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24 febrero My Brilliant PlanI am now pleased to accept the gratitude of all loyal Manchester United supporters. I took Cristiano Ronaldo off one of my fantasy teams yesterday, largely on the basis of an (exaggerated/fabricated) injury report. My emotional state was thus perfectly hedged this morning when Crissy scored a late game-winner at Craven Cottage. That isn't quite true, of course. I admit to being irritated that Ronaldo's goal wouldn't help Susie's Banshees--but this hardly matched the surprise and delight that United would retain their six-point lead over Chelsea after all. So it wasn't a perfect hedge. I will henceforth ignore the speculative baloney regarding injuries and transfers that passes for "commentary" in the soccersphere. 23 febrero It worked for Joyce and Faulkner, why not me?It's all backwards now I hate May and love August but why get down when the EPL season ends because there's still the Fire... can hardly wait to see how much Justin Mapp has improved I've got the tickets ordered we've got three games in April I do need a Fire shirt but there's only the one for women and I don't care for it I need to get another scarf have they made a US Open cup scarf for 2006? don't know where this blog is going who cares about all those predictions everyone else makes why write stories about where players are going who cares until papers are signed just a form of amusement I suppose who can believe any of it waste of time ok they want to sell newspapers but I don't get why would anyone want to buy them?
good blog called Who Ate All the Pies? writes about pie-eating at Craven Cottage or rather lack of pie-eating as Man U supporters are belly-aching about ticket prices for their fans being 20 pounds higher than those for visiting City supporters they're set to boycott half-time pies that'll surely make the Fulham front-office boys cut those prices but WAATP? so slick very ironic must be Brits what does that mean a joke about podgy people who eat too much they seem to say it a lot
So Brits really do eat pies at football matches what kind of pie mince not kidney surely that's a joke would you believe there'll be shephard's pie for dinner tonight in this house it just entered my consciousness I hate eating at sporting matches even Toyota Park everything's too big and boring even pizza is Connie's not Lou's hey we have pizza pies here in Chicago
DC United supporters surely insufferable now will Fire supporters' chance to be insufferable come soon no idea about Fire this year who can predict just like predicting GDP inflation unemployment stock market random component way way big always wrong... Why bother?
Why hasn't Gooch played for Newcastle is it pretty cold there right now wonder how he'll like it there maybe he was cup-tied had he played for Liege in uefa that could be it but he didn't play last league game Ha he played today but Newcastle lost one-nil
Enough of this time to go back to Venetian fashions during the Renaissance wish I were in Venice right now or Manchester actually London that's where the match is I wish FSC could have held on to those rights to early Sat. morning matches can't get Setanta....
Writing in stream-of-consciousness just slightly less painful than reading it 20 febrero Welsh Wizardry in LilleThough it wasn't spectacular like the wonder goal that he scored against Arsenal in the 1999 FA Cup, the effect of Ryan Giggs' goal was nonetheless incendiary. If you've heard about today's wild & crazy game between Manchester United and Lille, but haven't yet seen what all the fuss is about, head over to EPL Talk. In a posting titled, Giggsy's Goal Nearly Starts a Riot in France, The Gaffer has included a film clip from England's ITV. You'll see the goal and Lille's coach pulling his players off the field in protest. The announcers offer some hard-hitting commentary as well... But nothing as harsh as what I heard a moment ago on Fox Football Fone-in...the guy in the Chelsea shirt said that Lille's behavior after the goal was typical "of what you'd see in a second-rate South American league." No point in mincing words, I suppose. Since the referee had walked away from the play, is it agreed that Giggs was within his rights to place the ball down and take the kick? I've seen plays like that before, so I'm not certain what the fuss was about. Unless it had something to do with Lille being sore that they were likely to lose this tie at home, having had an earlier goal (most deservedly) disallowed. Wow...Lille's behavior has just dredged up a disturbing memory from a U-8 rec league game in which The Girl played. Well, sort of played. Anyone familiar with U-8 girls rec league soccer knows what I mean by "sort of." It was a cold, very windy day here just west of the Windy City. The ball had been kicked by one of the other team's defenders high into the air in front of their goal. Then it fell (was blown?) behind their hapless little goalie. Not that I mean anything bad by the word hapless, as I will remind you again that this was U-8 rec league soccer. Hapless was the standard level of play, right? I think their goalie started crying--their entire team starting howling that the goal was unfair or some such thing. Yes, yes, I know...this logic is indeed mystifying, because it was simply an own goal. But that's not what was truly awful about the game. Our team won (their own goal was the difference), and when the teams lined up for the hand-slap, "good game" ritual, the little girls instead chanted cheaters, cheaters as they walked by our team. Wait, wait, that isn't the worst part: their coaches--two grown men-- stood by and watched. Lucky me--I was treated to an up close and personal view of this incident because I was the snack mom that day. Not only was Lille coach Claude Puel's behavior akin to what is common in a second-rate South American league, it's as disgraceful as the worst you'll see in a North American suburban U-8 rec league. Well done! 17 febrero Reading's shirts leave much to be desired...But I admire nearly everything else about the club. And it’s not just because two of my compatriots—Bobby Convey and Marcus Hahnemann—have been essential to the team’s dramatic rise over the past two seasons. The Royals are the perfect example of why it’s easy to love the promotion/relegation system. Last season Reading won promotion—in March—to England’s top league for the first time in its 135 year history. Its current circumstances—sixth in the Premiership table with eleven games left on the schedule—are the stuff of fairy tales. And the clock has yet to strike midnight. Today’s 1-1 draw with mighty Manchester United in the 5th round of the FA Cup sends Reading home to Madejski Stadium for a replay. Don’t get me wrong. I have no intention of switching my allegiance away from the Red Devils. During my slow, fitful metamorphosis into a soccer fan, Man United was the team that received the most TV coverage here in the States. For better or worse, that’s the team that I bonded with, even though there’s no very good reason that I should support them. If these things came down to a pencil-and-paper calculation, I should support Chelsea. But they don’t and I won’t. I always want Manchester United to win each of its fixtures by a very large margin. I won’t make an exception for the replay with Reading.
