The great thing about football is that the all-singing, all-dancing entertainment doesn't cease at season's end. Liverpool, for example, has had a highly diverting summer: signing hot players right and left, making menacing statements about the Premier League title, and now trying to out-lawyer Man United for the services of G. Heinze. (United doesn't want the Argentinian, but doesn't want Liverpool to have him either. Alex Ferguson—and I know students of the international game will find this surprising—is being a complete prick about the whole thing.)
It's almost a shame that real games must start taking the place of all this hot-stove (or I guess that should be "ice-box") action. But it's showtime in Hong Kong, where the Men of Anfield face a pre-season match against a highly sinister outfit named South China AA. This club is the dominant power in Hong Kong's top competition, which bears the priceless and parody-proof name "HKFA Coolpoint Ventilation First Division League." Yes! But here's where it gets scary: South China's nickname is apparently...THE SHAOLIN TEMPLE!
Will the RZA play left back?
Monday, July 23, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
ONE DEGREE OF BECKHAM SEPARATION FOR TIMBERS FANS!!!
In an incredibly significant (though how, exactly, it's hard to say) piece of cosmic kismet, here's an item from tonight's Galaxy v. Chelsea stat sheet:
Alan Gordon (David Beckham 78).
That means that many Portland Timbers fans saw the man (ex-Timbers phenom Gordon) who Beckham replaced as a substitute in his (Beckham's) MLS debut on the occasion of his (Gordon's) professional (Timbers) debut.
It's all incredibly exciting. The chief difference is that Gordon scored a goal in his first match, whereas it seems Beckham did sweet fuck-all tonight.
Alan Gordon (David Beckham 78).
That means that many Portland Timbers fans saw the man (ex-Timbers phenom Gordon) who Beckham replaced as a substitute in his (Beckham's) MLS debut on the occasion of his (Gordon's) professional (Timbers) debut.
It's all incredibly exciting. The chief difference is that Gordon scored a goal in his first match, whereas it seems Beckham did sweet fuck-all tonight.
Southern Comfort for Los Timbers?
While SoccerballnationUSA focuses squarely on the Beckhamista non-event in Los Angeles, where Chelsea will lose to the LA Galaxy 2-0 in between appletinis and Posh and Bex will be seen sitting in the stands wearing sunglasses, actual competitive football remains underway elsewhere. Our beloved Portland Timbers (whom I have seen exactly once this season...I'm blaming the Kid for this, as will be my practice henceforth) take one of their difficult road swings through the USL First Division's southern outposts. The Atlanta Silverbacks—a team named for gorillas, which is pretty cool—and the Charleston Battery await. The latter fixture reunites the Timbers with formerly talismanic Portland forward Byron Alvarez, who is having a decent campaign with his new Dixie-fied club.
As Portland members of Calcio Amerika will be aware, the Timbers are currently TOP OF THE LEAGUE, a whopping five points clear of mighty mighty L'Equipe Football "Impact" du Montreal, the perennial Franco-Canadian power that typically runs away with the USL table before bottling it in the playoffs to allow the Richmond Kickers or someone through. Best part is, the Timbers still have a private reserve of games in hand over all the clubs that matter. Worst part is, about half Portland's points came against the utterly gash California Victory, a team the Timbers, in an innovative scheduling experiment, played five bloody times.
So the question is: Are the Timbers on the real tip, yo? A win over ever-tough Cascadian rivals Vancouver provided something of an answer, but for my money whether Gavin's Kids can squeeze some points out of these cross-continental away days may be more definitive. Dare we limber up for post-season fun at PGE Park?
As Portland members of Calcio Amerika will be aware, the Timbers are currently TOP OF THE LEAGUE, a whopping five points clear of mighty mighty L'Equipe Football "Impact" du Montreal, the perennial Franco-Canadian power that typically runs away with the USL table before bottling it in the playoffs to allow the Richmond Kickers or someone through. Best part is, the Timbers still have a private reserve of games in hand over all the clubs that matter. Worst part is, about half Portland's points came against the utterly gash California Victory, a team the Timbers, in an innovative scheduling experiment, played five bloody times.
So the question is: Are the Timbers on the real tip, yo? A win over ever-tough Cascadian rivals Vancouver provided something of an answer, but for my money whether Gavin's Kids can squeeze some points out of these cross-continental away days may be more definitive. Dare we limber up for post-season fun at PGE Park?
Friday, July 20, 2007
UrbanHonking Athletic Seizes Rivals Cup
After a hard-fought match at Portland Futsal last night, UrbanHonking Athletic took the Rivals Cup for the first time. The coveted Golden Winged Angel of Everlasting Triumph has visited the trophy cases of both my Albina Going Football Club and Dudes FC, but UrbanHonking—ironically, the competition's founding club—heretofore knew only frustration. Honking bagged the hardware with a pair of white-knuckle one-goal wins, with last night's decisive strike coming with less than one minute to play.
All of which means that Albina Going's mission is now clear: RECLAIM THE CUP!
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The Auld Sod FC
In the depths of intense sleep deprivation, I was hit by a strange and probably stupid thought. (Thank God for the blogosphere! Now I can share it with EVERYONE.) Here it goes:
Major League Soccer should place an expansion franchise in Dublin, Ireland.
A beautiful, bustling, prosperous, sports-mad city lacks a truly big-time football club. Lansdowne Road is in the middle of a state-of-the-art rebuild. MLS has already broken out of US borders with Toronto FC (and, in another sense, with Chivas USA). A flight to Dublin isn't much more punishing than a flight from New York to LA.
FC Dublin (or whatever) would use Irish players as its domestic talent pool, and could even function as a sort of all-star team for the Eircom League. While money would dictate that the very best Irish players would continue to play in England or Scotland, an MLS side would provide a middle ground between the Eircom and bigger things. Meanwhile, the team's away games would attract a lot of Stateside interest, particularly in Irish bastions like New England, New York and Chicago.
Insane? Dumb? Probably both.
Major League Soccer should place an expansion franchise in Dublin, Ireland.
A beautiful, bustling, prosperous, sports-mad city lacks a truly big-time football club. Lansdowne Road is in the middle of a state-of-the-art rebuild. MLS has already broken out of US borders with Toronto FC (and, in another sense, with Chivas USA). A flight to Dublin isn't much more punishing than a flight from New York to LA.
FC Dublin (or whatever) would use Irish players as its domestic talent pool, and could even function as a sort of all-star team for the Eircom League. While money would dictate that the very best Irish players would continue to play in England or Scotland, an MLS side would provide a middle ground between the Eircom and bigger things. Meanwhile, the team's away games would attract a lot of Stateside interest, particularly in Irish bastions like New England, New York and Chicago.
Insane? Dumb? Probably both.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Copa Amerizzzzzzz...
The Copa America final looked like a classic in the making: stylish, steamrolling Argentina against an undermanned but still potent Brazil. Turned out to be sort of a soul-sucker, eh? Argentina didn't show up; Brazil did, chiefly in the middle of the park with studs showing. Well, it's a man's game after all, but if this is the new Brazil, look for various marketing entities to launch a desperate search for a new troupe of jogo bonito tricksters. Tackles from behind don't sell a lot of shirts.
Brazil was creative enough, in a thoroughly direct, ruthless way, on the three goals, but by and large it was a performance that said that Romance is Dead And We Are Here to Win the Fucking Trophy. Can't fault them too much. The referee was on top of just about all their transgressions, giving Argentina plenty of free-kick opportunities with which they accomplished nothing. Besides, it's a little unfair to expect Brazil to play like a whimsical crossbreed of Cirque du Soleil and the Harlem Globetrotters all the time. They are, after all, a football team.
Still, I hope some alternate dimension got the fully rocking samba/tango inferno that could have been.
Brazil was creative enough, in a thoroughly direct, ruthless way, on the three goals, but by and large it was a performance that said that Romance is Dead And We Are Here to Win the Fucking Trophy. Can't fault them too much. The referee was on top of just about all their transgressions, giving Argentina plenty of free-kick opportunities with which they accomplished nothing. Besides, it's a little unfair to expect Brazil to play like a whimsical crossbreed of Cirque du Soleil and the Harlem Globetrotters all the time. They are, after all, a football team.
Still, I hope some alternate dimension got the fully rocking samba/tango inferno that could have been.
Strange But True Facts
FC Barcelona, in addition to the expected basketball, handball and futsal squads, runs both a baseball team and a...roller hockey team (?).
The Wisdom of Socrates
Is it just me, or are Brazilian football mononyms just not as cool as they once were? I mean, "Robinho" is okay; "Vagner Love" is stone-cold cool in a kind of '70s black-is-beautiful I'm-gonna-have-some-women-over-and-drink-Colt-45 way; and "Kleber" has the virtue of being completely bizarre. But now that the Brazilians have exhausted every possible variation of "Ronaldo" and churned out multiple "Fred"s for some reason (why no "Barney", or even "Wilma"?), it's hard not to be nostalgic for the days of truly epic aliases. Like "Socrates," for example—has there ever been a better 'un?
Idea: the Brazilians should seek renewed inspiration in the Classical World. Think of this starting XI:
Xenophon
Cato * Cyrus the Younger * Thucydides * Pericles
The Emperor Diocletian * Darius II * Alcibiades * Crassus
SPQR ("The Senate And People of Rome"!) * Octavian
Seriously. How bad-ass would a player have to be to call himself "The Emperor Diocletian"?
Friday, July 13, 2007
SOCCER MAKES IT IN AMERICA!
With the "unveiling" of David Beckham in LA, we have been treated to the usual (and, what, the 10,923rd?) round of lazy, half-informed, unreported journalese on the crucial question of WHEN WILL THE (STUPID, IF THE WRITER IS BRITISH) AMERICANS TAKE TO THE (SORT OF GAY AND WEIRD, IF THE WRITER IS AMERICAN) SPORT OF SOCCER/FOOTBALL (OR WHATEVER THE COMMUNISTS CALL IT)?
As a so-called professional journalist, I am always astonished at what editors let writers get away with on this subject, though I suppose it has become a staple in the same vein as old favo(u)rites like DO POLITICIANS LIE?, SHOCKING VIOLENCE CLAIMS INNOCENT LIFE and HOW STRANGE AND UNKNOWABLE ARE TODAY'S TEENS, WITH THEIR GADGETS AND HOODOO MUSIC?
It's an easy way to earn a day's pay, I suppose: chuck in a few well-worn tropes about how Americans just don't get the game because there aren't enough commercials, or how the players are all soft because they can reasonably expect to live to 50, unlike gridiron pros; add some ungrounded speculation about how the World Cup, Freddy Adu, David Beckham or [INSERT SOMETHING HERE] might or might not change things; hit the bar. It's not quite as easy as quoting your cab driver while filing from foreign soil, but it's close.
Bad news comes for all hacks, however, in the form of a post on The New York Times' so-far excellent soccer blog. The jig is up, the party is over, because when nearly 1 million people in New York City alone are watching a Copa America semifinal match, I'd say the fait is accompli.
Some will say the gonzo ratings for ArgoMexico don't matter because the commentary was in Spanish. That misses the real story, which is that the language "barrier" is irrelevant to the growth of the US soccer audience. Enough Americans either speak Spanish fluently or know enough to get by to understand Univision. (How conversant do you need to be? "Pelota" and "gol" are pretty easy to work out, and most everyone can appreciate the Latino TV Cleavage Factor on some level.) Any American who lives in an urban environment is exposed to spoken and printed Spanish every day. A lot of Americans were born in or have travelled to Spanish-speaking lands.
It's over.
As a so-called professional journalist, I am always astonished at what editors let writers get away with on this subject, though I suppose it has become a staple in the same vein as old favo(u)rites like DO POLITICIANS LIE?, SHOCKING VIOLENCE CLAIMS INNOCENT LIFE and HOW STRANGE AND UNKNOWABLE ARE TODAY'S TEENS, WITH THEIR GADGETS AND HOODOO MUSIC?
It's an easy way to earn a day's pay, I suppose: chuck in a few well-worn tropes about how Americans just don't get the game because there aren't enough commercials, or how the players are all soft because they can reasonably expect to live to 50, unlike gridiron pros; add some ungrounded speculation about how the World Cup, Freddy Adu, David Beckham or [INSERT SOMETHING HERE] might or might not change things; hit the bar. It's not quite as easy as quoting your cab driver while filing from foreign soil, but it's close.
Bad news comes for all hacks, however, in the form of a post on The New York Times' so-far excellent soccer blog. The jig is up, the party is over, because when nearly 1 million people in New York City alone are watching a Copa America semifinal match, I'd say the fait is accompli.
Some will say the gonzo ratings for ArgoMexico don't matter because the commentary was in Spanish. That misses the real story, which is that the language "barrier" is irrelevant to the growth of the US soccer audience. Enough Americans either speak Spanish fluently or know enough to get by to understand Univision. (How conversant do you need to be? "Pelota" and "gol" are pretty easy to work out, and most everyone can appreciate the Latino TV Cleavage Factor on some level.) Any American who lives in an urban environment is exposed to spoken and printed Spanish every day. A lot of Americans were born in or have travelled to Spanish-speaking lands.
It's over.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Your XIDevils Champions League Profile: Marsaxlokk!
The chimera known as European soccer's "close season"—roughly 15 minutes after one 10-month slaughterfest ends, new competitions and the inevitable round of money-spinning pre-season friendlies, Asian-American grand tours and transfer-market freakouts begin—is over. (Our long international nightmare, one might say.)
The UEFA Champions League commences with its First Qualifying Round, starring 28 victors from the august top divisions of Bosnia, Wales, all the Irelands, the odd Baltic state and various other leagues where clubs tend to use mysterious combinations of initials for names. These teams will compete for the right to be beaten in the Second Qualifying Round by marginally larger clubs, who will in turn then be beaten by teams that finished third or fourth in one of the real leagues, who themselves will proceed to fuck up their group-stages campaigns, resulting in fired managers, ruined transfer prospects and fan protests organized around the chucking of celery, anchovies, rugulac or some other local product.
It all leads, of course, to the supreme drama of the Champions League knock-out rounds, culminating in semifinals featuring AC Milan and Barcelona taking on Overrated English Clubs A & B, the lattermost coming through on dodgy away goals or penalties, or preferably both.
The importance of the First Qualifying Round, then, is clear. [[[The Official XIDevils Fatwa on the Champions League states that ALL participants should be—y'know—champions and that the fussy business of qualifying rounds and group stages should be done away with in favor of straight two-legged knock-out play. Like the Old Days, which as an American sports fan I am constitutionally required to prefer.]]] A scan of participating teams reveals plenty of intriguing, exotic entrants, none more so than the CHAMPIONS OF MALTA, mighty Marsaxlokk. Because I am a sucker for any place name with a rogue X in the middle, let's take a closer look.
Turns out Marsaxlokk is a beautiful fishing village of just over 3,500 people. If it weren't for those bastards in the Faroe Islands forever taking the mickey, I'd say it's entirely likely that this hamlet is the smallest locality represented in the Champions League. The hometown team is quaintly nicknamed The Southseasiders, or less quaintly, "Tal-Lampuki," which might actually be quite quaint in Maltese for all I know.
The club seems to play its home fixtures in Malta's national stadium, meaning every man, woman and child in the actual town of Marsaxlokk could bring five friends to a match. The Southseasiders have been at it for close to 60 years, but appear to be a club on the make: two promotions in the last decade; recently linked to Paul Gascoigne (Wikipedia might be making that up, but I'm not); importing Eastern European, Nigerian, English and Brazilian players with some regularity. The bulk of the squad, of course, is Maltese, meaning that not even the most cosmopolitan opponents will be able to decipher the team chatter.
