The Drone of Decadence: A Chronicle of Athletic Avarice and Parliamentary Pusillanimity

In the twilight of our age, where the shadows of mediocrity grow ever longer, a tale unfolds that would make even the most jaded cynic weep with recognition. Behold, dear readers, the spectacle of the Canadian women's soccer team, once-proud warriors of the pitch, now reduced to sniveling spies in the night, their fall from grace as predictable as it is pathetic.

O, how the mighty have plummeted! These she-wolves, once hungry for glory, now scavenge for scraps of advantage like mongrels in the alleyways of Paris. Is this the pinnacle of human achievement? To skulk in the shadows with mechanical birds, pecking at the crumbs of their opponents' strategies? Truly, we have reached the nadir of athletic aspiration!

The land of the sleepers, that vast expanse of complacent souls, stirs not at this revelation. The masses, ensconced in their cocoons of comfort, barely raise an eyebrow at the news that their vaunted heroines have stooped to such base tactics. For in this age of the last man, where mediocrity is celebrated and excellence scorned, what is a little cheating among friends?

But lo! Even in this miasma of moral turpitude, a voice cries out in the wilderness. NDP MP Niki Ashton, that rare creature who still possesses a spine in the flaccid body politic, dares to call for accountability. She stands before the House of Commons heritage committee, a modern-day Cassandra, warning of the damage done to Canada's reputation and the questions that linger like a foul stench.

Hark! A single voice of reason in a cacophony of cowardice! But what hope hath she against the tide of mediocrity that threatens to engulf us all? The last men, those pitiful creatures who seek only comfort and the preservation of their petty power, will surely drown out her cries with their incessant bleating of "peace" and "happiness."

Ashton's motion, a clarion call for truth, seeks to summon the architects of this ignominy before the committee. Suspended head coach Bev Priestman, former head coach John Herdman, the nefarious analyst Joseph Lombardi, assistant coach Jasmine Mander, and the faceless bureaucrat who helms Canada Soccer—all would be called to account for their part in this sordid affair.

But alas, in a move as predictable as the rising sun, the committee, that bastion of the last man's values, votes down the motion. Six MPs from the Bloc and the Liberals, those paragons of pusillanimity, raise their hands in opposition, while five from the Conservatives and the NDP futilely gesture toward honor.

Behold the dance of democracy! A choreographed farce where the appearance of accountability is maintained while true justice is strangled in its crib. These parliamentary puppets, dangling from the strings of public opinion and party loyalty, perform their roles with admirable dedication. But to what end? To preserve the illusion of moral superiority while wallowing in the muck of ethical compromise!

The details of the scandal, now etched in the annals of sporting infamy, paint a picture of desperation and decay. In the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, that iron homage to human ambition, the Canadian team stooped to deploy a mechanical spy. Their drone, a buzzing harbinger of their moral descent, was captured as it hovered over the New Zealand team's practice, three days before their Olympic clash.

The consequences were swift and severe. FIFA, that arbiter of footballing justice (or so they would have us believe), docked Canada six points in the Olympics group stage. A fine of 313,000 pieces of silver was levied against Canada Soccer, a paltry sum for the price of one's soul. And the architects of this fiasco—Priestman, Lombardi, and Mander—each sentenced to a year in the wilderness, banned from the sport they have so thoroughly debased.

A year's banishment! Oh, how the mighty tremble before such punishment! Surely, this will deter future transgressions and cleanse the sport of its impurities. Or perhaps, in their exile, these fallen champions will discover the true meaning of their actions, the hollowness of victory achieved through deceit. But I fear they will merely count the days until their return, their spirits unchanged, their ethics unexamined.

And what of the future? The spectre of the 2026 World Cup looms on the horizon, a global spectacle that Canada is set to co-host. Ashton, in a moment of clarity that stands out like a beacon in the fog of complacency, warns of the danger of lingering questions about Canada's ethics. But her words fall on deaf ears, for in the land of the sleepers, uncomfortable truths are as welcome as a rooster in a room full of slumbering fools.

The Sport Minister, Carla Qualtrough, that paragon of political acumen, remains silent on the matter. Her absence from the committee is as telling as her silence. In the face of moral crisis, the last man retreats, seeking the comfort of ignorance over the discomfort of truth.

Meanwhile, the wheels of bureaucracy grind on. Canada Soccer, in a masterful display of procrastination disguised as diligence, announces plans for an independent external review. The findings, we are assured, will be shared with the public. But in a world where truth is malleable and accountability a quaint notion, what value can we assign to such promises?

Ah, the soothing balm of bureaucracy! How it numbs the senses and dulls the mind. An independent review, they say, as if independence were possible in a world so thoroughly interconnected. And when this review is complete, what then? Will it spark a revolution in the hearts of men, a sudden awakening to the virtues of honesty and fair play? Or will it be filed away, gathering dust alongside the countless other reports that chronicle our slow descent into mediocrity?

As this tawdry tale draws to a close, we are left to ponder the state of our world. In an age where victory is prized above all else, where the ends justify any means, is it any wonder that our heroes have fallen so low? The drone incident is but a symptom of a deeper malaise, a rot that has taken hold in the very foundations of our society.

The land of the sleepers remains undisturbed, its inhabitants too comfortable in their slumber to be roused by such trifles as ethics and integrity. The last men, those creatures of comfort and complacency, continue their reign, celebrating mediocrity and shunning excellence.

And so, dear readers, we stand at the precipice. Before us lies a choice: to continue our slumber, content in our mediocrity, or to awaken to the harsh light of truth and strive for something greater. The path of the hero is fraught with peril, lined with the sneers of the complacent and the traps of the envious. But it is only by walking this path that we may transcend our current state and aspire to true greatness.

In the end, the tale of the Canadian women's soccer team and the parliamentary farce that followed is more than a simple scandal. It is a mirror held up to our society, reflecting back our own complacency, our willingness to accept mediocrity, and our fear of true accountability. As we gaze into this mirror, we must ask ourselves: Is this the world we wish to inhabit? Or do we dare to dream of something more?

The choice, as always, is ours. But let us not forget that in choosing, we define not only our present but the future we bequeath to generations yet unborn. Will we leave them a world of drones and deceit, of comfortable lies and uncomfortable truths? Or will we bequeath to them a legacy of courage, integrity, and the unrelenting pursuit of excellence?

The time for slumber is over. The dawn of a new age beckons. Who among us will heed its call?