News reaches my desk that tourism officials on both sides of the Atlantic are currently locked in a dispute of staggering pettiness. The debate: where should the World Cup be viewed? Niagara Falls, that tourist trap of churning water and honeymoon cliches, or the storied grounds of the United Kingdom?
The Canadian and American boosters insist that the natural wonder provides a majestic backdrop. I say: balderdash. The World Cup is a global festival of tribal passion and athletic prowess.
It deserves a setting steeped in history, not one defined by souvenir shops and rain ponchos. The Victorians understood this. They built Wembley and Hampden Park as cathedrals of sport.
Niagara Falls is merely a geological accident, impressive but ultimately voiceless. British venues offer something more: the accumulated weight of centuries of competition, the echoes of roaring crowds from a time when empire and sport were intertwined. To watch England chase glory while perched on a bench near a waterfall is to miss the entire point.
Football is about place, about the turf where legends are born. Let the tourists have their cascade. Give the true supporters the hallowed grounds of Britain.
The choice is not between beauty and history. It is between spectacle and meaning. And I, for one, choose meaning.