Team Tal-Lampuki Fighting achieved qualfication for Qualification by winning the Maltese Premier League, a 10-team circuit full of amiable-sounding, old-school-ish clubs like "Hibernians" and "St. George's" and "Wanderers." The MPL (Eleven Devils will be bidding on US English-language broadcast rights in due time) boasts an unusual and sort of interesting set-up. After the traditional home-and-away schedule, the league splits into a six-team Championship Pool and a four-team Relegation Pool, and another home-and-away series commences. It's hard to work out just how points carry over, but it seems Marsaxlokk won the first phase with a single defeat and a goal difference of +30, so it's safe to say they kicked ass by the bucketful throughout.
But how will Marsaxlokk cope with First Qualifying Round opponents FK Sarajevo? And how will they handle playing in front of Sarajevo's ultras, the "Hordes of Evil"? Southseasiders v. Hordes of Evil? This is the stuff that dreams, and the First Qualifying Round, are woven of.
The UEFA Champions League commences with its First Qualifying Round, starring 28 victors from the august top divisions of Bosnia, Wales, all the Irelands, the odd Baltic state and various other leagues where clubs tend to use mysterious combinations of initials for names. These teams will compete for the right to be beaten in the Second Qualifying Round by marginally larger clubs, who will in turn then be beaten by teams that finished third or fourth in one of the real leagues, who themselves will proceed to fuck up their group-stages campaigns, resulting in fired managers, ruined transfer prospects and fan protests organized around the chucking of celery, anchovies, rugulac or some other local product.
It all leads, of course, to the supreme drama of the Champions League knock-out rounds, culminating in semifinals featuring AC Milan and Barcelona taking on Overrated English Clubs A & B, the lattermost coming through on dodgy away goals or penalties, or preferably both.
The importance of the First Qualifying Round, then, is clear. [[[The Official XIDevils Fatwa on the Champions League states that ALL participants should be—y'know—champions and that the fussy business of qualifying rounds and group stages should be done away with in favor of straight two-legged knock-out play. Like the Old Days, which as an American sports fan I am constitutionally required to prefer.]]] A scan of participating teams reveals plenty of intriguing, exotic entrants, none more so than the CHAMPIONS OF MALTA, mighty Marsaxlokk. Because I am a sucker for any place name with a rogue X in the middle, let's take a closer look.
Turns out Marsaxlokk is a beautiful fishing village of just over 3,500 people. If it weren't for those bastards in the Faroe Islands forever taking the mickey, I'd say it's entirely likely that this hamlet is the smallest locality represented in the Champions League. The hometown team is quaintly nicknamed The Southseasiders, or less quaintly, "Tal-Lampuki," which might actually be quite quaint in Maltese for all I know.
The club seems to play its home fixtures in Malta's national stadium, meaning every man, woman and child in the actual town of Marsaxlokk could bring five friends to a match. The Southseasiders have been at it for close to 60 years, but appear to be a club on the make: two promotions in the last decade; recently linked to Paul Gascoigne (Wikipedia might be making that up, but I'm not); importing Eastern European, Nigerian, English and Brazilian players with some regularity. The bulk of the squad, of course, is Maltese, meaning that not even the most cosmopolitan opponents will be able to decipher the team chatter.
Team Tal-Lampuki Fighting achieved qualfication for Qualification by winning the Maltese Premier League, a 10-team circuit full of amiable-sounding, old-school-ish clubs like "Hibernians" and "St. George's" and "Wanderers." The MPL (Eleven Devils will be bidding on US English-language broadcast rights in due time) boasts an unusual and sort of interesting set-up. After the traditional home-and-away schedule, the league splits into a six-team Championship Pool and a four-team Relegation Pool, and another home-and-away series commences. It's hard to work out just how points carry over, but it seems Marsaxlokk won the first phase with a single defeat and a goal difference of +30, so it's safe to say they kicked ass by the bucketful throughout.
But how will Marsaxlokk cope with First Qualifying Round opponents FK Sarajevo? And how will they handle playing in front of Sarajevo's ultras, the "Hordes of Evil"? Southseasiders v. Hordes of Evil? This is the stuff that dreams, and the First Qualifying Round, are woven of.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Baby's First Soccer Fight!
Thanks to the infinite patience of my wife, and the resilience of my nine-day-old son (who is directly to blame for the lack of Eleven Devils activity), I packed the entire family off to Kells for an evening of elimination-round futbol. The air con was on, the U-20s were on one screen with the ArgoMexican match on the big enchilada, the Stella was icy and my wife, who is still recovering from months of pregnancy-related sobriety, gave me her Sierra Nevada after about a sip and a half. Sometimes life is good; sometimes Lionel Messi bags an delectable chip while your first born is at your feet, and life is very very very good indeed.
Despite all the reproducing I've been doing, I am aware that two superb football tournaments have been underway. From what I've seen on YouTube (and courtesy the Emanuel Hospital cable system), both Copa America and the U-20 World Cup feature the kind of football that make the sport a global obsession. Huge goals, fanatical fans, players going ballz-out for king and country—a refreshing change from the uptight play that too often pervades the game. Plus, after the USA's C team bowed out quietly in la Copa, the American young guns put together some of the most swaggering, game and (frankly) damn lucky football ever played by a US team. The Adu-captained Yanks are a sight to behold, and I was psyched to catch the last half of their knock-out with los Uruguayanos.
A big crowd of endearingly rowdy Argentinians were on hand, lending the faux-Irish pub a welcome Porteno flair. Songs followed all la Republica's goals. Two of 'em—Heinze going deep for a flying side-foot volley, Messi lofting it home—were mind-searing affairs. Mexico played a ferocious first half and for a time seemed set to kick, thrash and pummel their way to an upset. But by the end, Argentina was playing a kind of football that only they seem to play with such aplomb: virtually walking from pass to pass; one-touching it from one hemsisphere to the other; daring any and all to try to take the rock. Too bad such pure fuuuuuutbol can only really be played when there's nothing more to decide.
Meanwhile, Freddy and the Jets pulled off a classic heist in extra time, stealing a match Uruguay thought it deserved to win. the Urus acted like little putas after the whistle, while the USA imperiously departed with their quarterfinal berth in their collective shoulder holster. (Well, look, I haven't been getting a lot of sleep.) It was a refreshing change from that senior side of ours—those boys who have so often out-played the opposition in big games only to see a goal or two separate them from victory.
Good times. I think the boy liked it okay—he managed to sleep through the whole thing.
Despite all the reproducing I've been doing, I am aware that two superb football tournaments have been underway. From what I've seen on YouTube (and courtesy the Emanuel Hospital cable system), both Copa America and the U-20 World Cup feature the kind of football that make the sport a global obsession. Huge goals, fanatical fans, players going ballz-out for king and country—a refreshing change from the uptight play that too often pervades the game. Plus, after the USA's C team bowed out quietly in la Copa, the American young guns put together some of the most swaggering, game and (frankly) damn lucky football ever played by a US team. The Adu-captained Yanks are a sight to behold, and I was psyched to catch the last half of their knock-out with los Uruguayanos.
A big crowd of endearingly rowdy Argentinians were on hand, lending the faux-Irish pub a welcome Porteno flair. Songs followed all la Republica's goals. Two of 'em—Heinze going deep for a flying side-foot volley, Messi lofting it home—were mind-searing affairs. Mexico played a ferocious first half and for a time seemed set to kick, thrash and pummel their way to an upset. But by the end, Argentina was playing a kind of football that only they seem to play with such aplomb: virtually walking from pass to pass; one-touching it from one hemsisphere to the other; daring any and all to try to take the rock. Too bad such pure fuuuuuutbol can only really be played when there's nothing more to decide.
Meanwhile, Freddy and the Jets pulled off a classic heist in extra time, stealing a match Uruguay thought it deserved to win. the Urus acted like little putas after the whistle, while the USA imperiously departed with their quarterfinal berth in their collective shoulder holster. (Well, look, I haven't been getting a lot of sleep.) It was a refreshing change from that senior side of ours—those boys who have so often out-played the opposition in big games only to see a goal or two separate them from victory.
Good times. I think the boy liked it okay—he managed to sleep through the whole thing.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Your XIDevils Premiership News Round-Up!
Sadly, Liverpool has sold forward Craig Bellamy, who attacked a teammate with a golf club when he (the teammate) refused to sing karaoke with him, to West Ham United.
New Manchester City owner Thaksin Shinawatra, the deposed former prime minister of Thailand, faces corruption charges from the quasi-military government that overthrew him.
Manchester United appears set to buy Argentinian forward Carlos Tevez from West Ham. Tevez was one of two Argentinian players involved in a byzantine transfer saga last year, when a shadowy international syndicate that somehow owned their contracts let them move from the Brazilian club Corinthians to West Ham for free. (A lot of weird shit happens in Brazilian football.) West Ham then turned around and punted one of the Argentinians to Liverpool, which was somehow
allowed even though the rules stipulate a player may transfer only once per year. Tevez proceeded to be the hero of West Ham's
last-minute escape from relegation, which prompted Sheffield United, who did go down, to file a legal challenge claiming that the Hammers should be kicked out of the league for using Tevez illegally.
And this is just the off-season. Who can wait for August?
New Manchester City owner Thaksin Shinawatra, the deposed former prime minister of Thailand, faces corruption charges from the quasi-military government that overthrew him.
Manchester United appears set to buy Argentinian forward Carlos Tevez from West Ham. Tevez was one of two Argentinian players involved in a byzantine transfer saga last year, when a shadowy international syndicate that somehow owned their contracts let them move from the Brazilian club Corinthians to West Ham for free. (A lot of weird shit happens in Brazilian football.) West Ham then turned around and punted one of the Argentinians to Liverpool, which was somehow
allowed even though the rules stipulate a player may transfer only once per year. Tevez proceeded to be the hero of West Ham's
last-minute escape from relegation, which prompted Sheffield United, who did go down, to file a legal challenge claiming that the Hammers should be kicked out of the league for using Tevez illegally.
And this is just the off-season. Who can wait for August?
Friday, July 06, 2007
KAAAAAAABLAAMO!
It's been awhile. A long while. (Frankly, I've been doing...a few things.) But this—THIS has me psyched:
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Open Cup Awesomeness
The United States Open Cup First Round pairings came out today, a reminder of just how great this criminally underappreciated knock-out tournament is. The Portland Timbers drew a nasty-sounding outfit called the Bakersfield Brigade—an away fixture that sounds dicey at best. But by far the best match-up is this:
Lynch’s Irish Pub (USASA) @ Charlotte Eagles (USL-2)
That is just brilliant.
Lynch’s Irish Pub (USASA) @ Charlotte Eagles (USL-2)
That is just brilliant.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Forza APM
Along with everything else, Yer Correspondent has been lax in keeping up on A Pretty Move, our wonderfully written and zealously impassioned cousin in Portland soccer blogdom. Along with Eleven Devils, APM went half-way dark earlier this spring, but their end-of-season coverage is a must-read.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Serie A: The Best?
Naaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Can't be. It's corrupt. The stadiums are a shambles, the clubs are operated along the same lines as the "neighborhood social clubs" on Mulberry Street and half the big teams got just got nailed for match fixing. Match fixing! The biggest club in the bloody country spent the season in exile. Meanwhile, the fans are killing each other when they're not chanting neo-Fascist slogans.
England's got the money and the global audience. Spain wins on style points and sheer fashionability. Germany has the enthusiasm, the grip of beautiful new parks and clubs run with Teutonic efficiency. France—sorry, I did NOT just type that.
And yet: there have been two major international football competitions in the last 12 months (with apologies to the World Clubs Cup), and Serie A won both of them. The league's all-star team took the World Cup, and now AC Milan owns Europe's Big Gulp. So if it's not the best league, which one is? And on what basis?
England's got the money and the global audience. Spain wins on style points and sheer fashionability. Germany has the enthusiasm, the grip of beautiful new parks and clubs run with Teutonic efficiency. France—sorry, I did NOT just type that.
And yet: there have been two major international football competitions in the last 12 months (with apologies to the World Clubs Cup), and Serie A won both of them. The league's all-star team took the World Cup, and now AC Milan owns Europe's Big Gulp. So if it's not the best league, which one is? And on what basis?
Monday, May 21, 2007
Buh-Bye, Boys
It's always a good thing when the team you pull for is playing on the last day of the season. However, not to curse Liverpool before their revenge/revisited triumph EuroCoppa rematch with Milan, but I am getting extremely bad vibes off this game. Why?
—It seems LFC has already told about half the squad that they're gone regardless of Wednesday's result. There's no doubt that the club needs an overhaul—they dropped so many Premiership points they should have banked—but what sort of message is this to send a locker room which has, after all, achieved the ultimate goal of all Champions League sides? Does imminent departure add motivation, or kill it?
[Weird side note: it seems likely I saw Liverpool new boy Leto in the flesh in February—the River Plate/Lanus forgettable. I don't remember him, and can't lay my hands on confirmation he was in the Lanus team. Anyone?]
—There's a white hot rage of need and determination emanating from Milan right now, born of their Istanbul collapse. Hopefully all the pre-game bluster and vengeance-fantasy leaves them tight and rigid.
—Still, on their best day I don't think Liverpool are quite geared to cope with Milan. The rossoneri squad is just monstrous, friggin' Ronaldo counting as a luxury item. I'll see your Cafu and raise you...uh, Steve Finnan?
—Lucky escapes in the Champions League aside, Liverpool haven't exactly roared down the home stretch...and I fear that gets us back to the possible motivation gap again. Milan wants this desperately. No doubt Liverpool taken as a whole cultural phenomenon wants it just as bad, the better to lord over Man United and Chelsea. (Even at its most cosmopolitan, football always comes back to the parochial. Love it.) What lies in the heart of the squad itself? It's been a long season. They have achieved plenty—over-achieved, some might say. Is it a necessity for them? It will need to be.
All the same, I thought the Reds were for it after Barcelona scored first at Nou Camp. They rode the lightning then. Maybe they can once more before the inevitable dissolution.
—It seems LFC has already told about half the squad that they're gone regardless of Wednesday's result. There's no doubt that the club needs an overhaul—they dropped so many Premiership points they should have banked—but what sort of message is this to send a locker room which has, after all, achieved the ultimate goal of all Champions League sides? Does imminent departure add motivation, or kill it?
[Weird side note: it seems likely I saw Liverpool new boy Leto in the flesh in February—the River Plate/Lanus forgettable. I don't remember him, and can't lay my hands on confirmation he was in the Lanus team. Anyone?]
—There's a white hot rage of need and determination emanating from Milan right now, born of their Istanbul collapse. Hopefully all the pre-game bluster and vengeance-fantasy leaves them tight and rigid.
—Still, on their best day I don't think Liverpool are quite geared to cope with Milan. The rossoneri squad is just monstrous, friggin' Ronaldo counting as a luxury item. I'll see your Cafu and raise you...uh, Steve Finnan?
—Lucky escapes in the Champions League aside, Liverpool haven't exactly roared down the home stretch...and I fear that gets us back to the possible motivation gap again. Milan wants this desperately. No doubt Liverpool taken as a whole cultural phenomenon wants it just as bad, the better to lord over Man United and Chelsea. (Even at its most cosmopolitan, football always comes back to the parochial. Love it.) What lies in the heart of the squad itself? It's been a long season. They have achieved plenty—over-achieved, some might say. Is it a necessity for them? It will need to be.
