Hammers were full of piss and vinegar yesterday, matching the Gunners move for move and grabbing an unpretty and well-deserved victory at Upton Park. It was a match nowhere near approaching the level of ugly rancor attained in Chelsea v Barca, but scrappy nonetheless and flesh-thumpingly physical.
Few came away unbruised. Blood spilled on yellow kit (I'm looking at you, Zamora). Jonathan Spector had his plate full trying to mark Robin van Persie--nobody's favorite player on the pitch today, I think--and never backed down, proving himself no physical coward and giving as good as (better than?) he got. To prove the point that van Persie was winning no popularity contests, an ill-tempered coin flew from the crowd and nailed him on the touchline. In my favorite bit of reportage for the day, Matt Scott wrote in the GUARDIAN: "He fell to the floor clutching his head, further enraging the crowd." My boy, do not muck around with West Ham fans. (I make fun of it, but it made my skin crawl. One craven fellow with a bad mood and a pocket full of pound coins and the Irons could find themselves back in the relegation zone.)
My personal guilty pleasure of the day: Teddy Sheringham shamelessly bodychecking Jens Lehmann. (Oh, what? He's twice Sheringham's size. It was raffish and picaresque,--if I may borrow Mourinho's word,--and Ted's a lovable scamp.)
The game remained scoreless until literally the last minute, but it's a credit to both teams that there wasn't a moment in it that I didn't expect a goal on the far end of every next pass. Harewood broke his long dry spell in the 89th minute when he blasted Etherington's hard-won cross past Lehmann and celebrated by getting a yellow card. (I don't understand goal celebration yellow cards. Celebrate, by all means. Just keep your clothes on. It's two minutes until the game is over, Marlon. You can run around shirtless then. In fact, that's a good idea, as it'll give you something to do besides trying to pick a fight with little Cesc.)
It was after the game was ended that the real machismo fun began, and we at home missed the bulk of it. Cesc Fabregas apparently had words with the ref, which somehow culminated in a squabble with Harewood. Lehmann retaliated against the scalawag Sheringham by squirting him with his water-bottle, which led to the Arsenal physio wrestling the keeper to the ground (I'm not making this up, I swear), which led to Wenger himself tackling the physio. What I would give to have watched that live and uncensored. It's like an SNL skit, only better, because the strange and spidery Arsene is involved in a sort of dogpile. Then there's the whole Pardew v Wenger tangle ("This is MY personal space. This is YOUR personal space.")
It was an exciting day. My muscles ache just from watching. Everyone, Hammers and Gunners alike, will sleep soundly for several days, I think.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Barcelona Hold On
We all knew it was going to be a tough match anyway considering that Deportivo haven't been beaten at home all season. And then there's the fetid residue of Tuesday's draw with the Blue Bastards from London that still lingers in the memory. But with the tragic and sudden death of Barca captain Carles Puyol's father yesterday, which understandably forced Puyol out of the match and back to Barcelona to deal with more important matters, the team had an even bigger test of will to contend with. Barca looked edgy and lacking in the exquisite finishing that we expect from them--that we hunger for--but they managed to grab a point out of the hectic affair with the determined and aggressive Deportivo squad, ultimately keeping things level at 1-1.
All of us here at a pretty move are sad by Puyol's loss and wish him and his family the best.
All of us here at a pretty move are sad by Puyol's loss and wish him and his family the best.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Gunners Shoot Blanks
It was an incredibly entertaining match, but someone must've sprinkled heaps of bad mojo on Arsenal because none of their attempts on goal (what, like a hundred or so?) amounted to anything but frustration. Plenty of shots were supplied with horrible finishing (like that can't-miss Rosicky shot in the early moments of the second half, though Fabregas also had a horrible gaffe in the first, I think) but others were subservient to something weirder than human error. Superstitious? How could you not be when so much beautiful, attractive football via the Gunners came to naught on a cold, endless Russian night.
You can read more about match here.
You can read more about match here.
News Flash: Keano Seethes
Two of a pretty move's favorite managers, Mick McCarthy and Roy Keane, kiss and make up (sort of), but their (sort of) reconciliation is overshadowed by Sunderland's 1-2 loss to Cardiff City. As Lisa points out, it's got to be chilling to be around Roy when he gets so terse he stops using pronouns.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Sheringham and the Spastics
There's still a lot of work to be done before the club transforms back into the gritty yet dynamic West Ham squad that we love, but today's gloriously ramshackle and much needed win against Blackburn (minus the ghastly Robbie Savage, who was supposedly blow drying his hair in the loo or something) was a great start toward good form. I could barely take most of it--I was too nervous, too aware that at any moment Sheringham and the lads would blow it and we'd have to start all over again next week, against Arsenal of all teams.
But the Hammers didn't blow it, and their performance today was heroic, inspiring, and entertaining to watch (on second viewing, of course), despite the uneven performance. But I don't care about that right now. I tried to really analyze the game on that second viewing (I was half-asleep and terrified during the live broadcast in the morning), but my emotions swept me away when I heard the faithful at Upton Park sing, chant, roar, and do whatever it took to conjure up the Twelfth Man. It was damn emotional, and what with me being inclined toward sweeping dramatic narratives, I was easily sucked into the team's desperate attempt for a little salvation.
It's hard to believe that the team hasn't won a match since opening day back in August, but it's true. Even harder to believe that they didn't score a goal for seven straight! Zamora (who was scoring before that but is now struggling like everyone else on the team) looked a lot better today, though Harewood is still confounding with his lack of putting . . . the . . . ball . . . into . . . the . . . back . . . of . . . the . . . net. He'll regain his predatory ways eventually, so I'm not really worried.
