Who cares about Rebekah Brooks when we can talk about Andrew Marr?

The News International chief is accused of lying to parliament – but the press just cares about some

So we can finally talk about Andrew Marr. Hooray for us. What a victory for democracy and freedom of speech that we can write without fear about someone having sex with someone else. High-fives all round.

Meanwhile, Rebekah Brooks, the chief executive of News International, has been accused of lying to parliament. It's a story that slipped under the radar while the hyenas descended on the corpse of Andrew Marr's superinjunction, but it happened all the same: the MP Chris Bryant used parliamentary privilege to accuse Brooks of misleading the House.

He said: "Rebekah Brooks, who on March 11 2003 said she had paid police officers for information, wrote to the select committee a couple of weeks ago to say what she really meant was that other newspapers had done so. That is a blatant lie. This House should no longer put up with being lied to."

That is all very well for Bryant to say. But how can he expect anyone to be interested in such a story? Accusing a hugely powerful chief executive of a multimillion-pound corporation of lying to parliament is one thing; but did they lie to their spouse? If not, how can anyone even be bothered to fire up a laptop to write about it?

We're not interested in tales of lies to parliament; we want to know about celebrities and what they do with their genitalia. If the papers simply came out with this truth and admitted it, then I don't think there would be a problem.

"Look," they could say. "You know and I know that we're not really holding the rich and powerful to account. You just want to know which people are having a bit on the side with someone else. So here it is, not in any public interest, but simply to satisfy your craving for titbits about famous people's infidelities, because it shines a little glow of prurient happiness in your otherwise worthless little lives."

But no. We have to go through the pantomime of pretending that the reason everyone is fighting these superinjunctions is in the brave battle for truth against those naughty folk who've been caught with their pants down and are using their children as a human shield to protect their public profiles.

Even if that were true, that's not why it's happening. It's happening because celebrity-shagging flogs papers and people like to read about it – more than they like to read about evidence given to select committees, for example.

The rich and powerful are trying to use their wealth to pay for gags, the newspapers bleat. If only we could tell you about sex in hotel rooms, they whine. If only we could reveal details about who did what with whom and when, they grumble, then we could really hold these people to account.

Meanwhile, the rich, and really powerful, like Rebekah Brooks, just carry on, without fear of scrutiny from a large section of the press.

Patrolling the murkier waters of the mainstream media
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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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