Here is a really great story from the CBC on how a Canadian thinks a war should be fought in the 21st century. What are the chances?
DON MURRAY:
War by other means
July 11, 2006 | More from Don Murray

Don Murray is one of the most prolific of the CBC's foreign correspondents, filing hundreds of reports - in French and English - from China, Europe, the Middle East and the Soviet Union. He is currently based in London as the senior European correspondent for CBC Television News.

During his 30 years with CBC, Murray has covered a multitude of major stories, including the advent of perestroika and glasnost and the collapse of the Soviet Union. He wrote A Democracy of Despots, a book documenting that collapse and the rebirth of Russia. While in Berlin, he covered the peace agreement ending the war in Bosnia and, in London, covered the death of Diana, Princess of Wales, and the peace agreement in Northern Ireland. He authored Family Wars, a major feature article for the International Journal paralleling the troubles in Northern Ireland and the war in Bosnia. In recent years he has covered the wars in Kosovo, Afghanistan and Iraq.


Von Clausewitz would have approved. The great 19th-century military thinker, the author of On War, was German and clinical. Among his many insights was this one: "When we speak of destroying the enemy's forces we must emphasize that nothing obliges us to limit this idea to physical forces: the moral element must also be considered."
The moral element. This was at the heart of the matter on the field in Berlin and in distressed conversations in France in the wake of its team's loss in the soccer World Cup final against Italy.

What had the Italian player Marco Materazzi said to the incomparable French captain, Zinedine Zidane, that caused him to lose his moral compass and commit a professional foul with 10 minutes to go in the tight game? Zidane headbutted the Italian and was shown a red card by the referee. He was thrown out of the game. France's penalty kicker was banished. Ten minutes later, they lost on penalty kicks.

The French coach, Raymond Domenech, understood immediately and bitterly. The player of the game, he said, was Materazzi: he had destroyed France's chief weapon.

Materazzi had not used physical violence; the French agreed on that. He had used mental violence: he had used words. But which words? Across France, the suppositions and rumours run. He had called Zidane, whose parents are Algerian, a terrorist. He had insulted Zidane's mother. In the crowd, Hamid, like Zidane a Frenchman of Algerian origin, fixed on this second interpretation. Of course Zidane had to react. Materazzi had wounded his family, his very self-esteem.

But in acting, Zidane had lost the battle. Italy lifted the prize. In that country, joy was unconfined. As the team returned in triumph to Rome, the streets filled. This was not the second coming, but the fourth coming of the World Cup to Italy. For Italian fans, it was almost a glimpse of paradise even if the descent to soccer hell may soon follow. Four of Italy’s top domestic teams, for which several of the World Cup stars play during the season, are wrapped in the tentacles of scandal involving match fixing and referee tampering. Within days, the teams may be relegated to the minor leagues.

Paradise glimpsed is far better than Paradise Lost, butted away, many in France think, by the head of Zidane.

Consolation and absolution

The day after the fatal game, the French team had to endure the purgatory of official thanks for being second-best. It began with handshakes from France's embattled president, Jacques Chirac, who can only dream of the popularity the French players enjoy. Then, in the garden of the presidential palace, came consoling words for Zidane. You are a genius of international football, Jacques Chirac told him. You have a great heart and great commitment. France loves you.

The players then travelled five minutes down the road to the Place de la Concorde where once the guillotine had stood. What awaited them was not execution but absolution. A crowd of several thousand faithful bathed them in applause and thanks as they stood on the balcony of a luxury hotel. This raucous outpouring of esteem was directed particularly at Zidane. The talismanic captain had played his last game; he had already announced he was retiring after the World Cup. He was still loved, and greatly.

The affection was also directed at David Trezeguet, whose missed penalty kick lost the championship for France. As the ovation washed up, he broke down. This was not Italy; this was not joy unconfined. But it was full remission for football sins.

One further point: two European nations were pitted against each as the world watched. Yet no one died.

Breaking boredom's bonds

Exactly 90 years ago, European nations were also pitted against one another in battle. On the first day of the battle of the Somme, 20,000 British soldiers died. Almost 400,000 European combatants would be chewed up by the end of the months-long battle. And it was only one of many in the First World War.

The cultural historian George Steiner has advanced the theory that one of the prime causes of that colossal carnage was ennui or spleen – boredom. French poets like Baudelaire were writing about the terrible burden of this ennui decades before. Steiner suggests that European nations rushed headlong into war to break the iron bonds of boredom.

Ennui still stalks the world; nations still square off. But soccer is the preferred form of combat, 22 men in T-shirts and shorts, kicking a round ball. As Von Clausewitz might have said, this is war by other means.

While France forgave its hero Zidane, others were not so kind. 'Zidane-Amok' was the headline in a German tabloid; 'Zid Vicious' was the choice of its British equivalent. Editorialists weighed in with words of censure for his heinous act.

The headbutted Materazzi fell to the ground but rose again to finish the game and raise the championship trophy. No one died.

Consider again the axiom of the German thinker: the moral element must also be considered.