At times I felt the game was ugly and spastic. But when Sheringham scored in the 21st minute with that confident blast of a header, I could've cared less about the aesthetics of how the Hammers were going to win. I wanted melodrama and redemption, not subtlety and grace. As the game went on, the Hammers did start playing with that peculiar snap and working-class conviction that appeals to the faithful--me included--though they almost blew it at the end when Blackburn scored in stoppage time and then immediately attempted to even it up when Jeffers took that uncomfortably close shot. The Hammers didn't break, though, and they managed to claw their way out of the relegation zone into 16th place. Still a precarious position to be in, but I can live with it. I'm just glad for a glimpse of salvation.
You can read more about the match here and about the hero of the day here.
But the Hammers didn't blow it, and their performance today was heroic, inspiring, and entertaining to watch (on second viewing, of course), despite the uneven performance. But I don't care about that right now. I tried to really analyze the game on that second viewing (I was half-asleep and terrified during the live broadcast in the morning), but my emotions swept me away when I heard the faithful at Upton Park sing, chant, roar, and do whatever it took to conjure up the Twelfth Man. It was damn emotional, and what with me being inclined toward sweeping dramatic narratives, I was easily sucked into the team's desperate attempt for a little salvation.
It's hard to believe that the team hasn't won a match since opening day back in August, but it's true. Even harder to believe that they didn't score a goal for seven straight! Zamora (who was scoring before that but is now struggling like everyone else on the team) looked a lot better today, though Harewood is still confounding with his lack of putting . . . the . . . ball . . . into . . . the . . . back . . . of . . . the . . . net. He'll regain his predatory ways eventually, so I'm not really worried.
At times I felt the game was ugly and spastic. But when Sheringham scored in the 21st minute with that confident blast of a header, I could've cared less about the aesthetics of how the Hammers were going to win. I wanted melodrama and redemption, not subtlety and grace. As the game went on, the Hammers did start playing with that peculiar snap and working-class conviction that appeals to the faithful--me included--though they almost blew it at the end when Blackburn scored in stoppage time and then immediately attempted to even it up when Jeffers took that uncomfortably close shot. The Hammers didn't break, though, and they managed to claw their way out of the relegation zone into 16th place. Still a precarious position to be in, but I can live with it. I'm just glad for a glimpse of salvation.
You can read more about the match here and about the hero of the day here.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
A Cruel Fascination: AC Milan 3-Inter 4
I have to admit that my enthusiasm for a lot of the matches I've been watching of late has been very low. My teams, Barcelona, West Ham, and my dear local club the Timbers--who ended their poor season in September--have all left me feeling exasperated and a bit bewildered. Barcelona are still top of their league and they are far from lousy or anything like that. But when it comes to the big matches, like their Champions League game against Chelsea a couple of weeks ago or last week's disappointing loss in the El Clasico against Real Madrid, the superstar Catalans have looked anxious, indecisive, and more than a bit lost without their star striker, Mr Eto'o. And I won't even get into talking about West Ham--at least until tomorrow--because I can't even grasp the melodramatic turmoil fermenting across the pond at Upton Park. I've tried, I've tried to write about it, and everytime I start a post about the Hammers' dilemma I reach for a book instead--or a last cigarette and a blindfold.
But today, the Italians brought me back. And my peculiar (for me) interest in the Serie A continued to deepen and fascinate. The rivalry between Inter Milan and AC Milan is always a contentious affair (what derby isn't?) and today's match was no big surprise in that respect. But what was a surprise was the amount of goals (seven in all) and the absolute euphoric atmosphere and, more importantly, the courage and unbridled passion from both teams that was on full display down on that glorious pitch.
I've never watched a Milan derby before, so I don't know how it compares to previous matches between these two squads. But I'll go ahead and take at face value what the GolTV commentators exclaimed over and over again by the end of all the drama: this was an absolute classic to be remembered for a long, long time. It sure seemed that way.
I missed the first half due to my very late waking time (it's a long story), but the beginning of the second half was enough to pull me into the storyline and keep me seduced throughout its forty-five minute (and then some) feverdream of a game. At first, I wasn't so sure. Inter was up 2-0 (goals from the fabulous Crespo and Stankovic) and I almost switched off the television, even though I like the lads in blue and black, because I figured it was just going to be a good yet slightly depressing pummelling of Berlusconi's Rossoneri. And when Inter's Ibrahimovic scored a brilliantly brutal and wild goal against Milan's Brazilian keeper Dida within a few minutes into the second half, I was convinced. Fun for a team's supporters, but boring for the relatively neutral spectator like myself (I lean toward Inter, though I have to admit that I have a perverse sort of infatuation with Milan, and I feel dirty, sleazy, and used because of it, but I keep watching nevertheless).
How could a team, even with the deep talent of the Rossoneri, come back now? It seemed impossible and stupid even to contemplate. Milan's fans were stunned and silent. Creepy capitalist-cryptofascist-godfather-devil (redundant, I know) Berlusconi glowered in the stands and I imagine was mentally making a list of what players to torture after the match (Ah, Maldini always looks so pretty with tears in his eyes!) But before the steely-eyed bureaucrat could figure out a way to slip out of the stadium with some dignity intact, Milan's Seedorf restored some honor to the club by scoring in the 50th. Then Inter answered back when everyone's favorite wise-ass and self-proclaimed idiot Materazzi (I don't even know what a terrorist is!) delivered a vicious header and sealed up the game, one could safely assume. Oh, and then Materazzi got red carded for his celebration. How come I wasn't surprised?
At this point I really wouldn't have blamed the Rossoneri for giving up. That they didn't, though, is a testament to the quality and passion of the team. Fired up even more, Milan attacked, attacked, attacked and earned a well-deserved second goal when Gilardino scored again (his first goal was ruled a no-go for offside a few minutes earlier) and then Kaka shot one in during stoppage time. The Rossoneri may not have won the match, but their crusade to regain some respect after such a dispiriting first half was inspiring, entertaining, and memorable to say the least. The Devil may have ultimately betrayed the team's devotion to the dark side, but they were dragged down to Hell with style, flair, and determination--cementing my cruel fascination with this attractive gang of lost souls.