All the same, I thought the Reds were for it after Barcelona scored first at Nou Camp. They rode the lightning then. Maybe they can once more before the inevitable dissolution.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Mein (Meister)Schaft!
A few weeks ago, the increasingly annoying Tony Soprano mused (and I paraphrase): "After all the complaining and the crying, is this all there is?" Sometimes, the world of football seems so beset by problems, intrigue, oddity, inequity and pure migrane-inducing negativity, it's hard to remember what makes the sport (or any sport) a joy, in addition to a gripping but endlessly tangled mental puzzle.
So let's look in on Stuttgart's marvelous celebration after their equally awesome capture of the Bundesliga. My exposure to this team was limited this year, but I liked what I saw a lot: they seem like a slightly crazy, always-full-tilt gang of gunslingers. They won their title with fun football, and that's to be applauded no matter who you root for.
So let's look in on Stuttgart's marvelous celebration after their equally awesome capture of the Bundesliga. My exposure to this team was limited this year, but I liked what I saw a lot: they seem like a slightly crazy, always-full-tilt gang of gunslingers. They won their title with fun football, and that's to be applauded no matter who you root for.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
DEUCES...MILD!
I call it the Curse of the Simpsons Soccer Episode. You know the one: Bart and Lisa show up at the stadium revved up to check out the World's Most Popular Sport (tm)...and get nothing more than "to the center...out to the wing...back to the center..." To wit, every time I talk one of my non-futbol friends into checking out a match, it ends up being pretty dire.
At half-time of last night's Portland Timbers v. Seattle Sounders hate-cup tie at PGE Park, my pal the Norwegian (big Vikings fan...big) and I repaired to the concourses. "Um, well," I said. "At this level of soccer, you kind of have to use your imagination." He said he was cool with it. I don't know that I was.
I know, I know. The Timbers are in Year One (or should that be the more dramatic "Year Zero"?) of a self-professed three-year rebuild. New gaffman Gavin Wilkinson gave us all plenty of warning: we aim to contend for one of the eight playoff spots in the 12-team USL First Division, nothing more. That implies the Verdes will be scrapping for every point, and with a home win, a tight away loss and last night's not-much-deserved 2 :: 2 home draw, that is certainly the case so far. I guess you could say everything's going according to plan.
But that's rationality talking, and rationality is a stranger to the terraces during the 90 minutes between whistles. When your side is up against Evil Made Flesh, you don't want to see incremental progress, you want to see an epochal stand—Gandalf versus the Balrog, Rocky pummelling Dolph Lundgren, some shit out of that new gay porn Greek army snuff flick 300 (not that there's anything wrong with that). Instead, ye olde "announced crowd" of 5,700+ got a solid 75 minutes of "up in the air...over to the side...up in the air..."
Matches on the dreadful PGE Park surface always resemble full-contact volleyball. We know this. But the Sounders—taller, burlier, and most gallingly much smoother than the herky-jerky Timbers—coped with it better than the home side. They slit the central defense like a snitch at Sturgis inside ten minutes, and generally bossed the first half. The early insertion of human timebomb Tom Poltl said a lot about the Timbers' lack of edge in a match that is usually something close to a street fight. Poltl did his usual rabid terrier impression—good stuff as ever, and an inspiration to those of us born with out such intangibles as finesse and grace. Unfortunately, it took another 40 minutes, and another concession, before the Timbers knocked off the disjointed airball shite and started to jab for real.
After going down 2-0 (and after each side had a goal semi-dubiously disallowed), Portland got its flow on. Oregon State grad (and you can't lick them Beavers!) Bryan Jordan looks like the real deal—a sparky, duck-and-weave forward who's a threat every time the ball is at his feet. He lanced in the first fight-back goal, then put Andrew "The Angriest Smurf" Gregor on the spot by taking a mauling at the top of the area. Presto-chango, the Timbers nabbed a point from more or less nothing; the Army (in decent voice all night) had something to sing about; laps of honor were taken, etc.
It doesn't change the fact that this one was three-quarters godawful. There wasn't even much of the venom and spite one depends on these Seattle fixtures to provide. Ah, well. We got through it. One shudders to think what Sunday's match against the ever-powerful Ragin' Rhinos of Rochester will bring.
Meanwhile, we were left to ponder the emotional conundrum of Hugo Alcaraz-Cuellar. Long the Timbers' most elegant player, OOO-go left for Seattle over the off-season. Just business, understand—nothing personal. So while the Army extolled Gregor—any self-respecting Timbers fan would have described him as a combination war criminal/loan shark/bicycle thief last year—we booed Hugo. Booed the man we used to drink with at the Bull Pen. And even so, he was still the only player on the pitch with a touch of art about him.
Painful. But in the immortal words of Flavor Flav, that's the way the ball bounces, G.
At half-time of last night's Portland Timbers v. Seattle Sounders hate-cup tie at PGE Park, my pal the Norwegian (big Vikings fan...big) and I repaired to the concourses. "Um, well," I said. "At this level of soccer, you kind of have to use your imagination." He said he was cool with it. I don't know that I was.
I know, I know. The Timbers are in Year One (or should that be the more dramatic "Year Zero"?) of a self-professed three-year rebuild. New gaffman Gavin Wilkinson gave us all plenty of warning: we aim to contend for one of the eight playoff spots in the 12-team USL First Division, nothing more. That implies the Verdes will be scrapping for every point, and with a home win, a tight away loss and last night's not-much-deserved 2 :: 2 home draw, that is certainly the case so far. I guess you could say everything's going according to plan.
But that's rationality talking, and rationality is a stranger to the terraces during the 90 minutes between whistles. When your side is up against Evil Made Flesh, you don't want to see incremental progress, you want to see an epochal stand—Gandalf versus the Balrog, Rocky pummelling Dolph Lundgren, some shit out of that new gay porn Greek army snuff flick 300 (not that there's anything wrong with that). Instead, ye olde "announced crowd" of 5,700+ got a solid 75 minutes of "up in the air...over to the side...up in the air..."
Matches on the dreadful PGE Park surface always resemble full-contact volleyball. We know this. But the Sounders—taller, burlier, and most gallingly much smoother than the herky-jerky Timbers—coped with it better than the home side. They slit the central defense like a snitch at Sturgis inside ten minutes, and generally bossed the first half. The early insertion of human timebomb Tom Poltl said a lot about the Timbers' lack of edge in a match that is usually something close to a street fight. Poltl did his usual rabid terrier impression—good stuff as ever, and an inspiration to those of us born with out such intangibles as finesse and grace. Unfortunately, it took another 40 minutes, and another concession, before the Timbers knocked off the disjointed airball shite and started to jab for real.
After going down 2-0 (and after each side had a goal semi-dubiously disallowed), Portland got its flow on. Oregon State grad (and you can't lick them Beavers!) Bryan Jordan looks like the real deal—a sparky, duck-and-weave forward who's a threat every time the ball is at his feet. He lanced in the first fight-back goal, then put Andrew "The Angriest Smurf" Gregor on the spot by taking a mauling at the top of the area. Presto-chango, the Timbers nabbed a point from more or less nothing; the Army (in decent voice all night) had something to sing about; laps of honor were taken, etc.
It doesn't change the fact that this one was three-quarters godawful. There wasn't even much of the venom and spite one depends on these Seattle fixtures to provide. Ah, well. We got through it. One shudders to think what Sunday's match against the ever-powerful Ragin' Rhinos of Rochester will bring.
Meanwhile, we were left to ponder the emotional conundrum of Hugo Alcaraz-Cuellar. Long the Timbers' most elegant player, OOO-go left for Seattle over the off-season. Just business, understand—nothing personal. So while the Army extolled Gregor—any self-respecting Timbers fan would have described him as a combination war criminal/loan shark/bicycle thief last year—we booed Hugo. Booed the man we used to drink with at the Bull Pen. And even so, he was still the only player on the pitch with a touch of art about him.
Painful. But in the immortal words of Flavor Flav, that's the way the ball bounces, G.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
It's All Happening
The reading public is understandably upset about the lack of Eleven Devils updates of late. Yr Correspondent has been abroad, and by "abroad," I mean Minneapolis (where some stone-cold good times were had with Commander Bruce of the infinite Du Nord blog) and Iowa (where some insane cycling shit went down). It's all in a day's "work," but it leaves this blog bereft.
However, football, like rust, never sleeps. Liverpool's epic season is set for an epoch-making conclusion in Athens, where the scrappy Reds—who squeezed past Barcelona and Chelsea by the barest of m., lucked out on drawing PSV and somehow are playing for the Kahuna despite lacking a striker, really—must ride the lightning against AC Milan. (YouTube the highlights of Berlusconi's men dismantling Manchester Bay Buccaneers, and you'll see that the Liverpeople will have their hands full.) Meanwhile, Reading's mascot was sent off, the Timbers opened with a win (!), MLS limped into its pre-Beckham non-mania and FC United of Manchester clinched both its second championship and second promotion in two years of existence.
Frankly, it all pales in comparison to a gripping Spring session down at Portland Futsal, where my own Albina Going FC ("The Unicorns") faces what could be the biggest night in its history tonight. After six wins on the trot keyed by an impressive defensive CV (goal differential = +29, and that's after having a couple matches capped at +7), the Unicorns can wrap up the Third Division Conference Argentina title, top seed in the one-day divisionals AND the unofficial (but hotly contested) Rivals Cup with a win tonight. Problem? We're up against arch-nemesis UrbanHonking Athletic Club. The Honking always gives us problems, and word on the Series of Tubes is that Svengali owner Mikey Merrill may have bagged a few late-season transfers. While it's hard to see a scenario where the three-team Cup will slip from our deathgrip, Athletic sits just three points behind us on the table, and thus is positioned to run us down in the last two rounds of the eight-week season if we bottle it tonight.
So, like the man says, It's All Happening.
However, football, like rust, never sleeps. Liverpool's epic season is set for an epoch-making conclusion in Athens, where the scrappy Reds—who squeezed past Barcelona and Chelsea by the barest of m., lucked out on drawing PSV and somehow are playing for the Kahuna despite lacking a striker, really—must ride the lightning against AC Milan. (YouTube the highlights of Berlusconi's men dismantling Manchester Bay Buccaneers, and you'll see that the Liverpeople will have their hands full.) Meanwhile, Reading's mascot was sent off, the Timbers opened with a win (!), MLS limped into its pre-Beckham non-mania and FC United of Manchester clinched both its second championship and second promotion in two years of existence.
Frankly, it all pales in comparison to a gripping Spring session down at Portland Futsal, where my own Albina Going FC ("The Unicorns") faces what could be the biggest night in its history tonight. After six wins on the trot keyed by an impressive defensive CV (goal differential = +29, and that's after having a couple matches capped at +7), the Unicorns can wrap up the Third Division Conference Argentina title, top seed in the one-day divisionals AND the unofficial (but hotly contested) Rivals Cup with a win tonight. Problem? We're up against arch-nemesis UrbanHonking Athletic Club. The Honking always gives us problems, and word on the Series of Tubes is that Svengali owner Mikey Merrill may have bagged a few late-season transfers. While it's hard to see a scenario where the three-team Cup will slip from our deathgrip, Athletic sits just three points behind us on the table, and thus is positioned to run us down in the last two rounds of the eight-week season if we bottle it tonight.
So, like the man says, It's All Happening.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
C'MON YOU REDS!
While nervously wondering if Eleven Devils is going to make it to the pub for today's CLASH OF CIVILIZATIONS (i.e. Chelsea v. Liverpool), we browsed this excellent piece on football, socialism, Brian Clough, Shankly and champagne. Makes ya think, innit? Or something like that.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Ushited
There were a few handsome goals in Major League Soccer last weekend—but how mind-shatteringly awful were DC United? The concessions to the Kansas City Wizzzzzzzards would have embarassed my own Albina Going Unicorns.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Why is Du Nord Brilliant?
My fellow professional journalists are wont (which I believe means they are "apt") to look askance (which I think means "be critical of") this thing of ours called the Blogozone. (That's right, right?) Blogs are amateurish, unreliable (unlike professional coverage of weapons of mass destruction, etc.) and lack the resources of actual news-churning outlets. (Resources such as: shitty coffee, bad pay, miserable overworked staff, computers that don't work or operate on proprietary systems designed in the 1970s, photo departments that won't do the assignments writers need them to do because the correct photo request form wasn't filled out at the right time...but I digress.)
In the future, I will refer such complainants to Du Nord (see blogroster, right), the mandatory-read daily soccer news digest composed by one antic genius in Minnesota. Du Nord is a perfect example of an unpaid blogger who does something his paid counterparts can't or won't do—if there's a story of importance to American soccer, he's on top of it, and he cherry-picks some very interesting bits and pieces from around the world.
But what's truly great about Du Nord is the author's slightly frantic writing style and bursts of bizarre humor. I quote:
A year old PDL team from Lancaster California is run by a guy with a dream. And he has a good dream. A dream I suspect most of us have. (No, not the one about Pam from The Office, a hot tub full of jello, a sleeve of saltine crackers, a roll of duct tape, and a short wave radio tuned in to Swedish hip hop.) ...
Quality.
In the future, I will refer such complainants to Du Nord (see blogroster, right), the mandatory-read daily soccer news digest composed by one antic genius in Minnesota. Du Nord is a perfect example of an unpaid blogger who does something his paid counterparts can't or won't do—if there's a story of importance to American soccer, he's on top of it, and he cherry-picks some very interesting bits and pieces from around the world.
But what's truly great about Du Nord is the author's slightly frantic writing style and bursts of bizarre humor. I quote:
A year old PDL team from Lancaster California is run by a guy with a dream. And he has a good dream. A dream I suspect most of us have. (No, not the one about Pam from The Office, a hot tub full of jello, a sleeve of saltine crackers, a roll of duct tape, and a short wave radio tuned in to Swedish hip hop.) ...
Quality.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Galacticos Reunion?
I'm telling you, this rumor, which has the distinct whiff of a Lalas fishing exped., only makes New York Red Bulls' signing of Marco Materazzi that much more urgent.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
MLS Real World
There are times when Yer Humble Correspondent feels like the plug should just be pulled, and this is one of them. Because this account of five MLS rookies sharing a house is undoubtedly the best Americansoccablag post of the last year. Who can compete? Unless we discover that a bunch of Timbers signings decided to join a latter-day Rajneesh compound, it's hard to match.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Back...to the Future!
The first weekend of MLS action is in the books. And while I know the word is that this is the year the league makes its great breakthrough, based on the half of the Colorado v DC match I saw, not much has changed.
This was indeed the archetypal MLS game: a chippy, disjointed encounter in bad weather in front of an "announced" sell-out in the exurbs; played at what would look like half-speed to any indoctrinated Premiership fan; full of midfield hardasses determined to clog up play and disappointing foreign stars (DC's new Brazilians); both teams having a bad hair day. The real drag was also predictable—the lousy broadcast by "ESPN on ABC", far from showcasing the league's stated determination to look better on TV, was no different than any of the Mickey Mouse efforts the Disney empire has made in the past. Why was Julie Foudy referring to the league as "the MLS"? Is she British? And why did they slap up a list of "famous Freds", including F. Flintstone (but sadly not F. Flintoff) to kill air time and "introduce" DC's new Fred?
