was so errant it required a permanent electric cattle-prod to keep it in check. A man who, but for a blip of technology, would be as dead as a doorknob on a budget coffin. And yet, here he is, walking around, probably arguing with his bank about an unauthorized overdraft fee. The miracle of science, ladies and gentlemen. But do not expect grateful letters to the NHS from the usual suspects. They are too busy privatizing the life out of it.
Eriksen’s story is a parable for our times. Here is a man who dropped dead on the pitch, resurrected by the collective gasp of a billion fans (and some very clever doctors). Now he carries a small bomb inside his chest, a literal heart bomb waiting to zap him back to life should he ever cross the great divide without permission. It is a metaphor for the human condition if ever there was one. We are all just ticking away, hoping the battery doesn’t die before the warranty expires.
But let us not get too philosophical. The real news is that Christian Eriksen is alive. He is recovering at home. The device worked. The system worked. And thank God for it. Because if there is one thing the British public can agree on, it is that we would rather spend billions on a footballer’s heart than on a child’s asthma inhaler. Priorities, people.
In the meantime, the footballing world breathes a colossal sigh of relief. Eriksen’s team-mates can return to training without the fear of seeing their colleague fold like a cheap deckchair. The tabloids can recycle their “Hero” headlines. And the medical device industry can enjoy a free advertisement that would have cost millions otherwise. Everyone wins. Except, of course, the grim reaper, who is left with his scythe unsharpened.
So here’s to Christian Eriksen. Here’s to the unsung heroes who make these devices. And here’s to the beautiful game, which occasionally reminds us that life is precious, fragile, and utterly dependent on a bit of wire and a lithium battery. Cheers.
