Okay, boyos, today is the day. A lead of, effectively, a goal and a half. Big-occasion home crowd. Barca in, if not a freefall, then something of a slough. If Liverpool can't produce celebration at Anfield today, it might be time to give the first XI (what am I saying? this is Rafa's team: call it the first XX) a few months off and let the reserves finish the season.
Eleven Devils will be reporting for duty at Kell's come 11.30. And though I love to watch Barcelona, I'll be pulling hard for the Merseysiders. We're just dating, you understand, Liverpool and I, but I've reached the point where I wouldn't mind if they made a move. Y'know?
My comrades at A Pretty Move already nailed this one, but it's superb: Lilian Thuram musing on Miles Davis and blasting Nicholas Sarkozy, the rat-faced tough-talker who hopes a steady diet of immigrant-bashing can hoist him into Elysee Palace. (Message to France from The Rest Of The World: You have a choice. You can make us look at Sarko for seven years, or you can give us Segolene, the Hot Socialist Mom. French people are supposed to be sexy. Make it fucking happen! Watching Jacques Chirac melt for 14 years was bad enough.)
Thuram's interview prompted me to review The Archives and check out his moment of zoned-out heroism against Croatia in the 1998 World Cup. Thuram says that he basically didn't know who he was or where he was when he knocked in the two goals that put France in the Final. Around here, we call that "The Jaguar Realm." Check it out: