One of the potential benefits of the blog medium is its immediacy, that is, the ability of authors to respond quickly to current events. As you’ll have noticed (with my semi-annual posting schedule), I don’t get to take advantage of this facet very often. And this posting is no different, because the events that provoked it are no longer current.

Basically, the problem is this. As you can read here, Liverpool striker Nathan Eccleston tweeted (in rather poor English, but then, it was Twitter) to the effect that he did not believe terrorists had committed the attacks on September 11, 2001. He implied that the Illuminati were involved, and later (in a subsequent tweet) referred to the “accident” on 9/11.

His club, Liverpool, responded that “The club takes this matter extremely seriously and senior club officials have informed [him] that we are undertaking an investigation into the circumstances surrounding these postings and will decide on an appropriate course of action.” My question is: why is the club taking this seriously, let alone extremely so? Okay, so that’s just the first question, because I have more: why does this require an investigation, and why does the “appropriate course of action” seem to require one?

Let’s start with the proposition that Mr. Eccleston is wrong. I don’t think that requires any heroic assumptions. Why is it a serious matter that a footballer (as they are called in the English Premier League) said something both wrong and stupid? If he is wrong, the appropriate response is to place the evidence which falsifies his claim in public view. I would argue that it has been well and truly so placed, which makes Mr. Eccleston’s argument stupid besides. In that case, the appropriate response is to ignore it; Mr. Eccleston has provided his own punishment by making himself look stupid in public.

In other words, why does the club feel the need to take this seriously? The obvious response is, in the immortal words of Tow Mater, “to not to.” To dignify that remark with a response only provides more fodder for the conspiracy theory behind it. Evidently, the Illuminati also own Liverpool F.C., and wish to silence him before he spills any more “truth.”

Granted, John Henry owns Liverpool F.C., and he also owns the Boston Red Sox. Liverpool’s nickname is “the Reds,” making “Red” a prominent theme. Reds, of course, also refers to communists, who are renowned for their ability to conspire. So John Henry must be a member of the Illuminati…

First, if this is the plot of the next Dan Brown book, I will sue. Second, note how easy it is to select parts of a picture and spin connections between them into a pattern (that will be part of the next Dan Brown book, but then, it’s been a part of all the others, so I can hardly sue about that—except, perhaps, for intentional infliction of methodological harm). Third, it’s ridiculous, and the appropriate response to the ridiculous is…ridicule. Granted, the public will provide that, so Liverpool need only gentlemanly stand to the side and let nature (in this case, human) take its course.

After all, Liverpool does not employ Mr. Eccleston for his astute analysis of world events. They hired him to kick a ball into the back of a net, in spite of the best efforts of similarly talented people. If Mr. Eccleston purchases a Soviet automobile and proclaims to all of his friends that it is superior to all others—whether via Twitter or otherwise—it reflects on Mr. Eccleston’s good sense (or lack thereof—then again, it’s not like he bought a French car), not the club’s. It is cause to call him an idiot (or quietly let others do it), not cause for an inquest.

This reaction is disturbing. Employers seem to have come to the conclusion that all of their employees’ actions reflect on the employers, not merely the actions which the employees undertake pursuant to that employment. Mr. Eccleston has every right to believe whatever stupid thing he wishes; those offended have every right to point out how and why it is stupid (though ideally in more polite terms). If he made those comments are part of a post-match press conference, if he shouted them from the pitch during warm-ups, or pulled up his shirt after scoring and pointed to them (painted in pink body paint) on his chest, Liverpool could chastise him for dragging them down with him.

If, however, we except the claim that—because media often use employment as a descriptor, presumably to help avoid confusion with others who might share a name—people will always link the employee’s words and actions to the employer, and that the employer therefore has a right (even a duty) to control those words and actions, a responsibility for what the employee does outside of the workplace…where will we end? Certainly, we will have left freedom of speech stillborn in a public lavatory. What next, though? Employers will dictate what cars one may purchase, monitor employee driving habits—because unsafe cars and poor driving may lead to accidents, and having employees who have accidents would reflect poorly on the firm? Where or whether one may go to church, because most people find that religion of yours to be a bunch of hokum?

Everyone has an employer, one way or the other. The CEO answers to the board; the board (theoretically) answers to stockholders, who usually have different bosses all their own (with different boards). The company answers to consumers, most of whom work for some other company. The President and Congress answer (theoretically) to voters, who are those same consumers. Perhaps we will finally have reached Rousseau’s nirvana, and all be equally enslaved to each other, and thus free. To quote another Frenchman, however, “For myself, if I feel the hand of power heavy on my brow, I am little concerned to know who it is that oppresses me; I am no better inclined to pass my head under the yoke because a million men hold it for me.”