But there’s something very compelling about the Royals. They were actually called the Biscuitmen until 1974, because the town was home to a major biscuitmaker—Huntley & Palmers. (Fellow Yanks, please note that biscuits are what we call cookies. Does that sound better)? Madejski Stadium seats only 25,000 fans, though expansion plans are in the works. And the team’s path to the Premiership has been a rocky one. Reading have been all over the place—it’s the only English club to have been champs of the second, third, third-south, and fourth divisions. It finally advanced to the second division in 1986 after fifty-five years in the nether leagues. But the team was relegated to the third division just two seasons later. Who can resist a small side with a cookie connection and a yo-yo-like history? Not me. Though I usually revel in cynicism, I can’t help but smile at the thought of those loyal, euphoric Reading supporters. Their numbers are small. The greater Reading area has just less than a quarter of a million inhabitants, not too many more than my own fair city. It is the crowded landscape of English football—each town is home to a club that can theoretically march up the tables just as Reading has done—that I find so attractive. I’ll bet the local pubs are crowded right now with long-time supporters who are relishing the prospect of the big replay to be held on the home pitch. Ah yes, what about the matter of their shirts? There’s nothing at all wrong with their royal blue home color. It’s the style that needs tweaking. You see, Reading wear hoops. (Can you tell that I learned a new word yesterday and won’t be stopped from using it)? Hoops are wide, horizontal bands—like those seen on rugby shirts. And anyone with even a minimal fashion IQ knows that only people with Peter Crouch-like physiques can get away with wearing horizontal stripes. My visit to the Emirates a couple of months ago to see Arsenal play Portsmouth was thrilling. It has whetted my appetite for a return trip to see more football in the rest of England. Old Trafford is at the top of the must-see list, of course. But I do hope that there’ll be room at Madejski Stadium for a small family of distant admirers. But I won't be caught dead wearing hoops.
13 febrero A Treat for Soccer GeographersFor a good six weeks now, I have intended to write about the World Soccer Atlas. And it's been giving me fits. I can point a finger at the usual suspects: perfectionism and its unholy offspring, procrastination. Not that I’m trying to be cutesy with alliteration or anything, but for the past several weeks a poor internet connection has lengthened my list of excuses. A couple of months ago Soccer Orb was visited by one of the creators of the World Soccer Atlas. She was kind enough to send me a copy and I was eager to share my thoughts about it with you, dear readers. But for some odd reason, I was hit with a terrible case of writer’s block. Could it be because I once wrote a formal review of an historical reference work for a periodical that’s used by reference librarians? That's it! Somehow, I had forgotten that I would be publicizing a cool and useful handbook of soccer geography, two subjects that are definitely in my "favorite things" file. Here goes... The World Soccer Atlas consists of nearly five hundred pages of facts, football and otherwise, about every nation, territory, or any other kind of body politic that’s found on this planet. The cover announces that the Atlas includes places “From the Top of the Himalayas to the most remote island nations.” The Himalayas certainly come to mind when I think about all the effort that went into the production of this atlas. Hats off to the creators--Marc Asmode, Rebecca Gilsdorf, and Daniel Lopez. Exactly what kind of factual information does the Atlas provide? Let’s see what we can learn about, say, Kazakhstan.
What about football?