But today, the Italians brought me back. And my peculiar (for me) interest in the Serie A continued to deepen and fascinate. The rivalry between Inter Milan and AC Milan is always a contentious affair (what derby isn't?) and today's match was no big surprise in that respect. But what was a surprise was the amount of goals (seven in all) and the absolute euphoric atmosphere and, more importantly, the courage and unbridled passion from both teams that was on full display down on that glorious pitch.
I've never watched a Milan derby before, so I don't know how it compares to previous matches between these two squads. But I'll go ahead and take at face value what the GolTV commentators exclaimed over and over again by the end of all the drama: this was an absolute classic to be remembered for a long, long time. It sure seemed that way.
I missed the first half due to my very late waking time (it's a long story), but the beginning of the second half was enough to pull me into the storyline and keep me seduced throughout its forty-five minute (and then some) feverdream of a game. At first, I wasn't so sure. Inter was up 2-0 (goals from the fabulous Crespo and Stankovic) and I almost switched off the television, even though I like the lads in blue and black, because I figured it was just going to be a good yet slightly depressing pummelling of Berlusconi's Rossoneri. And when Inter's Ibrahimovic scored a brilliantly brutal and wild goal against Milan's Brazilian keeper Dida within a few minutes into the second half, I was convinced. Fun for a team's supporters, but boring for the relatively neutral spectator like myself (I lean toward Inter, though I have to admit that I have a perverse sort of infatuation with Milan, and I feel dirty, sleazy, and used because of it, but I keep watching nevertheless).
How could a team, even with the deep talent of the Rossoneri, come back now? It seemed impossible and stupid even to contemplate. Milan's fans were stunned and silent. Creepy capitalist-cryptofascist-godfather-devil (redundant, I know) Berlusconi glowered in the stands and I imagine was mentally making a list of what players to torture after the match (Ah, Maldini always looks so pretty with tears in his eyes!) But before the steely-eyed bureaucrat could figure out a way to slip out of the stadium with some dignity intact, Milan's Seedorf restored some honor to the club by scoring in the 50th. Then Inter answered back when everyone's favorite wise-ass and self-proclaimed idiot Materazzi (I don't even know what a terrorist is!) delivered a vicious header and sealed up the game, one could safely assume. Oh, and then Materazzi got red carded for his celebration. How come I wasn't surprised?
At this point I really wouldn't have blamed the Rossoneri for giving up. That they didn't, though, is a testament to the quality and passion of the team. Fired up even more, Milan attacked, attacked, attacked and earned a well-deserved second goal when Gilardino scored again (his first goal was ruled a no-go for offside a few minutes earlier) and then Kaka shot one in during stoppage time. The Rossoneri may not have won the match, but their crusade to regain some respect after such a dispiriting first half was inspiring, entertaining, and memorable to say the least. The Devil may have ultimately betrayed the team's devotion to the dark side, but they were dragged down to Hell with style, flair, and determination--cementing my cruel fascination with this attractive gang of lost souls.
Monday, October 23, 2006
el clasico, 2006 edicion: or, the evil Earps at the OK corral
Was it really just Wednesday when 2/3 of a pretty move met with Zach from 11 Devils and got the life-force sucked out of us watching a weirdly vacant Barca well and truly pummelled by the overpaid boys in blue? (See Zach's inimitable description here. Not only does he write with vigor and style, he even secretly paid for the french fries. Thanks, man.) It didn't bode well for this year's battle in the ongoing war between Real Madrid and Barca, AKA the Fascists v the Catalans. Last year's showdown was a sparkling triumph for Ronaldinho and the boys, in which they garnered a round of applause from hardened Real fans at the Bernabeu just for playing so damn well.
This year falls into the realm of different gods entirely. Darker gods, the kind that hunker and lurk.
Two minutes into the action, Sergio Ramos (he works for the devil, but he may be my favorite of all the young Spaniards) sent a perfect ball forward and center to Raul who headed it past Valdes so smoothly that we collectively got the wind knocked out of us and nobody spoke for a full minute. Then Lynda muttered something about NOW is the moment Raul decides to make his long-delayed and much-despaired-of comeback? I said he's like the gunfighter who spends the whole movie drunk in the gutter then cleans up and busts into the saloon just in time for the final shoot-out.
In retrospect, it's an apt metaphor for the whole team. All season long, the word about Real has been nothing but negative. Bloated, ego-heavy, unmanagably expensive, the team has emitted the warning creaks and groans of a sinking ship all year. And yet, here we are, the smoke clearing in the saloon with the wrong cowboys still standing. Evil cowboys, yes, but today they do look shiny. Robinho's yellow boots owned the pitch from one end to the other. Raul exuded youth and vitality the whole 90 minutes, as did Reyes when he came in during the second half. Ruud and Guti indulged in some bullying Schadenfreude and I wish I could say they played badly, but that would be disingenuous.
As for the Catalans, Ronaldinho remained unmanned (or, as Zach aptly put it, "decoded"), as he had been against Chelsea. He delivered some lovely crosses and one splendid free kick but the finish was fumbled by Gudjohnsen. The mighty Viking was invisible at Stamford Bridge on Wednesday and worse today, missing every opportunity that came his way. Messi had some shining moments, setting up what ought to have been the equaliser more than once. Puyol did some brave defending but we all sorely missed Marquez.
The man of the match for me was announcer Ray Hudson, with his musings on "manly machismo" and "donkey work", and his whimsical metaphors, one in particular about "a snowball plunging out of a snowy sky." I swear he even referred to one of the Real players (for God's sake, WHO?) as "my little lollipop."
