“Woman!….WHoah-Man…”

June 14 - 2007

The first post after a long absence is always the toughest:  Will I neglect to mention some important news item from the past week, thereby making an ass of myself?  Will I dissect a problem that has already been solved?  Will I unknowingly repeat a joke that’s already been made?   The fear is paralyzing.

To get through it, I’ll employ some poetic stylings to bring myself up to speed with all things soccer…because if there’s one thing I know about poetry it’s that no matter how nonsensical or crappy it turns out, you can just blame it on the medium.  Poetic license, I think it’s called.       

Here goes nothing:               

Says my occipital lobe, “What in God’s name is THAT!?”
Says Deuce of Davenport, “It’s Posh Spice, fondling Nomar’s bat.”
Fondle, Posh, fondle.

After the game, Jesse Marsch traded shirts.
Jeremy St. Louis is so dumb it hurts.
You’re blowing it, St. Louis, your blowing it.

Lakshmi Mittal has $40billion - twice the fortune of Roman Abromovich.
Yet he wants to buy Birmingham City: Whatthefuckisthatshit?
Shop around, Lakshmi, shop around.

 “Dude, instead of going to Korea, let’s just grab a cab.”
“You know what, my Haitian friend? That idea ain’t half bad.”
Desert, U-17 national team, desert.

FIFA’s ban makes soccer in La Paz a no-no.
What to do? Sacrifice a llama and play 5v5 on a volcano.
No: I’m totally serious. That’s what the president of Bolivia did. He also told reporters, “Wherever you can make love, you can play sports,” which sounds nice but makes no sense whatsoever. And this is the same guy who ran on a platform of legalizing coca leaves. Rhyming couplets just won’t do justice to that kind of crazy.

There: the first post is out of the way. I’ll try and be a bit more productive from here on out.