Infantino’s Infantile Moment: Trump’s FIFA Peace Prize

THE CEREMONY OF NOTHINGNESS

In the build-up they formed an inflated scene,
where the timing was bent till it felt obscene.
All the guests stood around as the minutes froze,
and the purpose of all slowly failed to show.
For the night had no core, only staged routine—
yet it carried itself like a throne-room sheen.

Then he lifted the prize with a firm display,
placed it tight on his neck in the grandest way.
Like a figure who crowns his own claim on cue,
he confirmed his own tale as the room looked through.
What a moment to watch on a football stage—
yet it echoed a script from another age.

At his side stood the chief meant to guard the frame,
yet he praised with a tone that betrayed the game.
No event, no contest, no test to pass—
only speeches inflated beyond their mass.
And the crowd had to ask, in a muted roar:
what is this shining prize even given for?

For the night had no spark, only swollen show,
and an order of acts running far too slow.
In a room built for craft of a different kind
came a scene that exposed a diverted mind.
And the medal he placed with his steady hand
felt as hollow as dust in a drifting land.

As the murmurs began and the press took aim,
many wondered how far this display would claim.
For the honor proclaimed on that swollen night
had no tether to truth, nor to merit’s right.
And the pomp that unrolled in its heavy way
turned the world of the sport into disarray.

So the watchers all asked how the tale had bent,
how the purpose dissolved into pure event.
How a prize with no link to the sport we knew
took the center and rose like a forced breakthrough.
And the trust in the game that so many tend
felt displaced by a scene no one could defend.

• Read other works of Rolph David
• ronan.davidweb.de(Spam Protected - Please type eMail-Address by hand)