Remembering Mr. Yang, the dutiful Dean of the diplomatic corps in Ottawa, Canada, for so many years, the mild-mannered gentleman who drove a cute jalopy in town and entertained his visitors on Clemow Avenue with benevolence and respect, and watching him now entangled in the web of largely despicable football shenanigans, leads to a sobering reality. A Prime Minister, like any ordinary stiff, has to make a living, i.e. do what he is told to do in exchange for a pay check.
I must admit I was particularly cock-a-hoop over the appointment of Mr. Yang. There is something regal in his demeanour; you would think that he would bring neatness, accountability and respect for the ordinary man just by being there. I did bet that his mere presence would bring about a nicer and friendlier government as most mandarins would readily buy into his charming style and stoop to copy it. In a different setting, I believe that Mr. Yang could move mountains.
But fixing a broken system of football that has been left to rot for so many years still does not strike me as being a particularly enjoyable endeavour for Mr. Yang. Actually, I believe that he never thought he would be one day assigned to directly intervene in such an elbows-up environment of ruffians and freeloaders as football is. I hope he survives unscarred, his mind and manners untouched, his trademark love for Cuban puros still vibrant.