In then end it felt like the STAR TREK episode in which Kirk and the landing party found themselves cast in the roles of the Clanton gang and facing a dashingly evil and seemingly invincible line of Earps. Today, the Bad Earps won, but even I have to admit they looked rather magnificent doing it.
This year falls into the realm of different gods entirely. Darker gods, the kind that hunker and lurk.
Two minutes into the action, Sergio Ramos (he works for the devil, but he may be my favorite of all the young Spaniards) sent a perfect ball forward and center to Raul who headed it past Valdes so smoothly that we collectively got the wind knocked out of us and nobody spoke for a full minute. Then Lynda muttered something about NOW is the moment Raul decides to make his long-delayed and much-despaired-of comeback? I said he's like the gunfighter who spends the whole movie drunk in the gutter then cleans up and busts into the saloon just in time for the final shoot-out.
In retrospect, it's an apt metaphor for the whole team. All season long, the word about Real has been nothing but negative. Bloated, ego-heavy, unmanagably expensive, the team has emitted the warning creaks and groans of a sinking ship all year. And yet, here we are, the smoke clearing in the saloon with the wrong cowboys still standing. Evil cowboys, yes, but today they do look shiny. Robinho's yellow boots owned the pitch from one end to the other. Raul exuded youth and vitality the whole 90 minutes, as did Reyes when he came in during the second half. Ruud and Guti indulged in some bullying Schadenfreude and I wish I could say they played badly, but that would be disingenuous.
As for the Catalans, Ronaldinho remained unmanned (or, as Zach aptly put it, "decoded"), as he had been against Chelsea. He delivered some lovely crosses and one splendid free kick but the finish was fumbled by Gudjohnsen. The mighty Viking was invisible at Stamford Bridge on Wednesday and worse today, missing every opportunity that came his way. Messi had some shining moments, setting up what ought to have been the equaliser more than once. Puyol did some brave defending but we all sorely missed Marquez.
The man of the match for me was announcer Ray Hudson, with his musings on "manly machismo" and "donkey work", and his whimsical metaphors, one in particular about "a snowball plunging out of a snowy sky." I swear he even referred to one of the Real players (for God's sake, WHO?) as "my little lollipop."
In then end it felt like the STAR TREK episode in which Kirk and the landing party found themselves cast in the roles of the Clanton gang and facing a dashingly evil and seemingly invincible line of Earps. Today, the Bad Earps won, but even I have to admit they looked rather magnificent doing it.
some questions about irons and wisdom from Ray Winstone
OK. How do you get BITTEN by some wanker on the pitch and still come out looking like the bad guy in the scenario? Explain that to me. There has to be a particular talent involved.
Second question: How does a Hammers' fan stay sane in trying times? My immediate instinct is to distance myself. I no longer watch the matches. Instead, I make Derek and Lynda watch them then describe them in excruciating detail ("OK. Tell it again, the thing about Benayoun. So, he just...what? Freaked out?") .
In search of answers, I did the obvious thing and went to sit at the virtual feet of veteran Hammer follower Ray Winstone. I leave you with his (paraphrased) words: "Being a West Ham fan, one must be an optimist." Read the casual interview here from this summer, with its genuinely touching moment of naivete (much like ours here at a pretty move. Was that really just a few months ago?) on the day England was slated to cross swords with Portugal, and another here about watching West Ham in '66 when the fellows who won the World Cup mostly sported the claret and blue. While you're at it, go see THE DEPARTED, in which he gives another in a series of perfectly-focused performances, like a string of flawless gems. Do not, however, under any circumstances, go to see it with your grey-haired mum on one side and a Catholic priest on the other (come on, I said. Let's go see the new Scorcese, I said. It'll be FUN, I said).
Second question: How does a Hammers' fan stay sane in trying times? My immediate instinct is to distance myself. I no longer watch the matches. Instead, I make Derek and Lynda watch them then describe them in excruciating detail ("OK. Tell it again, the thing about Benayoun. So, he just...what? Freaked out?") .
In search of answers, I did the obvious thing and went to sit at the virtual feet of veteran Hammer follower Ray Winstone. I leave you with his (paraphrased) words: "Being a West Ham fan, one must be an optimist." Read the casual interview here from this summer, with its genuinely touching moment of naivete (much like ours here at a pretty move. Was that really just a few months ago?) on the day England was slated to cross swords with Portugal, and another here about watching West Ham in '66 when the fellows who won the World Cup mostly sported the claret and blue. While you're at it, go see THE DEPARTED, in which he gives another in a series of perfectly-focused performances, like a string of flawless gems. Do not, however, under any circumstances, go to see it with your grey-haired mum on one side and a Catholic priest on the other (come on, I said. Let's go see the new Scorcese, I said. It'll be FUN, I said).
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Barthez to Chelsea? Mais, non!
This flew completely under my radar, but according to Czech Football Daily, apparently in the aftermath of the Petr Cech injury, rumors circulated that eccentric (to say the least) former French national keeper Fabian Barthez might be joining the Blues (not Les Bleus) as a replacement. Mourinho has put a stop to those wild imaginings, citing the need for a keeper who will "give us security." Yeah, when I think about a stable, secure keeper, Barthez is pretty much the last guy who springs to my mind. I'm relieved it was only a rumor; adding Barthez to the squad might have actually tempted me to support Chelsea now and again. Horrors!
In other good news, for what it's worth, the same Czech Football Daily link includes remarks from the doctor for the Czech national team speculating that Cech's injury is not as serious as it sounds to us laymen, as head injuries go, and that he might be making a return to form within months rather than an entire year. Despite our antipathy for Chelsea, we here at a pretty move count Cech among our favorite keepers, and our fingers are crossed for just such a speedy recovery.
