In a stunning display of coordinated fury that would make a swarm of hornets look like a book club, South Korean football fans have declared all-out war on their national team manager. The precise nature of his crime remains unspecified, but sources close to the situation whisper it involves a tactical decision so baffling it could only have been conceived in a boardroom full of men who think a 'high press' is something you do to a shirt. The British FA, ever eager to offer a solution that involves equal parts bureaucracy and plausible deniability, have magnanimously proposed to send a delegation of 'experts' to broker peace.
Experts in what, exactly? Sandwiches? Passive aggression?
The art of looking concerned while doing absolutely nothing? As your correspondent, I can already smell the committee being formed, the flyers being printed, the biscuits being ordered. This is the diplomatic equivalent of putting a plaster on a gunshot wound, a gesture so perfectly British it deserves its own commemorative plate.
Meanwhile, the fans, fuelled by a potent mix of kimchi and indignation, are not for turning. They want blood. Or at the very least, a public apology and a formation that doesn't make them want to set fire to their own scarves.
The manager, presumably, is in a bunker somewhere, rehearsing phrases like 'I take full responsibility' in a monotone that suggests he's already mentally spent his severance package on a life-size statue of himself. The British FA's offer, received with the enthusiasm of a vegan at a BBQ competition, has been met with a polite but firm 'no thank you' that in Korean translates to 'go away before we start throwing stuff'. But fear not, dear reader, for the FA has a contingency plan.
If mediation fails, they will send a strongly worded letter. And if that fails, they will send another, but this time with a stamp. It's the circle of incompetence, and it is beautiful.
