VIVE LA FRANCE! MY NEW BEST FRIENDS!
I haven’t cared much for the French since some weenie named Jean-Paul
Monchau came to Atlanta a few years ago as France’s consul general. He’d
barely unpacked his bags before he announced that he intended to have
the state of Georgia declare a moratorium on capital punishment and that
he intended to see that the moratorium became permanent. He said that
his country was “firmly opposed to capital punishment, remains dedicated
to its abolition and will continue to deeply deploy all its efforts in
that direction.” Remember: This man was a guest in our country and came
from the nation that invented the guillotine.
That’s like inviting a stranger to your outdoor barbecue and having him
announce that you are an animal killer and that he intends to make your
neighborhood vegetarian even before the ribs are browned. Other than an
appearance at a peace conference at the President Peanut Center for
Goodness and Light, Monsieur Monchau didn’t hang around Atlanta long.
Last I heard he was ambassador to Costa Rica. Maybe he is down there
saving whales or darter snakes. Or maybe a shark bit him in the butt.
I am happy to report, though, that my respect for France has changed
since Mr. Smarty-Pants left our state. For one thing, France has a new
hard-nosed president better than the one we’ve got and a lot better than
whichever one we will elect. His name is Nicholas Sarkozy. He doesn’t
seem to worry near as much about how we treat murderers in Georgia as he
does how others treat his own country.
A couple of weeks ago, a bunch of African immigrants who now live in
France (I think the politically correct New York Times would call them
African-French dips) jeered the French national anthem, “La
Marseillaise,” before a recent rugby match between the French national
team and a team from Tunisia. Monseiur Sarkozy blew his stack at their
bad manners. He called the incident “scandalous.” His prime minister,
François Fillon, said, “It’s a lack of consideration and respect for an
entire nation.” The minister of sport said future games would be
cancelled if fans disrespect the anthem.
Now, compare that with our own country. Josh Howard, a professional
basketball player for the Dallas Mavericks, was filmed at a charity flag
football game during the playing of our national anthem saying, “‘The
Star-Spangled Banner’ is going on. I don’t even celebrate that s---. I’m
black.”
This guy gets paid $9,945,000 a year to bounce a ball in short pants and
toss it through an orange metal ring, contributing nothing beneficial to
civilization except to keep sportswriters employed. Had he been in
France and smarted off about “La Marseillaise,” there is a very good
chance that President Sarkozy or one of his ministers of
something-or-other would have shoved his short pants up his
disrespectful nose.
In the meantime, what was the reaction in the United States to Howard’s
remarks? George W. Bush said nothing, or if he did, nobody heard him
because hardly anyone pays him any attention anymore. Members of
Congress? Zilch. They are too busy trying to blame each other for the
problems they have caused the rest of us. No threats from the National
Basketball Association that if one more of their zillionaires
disrespects our national anthem the season will be cancelled and they
will have to find a real job along with the sportswriters.
Unfortunately, many Americans approve of disrespecting our country’s
national symbols because that somehow justifies in their minds our
freedom of expression. To them being unpatriotic is — well — patriotic.
The French, on the other hand, have said if you don’t love France, we
will give you a ferry schedule and you can be out of the country before
the sun sets. And au revoir.
I’m going to get President Sarkozy and his ministers to Georgia one
Friday night to a high school football game and let them watch a bunch
of ungrateful jerks walking around with their hats on ignoring “The
Star-Spangled Banner.” I guarantee the butt-kicking that follows will be
better than the game. Vive la France! My new best friends.
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