It's time for MLS to go to its broadcast partners with a DVD of any—pick one—Premier League broadcast and say, "this is what we want. Make it happen."
This was indeed the archetypal MLS game: a chippy, disjointed encounter in bad weather in front of an "announced" sell-out in the exurbs; played at what would look like half-speed to any indoctrinated Premiership fan; full of midfield hardasses determined to clog up play and disappointing foreign stars (DC's new Brazilians); both teams having a bad hair day. The real drag was also predictable—the lousy broadcast by "ESPN on ABC", far from showcasing the league's stated determination to look better on TV, was no different than any of the Mickey Mouse efforts the Disney empire has made in the past. Why was Julie Foudy referring to the league as "the MLS"? Is she British? And why did they slap up a list of "famous Freds", including F. Flintstone (but sadly not F. Flintoff) to kill air time and "introduce" DC's new Fred?
It's time for MLS to go to its broadcast partners with a DVD of any—pick one—Premier League broadcast and say, "this is what we want. Make it happen."
Friday, April 06, 2007
FREE WALDO!
It appears that Eric Wynalda—former US national team star, annoucer, hotheaded loudmouth—has been suspended for this weekend's MLS season debut by his employer, the ABC/ESPN monolith. Why? Because he downed a few beers with a blogger and unloaded some of his endless storehouse of strongly held opinions. While he mostly ranted about the state of football in the US and MLS in particular, Waldo swerved out of his way to suggest that soccer-bashing sports bloviator Jim Rome could, at any time and place, provide him with oral sexual gratifcation.
Wynalda has apparently apologized to Rome for the remarks, which is too bad. Frankly, it's about goddamn time someone from the footballsphere told Rome to blow him/her. If ABC was smart, it would invite Wynalda to go live and repeat the suggestion in even more graphic terms. In fact, both DC United and the ColoArsenal Rapids should take the field tomorrow wearing special, limited edition "ROME CAN BLOW ME" jerseys, replicas of which could then be sold for $1000 apiece to an eager public.
Slapping down Waldo betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of how American media works—instead of censoring the half-baked, vindictive madness that spews from the mouths of your content providers, the winning move is to accentuate it and encourage them to even more unfortunate faux pas. Major League Soccer should DEMAND that ABC put Wynalda back on the air, and tell 'em to put a few brews down him for good measure. Then we might see a frenzy that would put Beckhamania in the shade.
Wynalda has apparently apologized to Rome for the remarks, which is too bad. Frankly, it's about goddamn time someone from the footballsphere told Rome to blow him/her. If ABC was smart, it would invite Wynalda to go live and repeat the suggestion in even more graphic terms. In fact, both DC United and the ColoArsenal Rapids should take the field tomorrow wearing special, limited edition "ROME CAN BLOW ME" jerseys, replicas of which could then be sold for $1000 apiece to an eager public.
Slapping down Waldo betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of how American media works—instead of censoring the half-baked, vindictive madness that spews from the mouths of your content providers, the winning move is to accentuate it and encourage them to even more unfortunate faux pas. Major League Soccer should DEMAND that ABC put Wynalda back on the air, and tell 'em to put a few brews down him for good measure. Then we might see a frenzy that would put Beckhamania in the shade.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
See America on $35 a Day!
Major League Soccer kicks off in just two days, and most of the preseason coverage has been glowing. The buzz revolves around how the league has grown and solidified, Toronto FC's phenomenal box-office coup, 'Rado's new stadium and Beckham's impending and possibly catalytic arrival.
And I was feeling pretty good about all this, until I saw this item on the excellent S. Goff's WaPo soccer blog:
The Marc Burch trade is now official....Burch, 22, will join the club on a developmental contract, which means he will earn either $12,900 or $17,700 this season.
If this league has really grown up, what is it doing paying adult men less than $13,000 a year for risky physical labor? I'm all for giving young kids a bottom-rung, low-budget chance, and that rate might be appropriate for a 16-year-old apprentice living with his parents. But for anyone past the age of 20, that kind of payment is definitely immoral and should be illegal. How is someone supposed to live in a major metropolitan area, let alone maintain the physical and mental condition necessary to play professional sport and "develop," on less than $50 a day?
What can be done? MLS supporters groups in every city should start with a Day of Solidarity with their club's developmental players, using banners and other signage to let the league know that fans will not tolerate this grossly inequitable situation forever. Or will they? I don't think fans have ever made a concerted effort to get players more money in the history of American sports. Certainly, NFL fans seem perfectly happy to let their beloved cartel treat players like disposable parts. Then again, I don't think there's been a "major" league in the modern era quite this cheap.
And I was feeling pretty good about all this, until I saw this item on the excellent S. Goff's WaPo soccer blog:
The Marc Burch trade is now official....Burch, 22, will join the club on a developmental contract, which means he will earn either $12,900 or $17,700 this season.
If this league has really grown up, what is it doing paying adult men less than $13,000 a year for risky physical labor? I'm all for giving young kids a bottom-rung, low-budget chance, and that rate might be appropriate for a 16-year-old apprentice living with his parents. But for anyone past the age of 20, that kind of payment is definitely immoral and should be illegal. How is someone supposed to live in a major metropolitan area, let alone maintain the physical and mental condition necessary to play professional sport and "develop," on less than $50 a day?
What can be done? MLS supporters groups in every city should start with a Day of Solidarity with their club's developmental players, using banners and other signage to let the league know that fans will not tolerate this grossly inequitable situation forever. Or will they? I don't think fans have ever made a concerted effort to get players more money in the history of American sports. Certainly, NFL fans seem perfectly happy to let their beloved cartel treat players like disposable parts. Then again, I don't think there's been a "major" league in the modern era quite this cheap.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
ZIZOU TO TIMBERS???
This killjoy is trying to kill the rumors, but I'm trying to keep them alive. Not that they, you know, exist.
Monday, April 02, 2007
IT'S ANTHEMIC!!!
Eleven Devils has been on an undeclared hiatus of late, which is not in any way related to its parent company's alleged "regulatory issues" in the Cayman Islands. However, news broke today that demands some notice. In its on-going quest to provide a "world-class soccer experience" (but what about the New York Red Bulls?), Major League soccer announced that:
—As teams enter the field, led by the referees (FIFA style), a new MLS anthem will be played.
—A new MLS anthem and signature sound was recorded last month by a full orchestra in Prague, Czech Republic, under the direction of an American conductor. More details on this piece of music will be revealed on April 6 on MLSnet.com.
A new anthem? A signature sound? A full orchestra in Prague? Consider our collective gourd exploded!
—As teams enter the field, led by the referees (FIFA style), a new MLS anthem will be played.
—A new MLS anthem and signature sound was recorded last month by a full orchestra in Prague, Czech Republic, under the direction of an American conductor. More details on this piece of music will be revealed on April 6 on MLSnet.com.
A new anthem? A signature sound? A full orchestra in Prague? Consider our collective gourd exploded!
Friday, March 16, 2007
Emilio: Instant Legend?
I'll admit it: the MLS club I've followed most closely over the league's existence is DC United. For us neutrals in the middle of nowhere (or Montana, as the case may be), the early United sides were by far the most interesting MLS had to offer. And though I would not call myself a "supporter" of the Black and White and Red, I do look out for their results.
Seems like a promising season is in the offing for DC. For one thing, newfound Brazilian striker Emilio seems well on his way to becoming a club legend:
Seems like a promising season is in the offing for DC. For one thing, newfound Brazilian striker Emilio seems well on his way to becoming a club legend:
Thursday, March 15, 2007
The REAL Champions League
The so-called Mainstream Media seems determined to ignore this major story...but that's what us radical, cutting-edge bloggers are for! Tonight, Portland Futsal's action-packed Third Division comes down to an insane four-team, one-night knock-out jamboree! Early-evening semifinals will produce two championship contenders, who then do battle on the plastic pitch at 9 pm. My Albina Going FC Unicorns, the second seed outta Conference Argentina, take on Conference Brazil pennant-winners Deep Cheese (???) at 7:25. Could we possibly survive to the Final? Could we possibly survive playing two matches in one night? SEE YOU THERE, SAAAAAAAAAH-KER FANS!
The Plague Reborn
Please, someone get Lord Mawhinney of the Football League on the horn and beg him not to release the shoot-out virus from the lab. It took the heroic efforts of thousands of MLS fans to contain the virus during the '90s. It's okay to study the thing under controlled conditions, but you don't want it loose in the wild.
RADICAL ELEVEN DEVILS PROPOSAL: If the League really wants to make its games zestier, encourage scoring and generally amp things up, try this: instead of monkeying with how games are decided on the field, change the way the league tables are calculated. Instead of using points and goal difference as the most important factors, use 1) Matches won; 2) Goals scored; 3) Draws; 4) Goal difference.
This system would weight victories and tallies even more heavily than the traditional matrix, and make the dreaded 0-0 draw look pretty unattractive even to away teams. Thoughts?
RADICAL ELEVEN DEVILS PROPOSAL: If the League really wants to make its games zestier, encourage scoring and generally amp things up, try this: instead of monkeying with how games are decided on the field, change the way the league tables are calculated. Instead of using points and goal difference as the most important factors, use 1) Matches won; 2) Goals scored; 3) Draws; 4) Goal difference.
This system would weight victories and tallies even more heavily than the traditional matrix, and make the dreaded 0-0 draw look pretty unattractive even to away teams. Thoughts?
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
The Operational Deficit That Ate New York
Last spring, I found myself in New York City shortly after Red Bull's much-hyped takeover of the erstwhile (New York/New Jersey) MetroStars. New York, of course, is secretly one of the greatest soccer markets in the entire world—a city where you see Man United replica shirts sharing subway car space with strips from Dynamo Moscow, Inter Milan and the Colombian national team, a place where one passonate fan faction or another is rarely more than a street corner away. From the storied Cosmos to the 84-year-old Cosmopolitan Soccer League to the massive crowds that throng international matches at Giants Stadium, the Big Apple is rich with football lore.
So it was distressing, to say the least, to see a grand total of one (1) dude wearing the colors of the supposed hometown franchise, Red Bull New York. (Or New York Red Bulls?) After over a decade, three or four name changes, numerous attempts to wheel out foreign stars and more managerial regimes than the average banana republic, Major League Soccer's visible fanbase in the Capital of the World consisted of one fat guy in Little Italy.
Now, courtesy the excellent Ives Galarcep of the North Jersey Herald, comes news that RBNY frittered away $14 million last year alone, and appears to be sailing into the '07 campaign without a commercial rudder.
$14 million. That probably equals the seasonal budget of the entire United Soccer Leagues First Division, and could definitely fund the combined salaries of the Portland Timbers 20 times over or more. It may look like crumbs from some angles—if you're, say, Posh Beckham's personal wardrobe acquisitions director—but $14 million gone is a pretty damning indictment of a league that will never be able to claim a real mainstream breakthrough until it establishes a serious New York beach head.
Now let's take a theoretical (and idealistic) trip in the Time-Reverser to 1996, the first year of Major League Soccer. Let's imagine that instead of the closed, centrally controlled American-style set-up the league insisted on (otherwise it would never survive, remember?), it had adopted a more fluid franchising system. One based on promotion and relegation between several competitive tiers—one designed to encourage a little speculative investment, even direct competition for particular markets. By this time, we may well have seen a half-dozen New York-based clubs come and go. We almost certainly would have seen attempts to harness the raw vitality of the Outer Boroughs. The cursed ghost ship of the MetroStars/Red Bulls might have died an unlamented death, replaced by International NYC or Brooklyn Spartak or Empire FC of Queens—or all of the above. MLS might have succeeded in creating its own version of baseball's Gotham glory days, when three teams duelled for local affections.
Formula for disaster? Maybe. But can anyone convince me that the league would have done worse than it has?
So it was distressing, to say the least, to see a grand total of one (1) dude wearing the colors of the supposed hometown franchise, Red Bull New York. (Or New York Red Bulls?) After over a decade, three or four name changes, numerous attempts to wheel out foreign stars and more managerial regimes than the average banana republic, Major League Soccer's visible fanbase in the Capital of the World consisted of one fat guy in Little Italy.
Now, courtesy the excellent Ives Galarcep of the North Jersey Herald, comes news that RBNY frittered away $14 million last year alone, and appears to be sailing into the '07 campaign without a commercial rudder.
$14 million. That probably equals the seasonal budget of the entire United Soccer Leagues First Division, and could definitely fund the combined salaries of the Portland Timbers 20 times over or more. It may look like crumbs from some angles—if you're, say, Posh Beckham's personal wardrobe acquisitions director—but $14 million gone is a pretty damning indictment of a league that will never be able to claim a real mainstream breakthrough until it establishes a serious New York beach head.
Now let's take a theoretical (and idealistic) trip in the Time-Reverser to 1996, the first year of Major League Soccer. Let's imagine that instead of the closed, centrally controlled American-style set-up the league insisted on (otherwise it would never survive, remember?), it had adopted a more fluid franchising system. One based on promotion and relegation between several competitive tiers—one designed to encourage a little speculative investment, even direct competition for particular markets. By this time, we may well have seen a half-dozen New York-based clubs come and go. We almost certainly would have seen attempts to harness the raw vitality of the Outer Boroughs. The cursed ghost ship of the MetroStars/Red Bulls might have died an unlamented death, replaced by International NYC or Brooklyn Spartak or Empire FC of Queens—or all of the above. MLS might have succeeded in creating its own version of baseball's Gotham glory days, when three teams duelled for local affections.
Formula for disaster? Maybe. But can anyone convince me that the league would have done worse than it has?
Friday, March 09, 2007
Cooking with Gaz!
Here's a shocking development: Zenit St Petersburg is favored to lead the way in the Russian championship this season. Highly coincidentally, Zenit is run by Gazprom, which in turn is run by the Russian government. The government is run by Vladimir Putin, who is from the old imperial capital and, odds are, is a Zenit supporter if he supports anyone.
And to think American soccer fans complain about how MLS operates.
And to think American soccer fans complain about how MLS operates.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Red Destiny! (????) // Who Is In Thuram's Brain?
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:
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:
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Miracle in Brooklyn
Not the mighty New York borough, but the unassuming Southeast Portland neighborhood home to Portland Futsal, the Rose City's newborn industrial-chic indoor football venue—where the rattle of a chainlink fence, frigid meat-storage temperatures and the wheeze of passing TriMet buses let you know you're keeping it really real.
As those four readers who managed to slog through the tiresome account of PF's Third Division below will dimly recall, my Albina Going FC Unicorns faced a do-or-die match last Thursday night. Three points against the lowly Cheetahs, the winless anchor of our six-team group, would put us in a strong position to make the four-team Finals. Given our opponents' lousy record, we also dreamed of piling up an unassailable goal-difference advantage over the two other sides locked in a virtual deadheat for the second and last playoff berth.
Well. Turned out that Cheetahs were a bit more up for the occasion than we were—or maybe we'd successfully psyched ourselves out with a full week of email back-and-forth about league tie-break scenarios and just how many goals we should win by. We looked frightful—utterly gash, as they say—in the first half, staking Cheetahs to a huge lead. The half-time chatter was a little tense, let's say. The second half didn't look much better. But then...slowly...inexorably...the Unicorns began to climb. Wings sprouted from the mythical beasts' frothy shanks...and they began to soar. I mean, score.
