Diet nyaope and the modern content menu

This week I joined other members of the human race – and perhaps your good self– in fixating on certain newsworthy events across the planet.

It’s been a great sporting season, with Wimbledon showing us the probable end of Roger Federer’s top-flight career and England facing a date with destiny at Wembley in a couple of days. In between all of this, the British & Irish Lions rugby team have been valiantly trying to achieve some relevance on their Covid-blasted tour of Emirates Stadium.

Then there was the stand-off between the SA Police and some supporters of our previous president outside his Nkandla homestead. It was a showdown that fizzled when the catering ran out and everyone involved seemed to be overtaken by a sudden respect for the rule of law.

All handy viewing for a person like myself suffering through some surprisingly debilitating vaccination side-effects from the rather sticky comfort of my bed.

However, as I surfed methodically from the women’s semifinals to the Cosafa Cup and some brutal UFC mixed martial arts, to yet another analysis of Mr Zuma’s situation (yes, he is now in jail), I had an existential moment.

Why was I watching this stuff?

Am I a football fan? A bit, but in a lot of ways I can take it or leave it. Tennis? I don’t mind watching the greats, but it looks like Djok is the last of those. Guys fighting? Gets a bit much sometimes. Former presidents having pissing contests against the NPA? Actually not interested at all.

But here I was, compulsively viewing this content.

I have the illusion of choice but in fact it’s the same choice I’ve had for the past 10, 20 years. Lots of sport on an inflexible schedule and a narrowly defined set of news stories.

Sure, it feels like I have a broad menu of meals to choose from, but I am actually more like a school kid in the hostel, who gets fish and chips on Fridays, burgers on Saturdays and toad-in-the-hole on Tuesday afternoons.

This evokes thoughts of agenda-setting media theory, which holds that the media doesn’t tell us what to think, but it does tell us what to think about. In this case, I can support whichever team I want, as long as it’s a football team, or a rugby one. I can be entertained by any form of recreation, as long as it’s sport.

I don’t deny for a second that I am equally complicit in this narrowing of my entire world view to whatever I am served on television or social media. But it’s a thing.

The greatest tragedy is not that I am missing out on other forms of entertainment and information – it’s that I don’t even know what I’m missing out on!

I am the feverish-in-bed version of a dolphin raised in captivity. I have not the vaguest idea what the open ocean of content would be like – or even if I would survive there.

Maybe I have become so conditioned to what others define as news and entertainment that I would come crawling back the minute I am deprived of it, begging to watch Western Province vs Griquas in the Currie Cup. Or two fighters strangling each other in an MMA ring.

I really don’t know what other forms of content there are right now. I know I’m not supposed to leave home, so I’m limited to what I am able to find on my phone.

Sadly, in my case, content is not something that I valiantly venture out into the limitless internet to find. The content comes and it finds me.

That’s the tyranny of the news and sports treadmill. Once you’re on it, it’s almost impossible to get off. It’s like being addicted to a somewhat exciting, but rather predictable and highly regulated form of crack. Like Crack Lite. Diet nyaope.

Anyway, I’ve seen dolphins that have grown up in captivity and they actually looked quite happy. Also, it’s finals this weekend. Can’t wait!