There is an argument to be made that the Eurovision has done more, or at least as much, for the idea of European solidarity and the eradication of international war from this continent than the EU. It is remarkable to think that within the space of around 70 years the thought of jack-booted soldiers marching between European countries, swanning about, yelling and shooting large guns at each other seems a near impossible scenario to our modern world. This is largely thanks to the fact that, were another war to break out across the continent, we would have nowhere to host everybody's favourite errant singing competition whose staging seems to have taken inspiration from a Liberace fever dream. I can't imagine a male model from the Czech Republic, who wears a backpack solely for stylistic purposes, would bravely clamber onto a stage while artillery shells fell around him and tanks crashed through Lisbon's once vibrant markets, to sing a piece of Eurotrash while twerking asynchronously to his own diabolical jams.
The pivotal role the Eurovision plays in the continuation of European peace is clearly a point appreciated by the man in the video contained herein. The man, who remains anonymous beyond the fact that he is a friend of RTÉ's Derek Mooney, and is being filmed by the radio host and erstwhile Winning Streak presenter, is clearly massively invested in the idea of Eurovision, beyond what could reasonably be expected of a single human. I'm sure that, with far less of a history in the tournament, the entirety of Australia cares less about the Eurovision than this man does. You could gather every person in Australia, with even a shred of enthusiasm for the Eurovision, into one place and they would not have a patch on the sheer enthusiasm of this man; this blazing pioneer of frenetic passion and nail-biting angst.
As the voting goes on he becomes disconsolate about Ireland's prospects of making it through. He grows ever more irate. The way he expresses this? By pacing in a living room, that seems far too small for pacing in - like a distressed polar bear in an enclosure in a derelict Chinese zoo - and loudly and angrily swearing - unlike a distressed polar bear in an enclosure in a derelict Chinese zoo. At one point, such is his despair, that he even queries whether Ireland ought severe their ties with the Eurovision. He briefly proposes some sort of Brexit-esque departure, so disillusioned is he with the idea that Ireland will fail to proceed again, that he thinks it'd be better to call off the whole affair.
And then; then he realises that there is still one country to be announced. And then, the elation.
The screams that emerge from that man are profound in their nature. They call back through generations. They are the screams of our ancestors; the screams of our primeval past emanating with raw animal intensity from this man. This man, in this moment is filled with pure unbridled passion and joy. I find it in no way upsetting to confidently declare that that man, in that moment, is happier than I will ever be about anything. And that is okay. It would be unfeasible to expect, for any of us, to care about anything in life as much as this man evidently cares about the Eurovision. He is invested whole-heartedly in the idea of a pan-European singing competition, that is mostly comprised of forgettable Europop, with a maximum of three slow ballads, and one token hair-metal song from a Scandinavian country. This microcosm of Euro-kitsch is the centre, the fulcrum of this man's universe and not I, not you, not anyone, will ever care about anything as fervently as this man cares about Ryan O'Shaugnessy getting a chance to accrue a low points total in front of a largely disinterested television audience in Lisbon on Saturday.
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The screams that emerge from this man are so specific that I wondered where I had heard them before - as, I had heard them before. I wracked my brains, flicking through the index of screams I had memorised (don't ask) trying to match it. And then I realised, this man screams in the exact same way as Homer does in the episode of The Simpsons where Homer gets hypnotised and remembers discovering a body in a storm drain in an abandoned quarry.
This man and Homer scream the same way. Listen to the two. Luxuriate in the ludicrous similarities. The man screams with the joy of knowing that Ryan O'Shaugnessy has a stronger chance of singing in Lisbon. Homer screams with the terror of remembering the discovery of a corpse. Yet they scream the same.