In other good news, for what it's worth, the same Czech Football Daily link includes remarks from the doctor for the Czech national team speculating that Cech's injury is not as serious as it sounds to us laymen, as head injuries go, and that he might be making a return to form within months rather than an entire year. Despite our antipathy for Chelsea, we here at a pretty move count Cech among our favorite keepers, and our fingers are crossed for just such a speedy recovery.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Barca Miscellany
The current Champions League and La Liga champs, Barcelona, beat the current UEFA Cup and European Super Cup champs, Sevilla, today 3-1 at Camp Nou; a much needed win to start a tough week for Frank Rijkaard's lads. From the reports (the game wasn't televised because none of Sevilla's games are being shown this season due to a television rights issue) the game sounded like a great vindication for the Catalans who brutally lost to Sevilla in August during the European Super Cup, and who have managed to stay unbeaten atop the La Liga standings despite a rather lackluster beginning of the season from the trickster/phenom, Ronaldinho. But whatever post-World Cup blues have been seriously impeding Ronaldinho, the drought seems to have abated at just the right time (he scored twice against Sevilla: a penalty kick and off a free kick) considering the Catalans' schedule over the next week--they face a bruised and battered Chelsea this Wednesday for a Champions League match in London, and then next Sunday the rivalry of all rivalries commences when Barca play out the Spanish Civil War for yet another year against Real Madrid. Two tough matches, though I'm looking forward to basking in some much needed beautiful football and camaraderie by this time next week.
Barca's remarkable renaissance the last few years has flourished under the guidance of former player (Ajax, AC Milan, Dutch national team) Frank Rijkaard. The Dutchman was brought to Barcelona in 2003 after a disastrous stint coaching Sparta Rotterdam, and although it took a while for this enigmatic, supercool and collected coach to find his bearings with the Catalans, his worth to the club is obvious now and I can't imagine what the team would be like without him. You can read more about Rijkaard and his "weird" ways here from the Guardian site.
Also on the Guardian web site is a rather hilarious yet uncomfortable "interview" with Barca's tempestuous yet incredible and indispensable striker, Samuel Eto'o. You can read more here.
And lastly, here's an update on Chelsea's injured first keeper, Petr Cech, who underwent skull surgery last night and who will unfortunately be missing out on Wednesday's match against Barcelona. I like Cech a lot due to his service with the Czech national team and we here at a pretty move wish him all the best despite our desire to see the Blues go down in flames against the Catalans.
Mes Que Un Club!
Barca's remarkable renaissance the last few years has flourished under the guidance of former player (Ajax, AC Milan, Dutch national team) Frank Rijkaard. The Dutchman was brought to Barcelona in 2003 after a disastrous stint coaching Sparta Rotterdam, and although it took a while for this enigmatic, supercool and collected coach to find his bearings with the Catalans, his worth to the club is obvious now and I can't imagine what the team would be like without him. You can read more about Rijkaard and his "weird" ways here from the Guardian site.
Also on the Guardian web site is a rather hilarious yet uncomfortable "interview" with Barca's tempestuous yet incredible and indispensable striker, Samuel Eto'o. You can read more here.
And lastly, here's an update on Chelsea's injured first keeper, Petr Cech, who underwent skull surgery last night and who will unfortunately be missing out on Wednesday's match against Barcelona. I like Cech a lot due to his service with the Czech national team and we here at a pretty move wish him all the best despite our desire to see the Blues go down in flames against the Catalans.
Mes Que Un Club!
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Bizarro Chelsea
It was only thirty seconds into the game against Reading when Chelsea keeper Petr Cech slid in the box to make a save and ended up taking a knee to the face from Reading’s Stephen Hunt. Immobile, Cech was eventually stretchered off and taken to the hospital for a precautionary measure. Then near the end of the match, Chelsea’s replacement keeper, Carlo Cudicini, was taken down in a gruesome collision with Reading player Ibrahima Sonko, and he too was eventually carted off and taken to hospital to join his comrade. With only a few minutes left, as the stoppage time neared the 100th minute mark, Chelsea manager Jose Mourinho had to think fast to keep their 0-1 lead: designate center-back defender John Terry the keeper. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen anything like that before. Crazy man, crazy. Moving striker Didier Drogba into Terry’s usual role, the London club held on for the few remaining minutes against the peculiar odds and a lackluster Reading squad who just couldn’t capitalize on their strange advantage. And I didn’t even mention the two red cards handed out against both clubs or the return of Joe Cole. Oh, how I love this sport.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
UEFAgony
A new round of UEFA Euro 2008 qualifying matches today . . . and most of them--at least by looking over the scores--seem to be relatively predictable, including the England loss. But more about that later.
The Iceland vs Sweden match broadcast live on FSC was intermittently enjoyable despite long passages of boredom. Why in the hell did I watch it? Well, if you figure it was basically a battle of Vikings vs Vikings, who wouldn't want to experience watching such a raging tumult of football prowess? Unfortunately, the blessings of Odin upon the pitch seemed scarce, though the game did open up with a bang in the sixth minute when Icelandic midfielder Arnar Vidarsson delivered a wonderful volley past Swedish keeper Rami Shaaban. Sweden immediately answered back in the eighth when Kim Kallstrom scored off a blistering Raganarok of a free kick. Sweden cemented their fourth straight win of the tournament when Christian Wilhelmsson scored in the second half near the hour mark. Not a thunderously brilliant game, and I do wish Iceland's number one player, Eidur Gudjohnson, could have really turned things around, but . . . . And despite the hearty bravery of the Iceland team, it should be noted that the Swedish side were missing quite a few of their best, including key-Gunner Fredrik Ljungberg, Anders Svensson, Tobias Linderoth, and striker Zlatan Ibrahimovic, the latter who is still on the outs with Swedish coach Lars Lagerback. I fear the loss could've been a whole lot worse.
