August 31 - 2007

My appologies for the lack of hot, journalistic action of late; the output will be picking up shortly.  In lieu of an appology I’ll offer you this: Max Bretos doing the Haka.  I challenge you to find a bigger moron with so large a forum for his idiocy.

Update:  OK, Hasselhoff counts.

August 29 - 2007

Last week, I could have given you a host of reasons why I hate visiting my in-laws in Idaho.  Funny, though, how they all seem so trivial now that “Dad” sprung for the cable upgrade.

Watching Premier League matches in Idaho is a surreal experience.  Midway through the first half of the Everton game, the uncles show up with “jerky” and Keystone Light.  As I’m tearing into the jerky (delicious, by the way) one uncle informs me that I need to “watch out for bird-shot - it’ll bust yer molar right out.”  My brain slowly registers that ”bird-shot” is the same as a shotgun bb, which leads me to the horrible conclusion that these bastards shot a cow with a shotgun.  “Goose jerkey, you moron!”  Oh.  Obviously.

So there I am watching Arsenal inform ManCity they will probably finish closer to 8th than 4th, eating goose, drinking a beer that tastes like sparkling water left next to a beer, when it occurs to me: I could get used to this.  Beer, jerky, and footie will rescue any situation.  Give me those three things and rent me an apartment in Fallujah.  See if I care.

I also learned three things about the perception of soccer in middle America:

1. It is taken on faith that all participants are gay.  Injured player: “Get up, ya’ queer!”  Dissent:  “What’s this homo bitchin’ about?”   Second game of the day:  “More of these fruitcakes?  Ahh shit.”
2. They want to know if soccer fans care about the arrival of Beckham, but couldn’t care less themselves.
3. The Zidane headbutt remains, for them, soccer’s only redeeming quality.  “These guys are pussies…hey, do you remember that dude that headbutted that guy in that one game?  Bad.  Ass.”

My in-laws are great  - it’s my addiction to soccer that’s the problem.  In the past, not watching those games enraged me and made the small things I find offensive (blind support for the war on terror, Chex Mix) seem bigger than they actually are.   So Al, if you’re reading this, thanks for springing for the FSC; I think you’ll find me to be a better son now that coming to Idaho doesn’t mean missing matches.  And though I disagree with your suggestion that the players “should be allowed to use their hands for the first 20 minutes of each half,” I appreciate the effort.  Until next time: keep the beer cold and the goose-jerky vacuum packed.

August 24 - 2007

Rob Styles didn’t just cost Liverpool 2 points, he kept Lukey from a profitable weekend.  And from what I know about Czech immigrants, they don’t take it lightly when you stand in the way of their American dream.  Beware of any strychnine laced Czechvar, Robbie.

Lukey now sits $17.49 in the hole (based on $5 and $10 mythical wagers).  Let’s see if he can’t survive this week’s officiating to crawl back out.

(more…)

August 23 - 2007

Hours from now, I’ll be on a plane bound for Boise, ready to fulfill my biannual obligation to the in-laws.  “Dad’s” place is FSC and Setanta free, and that’s just as well; asking to watch soccer in that house is tantamount to confessing long hidden homosexual desire.  So while I’m busy disappointing my father in-law, you get to watch another round of hot, Prem action.  I hate you for it and hope your lager goes down the wrong pipe.

Some links to start your morning:

• “Faster than David Beckham” is my new favorite scientific lay-speak for “fairly fast.”  I look forward to the discovery of dinosaurs which are ”faster then Gareth Barry, but not quite so fast as Nicky Butt.”
• On Point’s liveblog of the Sweden-US game will save you the trouble of watching it on TIVO.  Plus you get this: “You can kill me for this one, but down a goal, Clint Mathis could be useful in this sort of game.”  Discuss amongst yourselves.
• 3 months until Jozy Altidore is 18!  No, sicko, it’s important because that’s when he can leave MLS. 
• “Try and stay in pairs or 3’s at the end of the night, even if your mate meets a hunk and yours looks like a skunk, stay together and say you’ve got a headache.”  - Jermaine Defoe’s fiancee on the art of the cock-block.

August 21 - 2007

When the fixture table was set, this particular match-up made me cringe; I’d have preferred to see these two sides meet later rather than sooner.  Alas, it’s a knock-out tourney, so knock-out we must.  Game on.

The case for Fulham:  When West Ham began dealing with known money-launderers and Lucas Niell, my fondness for Fulham blossomed.  Ours was a spring-fling, and now its time to see if what we had under the Cottage grandstand was real, or just lager-fueled groping.

A look at the pros:

• What light through yonder window breaks?
  It is the East, and Jimmy Bullard is the sun!
• Watching Fulham’s first three matches, you can’t help but be impressed with their new-found organization.  Thus far they’ve refused to be stretched into the tatters that marked Chris Coleman’s time with the Cottagers. 
• And what about that cottage, eh?  One of the oldest grounds on the planet, Craven Cottage sits right on the bank of the Thames.  It’s one of my favorite grounds to watch televised games played, and I can only imagine it’s better in person.