6-6. Fifteen seconds to play. A draw does us very little good. Doug Hurley, the Bracknall Bomber, collects the futsal spheroid on the wing. Finds Peter Noordijk, the Flying Dutchman, in the area. First shot thwacks off Cheetahs' keeper into a thicket of flailing limbs...and then...at an achingly slow speed...the ball rolls into the net.
My first thought was that the referee would surely disallow this ugly mess for—something. It did not look good. But he pointed at the center spot, and Cheetahs barely had time to kick off before the buzzer. Our overcrowded six-man bench erupted at this most dramatic of all finishes to a Winter season in which we: A) Won three games by a single goal; B) lost two games by a single goal; C) won one match by two goals; D) lost one match by two goals; and E) recorded an anomalous 6-0 victory over the team that completely dominated the group.
So now we are bound for the one-day, four-team divisional Big Dance in two weeks. We will play the top team from "Conference Brazil," while "Conference Argentina" winners Sofa Kings (we were the only team to beat them, BTW) face C-Brazil's second-place squad. Could our under-fit, over-aged gang of (mostly) Anglo-American doughboys possibly survive not one but two matches in one night? Against opposition that might include a team with the prepossessing name "Samba Boys"? Let's not get ahead of ourselves. If we gathered anything from our near-death experience against Cheetahs, it's that you should take futsal one baby-step at a time.
As those four readers who managed to slog through the tiresome account of PF's Third Division below will dimly recall, my Albina Going FC Unicorns faced a do-or-die match last Thursday night. Three points against the lowly Cheetahs, the winless anchor of our six-team group, would put us in a strong position to make the four-team Finals. Given our opponents' lousy record, we also dreamed of piling up an unassailable goal-difference advantage over the two other sides locked in a virtual deadheat for the second and last playoff berth.
Well. Turned out that Cheetahs were a bit more up for the occasion than we were—or maybe we'd successfully psyched ourselves out with a full week of email back-and-forth about league tie-break scenarios and just how many goals we should win by. We looked frightful—utterly gash, as they say—in the first half, staking Cheetahs to a huge lead. The half-time chatter was a little tense, let's say. The second half didn't look much better. But then...slowly...inexorably...the Unicorns began to climb. Wings sprouted from the mythical beasts' frothy shanks...and they began to soar. I mean, score.
6-6. Fifteen seconds to play. A draw does us very little good. Doug Hurley, the Bracknall Bomber, collects the futsal spheroid on the wing. Finds Peter Noordijk, the Flying Dutchman, in the area. First shot thwacks off Cheetahs' keeper into a thicket of flailing limbs...and then...at an achingly slow speed...the ball rolls into the net.
My first thought was that the referee would surely disallow this ugly mess for—something. It did not look good. But he pointed at the center spot, and Cheetahs barely had time to kick off before the buzzer. Our overcrowded six-man bench erupted at this most dramatic of all finishes to a Winter season in which we: A) Won three games by a single goal; B) lost two games by a single goal; C) won one match by two goals; D) lost one match by two goals; and E) recorded an anomalous 6-0 victory over the team that completely dominated the group.
So now we are bound for the one-day, four-team divisional Big Dance in two weeks. We will play the top team from "Conference Brazil," while "Conference Argentina" winners Sofa Kings (we were the only team to beat them, BTW) face C-Brazil's second-place squad. Could our under-fit, over-aged gang of (mostly) Anglo-American doughboys possibly survive not one but two matches in one night? Against opposition that might include a team with the prepossessing name "Samba Boys"? Let's not get ahead of ourselves. If we gathered anything from our near-death experience against Cheetahs, it's that you should take futsal one baby-step at a time.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
TRIPLE FUTSAL MEGACLASH!
Tonight brings Winter Season's final matchday in Portland Futsal's Division Three. Four teams are fighting over the second and final playoff berth in Conference Argentina—a ticket to a madcap one-day tournament against the top teams in Conference Brazil, with bragging rights and promotion to the promised land of the Second Division at stake.
It's hard to imagine a more dramatic conclusion to an excellent, hard-fought season. Let's take a look at the table and tonight's key fixtures.
After seven of eight rounds:
1. SOFA KINGS :: 18 points // +23 goals
2. DUDES FC :: 12 points // +7 goals
3. ALBINA GOING FC :: 12 points // +6 goals
4. LEGION OF DOOM :: 12 points // +3 goals
5. URBANHONKING AC :: 9 points // +1 goal
6. CHEETAHS :: 0 points // -40 goals
As you see, Sports Fans, Sofa Kings are well clear of the pack and have booked their top seed in the Finals. Then comes a Mexican standoff at 12 points featuring my own Albina Going. UrbanHonking is outside looking in, but hasn't been mathematically eliminated. Cheetahs have their name on the Wooden Spoon, and are the only team completely out of contention.
That brings us to tonight's climactic fixture list:
19.25: ALBINA GOING V. CHEETAHS. My beloved Albina Going won two of three while I was "scouting" in Argentina, putting us in prime position to claim a playoff berth. Cheetahs haven't been able to make much of an impression this season, obviously, but they have given some of our closest rivals decent games. This is important because of goal differential—the league caps GD at a maximum +7 per match. Ideally we'd like to come out of tonight with 15 points and a +13 differential, but we're taking nothing for granted.
20.20: SOFA KINGS V. DUDES FC. Arguably the night's glamour match-up, a top-of-the-table reunion of the Round 7 pairing that saw the rampant Sofa Kings win 9-4. The big question comes down to motivation: the Kings have nothing to play for, while the Dudes, a feisty and competitive bunch, have their season on the line. Obviously, I'm hoping the Kings decide to forget the table and conduct an imperious demonstration of their power.
21.15: URBANHONKING AC V. LEGION OF DOOM. A weird one, and possibly irrelevant to the play-off scenario. UrbanHonking may well be eliminated before the match (if we win and/or Dudes win, UHAC is out). Legion needs to win and win big—how big, and whether they still remain in contention at all given the +7 GD maximum, depends on the outcome of the first two games.
So there it is. Drama, my friends. Tickets are free!
It's hard to imagine a more dramatic conclusion to an excellent, hard-fought season. Let's take a look at the table and tonight's key fixtures.
After seven of eight rounds:
1. SOFA KINGS :: 18 points // +23 goals
2. DUDES FC :: 12 points // +7 goals
3. ALBINA GOING FC :: 12 points // +6 goals
4. LEGION OF DOOM :: 12 points // +3 goals
5. URBANHONKING AC :: 9 points // +1 goal
6. CHEETAHS :: 0 points // -40 goals
As you see, Sports Fans, Sofa Kings are well clear of the pack and have booked their top seed in the Finals. Then comes a Mexican standoff at 12 points featuring my own Albina Going. UrbanHonking is outside looking in, but hasn't been mathematically eliminated. Cheetahs have their name on the Wooden Spoon, and are the only team completely out of contention.
That brings us to tonight's climactic fixture list:
19.25: ALBINA GOING V. CHEETAHS. My beloved Albina Going won two of three while I was "scouting" in Argentina, putting us in prime position to claim a playoff berth. Cheetahs haven't been able to make much of an impression this season, obviously, but they have given some of our closest rivals decent games. This is important because of goal differential—the league caps GD at a maximum +7 per match. Ideally we'd like to come out of tonight with 15 points and a +13 differential, but we're taking nothing for granted.
20.20: SOFA KINGS V. DUDES FC. Arguably the night's glamour match-up, a top-of-the-table reunion of the Round 7 pairing that saw the rampant Sofa Kings win 9-4. The big question comes down to motivation: the Kings have nothing to play for, while the Dudes, a feisty and competitive bunch, have their season on the line. Obviously, I'm hoping the Kings decide to forget the table and conduct an imperious demonstration of their power.
21.15: URBANHONKING AC V. LEGION OF DOOM. A weird one, and possibly irrelevant to the play-off scenario. UrbanHonking may well be eliminated before the match (if we win and/or Dudes win, UHAC is out). Legion needs to win and win big—how big, and whether they still remain in contention at all given the +7 GD maximum, depends on the outcome of the first two games.
So there it is. Drama, my friends. Tickets are free!
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
A Bloody Genius
A former coach in Israel shamelessly steals one of the greatest (and among the only) ideas ever proposed in the august salon known as Eleven Devils: that no points be awarded for 0-0 draws.
Apparently, the Israeli league is in the grip of a savage goal drought. Negative play abounds. So, would a tweak to the league-table system solve this problem? I think it might. However, I also have devised an EVEN MORE RADICAL solution...if anyone cares to hear it...um, hello?
Apparently, the Israeli league is in the grip of a savage goal drought. Negative play abounds. So, would a tweak to the league-table system solve this problem? I think it might. However, I also have devised an EVEN MORE RADICAL solution...if anyone cares to hear it...um, hello?
Palermo's Long Distance Delivery
If you haven't seen it, dig it. Boca Juniors' Martin Palermo connects from 52 meters:
Davai! Davai! Davai!
The awesome soccerblog constellation known as The Offside offers all kinds of specialized, enthusiast-driven coverage; winning the Eleven Devils/Komsomolets Order of the Achievements of the People's Economy today: the site's awesome Russian League blog. Molodets, tovarishi!
Sunday, February 25, 2007
I Don't Think I'll Ever Forgive Myself...
...for missing this Carling Cup final. And that's all I'm going to say about it.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Buenos Aires' Barrabravas
The English-language media grabs hold of Argentina's hooligan crisis, the story that dominated the sporting press during Eleven Devils' two-week visit to Buenos Aires and environs. The catalyst of the current uproar occurred during the very match my wife and I attended—see the photos below—at CA River Plate's massive, historic El Monumental stadium.
Our visit to the huge bowl in northern BA took place under relatively sanitized conditions. A specialist tour group (a company known as Tangol, for your touristic convenience) picked us up at our hotel, toted us to the stadium in a rattletrap van and escorted us to our seats. Our group included three Americans, an Arsenal fan from London and a couple of Aussies, and we plunked down in the upper-middle-class "platea" seats alongside a large group of Japanese tourists. All the same, the experience was completely different from attending a sporting event in the United States. A miniature army of over 1,000 cops swarmed the stadium, enforcing various crowd-control tactics and taking their trained attack dogs for walkies. The seating arrangements were improvisational, the concrete terraces and wooden benches austere, the concorses cramped. Though we encountered absolutely no problems, the narrow gates and tunnels opening into the stadium bowl put me in mind of a number of highly unpleasant stories of crowd congestion, crushing and trampling.
Such was the scene in our comparatively pricey, comfortable and sedate section—the part of the stadium dominated by neutral foreigners, seven-year-olds and granddads. (The latter demographic provided a very solid does of entertainment in the form of profanity-laced invective and recriminations against River's lackluster play; I now know a number of fascinating phrases in the local "Castellano" dialect.) Up in the second-deck "popular" sections, masses of humanity packed against nasty-looking, barnyard-esque "safety barriers"—mosh-style cauldrons hemmed in by barbed wire and cop battalions. These are the tribal stomping grounds of the barrabravas: the quasi-official, semi-illegal supporters' mafias generally implicated in futbol argentino's violence problem.
These scrums were, of course, the engines driving the ceaseless chants, songs, tifo displays and mass pogos that made the otherwise atrocious match between River Plate and suburban, non-descript Lanus worth the price of admission. And that's where the violence issue—in Argentina and, it would seem, Italy and elsewhere—begins to be less a cut-and-dried public-order issue and more a Borgesian labyrinth of politics and money.
The clubs maintain off-the-books links with barrabravas outfits—that's just an open secret. Money, tickets and jobs flow through those channels. It's a serious question, then, the issue of factional control and influence, particularly in a place where money, tickets and jobs are not exactly easy to come by. The fighting that erupted at the River v. Lanus match didn't pit home fans against away fans; rival groups of River supporters squared off. How would that happen if nothing tangible were at stake?
The complicity of the clubs is outrageous on one hand, but understandable on the other. Frankly, the quality of league footbal in Argentina is...mixed. I watched one match in person and at least bits and pieces of a dozen more. I saw some beautiful stuff and a lot of really bad stuff; I saw Boca Juniors play absolutely symphonic soccer in a 4-0 demolition of Banfield and then bumble around like idiots in a Copa Libertadores match against Bolivar. River has some excellent players—Nelson Enrique Rivas, a majestic and cool-headed Colombian defender, dominated the Lanus match—but didn't seem like anything special. Beyond the Big Two, who suck up most of the bling and media oxygen, clubs live hand-to-mouth off their committed supporters. The barrabravas complete the spectacle of football; indeed, provide about 70 percent of the entertainment value of a live match. They're the reason tourists pay premium prices to be herded, penned and inconvenienced to the extent that a two-hour match becomes an eight-hour experience. They provide the sport's soul and are simultaneously killing the game.
Solutions? Tricky. If you over-sanitize the "product," you end up with American sports: the cultural equivalent of touring Broadway shows, all pricey style with no social substance. Argentina cannot financially support a Premiership-style house cleaning based on massive TV revenues and high ticket costs. Punishing clubs wholesale—with multi-match stadium bans, for example—gives all the power to the malfactors and makes thousands of innocents pay for others' misdeeds.
At a bare minimum, however, clubs should be forced to sever their links with criminal elements or face criminal prosecution. Stadiums should be upgraded so no fans have to endure Animal Farm-style conditions. In other news, I should be made king and given god-like powers; the poor should be fed and the naked clothed. In the meantime, maybe River Plate can reschedule its home games at PGE Park—after what they're going through, dealing with the Timbers Army's occasional dirty words would be a proverbial garden stroll.
Our visit to the huge bowl in northern BA took place under relatively sanitized conditions. A specialist tour group (a company known as Tangol, for your touristic convenience) picked us up at our hotel, toted us to the stadium in a rattletrap van and escorted us to our seats. Our group included three Americans, an Arsenal fan from London and a couple of Aussies, and we plunked down in the upper-middle-class "platea" seats alongside a large group of Japanese tourists. All the same, the experience was completely different from attending a sporting event in the United States. A miniature army of over 1,000 cops swarmed the stadium, enforcing various crowd-control tactics and taking their trained attack dogs for walkies. The seating arrangements were improvisational, the concrete terraces and wooden benches austere, the concorses cramped. Though we encountered absolutely no problems, the narrow gates and tunnels opening into the stadium bowl put me in mind of a number of highly unpleasant stories of crowd congestion, crushing and trampling.
Such was the scene in our comparatively pricey, comfortable and sedate section—the part of the stadium dominated by neutral foreigners, seven-year-olds and granddads. (The latter demographic provided a very solid does of entertainment in the form of profanity-laced invective and recriminations against River's lackluster play; I now know a number of fascinating phrases in the local "Castellano" dialect.) Up in the second-deck "popular" sections, masses of humanity packed against nasty-looking, barnyard-esque "safety barriers"—mosh-style cauldrons hemmed in by barbed wire and cop battalions. These are the tribal stomping grounds of the barrabravas: the quasi-official, semi-illegal supporters' mafias generally implicated in futbol argentino's violence problem.
These scrums were, of course, the engines driving the ceaseless chants, songs, tifo displays and mass pogos that made the otherwise atrocious match between River Plate and suburban, non-descript Lanus worth the price of admission. And that's where the violence issue—in Argentina and, it would seem, Italy and elsewhere—begins to be less a cut-and-dried public-order issue and more a Borgesian labyrinth of politics and money.
