July 10 – 2008

Yep. Wayne wants it known that if you peel back his skin to reveal bone, you might find the following inscription:

“Just Enough Education to Perform”

Now, you might be thinking, “Hmmm. Somewhat clever.” Until, of course, you realize that “just enough” is actually “none at all.” England, you see, makes sure their footballers don’t bother with stuff like education. After all, how much education do you need if you’ re built like the Incredible Hulk and can kick a ball straight?

And anyway, it’s an album title from Wayne’s favorite band, Stereophonics. No, they aren’t good – unless you think it would be totally awesome if the Black Crowes and Audio Slave united and developed welsh accents.

But the real victim here is Colleen. Her chav-for-life not only got a “freeze-this-moment-in-time” band tattoo, he also entered the dangerous territory of “medical tattoos.” I can imagine worse choices, but still.

July 3 – 2008

You might think it impossible be to shocked by the behavior of Joey Barton. “All the cigar-stubbing, pants dropping, and training ground-beating has pretty much sapped my ability to register surprise,” you say. Well, feast your eyes on the recently released CCTV footage of Barton’s infamous McDonald’s Christmas Assault. Or preserve your faith in humanity, and don’t.

Newcastle have been in the running for my support: if they don’t sack Barton purely on the madness captured in this clip, they will BE no longer.

Consider the following proof:

13 year old boys want to marry pop-stars, models, and actresses. Pop-stars, models and actresses want to marry Premiership footballers, actors, and rock-stars. Premiership footballers are 13 year-old boys trapped in men’s bodies. Ergo, premiership footballers will marry pop-stars, models, and actresses.

Sounds like yet another example of natural selection, doesn’t it? But the all too familiar corollary is this: Pop-stars, models, and actresses often belong in the loony-bin. Girls that are the stuff of boyhood fantasy are seemingly prone to mental instability, emotional volatility, and illegitimate pregnancies. One look at the Premiership WAGS confirms this unfortunate fact, and cautions us all to be very, very careful what we wish for. Today, Soccernista takes a look at the yin and yang of the typical Prem WAG.

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As the second half of the MLS year gets underway, the battle for the championship is heating up. Twelve teams sit within striking distance of the MLS Cup, and it’s anyone’s guess who will win the title. Sure, DC United top their division with a Chelsea-like lead, but with help from a truly asinine play-off system, Real Salt Lake could just as easily take home the silverware. Not since the heyday of the Soviet auto industry has parity been so high and competition been so low.

That twelve teams play from April to October in order to qualify for an eight team tournament is absurd. The teams who don’t qualify will simply take an early vacation, returning the next spring to prepare for another 6 months of barely meaningful activity. Remaining teams will brave severe weather for a chance to play in the hallowed grounds of something called Pizza Hut Park. Bring on the confetti cannons.
Is their not, for the love of Stalin, another way?

Of course there is, but it just happens to be the third-rail in American Soccer. Mention the big “R” and you will literally see league executives and owners freak out. Middle-aged men in poorly tailored suits and embroidered polos begin to fall apart before your eyes. Caught in the headlights between the possibility of losing their money and the prospect of doing what’s right for American soccer, they will fall back on the mantra of MLS: “Remember what happened to the NASL.”

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A fantasy league championship does not represent a hollow victory: it is a confirmation of your overarching knowledge of the game and your general superiority in intelligence. In the year of bragging rights it ushers in, your crown allows you to berate friends and coworkers in a manner otherwise unacceptable. You are the resident soccer genius. You are the dog’s nuts.

But to get there, you have to do your homework…or, at least, have someone do it for you. The Soccernista Fantasy Premiership Preview will give you the inside edge on your ignorant-ass competition. We’ll let you know which players to pick, and which to avoid like the plague. So read on, mein freund, and when you’re dancing around the office with a coffee pot on your head, singing about how your boss is skippering a shite football team, drop us a thank you. It’s all that we ask.
NOTE: All tips refer to the very excellent and very free league at premierleague.com

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Nationwide, the symptoms of World Cup withdrawal have taken hold. Alcohol consumption is down, productivity at work is up, and relationships are recovering. Fans are feeling empty, wondering what to do with the extra 4-6 hours in the day. They need a fix, and they need it fast.

The search for an adequate World Cup substitute, a soccer methadone of sorts, began the day after the final. Those awaiting the Spanish league kick-off will be biting their nails until August 17. Premiership fans will wait until August 19th. And Serie A faithful, if any are left, will hold off until the last week in August.

