WHEN George Orwell wrote that modern sport was “war minus the shooting”, he did not apparently mean this as a compliment. I checked, just in case, because he might have been arguing that, by mimicking military conflict, albeit without the fatalities (usually), competitions like the World Cup are cathartic, providing nations with safer outlets for aggression than the traditional one of invading each other.
But no. At the time he was commenting – in the wake of Dynamo Moscow’s fractious 1945 tour of Britain – Orwell thought sending international football teams abroad to inflict ritual humiliation on their male counterparts in other countries only added to “the vast fund of ill-will existing in the world”. So were he alive today, he would certainly be worried about the tournament in South Africa.
There, as all serious history students will have noticed, the closing rounds are shaping up to be a re-run of South America’s greatest ever conflict: “The War of the Triple Alliance”. If the quarter-finals go to form, all three members of that alliance – Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina – will reach the last four. Only one upset would then be required to complete the line-up.
The war’s other (and defeated) party – Paraguay – faces Spain in Saturday’s final round-of-eight tie. And having already progressed at the expense of Italy, the Paraguayans could well plot a way through to meet their former conquerors: first Argentina in the semi-finals, then Brazil (probably) in the final; or, perhaps more likely, Uruguay, in the third-place play-off.
You might think that even George Orwell would have no cause to fret about the World Cup reigniting tensions from a war that ended 140 years ago. Au contraire. If not for its winners, the War of the Triple Alliance remains a live issue for its losers. Indeed, as recently as last November, this newspaper carried reports of an event at which Paraguay’s vice-president called on Brazil to apologise for its brutality in 1870.
That call was made, curiously, at the launch of a book by an Irishman about an Irishwoman. The former was diplomat Michael Lillis, the latter Eliza Lynch: whose dramatic life has spawned several other accounts, including one by Anne Enright. Born in Cork, Lynch left Ireland in the fateful year of 1847 and, by extraordinary twists of fate, rose to wealth and fame as de facto “Queen of Paraguay”, until the aforementioned war set her on a reverse trajectory, back to poverty.
In her lifetime, she was regarded by Paraguayan critics as a mere prostitute who had seduced the country’s leader-in-waiting while he was living in Paris and then followed him home to become the unmarried mother of his six children. She was also blamed for provoking him into the disastrous war. But history has been rather kinder to her.
The Lillis book was unveiled in her former home in Asunción, where the regard for “La Lynch”, as she was once known, is such that she is commemorated both by the mausoleum to which her remains were eventually repatriated, and by the name of a major city avenue. Her posthumous popularity does not appear to be waning either. More than 1,000 packed the house for the book launch, with more standing outside.
There are fascinating parallels between Lynch and another Eliza – Gilbert – who was among her contemporaries. Gilbert became better known to the world as the “Spanish” dancer, Lola Montez, but she was born in Limerick (or possibly Sligo). She too was famously beautiful, and also charmed her way into high places – the affections of King Ludwig I of Bavaria in particular – and a low reputation; before, also like Lynch, coming to the sad end that 19th-century morality demanded.
It might be interesting too – in an entirely different way – to compare the Queen of Paraguay with another Lynch – Che Guevara – whose grandmother came from Galway. The influence of the extended Lynch family on Latin American politics is surely worth a PhD thesis, if one hasn’t been written already. In any case, Eliza Lynch is now a national heroine in her adopted country, where her last duties included burying her husband and a teenage son – both killed in the war’s decisive battle – with her own hands.
I don’t know whether the World Cup will revive the bitterness of 1870, or whether the other members of the Triple Alliance will ever give Paraguay the closure it requires. But one thing seems clear. In a tournament otherwise devoid of Irish interest (we no longer even have the option of cheering for the team playing England), surely our lot must now be thrown in with Eliza Lynch’s descendants, spiritual and otherwise.
Meanwhile, getting back to Orwell, the great man would have been encouraged by at least one aspect of this World Cup: namely the performance of the English FA, which yet again followed the advice he gave in 1945.
Then, he did not want to see a British team reciprocating the Dynamo tour with a visit to Moscow. But, as he added: “If we must do so, then let us send a second-rate team which is sure to be beaten and cannot be claimed to represent Britain as a whole. There are quite enough real causes of trouble [in the world] already, and we need not add to them by encouraging young men to kick each other on the shins amid the roars of infuriated spectators.”