The clubs maintain off-the-books links with barrabravas outfits—that's just an open secret. Money, tickets and jobs flow through those channels. It's a serious question, then, the issue of factional control and influence, particularly in a place where money, tickets and jobs are not exactly easy to come by. The fighting that erupted at the River v. Lanus match didn't pit home fans against away fans; rival groups of River supporters squared off. How would that happen if nothing tangible were at stake?
The complicity of the clubs is outrageous on one hand, but understandable on the other. Frankly, the quality of league footbal in Argentina is...mixed. I watched one match in person and at least bits and pieces of a dozen more. I saw some beautiful stuff and a lot of really bad stuff; I saw Boca Juniors play absolutely symphonic soccer in a 4-0 demolition of Banfield and then bumble around like idiots in a Copa Libertadores match against Bolivar. River has some excellent players—Nelson Enrique Rivas, a majestic and cool-headed Colombian defender, dominated the Lanus match—but didn't seem like anything special. Beyond the Big Two, who suck up most of the bling and media oxygen, clubs live hand-to-mouth off their committed supporters. The barrabravas complete the spectacle of football; indeed, provide about 70 percent of the entertainment value of a live match. They're the reason tourists pay premium prices to be herded, penned and inconvenienced to the extent that a two-hour match becomes an eight-hour experience. They provide the sport's soul and are simultaneously killing the game.
Solutions? Tricky. If you over-sanitize the "product," you end up with American sports: the cultural equivalent of touring Broadway shows, all pricey style with no social substance. Argentina cannot financially support a Premiership-style house cleaning based on massive TV revenues and high ticket costs. Punishing clubs wholesale—with multi-match stadium bans, for example—gives all the power to the malfactors and makes thousands of innocents pay for others' misdeeds.
At a bare minimum, however, clubs should be forced to sever their links with criminal elements or face criminal prosecution. Stadiums should be upgraded so no fans have to endure Animal Farm-style conditions. In other news, I should be made king and given god-like powers; the poor should be fed and the naked clothed. In the meantime, maybe River Plate can reschedule its home games at PGE Park—after what they're going through, dealing with the Timbers Army's occasional dirty words would be a proverbial garden stroll.
Friday, February 23, 2007
An Afternoon at El Monumental
Suffering a Western Hemispheric version of jet lag and still trying to realign my mind to the Global North (I drove my Subaru to an organic-foods market, for starters), I lack the fortitude to spiel about all things futbol argentino that I want to weigh in on after two weeks in the land of Union y Libertad. So here—without even going into the fact that, unbeknownst to me and my fellow tourists, mob violence at this very game would get CA River Plate banned from their own ground—are some Live-Action Colour Photos [patent pending] from this month's River Plate v. Lanus match. It was Round One of the Torneo Clausura, the second half of Argentina's quirky split-season championship, and the River faithful were up for it...well, in any case, they put on a much better show on the terraces than their team did on the pitch.
El Monumental
Inside the ground: Note the entrance to the club's volleyball practice facility on the left. According to the matchday program, River Plate's volleyball team had just won a big game against archrivals-in-everything Boca Juniors.
The field view from the midfield "platea" seats—the relatively posh district for tourists, families, little kids and old men who've probably seen more football than I could in nine lifetimes.
The away-support section, one hour before kick-off. Note the prudent use of barbed wire.
A little pre-match hugger-mugger.
River Plate's hardcore support.
Lanus' supporters in full voice. Hey, your team's from the middle of fuck-all suburbia and you know, deep down, that you haven't got a prayer against the big boys. So just relax and enjoy it.
Nil-nil in stoppage time? At home? Against Lanus?
Well, Lanus managed to fuck up a golden chance to escape with a point, anyway. Here one of their fellas explains where it all went wrong.
El Monumental
Inside the ground: Note the entrance to the club's volleyball practice facility on the left. According to the matchday program, River Plate's volleyball team had just won a big game against archrivals-in-everything Boca Juniors.
The field view from the midfield "platea" seats—the relatively posh district for tourists, families, little kids and old men who've probably seen more football than I could in nine lifetimes.
The away-support section, one hour before kick-off. Note the prudent use of barbed wire.
A little pre-match hugger-mugger.
River Plate's hardcore support.
Lanus' supporters in full voice. Hey, your team's from the middle of fuck-all suburbia and you know, deep down, that you haven't got a prayer against the big boys. So just relax and enjoy it.
Nil-nil in stoppage time? At home? Against Lanus?
Well, Lanus managed to fuck up a golden chance to escape with a point, anyway. Here one of their fellas explains where it all went wrong.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Como se dice "Utterly gash?"
There has been much speculation over the years about whether MLS teams might ever enter the Copa Libertadores. Based on the CL group-stage action I´ve seen so far during my visit to Argentina, I´d say the tournament should beg MLS to enter its top sides. Last night saw a Uruguayan club annihilate an Argentinian representative in a stadium that was 75 percent empty. Tonight, Boca Juniors and Bolivar played what may have been the single worst football game I´ve ever seen, a 0-0 draw in rainy La Paz occasionally spruced up by comic relief. An in-form Houston or DC could do just fine.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
El Futbol de Buenos Aires : Two Very Different Views
River Plate's "curva," El Monumental.
Futsal players in Parque Las Heras, Palermo, Buenos Aires.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Buenos dias de Buenos Aires
Eleven Devils reports live from the Argentinian capital this week, where Yer Correspondent and the wife are taking in the sights, watching hyperbolic Copa Libertadores broadcasts and eagerly awaiting Sunday´s match between River Plate and Lanus at El Monumental. (The very nice girl at our hotel apologized profusely for not getting us Boca Juniors tickets, but they´re playing away to Racing this weekend.)
Meanwhile, I´m anxiously awaiting the result from last night´s crucial Rivals Cup tie between my Albina Going FC Unicorns and UrbanHonking Athletic. And, of course, savoring the fact that my main man Jimmy Conrad was the hero of USA´s palate-cleansing 2-0 wipe out of the Ancient Enemy. Forza Conrad!
Meanwhile, I´m anxiously awaiting the result from last night´s crucial Rivals Cup tie between my Albina Going FC Unicorns and UrbanHonking Athletic. And, of course, savoring the fact that my main man Jimmy Conrad was the hero of USA´s palate-cleansing 2-0 wipe out of the Ancient Enemy. Forza Conrad!
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
A Crucial Top-of-the-Table Clash
Drama, drama, drama: my beloved Mighty Unicorns (more formally known as the Albina Going Football Club) sit second in Portland Futsal's Third Division, Conference Argentina. We're in a four-way jam at six points after three played, trailing Dudes FC by a single goal and leading Legion of Doom, likewise, by just one goal.
So tomorrow night's 20.20 fixture—Dudes FC v. Albina Going FC—looms large. Adding to the stakes, Dudes are also part of The Rivals Cup. The winning side will have either a slight advantage (in our case) or a massive advantage (if Dudes win) in the race to hoist the Golded Angel of Victory.
Friends, these are the games which make legends and shatter dreams. Join me in my prayers.
So tomorrow night's 20.20 fixture—Dudes FC v. Albina Going FC—looms large. Adding to the stakes, Dudes are also part of The Rivals Cup. The winning side will have either a slight advantage (in our case) or a massive advantage (if Dudes win) in the race to hoist the Golded Angel of Victory.
Friends, these are the games which make legends and shatter dreams. Join me in my prayers.
Monday, January 29, 2007
How's United Getting On?
No, not Man United, Newcastle United, DC United or any other marginally big United. With little shaking on the XIDevils front (aside from the interminable Portland Timbers hot-stove season, which has reached its annual "bitching about the shitty USL schedule" phase), it's time to check in on FC United of Manchester.
You may remember FC United: the DIY micro-club started by Manchester United supporters after American oligarch Malcolm Glazer bought the giants of Old Trafford. The Glazer deal, which saddled Man U with an enormous debt, was merely the last straw for a lot of old-school United supporters, who have watched their beloved side turn into a global commercial empire over the last two decades. Rising ticket prices, weird match times, a notoriously dead atmosphere at the ground—all inspired a group of Mancunians to take radical action. They formed their own team, jumped into the weird world of minor-division, regional football, and haven't looked back.
Last year, FC United flattened their rivals in the North West Counties Football League Division Two—which, if my calculations are correct, is ten levels down the pyramid from the Premiership. Duly promoted, the Red Rebels took off at a gallop in Division One this season. It was starting to look like FCUM (nice, huh?) would plow straight to the Football Conference (the lowest fully national division), or maybe even the League itself.
But you can't be a real club without some adversity, and FC have faced some harsh realities over the last two months. They were knocked out of the FA Vase, the national tournament for lower-division teams. Worse still, they've seen derby rivals Salford City overtake them atop the table. Can they get off the schneid and resume their cruise to glory? This week's fixture against Bacup Bourough (the club names in lower-division English football are fantastic) will go some ways towards providing the answer.
Meanwhile, check out two YouTube samples of what some of the FC United people like to call "punk football". First, a stunner from the center circle:
Then, a taste of the terrace atmosphere FCUM fans generate at the tiny stadiums where the club does its thing:
You may remember FC United: the DIY micro-club started by Manchester United supporters after American oligarch Malcolm Glazer bought the giants of Old Trafford. The Glazer deal, which saddled Man U with an enormous debt, was merely the last straw for a lot of old-school United supporters, who have watched their beloved side turn into a global commercial empire over the last two decades. Rising ticket prices, weird match times, a notoriously dead atmosphere at the ground—all inspired a group of Mancunians to take radical action. They formed their own team, jumped into the weird world of minor-division, regional football, and haven't looked back.
Last year, FC United flattened their rivals in the North West Counties Football League Division Two—which, if my calculations are correct, is ten levels down the pyramid from the Premiership. Duly promoted, the Red Rebels took off at a gallop in Division One this season. It was starting to look like FCUM (nice, huh?) would plow straight to the Football Conference (the lowest fully national division), or maybe even the League itself.
But you can't be a real club without some adversity, and FC have faced some harsh realities over the last two months. They were knocked out of the FA Vase, the national tournament for lower-division teams. Worse still, they've seen derby rivals Salford City overtake them atop the table. Can they get off the schneid and resume their cruise to glory? This week's fixture against Bacup Bourough (the club names in lower-division English football are fantastic) will go some ways towards providing the answer.
Meanwhile, check out two YouTube samples of what some of the FC United people like to call "punk football". First, a stunner from the center circle:
Then, a taste of the terrace atmosphere FCUM fans generate at the tiny stadiums where the club does its thing:
Monday, January 22, 2007
Now That's Entertainment!
Big, big weekend in the Big, Big Premierhood of Barclaycardistan. Liverpool, the Official Premierhood of Barclaycardistan Club of Eleven Devils, tonked those fractious Chelski blueboys with a couple quick goals. Arsenal provided the late dramatics of the season so far, as Henry zipped in his instantly famous winner at the "death," as they say. The Big Two, Dynamo Chelsea and Manchester Bay Buccanneers, suddenly look wobbly atop the world.
And yet you couldn't get more laughs for your hard-earned British Dinar (or...what's it called?) than Reading FC's zany 3-1 win over the mobile atrocity that is Sheffield United.
I have admitted that I am having an affair with Reading on the side, and this match give me every excuse. You have the first goalscorer brutally tackling his own team's fuzzy mascot in celebration. You have Steve "Headcracker" Hunt provoking two red cards and a goofy melee involving the coaching staffs AND THEN scoring a goal on a farcical imitation bicycle kick AND THEN celebrating by slide tackling the corner flag and nearly killing the linesman. You have at least 11 Sheffield United players who will think back on this game with mixed emotions when, in 20 years, they're drunkenly insisting to the crowd at their local that they did so play in the Premiership for a season.
It's all so jolly, I figured I had better steal some key footage off YouTube. Hands off MY content, though, you pirate scum. Everything here is copyrighted and I have some large, obscurely Slavic friends:
And yet you couldn't get more laughs for your hard-earned British Dinar (or...what's it called?) than Reading FC's zany 3-1 win over the mobile atrocity that is Sheffield United.
I have admitted that I am having an affair with Reading on the side, and this match give me every excuse. You have the first goalscorer brutally tackling his own team's fuzzy mascot in celebration. You have Steve "Headcracker" Hunt provoking two red cards and a goofy melee involving the coaching staffs AND THEN scoring a goal on a farcical imitation bicycle kick AND THEN celebrating by slide tackling the corner flag and nearly killing the linesman. You have at least 11 Sheffield United players who will think back on this game with mixed emotions when, in 20 years, they're drunkenly insisting to the crowd at their local that they did so play in the Premiership for a season.
It's all so jolly, I figured I had better steal some key footage off YouTube. Hands off MY content, though, you pirate scum. Everything here is copyrighted and I have some large, obscurely Slavic friends:
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Fugees v. All Comers
Warren St. John has an an absolutely superb story in today's New York Times: the tale of a club composed of refugee kids in the Atlanta suburb of Clarkston. Some version of this story could probably be found in every major city in America, but its Southern locale gives it special resonance. The Fugees face everything from passive-aggressive harassment from pink-in-the-neck municipal officials to open racial taunting (and where is FIFA?). And yet from the sounds of it, they bring joy and invention to an otherwise mundane league of well-funded soccer-mom outfits.
I'm sure the team will be besieged with offers of help after this. The article's worth reading even if you're not philanthropically inclined.
I'm sure the team will be besieged with offers of help after this. The article's worth reading even if you're not philanthropically inclined.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Conrad Comes Alive
Okay, maybe the United States' national team is not the most formidable side in world football. But I defy you to find any other regular international as purely and totally sweet as Jimmy Conrad.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Monday, January 15, 2007
Tennis Hooliganism Must Be Stopped
The diseased culture of thuggery surrounding this sport must be stamped out!
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Triumph, Documented
Thanks to UrbanHonking's Mike Merrill, complete highlights of the Rivals Cup Inaugural Match are now available online. I particularly commend the opening seconds of the following clip, wherein I attempt to spew managerial cliches, to your attention:
Rivals Cup - Second Half on Vimeo
This Thursday night brings the first match of the Rivals Cup's on-going league format, as my trusty Unicorns face off against UrbanHonking Athletic yet again.
Rivals Cup - Second Half on Vimeo
This Thursday night brings the first match of the Rivals Cup's on-going league format, as my trusty Unicorns face off against UrbanHonking Athletic yet again.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Enter the SuperLiga!
Okay, I guess they had to call it something. Major League Soccer and the Mexican First Division unveiled their long-awaited Champions League-style (or that's what they're calling it) joint competition today. In theory, at least, this eight-team tournament is intended to deterimine "the best club in North America." (I'm sure Costa Rican teams like Alajuelense and Saprissa are watching the mail for their 2008 invitations. And why isn't Joe Public included? WHY?)
Besides imposing a two-countries-plus-Toronto definition on "North America," the SuperLiga seems a few return legs short of a full tournament. To wit, the four teams in each of two preliminary groups will play each other only once, with no matches at all taking place in Mexico. (Even the all-Mexican fixtures will be played in US stadiums.) That's an implicit admission that fans in Mexico probably wouldn't exactly flatten the ticket booth to see, say, the Houston Dynamo. And it just doesn't strike me as particularly "Super." If you're going to launch a competition, launch it. So far, this venture has "exhibition season" written all over it.