But there’s another way.

We Americans are one of a few populations to have at our disposal a domestic league that runs through the summer months. In fact, the damn thing is running right now.

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I can’t believe you added those photos of our good american soccer boys to your dirty dirty dirty website. You should be ashamed of yourself. Next time let’s keep the focus on the football and not the “homophobic” photos.
Sean G. from Reno, NV
I think the word you’re looking for, Sean, is “homoerotic”. In no way are we at Soccernista homophobic; we love those pictures and think every American soccer fan should see them (or see them again, here). There’s no need to fear Landon Donovan drinking water in a sexy manner, or The Beaz cold chillin’ with the chain. And certainly we have nothing to fear from McBride arching his stretch-pant clad torso. No one need fear this group. Just ask Ghana.

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The Manure Ball
Given to the worst player in the 2006 World Cup.
And the award goes to: Eddie Lewis of the United States, who looked like he had won a Federation fan raffle for a place on the team. Within the first 10 minutes of the Czech game, Eddie realized he was in way over his head. He then proceeded to do an excellent impression of a terrified forest animal for the remainder of the Cup.
Honorable Mention: Heldar Postiga of Portugal.

The Steve Sampson Award
Given to the Worst Coach in the 2006 World Cup
And the award goes to: Sven Goran Eriksson of England.
With his midfield-by-committee approach, Sven led the most talented England team ever into a cesspool of boring performances. The apparently star-struck Swede seemed unwilling to assign roles, make wholesale changes, or bench underperforming stars. Come to think of it, he could manage Brazil next.
Honorable Mention: Carlos Parreira of Brazil.

The Where Have You Been All My Life Award
Given to the player who best made a name for himself during the 2006 World Cup.
And the award goes to: Stephen Appiah of Ghana. Currently plying his trade in Turkey, Appiah distinguished himself as a powerful force in the midfield. Though he played well throughout the tournament, he showed even better once out of suspended Michael Essien’s shadow. Look for Appiah to make a big money move in the near future.
Honorable Mention: Franck Riberry of France.

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In the newest Nike advertising campaign, Eric Cantona chides players for being “cheats and liars”, recommends we hold on to our childlike innocence, and asks that “honor” (hard “h”) be put back in the game. All this from a man who once flew into the stands at Crystal Palace and delivered a kung-fu kick to an opposing fan’s chest.

But that is only the second most ridiculous thing Nike expects us to take seriously. The first? That Brazil will win the World Cup.

And it’s not just Nike. ABC and the ESPN networks deliver daily Brazil-worship orgies, the best of which featured Rob Stone standing in a field of daisies professing his “love” of Brazil. I kid you not.

While this type of overexposure might do nothing more than cause eyes to roll, genuine fans of Brazil should be genuinely concerned about their team’s performance thus far. Based on their displays, I for one have no problem going out on the following very short limb: Brazil will not lift the World Cup in 2006. Saying that in polite company is akin to kicking a dog. But this is a dog I’ll kick willingly, and here are 5 reasons why:

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How important is Landon Donovan to America’s success in Germany? The phrase “As Donovan goes, so goes the U.S.” has become a mantra among fans and media alike.

Legitimate or not, the notion the U.S. attack lives and dies under the hand of Donovan seems to have been borne out through qualifying. And one has a difficult time imagining scenarios for World Cup goals that don’t involve his influence. You have to wonder though: have we pinned our hopes to the right man?

Much has been made of Donovan’s escape from the Bundesliga, and I had promised myself not to rehash the juicy details of his “return” to the MLS. For those that may have missed it, however, a short recounting seems necessary: his girlfriend made him come home.

This may seem harsh, but let me draw a parallel. Imagine you are in a bar with any number of your closest friends. Your phone rings. It’s your girlfriend. You leave. Will they applaud your exit? Admire you for “choosing your own path”? Or will a blizzard of insults, jokes at your expense, and shoulder punches rain down on you like the Salmon of Capistrano?

And Landon Donovan didn’t leave a bar, he left the Bundesliga. Left a league with an average attendance of over 39,000 rabid fans per game, and the highest goals per game of any major European league. Along the way, he has sited the weather and the German playing style as reasons contributing to his departure; this is akin to complaining that the bar your drinking in doesn’t serve white zinfandel and refuses to accept Canadian money.

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