It's easy to make fun of teams like the Faroe Islands. We've all done it at some point. But I still love the idea of these so-called lesser teams competing in big tournaments like this. Yeah, I know they don't have a chance in hell, but every once in awhile a little team does rise up and challenge the status quo, reminding us that against all the odds . . . . Okay, you've seen the movie. It still doesn't mean it can't happen in the real world. The Faroe Islands, unfortunately, are not one of those teams. They looked awful. Rubbish, really. No defense, certainly no offense, and their speed (or lack of it) and ball control were appalling. Still, it really could've been a whole lot worse than the 5-0 pummeling they endured (three of the five goals against them happened in the later part of the second half) at the feet of France. I made no excuses: I watched the match to indulge my growing French national team infatuation. But I still wanted the boys (and many of them did look like mere scruffy-faced boys) from the Faroe Islands to at least put up a good fight, look defeat in the face with courage and conviction and go down knowing they'd given it their all as darkness blessedly obscured their eyes. Sadly, the team from the North Atlantic looked terrified and disorganized for most of the match (wouldn't you?). They took only two shots, I believe, on goal the entire game and their defense was abysmal. No surprise, I guess. But I still held out hope for them despite my glee at watching Saha (2"), Henry (22"), Anelka (77"), and Trezeguet (78", 84") work wonders on the net.
And then there's the case of England. Didn't see the match (England lost 2-0), but I did just see highlights on Sky News and that was enough for me. Truly dreadful. You can read more about the strange Croatia vs England match here. And while you're at it, you can read about the exciting looking Republic of Ireland vs Czech Republic 1-1 game here.
The Iceland vs Sweden match broadcast live on FSC was intermittently enjoyable despite long passages of boredom. Why in the hell did I watch it? Well, if you figure it was basically a battle of Vikings vs Vikings, who wouldn't want to experience watching such a raging tumult of football prowess? Unfortunately, the blessings of Odin upon the pitch seemed scarce, though the game did open up with a bang in the sixth minute when Icelandic midfielder Arnar Vidarsson delivered a wonderful volley past Swedish keeper Rami Shaaban. Sweden immediately answered back in the eighth when Kim Kallstrom scored off a blistering Raganarok of a free kick. Sweden cemented their fourth straight win of the tournament when Christian Wilhelmsson scored in the second half near the hour mark. Not a thunderously brilliant game, and I do wish Iceland's number one player, Eidur Gudjohnson, could have really turned things around, but . . . . And despite the hearty bravery of the Iceland team, it should be noted that the Swedish side were missing quite a few of their best, including key-Gunner Fredrik Ljungberg, Anders Svensson, Tobias Linderoth, and striker Zlatan Ibrahimovic, the latter who is still on the outs with Swedish coach Lars Lagerback. I fear the loss could've been a whole lot worse.
It's easy to make fun of teams like the Faroe Islands. We've all done it at some point. But I still love the idea of these so-called lesser teams competing in big tournaments like this. Yeah, I know they don't have a chance in hell, but every once in awhile a little team does rise up and challenge the status quo, reminding us that against all the odds . . . . Okay, you've seen the movie. It still doesn't mean it can't happen in the real world. The Faroe Islands, unfortunately, are not one of those teams. They looked awful. Rubbish, really. No defense, certainly no offense, and their speed (or lack of it) and ball control were appalling. Still, it really could've been a whole lot worse than the 5-0 pummeling they endured (three of the five goals against them happened in the later part of the second half) at the feet of France. I made no excuses: I watched the match to indulge my growing French national team infatuation. But I still wanted the boys (and many of them did look like mere scruffy-faced boys) from the Faroe Islands to at least put up a good fight, look defeat in the face with courage and conviction and go down knowing they'd given it their all as darkness blessedly obscured their eyes. Sadly, the team from the North Atlantic looked terrified and disorganized for most of the match (wouldn't you?). They took only two shots, I believe, on goal the entire game and their defense was abysmal. No surprise, I guess. But I still held out hope for them despite my glee at watching Saha (2"), Henry (22"), Anelka (77"), and Trezeguet (78", 84") work wonders on the net.
And then there's the case of England. Didn't see the match (England lost 2-0), but I did just see highlights on Sky News and that was enough for me. Truly dreadful. You can read more about the strange Croatia vs England match here. And while you're at it, you can read about the exciting looking Republic of Ireland vs Czech Republic 1-1 game here.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Other People's Words
I'm cheating today in providing content by linking to other people, but this stuff is too good to miss!
First, check out Bob's To-Do List for new Timbers coach/GM Gavin Wilkinson over at the Oregonian Timbers blog. I'd love to actually link to the piece itself, but not only does the Oregonian site have the dumbest interface around, but the permalink doesn't work at the moment. So scroll on down to his Wednesday September 27 entry. As is always the case with Bob's writing on the Timbers, I couldn't have said it better myself. Gavin, are you listening?
And while we are talking about soccer bloggers with whom I am uncannily in agreement, Linda over at the new soccer blog The Beautiful Game not only shares my name but the same football obsessions as a pretty move, namely such things of beauty as Barcelona, the Argentinian national team, and Juan Roman Riquelme and the Yellow Submarine (although she writes about plenty of other football stuff: check out this comprehensive appraisal of recent Champions League matches). She has an astute eye for analyzing and breaking down a match or the strength of a team or a player, revealing apm in comparision to be the squad of slackers that we are.
First, check out Bob's To-Do List for new Timbers coach/GM Gavin Wilkinson over at the Oregonian Timbers blog. I'd love to actually link to the piece itself, but not only does the Oregonian site have the dumbest interface around, but the permalink doesn't work at the moment. So scroll on down to his Wednesday September 27 entry. As is always the case with Bob's writing on the Timbers, I couldn't have said it better myself. Gavin, are you listening?