Besides imposing a two-countries-plus-Toronto definition on "North America," the SuperLiga seems a few return legs short of a full tournament. To wit, the four teams in each of two preliminary groups will play each other only once, with no matches at all taking place in Mexico. (Even the all-Mexican fixtures will be played in US stadiums.) That's an implicit admission that fans in Mexico probably wouldn't exactly flatten the ticket booth to see, say, the Houston Dynamo. And it just doesn't strike me as particularly "Super." If you're going to launch a competition, launch it. So far, this venture has "exhibition season" written all over it.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Bang!
David Beckham signs for LA Galaxy, and for the first time in its history, Major League Soccer is genuine, top-of-the-fold (as we increasingly archaic journalists say) news. While the media pops its gourd over what Bexx brings to the table as a celebrity and glitz magnet, expect extreme teeth-gnashing in the American soccersphere: is splashing out $250M to an over-the-hill free-kick specialist worth it for a league built on the cheap? is Beckham more or less ridiculous and pitiable than Landon Donovan, his putative clubmate; what-oh-what does this say about The Game in America...?
The American soccer community (Anglophone division) is woefully dependent on English football culture as its model. (This blog is no exception). The British press loves nothing more than to excoriate Beckham (or anyone else who has tasted success but occasionally has an off week), so it's hardly surprising that a lot of fans over here don't really rate the man any more. His struggles at Real Madrid (which is, perceptive fans will note, Real Fucking Madrid) caused him to drop in just about everyone's estimation. So is this a coup or a fuck-up on a continental scale?
A few bottom-line truths from the Eleven Devils Expert Department:
—If you step back from the blather, hype and anti-hype, all D. Beckham has done in his career is: score (and create) tanker-loads of goals and win a bunch of trophies with the two biggest clubs in the world; play in three World Cups (the only Englishman to do so); and establish himself as one of the most famous practicioners of his art in the world. Only in England could someone with that CV end up a tabloid whipping-boy.
—If you don't think he's still capable of tearing MLS apart, you haven't watched the league.
—Provided he doesn't blow his ACL in his first season, he will be worth every penny to everyone involved. Adidas, MLS and the Galaxy will sell merchandise as fast as they can uncrate it. Venues across the league will sell out for his first few visits. If only one lookie-loo in 20 becomes an MLS season ticket holder, MLS will consider the investment wise.
—What do you bet that MLS Commissioner Don Garber received at least one call from a prospective expansion-club investor today?
—What do you bet MLS will schedule one of Beckham's first away games with the Galaxy in either Kansas City or Salt Lake, where the league is fighting uphill battles for publicly funded stadiums? (Sorry: stadia.)
Does hype have a lot to do with this signing? Yes. Does that make it a bad idea? Not necessarily.
The American soccer community (Anglophone division) is woefully dependent on English football culture as its model. (This blog is no exception). The British press loves nothing more than to excoriate Beckham (or anyone else who has tasted success but occasionally has an off week), so it's hardly surprising that a lot of fans over here don't really rate the man any more. His struggles at Real Madrid (which is, perceptive fans will note, Real Fucking Madrid) caused him to drop in just about everyone's estimation. So is this a coup or a fuck-up on a continental scale?
A few bottom-line truths from the Eleven Devils Expert Department:
—If you step back from the blather, hype and anti-hype, all D. Beckham has done in his career is: score (and create) tanker-loads of goals and win a bunch of trophies with the two biggest clubs in the world; play in three World Cups (the only Englishman to do so); and establish himself as one of the most famous practicioners of his art in the world. Only in England could someone with that CV end up a tabloid whipping-boy.
—If you don't think he's still capable of tearing MLS apart, you haven't watched the league.
—Provided he doesn't blow his ACL in his first season, he will be worth every penny to everyone involved. Adidas, MLS and the Galaxy will sell merchandise as fast as they can uncrate it. Venues across the league will sell out for his first few visits. If only one lookie-loo in 20 becomes an MLS season ticket holder, MLS will consider the investment wise.
—What do you bet that MLS Commissioner Don Garber received at least one call from a prospective expansion-club investor today?
—What do you bet MLS will schedule one of Beckham's first away games with the Galaxy in either Kansas City or Salt Lake, where the league is fighting uphill battles for publicly funded stadiums? (Sorry: stadia.)
Does hype have a lot to do with this signing? Yes. Does that make it a bad idea? Not necessarily.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
La Victoria!
My futsal team begins its quest for Third Division (and Rivals Cup) glory on Thursday. And yes, we'll be keeping this beauty!
Monday, January 08, 2007
"When You Run Out on the Pitch, The Voices Stop"
Or so an Italian chap claims in this fascinating story about a competitive team composed of mentally ill people. The use of football as a treatment for depression and schizophreia seems quite promising. Though I must say it has never worked for me.
Case in point: Last night's Inaugural Match in the new Rivals Cup, a fierce contest between my own Albina Going FC and the robust UrbanHonking Athletic Club. As relayed below, the Albina Going fixtures office has been in protracted negotiations to arrange a friendly between the two sides for a long time. Now that both teams will feature in Portland Futsal's Third Division, it seemed natural to get this non-league match on the books. Leave it to the crafty geniuses at UrbanHonking to up the proverbial ante: team chairman Mike Merrill devised a new, unofficial cup competition to include our two sides and a third team. Last night's match, then, would determine the first cup-holders (a term that always gives me an obscure shiver, don't know about you).
After some multimedia trash-talk, both clubs were "well up for it," and turned out huge squads. We had a full five-man bench, while Athletic fielded nine and brought along a uniformed medic (!) and at least a half-dozen vocal supporters, most of whom toted signs calling for the destruction of The Mighty Unicorns. (They were nice enough, however, to make one nominally pro-Unicorns sign, which ended up in the hands of a very enthusiastic little girl. Whoever she is, she's now commander of the Unicorn Army.) With Portland Futsal owner Paul Lomanto manning the whistle, the match kicked off at about 7:25 and opened at breakneck pace.
You could see The Going's cup-tie jitters from the outset, as we repeatedly gave the ball away and conceded the first goal. However, we soon settled and managed to knock four past Athletic's portero. Unfortunately, we also gave away four, creating a Gordian knot of dramatic tension and a tied halftime scoreline.
In the second half, the Unicorns finally managed to shake off the bad voodoo of eight straight league losses: we scored five, conceded just once (despite some phenomenal pressure from UrbanHonking) and claimed the winged-angel trophy, which now sits securely on my own literal mantlepiece. Things got a bit heated at one point—but what can you expect when two proud clubs meet with hardware on the line?
During the post-match revels at the cozy (superheated, in fact) Brooklyn Park Pub, Lomanto mentioned the possibility of a Rivals Cup shrine on the walls of Portland Futsal itself. Stayed tuned for that one, football fans. In the meantime, it's likely that video highlights will appear on UrbanHonking very soon, so check 'em out. Well-played, Athletic.
* * *
NEWS UPDATE: You will all be shocked to learn that, in addition to installing a "democratic" government that can't even organize a proper hanging (even Montanans mastered that one early on), our canny plan to reinvent the Middle East starting in Baghdad has also screwed up Iraqi soccer. Not only will George Bush not have any city plazas in Baghdad named in his honor any time soon, but he'll also miss out on handing the Iraqi Cup to the winning club's captain. What's the point of an empire, then?
Case in point: Last night's Inaugural Match in the new Rivals Cup, a fierce contest between my own Albina Going FC and the robust UrbanHonking Athletic Club. As relayed below, the Albina Going fixtures office has been in protracted negotiations to arrange a friendly between the two sides for a long time. Now that both teams will feature in Portland Futsal's Third Division, it seemed natural to get this non-league match on the books. Leave it to the crafty geniuses at UrbanHonking to up the proverbial ante: team chairman Mike Merrill devised a new, unofficial cup competition to include our two sides and a third team. Last night's match, then, would determine the first cup-holders (a term that always gives me an obscure shiver, don't know about you).
After some multimedia trash-talk, both clubs were "well up for it," and turned out huge squads. We had a full five-man bench, while Athletic fielded nine and brought along a uniformed medic (!) and at least a half-dozen vocal supporters, most of whom toted signs calling for the destruction of The Mighty Unicorns. (They were nice enough, however, to make one nominally pro-Unicorns sign, which ended up in the hands of a very enthusiastic little girl. Whoever she is, she's now commander of the Unicorn Army.) With Portland Futsal owner Paul Lomanto manning the whistle, the match kicked off at about 7:25 and opened at breakneck pace.
You could see The Going's cup-tie jitters from the outset, as we repeatedly gave the ball away and conceded the first goal. However, we soon settled and managed to knock four past Athletic's portero. Unfortunately, we also gave away four, creating a Gordian knot of dramatic tension and a tied halftime scoreline.
In the second half, the Unicorns finally managed to shake off the bad voodoo of eight straight league losses: we scored five, conceded just once (despite some phenomenal pressure from UrbanHonking) and claimed the winged-angel trophy, which now sits securely on my own literal mantlepiece. Things got a bit heated at one point—but what can you expect when two proud clubs meet with hardware on the line?
During the post-match revels at the cozy (superheated, in fact) Brooklyn Park Pub, Lomanto mentioned the possibility of a Rivals Cup shrine on the walls of Portland Futsal itself. Stayed tuned for that one, football fans. In the meantime, it's likely that video highlights will appear on UrbanHonking very soon, so check 'em out. Well-played, Athletic.
* * *
NEWS UPDATE: You will all be shocked to learn that, in addition to installing a "democratic" government that can't even organize a proper hanging (even Montanans mastered that one early on), our canny plan to reinvent the Middle East starting in Baghdad has also screwed up Iraqi soccer. Not only will George Bush not have any city plazas in Baghdad named in his honor any time soon, but he'll also miss out on handing the Iraqi Cup to the winning club's captain. What's the point of an empire, then?
Saturday, January 06, 2007
THE RIVALS CUP
Thoroughout the brief and stormy existence of my futsal side, Albina Going FC (aka "The Unicorns"), we've been shadowed by a dark presence: an outfit called UrbanHonking Athletic Club (apparently also known as "Pegasus"). In two seasons of futsal, the two sides have never mixed it up. Because, frankly, we've been playing in a higher division than them. But many were the challenges exchanged, the gauntlets chucked, etc. Now, after a Second Division existence well-stocked with moral victories, Albina Going joins UHAC in Portland Futsal's Third Division...but even more importantly, we join them in the Rivals Cup.
What is the Rivals Cup? What will be the tenor of this sinister-sounding competition? Check out this fine promotional video or the yo-mamas delivered here.
This Sunday night at 7 pm, these two already-storied sides meet at Portland Futsal in a much-anticipated non-league fixture: the Rivals Cup Inaugural Match. The winner of this one-off game will be first to hold the coveted trophy. Thereafter, league points in matches between The Going, Athletic and an unknown club called Dudes FC will determine who takes possession of this unprepossessing but prestigious piece of hardware.
This format promises to provide many a thrill for football fans as it parallels the official table of the Third Division's new "Conference Argentina." But should the Rivals Cup be contested for 100 years, no match will equal the drama, intensity and special-occasion zing of this first encounter. Sunday's match will even feature a celebrity referee, in the person of Portland Futsal owner Paul Lomanto. There are also rumors that a uniformed medic will be present...JUST IN CASE.
Can the Unicorns dust off their winning magic after eight consecutive league losses and relegation? Can Team Pegasus rise to the occasion against an opponent accustomed to facing the big boys? Will this be the most exciting Portland soccer event since Pele and the Cosmos won the Soccer Bowl at Civic Stadium? Or just since the last time the Minnesota Thunder played here? Would you like to join the Unicorn Army? FIND OUT SUNDAY!
What is the Rivals Cup? What will be the tenor of this sinister-sounding competition? Check out this fine promotional video or the yo-mamas delivered here.
This Sunday night at 7 pm, these two already-storied sides meet at Portland Futsal in a much-anticipated non-league fixture: the Rivals Cup Inaugural Match. The winner of this one-off game will be first to hold the coveted trophy. Thereafter, league points in matches between The Going, Athletic and an unknown club called Dudes FC will determine who takes possession of this unprepossessing but prestigious piece of hardware.
This format promises to provide many a thrill for football fans as it parallels the official table of the Third Division's new "Conference Argentina." But should the Rivals Cup be contested for 100 years, no match will equal the drama, intensity and special-occasion zing of this first encounter. Sunday's match will even feature a celebrity referee, in the person of Portland Futsal owner Paul Lomanto. There are also rumors that a uniformed medic will be present...JUST IN CASE.
Can the Unicorns dust off their winning magic after eight consecutive league losses and relegation? Can Team Pegasus rise to the occasion against an opponent accustomed to facing the big boys? Will this be the most exciting Portland soccer event since Pele and the Cosmos won the Soccer Bowl at Civic Stadium? Or just since the last time the Minnesota Thunder played here? Would you like to join the Unicorn Army? FIND OUT SUNDAY!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
'007: License to Thrill!
The tumultuous first calendar year of Eleven Devils' existence reached a quiet conclusion, as my nearest and dearest celebrated the traditional Hanging of the Dark Foreign Overlord. It's these kind of olde-time rituals that bind civilization together. I say it every year: it's going to be a Nicolae Ceauşescu Christmas!
The two Premiership teams who enjoy the coveted XID stamp of approval, Liverpool and Reading, marked the New Year with a combined nine unanswered goals. That is surely an omen: we will see a reinvigorated US national team; a surprise Liverpool domestic double; a gripping Liverpool/Barcelona Champions League tie that will go down in history; an unbeaten run for my Albina Going Unicorns in Portland Futsal Division Three; a US Open Cup for the Portland Timbers; a Scudetto for Palermo; peace on earth; goodwill towards men.
Meanwhile, all is more or less silent in Portland soccerland. Timbers signings are beginning to dribble in as our beloved local club begins its annual process of cobbling together a squad. Somehow they haven't announced any blockbusters, but I'm sure they just didn't want the news to get lost in the Hanging of the Dark Foreign Overlord shuffle. The Unicorns, fresh from a winless relegation from the Second Division, are geared up to win Portland Futsal's third tier. Yes! A pre-season friendly against Urban Honking Athletic is in the works, which makes us feel very professional.
Finally, a Guardian writer had the good sense to celebrate the Maxi Rodriguez wondergol, which was indeed one of the finest footballing moments of 2006. Dig:
The two Premiership teams who enjoy the coveted XID stamp of approval, Liverpool and Reading, marked the New Year with a combined nine unanswered goals. That is surely an omen: we will see a reinvigorated US national team; a surprise Liverpool domestic double; a gripping Liverpool/Barcelona Champions League tie that will go down in history; an unbeaten run for my Albina Going Unicorns in Portland Futsal Division Three; a US Open Cup for the Portland Timbers; a Scudetto for Palermo; peace on earth; goodwill towards men.
Meanwhile, all is more or less silent in Portland soccerland. Timbers signings are beginning to dribble in as our beloved local club begins its annual process of cobbling together a squad. Somehow they haven't announced any blockbusters, but I'm sure they just didn't want the news to get lost in the Hanging of the Dark Foreign Overlord shuffle. The Unicorns, fresh from a winless relegation from the Second Division, are geared up to win Portland Futsal's third tier. Yes! A pre-season friendly against Urban Honking Athletic is in the works, which makes us feel very professional.
Finally, a Guardian writer had the good sense to celebrate the Maxi Rodriguez wondergol, which was indeed one of the finest footballing moments of 2006. Dig:
Thursday, December 21, 2006
A Festivus of Non-Nations
My old comrade Dan (aka "The Hassidic Harrier") chimed in this morning with the disappointing news that the Vatican City isn't likely to field a football team any time soon. So the collective childlike excitement we all felt at the prospect of seeing Ratzinger pacing the sidelines in a cloud of incense was for naught.