And some cons:

• Fulham came within inches of relegation last time out, and it doesn’t take much imagination to see them right there again.
• Summer spending?  How about $18million dropped on the likes of Aaron Hughes, Lee Cook, David Healy, Chris Baird, Steven Davis and Adrian Leijer.  Those are not made up names.  They’re actual dudes.  And I can’t really believe they cost more than a curry pie and a 24 of Tetley’s.
• Oh, and did I mention Paul Konchesky?  SOOOO much fun to watch that guy kick it out of bounds.
• Holla!
• You know that douche-baggey Sam’s Army fan, right?  Well he’s also a Fulham fan - likes to call them “Fulham USA.” 

The case for Newcastle:  The Magpies were my first Premiership love.  I’ve shaken hands with David Ginola, stepped out on the St. James’ Park turf, and have a picture of myself wearing Kevin Keegan’s jacket in the NUFC laundry room.  Yes, I have a history of abandoning teams.  I’m not proud….which may actually be the key to bringing me back to Newcastle, because if there’s one club who’s supporters surely have no pride…

The pros:

• This ain’t your daddy’s Newcastle.  Big Sam has come to “toon,” and managed to amass a roster of pure promise.  Obafemi Martins?  Alan Smith?  David Rozenhal?  Semi Boner, anyone?
• Most recognizable kit in the league.
• They just dealt Kieron Dyer, the other half of this equation, to West Ham.  This simultaneously makes Newcastle more likable, and West Ham easier to forget. 
• Charles N’Zogbia is a fantastic talent but, more importantly, has a last name that is ridiculously fun to say.  I mutter “N’Zogbia” when I’m blue and it cheers me up.  I order it as a side to hamburgers.  I imagine I am a robot and “N’Zogbia” is my robo-name. 
• Newcastle’s chief rival is Sunderland…which must drastically increase wins over their chief-rival.

That’s a serious helping of pros.  On to the cons:

• The roster looks great…now.  Martins has an escape clause which only he can stand in the way of, Michael Owen seems to play with one foot out the door, and keeping talents like N’Zogbia will continue to prove difficult.  
• Stephen Carr:  I hate you!
• As fun as “N’Zogbia” is to say, Belozoglu Emre’s first name cancels the joy out.  Belozoglu.  Terrible.
• Don’t get attached to your favorite Magpie: before the year is out, Joey Barton might have choked the life out of him with a tube sock.
• See that picture at right?  He has the seat right next to yours.  Note:  If you watched the opening crowd shots of last week’s Newcastle-Villa match, I’m sure you caught sight of the shirtless/toothless guy with the camo pants?  Exhibit B.

The Verdict:  As an aspiring yuppy, my desire to support a riverfront London club puts Fulham out to an early lead, 1-nil.  Newcastle evens the match before half-time on the strength of my desire not to have my son supporting a Championship team when he goes off to kindergarten.  The second half bores me to tears as both teams conjure up a taste of the footballing mediocrity they’re prone to.  Big Sam threatens to lose it for Newcastle with his lame-ass Bluetooth routine…Fulham fires wide when three American players attempt to link up with two Northern Irelanders.  Drunken Geordies are everywhere.  They reek.  But wait…N’Zogbia, charging through the midfield!  Left-footed laser…He’s done it! Newcastle over Fulham, 2-1!

My plans for strolls on the Thames and seats on the Cottage balcony are ruined, and I’m already suffering buyer’s remorse.  “N’Zogbia, N’Zogbia, N’Zogbia…”

August 17 - 2007

Lukey the Czech isn’t all pilsner and cigars.  Just yesterday, he and I had a lengthy discussion about whether or not the transfer market was indeed a “market.”  The idea of “value,” we decided, has been largely lost due to the massive availability of capital.  And that’s why you have players like Younes Kaboul being purchased for $16million…because…why the hell not?  It’s Greenspan’s irrational exuberance to a tee, but with pockets so deep that it doesn’t really matter.  See, you can learn a lot from a Czech M.B.A.

Last week, though, we learned how to get off to a less than stellar start.  Lukey now stands at a loss of $8.28 for this very young season (based on $5 and $10 mythical wagers).  Let’s see if he can get back to his winning ways after the jump. (more…)

August 17 - 2007

As it currently accounts for 57% of the excitement in my life, it’s high time we checked in on the Celebrity Blogger Fantasy Premiership.  Honestly, I pretty much stare at my team all day.  Sometimes I hit refresh to see if player values have changed…but mostly I just redesign my team’s uniforms.  Is it Saturday yet?

Current Leader:  Pictured at right.

