The pogo bounce celebration
If we’re going to express joy, let’s borrow from places that actually know how to move. Introduce the salsa from Colombia or Cuba, hips shifting, feet tapping, a rhythm that says something. Let’s have the Argentine tango, sharp and intense, full of elegance and defiance. Or what about Zorba’s dance from Greece... a slow build that erupts into full-blown revelry? That’s how you mark winning the league or a trophy, with feeling, with culture, with a celebration that lives. not some stupid pogo bouncing.
Instead, we get this recycled vertical bounce, like a software glitch in football boots. It's sterile. It’s hollow. It’s joy reduced to a meme. There has to be something different... something human. If you’ve just won the Euros, act like it mattered. Dance like someone who means it. Not like someone trying to copy whatever the last team did. Enough Pogo. Bring the passion back. Invest in interpretive dance moves, something original and not puppets jerked about on their strings.
It's not a celebration... it's mimicry. The sad truth is, it’s a sign that players, despite all their swagger and individuality, don’t quite know how to express real, unscripted joy. So they pogo jump. Because that’s what others did. Because it’s safe. Because it’s approved... it is a sterile carbon copy. A moment that could be bursting with personality gets flattened into a nervous bounce, repeated by everyone. It's a lame excuse for a celebration.