However, idle speculation over new and unfeasible national football teams is a fine holiday pastime; in fact, it can be highly educational. Who knew, for example, that there is a global federation of wanna-be national teams, featuring such heavyweights as Lapland, Northern Cyprus, Rijeka and the Romany? (And apparently, um, the Isle of Wight?) Or that notorious buccaneer "micronation" Sealand makes this worthy outfit's "provisional" members list? It seems the Laplanders are the "world champions" of this football demimonde...after beating Monaco 21-1.
Think of the awesome possibilities! Could we one day see a "full international" between Sealand and The United Shires of America? Or, here's a thought: I know some of my fellow Portland footballniks are into the whole bioregional separatist thing. When will we see Mighty Cascadia take to the pitch?
However, idle speculation over new and unfeasible national football teams is a fine holiday pastime; in fact, it can be highly educational. Who knew, for example, that there is a global federation of wanna-be national teams, featuring such heavyweights as Lapland, Northern Cyprus, Rijeka and the Romany? (And apparently, um, the Isle of Wight?) Or that notorious buccaneer "micronation" Sealand makes this worthy outfit's "provisional" members list? It seems the Laplanders are the "world champions" of this football demimonde...after beating Monaco 21-1.
Think of the awesome possibilities! Could we one day see a "full international" between Sealand and The United Shires of America? Or, here's a thought: I know some of my fellow Portland footballniks are into the whole bioregional separatist thing. When will we see Mighty Cascadia take to the pitch?
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Barca Shoots Blanks // The God Squad
Watch this, then tell me if the Club World Cup is as meaningless as we are assured by a phalanx of Eurosnobic commentators every time it rolls around. Check out Ronaldhino's face after Internacional goes up 1-0 on a crackling counterattack. Check out Inter's wild celebration at the end. Hell, check out all the good-to-great-to-desperate football Barcelona played before—in classic cup-final fashion—going down to a club most of its supporters literally couldn't find on the map.
This tournament is, admittedly, sort of an orphan of the football calendar, and the successor to a trophy that Latin Americans always took way more seriously than Europeans did. (In one of the most pedantic sections of the otherwise brilliant Soccer in Sun and Shadow, Eduardo Galeano actually toted up the number of times Sudamericano clubs had won the Intercontinenal Cup.) But one of the coolest things about football is its (almost) perfectly logical global structure. Continental championships sit atop national leagues which sit atop lower divisions which sit atop regional and finally local leagues. It's fantastic (and I think that's why fans find closed-door schemes like MLS grating—they remove an integral element of the sport). It would seem to imply the need for a world championship of some sort. This is the one we've got. Well-played to Barcelona, congratulations to SC Internacional. Auckland City will kill 'em all next time.
***
As I piloted the Subaru home from the mob scene at the airport Post Office at midnight last night, the good old BBC World Service reported on the exciting possibility of a new entrant on the world football stage: Vatican City! For one, I cannot wait. In fact, I would like to see an Ecumenical World Cup. Think of the potential fixture list:
Vatican City v. Dalai Lama Select XI
Orthodox Patriarchate of Constantinople v. Global Islamic Caliphate
Saddleback Church v. The Episcopalians
Hinduism's Many Gods v. The Other Episcopalians...
Et cetera. In any case, in light of gay/Catholic/liberal/conservative/British/American journalist Andrew Sullivan's recent diagnosis of the Vatican's sub rosa cultural predilections, we can expect any XI fielded by the Holy See to sport some seriously fabu kits. Forza Ratzinger!
Sunday, December 17, 2006
O Colorado!
Europeans don't seem to take the World Club Championship (or FIFA Club World Cup (tm), as it has been pretentiously rebranded) very seriously. I wonder why.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Barca? Buh-Bang!
So Liverpool lands Barca in the Champions League knock-outs, and everyone's acting like it's some big tragedy. Wait—isn't that why you want your club to nab a European spot? To duel the best and see the biggest clubs on your home turf? Or is that only okay in the final—until which time you hope for a steady diet of Lille, PSV and Porto?
Calendar's marked—this promises to be a fantastic tie. (Barcelona will win it, naturally.)
Calendar's marked—this promises to be a fantastic tie. (Barcelona will win it, naturally.)
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Can Team USA Discover the Americas?
The New York Sun may be one of the strangest newspapers in America, but soccer columnist Paul Gardner is worth reading for his sharp-elbowed, argumentative style. He sounds off today on the need to end the North Euro stranglehold on American soccer, dissing Sexy Jurgen in the process and boosting the (to my mind, weak) case of Jose Pekerman.
While I don't agree with Gardner's Pekermania (aaaaah....), you can't argue with the fact that US Soccer desperately needs to incorporate this country's Hispanic footballing scene(s) into its very essence. Not for the sake of PC ethno-pandering; not for marketing purposes. The Latin game is the future, in this hemisphere and beyond: just look at the proliferation of Latin-flavo(u)red training academies in the UK or the money-enabled annexation of South America's top-tier talent by the European leagues. On the grassroots level, you don't need a particularly vivid imagination to see that the stereotypical suburb-spendy club-high school-college soccer development axis is on the wane, or at least losing its monopoly. Even players from that hackneyed milieu are increasingly looking to early pro moves to Europe, where they're exposed to modern styles, tactics and talents that fuse Latin elements with traditional Euro grit.
So Gardner is right: whoever ends up managing Team USA through the 2010 cycle must be judged BOTH on results and his success in incorporating the various Hispanic futbol nations already very alive and well in this country into our national side. But let's take it further—when are we going to see players of East African and Eastern European extraction in the mix for national team spots? How will we make use of that ever-growing migration of Americans choosing to skip college and MLS for Europe? How will we, in short, leverage the incredible amount and variety of soccer played by Americans of all origins into a cohesive national team?
Judging by surnames alone, we have a demographically intriguing U-20 squad in the works. Let's hope it's the start of something.
While I don't agree with Gardner's Pekermania (aaaaah....), you can't argue with the fact that US Soccer desperately needs to incorporate this country's Hispanic footballing scene(s) into its very essence. Not for the sake of PC ethno-pandering; not for marketing purposes. The Latin game is the future, in this hemisphere and beyond: just look at the proliferation of Latin-flavo(u)red training academies in the UK or the money-enabled annexation of South America's top-tier talent by the European leagues. On the grassroots level, you don't need a particularly vivid imagination to see that the stereotypical suburb-spendy club-high school-college soccer development axis is on the wane, or at least losing its monopoly. Even players from that hackneyed milieu are increasingly looking to early pro moves to Europe, where they're exposed to modern styles, tactics and talents that fuse Latin elements with traditional Euro grit.
So Gardner is right: whoever ends up managing Team USA through the 2010 cycle must be judged BOTH on results and his success in incorporating the various Hispanic futbol nations already very alive and well in this country into our national side. But let's take it further—when are we going to see players of East African and Eastern European extraction in the mix for national team spots? How will we make use of that ever-growing migration of Americans choosing to skip college and MLS for Europe? How will we, in short, leverage the incredible amount and variety of soccer played by Americans of all origins into a cohesive national team?
Judging by surnames alone, we have a demographically intriguing U-20 squad in the works. Let's hope it's the start of something.
But Will He Buy the Timbers?
It's not every day that we Portlanders awake to find Roman Abramovich gazing from the front page of our local paper. Seems he will soon add a substantial chunk of one of Oregon's larger companies to his portfolio. It will look great next to Michael Essien.
Monday, December 11, 2006
ADU OUT: Brilliant? Or Just Weird?
The biggest transfer (or as they say in this country, "trade") in Major League Soccer history just went down: Adu from DC United to Real Salt Lake, bundled with reserve (but seasoned) 'keeper Rimando, in exchange for a "major allocation" and various other parting gifts. ("Future considerations" is one of my favorite terms in sports-biz.)
Is this an ingenious Machiavellian move by United's Petr Nowak, or just another odd chapter in the dysfunctional relationship between sometime-wonderboy Adu and his hometown club? I don't know enough about the inscrutable player-acquisition rules in MLS, which in any case seem to consist of whatever Don Garber says they consist of on a given day, to know. But I would hazard a guess that this might be a more bizarre move on RSL's part than anything.
United will use the allocation slot (and suddenly untrodden vistas of salary-cap room) to snap up some young Latin American talent. The Royal Utahan Mounted Police will get a short-term blast of major-media publicity...which, hmm, just may or may not have been an incentive, given their politically fraught quest for a subsidized stadium on some blasted patch of Salt Lake exurbia. They'll get a bump to their gate, which is already quite respectable. And then—well, Man United may not buy Freddy come June, but someone will. Will RSL get a taste of the transfer fee, or does that all stay in New York? Or do potential EuroMillions fall into that "further considerations" category?
Is this an ingenious Machiavellian move by United's Petr Nowak, or just another odd chapter in the dysfunctional relationship between sometime-wonderboy Adu and his hometown club? I don't know enough about the inscrutable player-acquisition rules in MLS, which in any case seem to consist of whatever Don Garber says they consist of on a given day, to know. But I would hazard a guess that this might be a more bizarre move on RSL's part than anything.
United will use the allocation slot (and suddenly untrodden vistas of salary-cap room) to snap up some young Latin American talent. The Royal Utahan Mounted Police will get a short-term blast of major-media publicity...which, hmm, just may or may not have been an incentive, given their politically fraught quest for a subsidized stadium on some blasted patch of Salt Lake exurbia. They'll get a bump to their gate, which is already quite respectable. And then—well, Man United may not buy Freddy come June, but someone will. Will RSL get a taste of the transfer fee, or does that all stay in New York? Or do potential EuroMillions fall into that "further considerations" category?
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Sexy Jurgen, We Hardly Knew Ye
Let the speculation begin: did Klinsmann simply decide on a polite thanks-but-no-thanks so he can spend more quality fun'n'sun time at his California dacha; or did the United States Soccer Federation pull one of its characteristic almighty cock-ups? Either way, it seems my decision to buy tons of futures on crisp white button-ups was a poor one.
This is definitely the most disappointing domestic soccer news either since Ghana 2:1 USA or the naming of the Carolina Railhawks. What underqualified homegrown coach (y'know, someone who "knows the American system" or "understands the American player" or some such bullshit) or warmed-over Bora Milutinovich-alike will get the job now?
This is definitely the most disappointing domestic soccer news either since Ghana 2:1 USA or the naming of the Carolina Railhawks. What underqualified homegrown coach (y'know, someone who "knows the American system" or "understands the American player" or some such bullshit) or warmed-over Bora Milutinovich-alike will get the job now?
Egad!
Did it have to be Sunderland? Is there really a market for this sort of thing?
Sounds like these poor bastards are about to star in an intimate scene of another sort, protagonist Roy Keane. Makes you feel for them. Almost. New rule: only Premiership players are allowed to make decadent sex tapes. We don't want Gillingham getting into the act, do we?
Sounds like these poor bastards are about to star in an intimate scene of another sort, protagonist Roy Keane. Makes you feel for them. Almost. New rule: only Premiership players are allowed to make decadent sex tapes. We don't want Gillingham getting into the act, do we?
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
LIVE BLOG!!! INEVITABLE DEGENERATION OF THE MATCH DEPARTMENT
This thing is falling apart, though Werder really should have put at least one away. On the upside, Torsten Frings got a yellow. Oooooh, and at 81, the Werder keeper slaughters Ludovic at the top of the area in a vain effort to inject some life into proceedings. Meanwhile, the bartender is handing out little tastes of Stella Artois to skeptical blue-collar patrons...it's all kicking off...
LIVE BLOG BREAKING NEWS SUBSECTION!!!
Fox is reporting that Sexy Jurgen (bowing to the inevitable) has signed to managed the White Buffalo...but Tommy Smyth just energetically "rubbished" the news. Which means it must be true! Let's have another round, and toast the 2010 World Cup!
LIVE BLOG!!!: BARCA V. WERDER!
Well, let's not get carried away with ourselves. But it is true that the Eleven Devils braintrust (me) has repaired to The Thirsty Lion, in the pulsating epicenter (?) of Portland, to watch Barcelona lay waste to a startlingly indifferent Werder Bremen. Thanks to a mid-day pint of Guinness, a hulking bowl of beef stew and the fact that sleazy Torsten Frings is going out of the Champions League, all is merry and bright.
At minute 44, Barcelona leads 2-0 and is waltzing all over the vast Nou Camp, with Werder's players acting in the role of obstacle cones. Barca should have at least four by my count, including a tricky little run by the Icelandic Samba Boy that ended with a knock to the woodwork.
There—the half-time whistle has just gone, as the British would say. If the poky wi-fi and my own sobriety permits, we could have another gripping update. I can say that the two Panamanian lads at the bar look very happy. Hasn't anyone explained the whole Catalan separatist thing?
At minute 44, Barcelona leads 2-0 and is waltzing all over the vast Nou Camp, with Werder's players acting in the role of obstacle cones. Barca should have at least four by my count, including a tricky little run by the Icelandic Samba Boy that ended with a knock to the woodwork.
There—the half-time whistle has just gone, as the British would say. If the poky wi-fi and my own sobriety permits, we could have another gripping update. I can say that the two Panamanian lads at the bar look very happy. Hasn't anyone explained the whole Catalan separatist thing?
Saturday, December 02, 2006
And Then There's the West Ham Connection...
Beyond Arsenal's sketchy-but-intriguing possible link to the Litvinenko nuke-assassination case, there's the better-documented West Ham angle. Boris Berezovsky, a member of that fun-loving post-Soviet class generically known as "shady oligarchs," was allegedly/apparently/probably-in-the-eyes-of-all-but-his-libel-lawyers up to his neck in the Hammers' mysterious (and, in footballing terms, subsequently unsuccessful) deadline-day scoop of Mascherano and Tevez.
Berezovsky, exiled to Britain thanks to his falling out with the Putin, um, administration, also seems to have turned up on the list of possible rub-out targets discussed by Litvinenko and his "Italian contact" at the Chelsea [ACTUALLY, PICCADILLY...see the comments] sushi bar...
Paging John Le Carre—football threatens to make you obsolete, old son.
Berezovsky, exiled to Britain thanks to his falling out with the Putin, um, administration, also seems to have turned up on the list of possible rub-out targets discussed by Litvinenko and his "Italian contact" at the Chelsea [ACTUALLY, PICCADILLY...see the comments] sushi bar...
Paging John Le Carre—football threatens to make you obsolete, old son.
Friday, December 01, 2006
The Arsenal Stadium Mystery
Murderous, strange, twisted international intrigue doesn't come any hotter than the on-going saga of ex-KGB officer-turned-modern-dissident Alexander Litvinenko. Now, a story that already had it all—radioactive sushi, shadowy Italian terrorism "experts," possible rogue Russian agents, Vladimir Putin—gains the all-important football angle.
Arsenal denies MI-5 (or -6, or Scotland Yard, or whatever romance-laden arm of the British State is handling the affair) is snooping around Emirates looking for what they called "clews" in 19th Century detective novels. Which presumably means it's absolutely true. This is getting totally awesome.
Arsenal denies MI-5 (or -6, or Scotland Yard, or whatever romance-laden arm of the British State is handling the affair) is snooping around Emirates looking for what they called "clews" in 19th Century detective novels. Which presumably means it's absolutely true. This is getting totally awesome.
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