Overall Rank of the League:  5,199/81,657

You are over the moon right now if you own: Antoine Sibierski.  The Wigan debutante cost 5.5 and has already netted you 15 points.

You are crying in your beer if you own:  Cristiano Ronaldo.  Your man-crush cost 12.1, and netted you 2 points over 2 games.  Sexy!

Surprise Performer of the Week:  My mother (The Pelicans) currently sits in 6th position.  Will this bring on the Oedipal complex I never had?

Top O’ the Bloggers:  Ummm…let’s see here…that would be….ME!  Let’s go fucking mental!  Let’s go fucking mental!  Ahem.  22nd place, that is.

Bottom O’ the Bloggers: BeingSven’s entry, Clash City FC, are languishing 6 spots from bottom.  Maybe because he’s been neglecting his fantasy team in favor of more productive pursuits…like holding forth on the Premier League’s crackdown on video highlights (Dave’s been doing the same).

August 16 - 2007

My head is so far up the Premiership’s keester, I really can’t muster the interest needed to follow Beckham’s MLS progress.  I can, however, recognize a great goal when it bites me on the nose.  Below, please find David Beckham teaching Troy Perkins a lesson about trusting his wall.  And however bad the accompanying music is, I assure you: the commentary was far worse.

August 15 - 2007

The new “Sanchez Brothers” spots for Nike are, meh, ok.  Not as funny in the ways Nike intended, but pretty unintentionally funny; like how Wayne Rooney’s rage-aholicism bubbles so close to the surface when he’s allowed to fire balls at a chained up dude in a jock-strap. 

As is the way with companies employing “now” marketing, Nike has flooded YouTube with behind the scenes action from the spot, and it is here where I am given pause.  One of two things must be true about the following video: Nike have doctored it a-la the Ronaldinho crossbar act, or Wayne Rooney is so much better than you it hurts.  I’m okay with the former, but the latter could cause a lot of players some sleepless nights. 

Really, Wayne?  You came centimeters away on the first two tries, so you decide to break out the full volley just to make sure you got the shot on the third take?  What, was it a union shoot?  Didn’t want to spring for the overtime so you broke out the sure thing, eh?  Fishy.  And if not fishy, then ridiculously impressive.

August 14 - 2007

First and foremost, a hearty “piss off” to the knobs at Time Warner Cable who see fit to deprive me of Setanta.  You, gentlemen, are cocksuckers. 

With that out of the way, I can offer some early impressions inspired by the small handful of games I got to lay my soccer-starved eyes on this past weekend. 

Who the hell is that guy?  He’s not bad!  Perhaps Man City were merely flattered by their disastrous competition.  But maybe, just maybe, they are a team vastly improved by a host of summer signings who may as well have dropped out of the sky as far as I’m concerned.  Vedran Corluca?  Elano? Rolando Bianchi?  Whatever, man; rarely have extra-league signings looked so comfortable with the demands of the Premier League.  Oasis albums must sound extra sweet about now.

Wow, that guy is still bad.  New-look hammers?  That hope was dashed with the graphic showing “Lee Bowyer” starting in midfield.  West Ham were bad in the same ways they’ve been bad for just over a year now: inability to keep the ball, impotency in front of goal, general disorganization, and Bobby Zamora.  Thankfully, I passed a huge personal test when I was able to view this game with almost no personal investment.

Torres is shaped like a giant triangle, and good.  There’s a region in Spain that grows large, pretty men who look unstoppable on their debuts.  Liverpool, really, were the only one of the Big Four who did what they were supposed to do on opening day. And the fact they did it against a Villa side that look like challengers for a place in Europe only adds to the impression that this might be the year for the Reds.  In fact, I was ready to hand Cristiano Ronaldo’s crown to Torres until…

I saw Ronaldo play.  The guy looks better than he did last year.  Video game better.  Enjoy the time we have with him, my friends, for we will likely tell our children about it.  And if we get really carried away (after a few cocktails) we will tell them about Michael Carrick, a man who looks poised to become an elite Premier League midfielder.  And we also might mention that the time for Ryan Giggs to fade quietly into the night is approaching.  And that Patrice Evra stinks.

Karma, Lehmann.  Lehmann, Karma.  I hope that guy dies on the field. 

Lawrie Sanchez - hipster.  Jose Mourinho can take his tired-ass monochrome ties and shove ‘em: there’s a new style-master in town, and he has a girl’s name.  The plastic rimmed glasses, the perfectly tailored suit, the plain white shirt - fantastic.  Plus he has a sub-talented Fulham team organized into what actually resembles a football team.  For every minute Fulham held their shape against the relentless and pointless passing of Arsenal, Chris Coleman looked worse.  By the time Fulham crumbled, fans of the Cottagers could be forgiven for having two things to mourn: the loss, surely, and the wasted years spent with Coleman’s hands on the wheel.  Viva La Sanchez!