Kazakhstan has never qualified for the World Cup. One can find out who the “country league champions” were from 1996 – 2004. There is also a list of twenty-eight premiere league clubs, including the cities and stadiums that are home to each club. Even the stadium capacity is provided. The clubs are denoted on the Kazakh map by little footballs. The interior of Kazakhstan must be inhospitable to football (a desert, maybe?), as most of the teams are found on the nation’s periphery. In short, if you can spare five minutes to glance over Kazakhstan’s entry in the World Soccer Atlas, you could easily have outed Sacha Baron Cohen as a phony Kazakh if he had shown up on your doorstep with a camera crew. Countries are grouped according to the FIFA Confederation to which they belong. So we have Europe, Africa, Asia, Concacaf, South America, and Oceania. But there’s also an intriguing and lengthy category called “Far and Away.” Here’s where the reader can find facts about places like the South Georgia and Sandwich Islands, Dhekelia, and Zanzibar. Zanzibar. There’s a name that’s evocative of somewhere remote, exotic, warm, almost sensuous. Where, exactly, is Zanzibar? It turns out that it’s an archipelago just twenty-five miles off the Tanzanian coast, in the Indian Ocean. According to the Atlas, fourteen football clubs play for the enjoyment of its 621,000 residents. I was a bit confused as to Zanzibar’s political status, but a visit to Wikipedia cleared this up. The islands are part of Tanzania, and are not sovereign states. So Zanzibarian footballers play for the Tanzanian national side, I guess. Sorry for the digression, but I was actually attempting to make a point. American soccer supporters have serious dependency issues when it comes to the internet. Lately, an unreliable connection has left me high and dry. I even resorted to opening the Chicago Tribune’s sports page (thank God for Luis Arroyave, she says through gritted teeth, even though he’s living my dream). But the Trib can’t tell me anything about football in Kazakhstan or Zanzibar. Like most of you, I head to Google or Wikipedia when seeking practically any kind of information these days. And yet here's the value of a print reference guide such as the World Soccer Atlas: it's portable, quick, and simple to use. It doesn't disappear when the temperatures drop to single-digits (I couldn't resist that anti-Comcast dig). And it's loaded with interesting facts. The authors’ love of football and their appreciation for the fascinating and diverse places where it is played around the globe are apparent on every single page. The World Soccer Atlas can be purchased at www.soccerexplorers.com for $14.95, plus $6 shipping and handling. Now I will return to a favorite childhood pastime: flipping through the pages of a dictionary or encyclopedia or other reference book, and reading the entries, just for the fun of it… So there are twenty-nine
clubs in Burkina Faso,
and the 2003 Women’s Champions were the charmingly-named Princess Ouagadougou? Mango
chutney is a favorite food there…and since it enjoys a tropical climate, no one there is tormented by the sight of snowflakes. 05 febrero Anguish in the Chicago burbsAnd it has nothing to do with the Bears, either.
Football-wise, yesterday was just dandy. I might have been the only person in the gym who was wearing red & black and watching the clock at 10:00 a.m., wondering how the big game was going. Will I be perceived as too much of a worrywart to confess to my fears that the Red Devils' match at White Hart Lane had all the potential of a banana peel on an unlit sidewalk? Chelsea seem to have patched over a few holes in their defense in the past few games and haven't been inclined to hand United any more golden opportunities to run away with the title. On Super Bowl Sunday, I didn't have much emotional energy to invest in the Bears.
Thanks to the miracle of DVR, it was possible to work out at the usual time, then go home and watch the match while preparing three times as much food as was necessary for the Super Bowl party. Perhaps I should invite one of the frats at The Girl's college to finish off the leftovers. They might not go for the crab dip, but they would most helpfully clear all the beer that's cluttering up the fridge. The very thought of alcohol usually brings on a headache, but I'm concerned for my friends. Why aren't they drinking more? What's wrong with them?
I was up to my elbows in seven-layer dip and couldn't run to the TV to get a glimpse of Henrik Larsson being brought down in the box. The announcers felt that United's calls for a penalty were justified. I am sad to report that I did see Cristiano Ronaldo's fall to earth just before the half. Since the ref didn't hesitate to point to the spot, can it be that he had it in mind to award a make-up call to United? Crissy's antics had me blushing with shame...maybe I should contact the London Times Fantasy League administrators and request that they deduct the points I received from his goal from my total. On second thought, I'm not that noble.
Anyway, this frivolous post is being composed at the local library. There's no internet at home, thanks to Comcast's appalling service. It was spotty for the past two weeks, then went out completely on Friday. We should be thankful that they saw fit to give us TV service, or the Super Bowl party would have become a moveable feast. And given our current Antarctic weather, the prospect of carting beer and appetizers around the neighborhood was very unappetizing.
Come to think of it, those Antarctic research stations have internet connections, don't they? And it's summer down there, so the mercury readings might be a little more friendly than Chicago. And there are all those darling penguins: Adelies, emperors, kings, chinstraps, gentoos...
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