Oh, the uproarious activities that occupy the minds of modern men - the sadistic ballet of boxers, the ludicrous parades of fashion supermen, the raucous hullabaloo of Hollywood, and the madness of football. The football circus has indeed become an elaborate spectacle. Enshrining mediocrity as greatness, and raising the mundane to the celestial. Feet pounds on the turf, bodies ram into each other with surgical precision, and all the while, millions of peering eyes watch with a mix of jubilant enthusiasm and stifling dread. All for the ball, football, god of men let's not forget. One can't help but sit back in mild terror as the football gladiators emerge onto the floodlit arena to the deafening sound of cheers, jeers, and, apparently, fears. In the madding crowd of the Czech football circus, one gladiator stands, wrapped in gristles and grins, Petr Reinberk. Born on a day as insignificant as the occupation he dabbles in, his only claim to fame is that he can kick a leathered globe with a certain degree of accuracy. Or so they say. Reinberk is popularly known as the Grouchy Gladiator, an honour kindly bestowed upon him by his adoring fans, who may lack vocabulary as much as he lacks a sunny disposition. But hey, who needs happiness when you have a football and a goal post? Every game he strides onto the pitch like a warrior reluctantly summoned from a quiet dinner. Frowning from head to toe, our grouchy gladiator doesn't seem thrilled to engage in this sweat-soaked pantomime. But play he does, dutifully chasing the sphere around the field, sometimes poking it in the right direction, more often missing it spectacularly. Now, lest you think I find melancholy pleasure in his seeming distaste for his chosen sport, I am not. In fact, I am fascinated by this paradoxically grumpy character who is exceptional at a game he apparently loathes. Slovácko, the lucky team that gets to play with this sunshine, simply worships the gladiator. Why, they even argue that his grumpy rest-a-bit strategy often throws the opposing team into confusion, a spectacle matched only by the sight of a chipmunk on a sugar rush. Uncertainty, they claim, is the grumpy gladiator's secret weapon. It's hard to say what runs through the mind of this man as he kicks, jogs, juts, and all but face-rolls his way through trials of the football circus. Perhaps, deep down, Reinberk loves the game he's so dedicated to seeming to despise. Or maybe he sees it for what it really is – a pointless farce rehearsed on a grand stage, complete with props and audience. In an era where football players are lauded as gods, showered with obscene wealth and senseless adoration, Petr Reinberk is timely satire. A ticking time-capsule of our daft glorification of a simple game. And so, he kicks on. So, we watch and wonder. The tale of Petr Reinberk, the Grouchy Gladiator of the Czech Football Circus - a carbon-based life form trying to find meaning in a material-based game. Whether he is subverting the expectation or playing to a beaten script, we're all eager to be part of his spitefully fascinating paradox. Why? Because at the heart of it, aren’t we all a bit like our Grouchy Gladiator: lost in the grandstands, doing our best to figure out this glorified game of life.