And while we are talking about soccer bloggers with whom I am uncannily in agreement, Linda over at the new soccer blog The Beautiful Game not only shares my name but the same football obsessions as a pretty move, namely such things of beauty as Barcelona, the Argentinian national team, and Juan Roman Riquelme and the Yellow Submarine (although she writes about plenty of other football stuff: check out this comprehensive appraisal of recent Champions League matches). She has an astute eye for analyzing and breaking down a match or the strength of a team or a player, revealing apm in comparision to be the squad of slackers that we are.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Five Months Will Feel Like Five Years
Looks like the injury Barcelona striker Samuel Eto'o received yesterday to his knee during the Champions League match against Werder Bremen is a lot worse than previously thought. You can read more about Eto'o and his torn meniscus here. Sigh.
We Interrupt For These Brief Messages
I am both surprised and thrilled to report the decisive victory of dark horse UEFA Cup contenders Mlada Boleslav over Marseille today, 4-2. Haven't been able to locate any match reports just yet (I know, hard to believe that journalists aren't rushing to record the success of these titans of football, but there you are). Edit: UEFA Cup page has a brief write up. This was the second leg and Mlada Boleslav advances with a 4-3 aggregate. Next up for the determined Czechs is the group stage, which begins October 19. Go you Mlada Boleslavians!
And in other quickie news, FOX Soccer News reported last night that Reading was taking an interest in DC United youngster Freddy Adu, but according to a story on the BBC today, DC United is saying hold your horses, Adu's not going anywhere. I hope this isn't true, because at present MLS lacks the proper structure for developing a young player like Adu, and if he's as great as they keep telling us he is--and, naysayers aside, I hope he is--then he needs to be training among the very best. I trash talk MLS a lot but the truth is they are a league which is improving each year; however, it's still not the place for a player with world class ambitions.
DC United, don't make me start printing up "Free Freddy Adu" t-shirts.
And in other quickie news, FOX Soccer News reported last night that Reading was taking an interest in DC United youngster Freddy Adu, but according to a story on the BBC today, DC United is saying hold your horses, Adu's not going anywhere. I hope this isn't true, because at present MLS lacks the proper structure for developing a young player like Adu, and if he's as great as they keep telling us he is--and, naysayers aside, I hope he is--then he needs to be training among the very best. I trash talk MLS a lot but the truth is they are a league which is improving each year; however, it's still not the place for a player with world class ambitions.
DC United, don't make me start printing up "Free Freddy Adu" t-shirts.
A Fistful of Matches
It was a great day for games Wednesday, what with the second day of the Champions League group stage going on in Europe and then the Lamar Hunt US Open Cup final here in the States. Lots of excitement, plenty of games, and simply not enough time or access to wallow in all of the footie madness. But what I did see—three games—was more than bountiful for this lowly soccer blogger.
First up, Chelsea vs. Levski Sofia. I used to be a rabid anti-Chelski hater. I still don’t exactly like them, though the anger and moral indignation that used to fester inside me has mellowed considerably, flickering deep within me more like a low-grade indifference than the riot that used to overtake my thoughts every time I’d see “The Special One” on the sidelines, shrugging, moaning, or offering up one of his petulant facial expressions. Why the change of heart?
Drogba.
Chelsea’s ruthless striker may have had a disappointing World Cup playing with his national team Cote d’Ivoire, but he’s having an exceptional start to the Premiership season, already scoring four goals in six games and then netting a hat-trick Wednesday for his club in the Champions League. The second and third goals he struck may not have been the prettiest (the last one had me howling as it slowly rolled into the net past the Bulgarian keeper, Georgi Petkov), but Drogba’s smooth feral skill has slowly made me an admirer. Levski Sofia are the reigning Bulgarian 2005-2006 champs, and they looked focused and determined (and rather foully I don’t mind adding) for a large portion of the first half. But by the time Drogba delivered that punishing second goal that squeezed through Petkov’s reach, the second half for Levski Sofia was nothing more than a painful reminder* that the road to glory in the Champions League is long, arduous, and sometimes embarrassing when your club just doesn’t have the quality. I should add, though, that the late goal by Levski Sofia midfielder Marian Ognyanov, a forceful strike in the last minute, was arguably the finest of the match.
So after feeling a bit smutty after rooting for Chelsea, I watched the Barcelona vs. Werder Bremen match, and slowly, ever so slowly started to feel sane again as my team tried to take down a resourceful and vengeful German machine**. Barca moved the ball with their characteristic dexterity and flashes of artistry, but Werder Bremen controlled the tempo of the game for the most part, and kept the Catalans from unleashing any realistic onslaught. Werder Bremen, on the other hand, did attack several times though nothing substantial materialized. That is until the 56th minute of the second half when forward Aaron Hunt burned down the left side of the pitch and aimed toward Valdes and the Barca goal. Barcelona captain Carles “the Armored Saint” Puyol stretched and attempted to kick the ball out of bounds, but the ball instead screamed into the back of the net. Brutal stuff. Luckily, it takes a lot to discourage the boys from Catalonia, and Barcelona continued to hunt for goals and predominately control the rhythm of the match whether playing at full-speed ahead or at a more meandering pace. Kid Fantastic Lionel Messi and former Chelsea-man Eidur Gudjohnsen (a splendid addition to the squad this season) were subbed into the game in the later part of the second half (the former replacing Ludovic Giuly and the latter replacing an injured Samuel Eto’o, who will now be out for at least two to three months for sustaining an injury to this knee) were brought in to level the score. It took awhile, despite repeated attempts, but the Argentinean wunderkind Messi evened things up in the 89th minute, much to the relief of the a pretty move headquarters. Next stop for Barcelona on the long road to the Champions League final . . . Chelsea on October 18th.
