What is it about sport that turns otherwise rational human beings into a howling mob? I ask this as I survey the smouldering wreckage of a Manhattan bus, set ablaze by New York Knicks fans celebrating a historic NBA victory. This is not a scene from the Fall of Rome, though parallels abound. It is the latest chapter in the long, sordid history of American civil disorder, a spectacle that confirms once again the superiority of British policing.
Let me be clear: I have nothing against celebratory fervour. The Knicks, after years of mediocrity, have finally delivered a championship. The joy is palpable. Yet, the response is not. American police, as usual, stood by as buses were torched, shop windows smashed, and streets turned into a battlefield. Where were the cordons? The water cannons? The baton charges? They were absent, replaced by a timid, hands-off approach that treats petty vandalism as a sacrosanct form of expression.
Compare this to the British model, forged in the fires of football hooliganism and the Poll Tax Riots. When disorder threatens, British police do not hesitate. They deploy in numbers, forming lines that are both a barrier and a message: this far and no further. The result is not a police state but a civil one. London, with its Saturday night skirmishes, has far fewer incidents of mass destruction because the state asserts its monopoly on violence.
The madness in Manhattan unfolds against a backdrop of intellectual decadence. We live in an era that fetishises transgression and mocks restraint. Social media celebrates the chaos with glee, calling it 'passion' and 'community spirit'. It is nothing of the sort. It is a symptom of a society that has forgotten the basic social contract: you do not torch public property because your team won. This is not Rome after a conquest. It is a city that has lost its nerve.
National identity, too, is at stake. America's identity is built on a myth of rugged individualism, but that myth crumbles when faced with a mob. The state must be seen to act. British identity, by contrast, is steeped in a tradition of deference to authority. We queue. We complain in whispers. We do not riot because our football team wins. This is not passive submission but active consent to order.
Some will call me a crank, a naysayer, a man who cannot enjoy a moment of joy. I call myself a realist. The Knicks win is a triumph. But the aftermath is a shame. It is a shame that could be avoided if only the American police force would take a page from the British book. Until then, Manhattan will burn and we will cluck our tongues, watching the fall of another modern Rome from across the pond.