And lastly, I just want to light a big flare in salute to the Chicago Fire after their incredibly exciting and entertaining match against Landon Donovan and the Los Angeles Galaxy in the final of the U.S. Open Cup. Lots of frenetic action, lots of decisive goals, and even a few moments of flair that literally made me rub my television-jaundiced eyes and remark to Lynda, “Are we still in America?” A great game and a great performance by the lads from Chicago. You can read more about the Fire’s 3-1 victory here.
* Levski were crushed by Barca 5-0 on the first day of the group stage.
** Bremen lost to Chelsea 2-0 on the first day of the group stage.
First up, Chelsea vs. Levski Sofia. I used to be a rabid anti-Chelski hater. I still don’t exactly like them, though the anger and moral indignation that used to fester inside me has mellowed considerably, flickering deep within me more like a low-grade indifference than the riot that used to overtake my thoughts every time I’d see “The Special One” on the sidelines, shrugging, moaning, or offering up one of his petulant facial expressions. Why the change of heart?
Drogba.
Chelsea’s ruthless striker may have had a disappointing World Cup playing with his national team Cote d’Ivoire, but he’s having an exceptional start to the Premiership season, already scoring four goals in six games and then netting a hat-trick Wednesday for his club in the Champions League. The second and third goals he struck may not have been the prettiest (the last one had me howling as it slowly rolled into the net past the Bulgarian keeper, Georgi Petkov), but Drogba’s smooth feral skill has slowly made me an admirer. Levski Sofia are the reigning Bulgarian 2005-2006 champs, and they looked focused and determined (and rather foully I don’t mind adding) for a large portion of the first half. But by the time Drogba delivered that punishing second goal that squeezed through Petkov’s reach, the second half for Levski Sofia was nothing more than a painful reminder* that the road to glory in the Champions League is long, arduous, and sometimes embarrassing when your club just doesn’t have the quality. I should add, though, that the late goal by Levski Sofia midfielder Marian Ognyanov, a forceful strike in the last minute, was arguably the finest of the match.
So after feeling a bit smutty after rooting for Chelsea, I watched the Barcelona vs. Werder Bremen match, and slowly, ever so slowly started to feel sane again as my team tried to take down a resourceful and vengeful German machine**. Barca moved the ball with their characteristic dexterity and flashes of artistry, but Werder Bremen controlled the tempo of the game for the most part, and kept the Catalans from unleashing any realistic onslaught. Werder Bremen, on the other hand, did attack several times though nothing substantial materialized. That is until the 56th minute of the second half when forward Aaron Hunt burned down the left side of the pitch and aimed toward Valdes and the Barca goal. Barcelona captain Carles “the Armored Saint” Puyol stretched and attempted to kick the ball out of bounds, but the ball instead screamed into the back of the net. Brutal stuff. Luckily, it takes a lot to discourage the boys from Catalonia, and Barcelona continued to hunt for goals and predominately control the rhythm of the match whether playing at full-speed ahead or at a more meandering pace. Kid Fantastic Lionel Messi and former Chelsea-man Eidur Gudjohnsen (a splendid addition to the squad this season) were subbed into the game in the later part of the second half (the former replacing Ludovic Giuly and the latter replacing an injured Samuel Eto’o, who will now be out for at least two to three months for sustaining an injury to this knee) were brought in to level the score. It took awhile, despite repeated attempts, but the Argentinean wunderkind Messi evened things up in the 89th minute, much to the relief of the a pretty move headquarters. Next stop for Barcelona on the long road to the Champions League final . . . Chelsea on October 18th.
And lastly, I just want to light a big flare in salute to the Chicago Fire after their incredibly exciting and entertaining match against Landon Donovan and the Los Angeles Galaxy in the final of the U.S. Open Cup. Lots of frenetic action, lots of decisive goals, and even a few moments of flair that literally made me rub my television-jaundiced eyes and remark to Lynda, “Are we still in America?” A great game and a great performance by the lads from Chicago. You can read more about the Fire’s 3-1 victory here.
* Levski were crushed by Barca 5-0 on the first day of the group stage.
** Bremen lost to Chelsea 2-0 on the first day of the group stage.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Agnello Gone; Wilkinson in Charge!
It ended up being a horrible season for the Portland Timbers, especially after so much hope at the start when new general manager/coach Chris Agnello was recruited to make the team more streamlined, aggressive, make the playoffs in style and hell . . . win the division. Was that too much to ask?
Oh yeah, it was. The season was a disaster, though there were brilliant moments and I ended up always having fun even when I was crying inside. Though when the cigarette smoke cleared and my thoughts resumed normal functioning once the beer-soaked logic no longer did, I was depressed that my hometown club looked ready to fade away once again.
But there's hope:
Chris Agnello has resigned and former player for the Timbers and assistant coach Gavin Wilkinson will now take over the general manager/coach duties. Wilkinson is well liked by many of the team's loyal supporters, so this may well be a good fit for a change. Anyway, I'll worry about the negative aspects (if there are any) down the line. Until then, I'll just bask in the sudden warmth and feeling of goodwill that has mysteriously overtaken me.
You can read more about the Timbers' bright future here.
Oh yeah, it was. The season was a disaster, though there were brilliant moments and I ended up always having fun even when I was crying inside. Though when the cigarette smoke cleared and my thoughts resumed normal functioning once the beer-soaked logic no longer did, I was depressed that my hometown club looked ready to fade away once again.
But there's hope:
Chris Agnello has resigned and former player for the Timbers and assistant coach Gavin Wilkinson will now take over the general manager/coach duties. Wilkinson is well liked by many of the team's loyal supporters, so this may well be a good fit for a change. Anyway, I'll worry about the negative aspects (if there are any) down the line. Until then, I'll just bask in the sudden warmth and feeling of goodwill that has mysteriously overtaken me.
You can read more about the Timbers' bright future here.
Monday, September 25, 2006
apm goes to the movies
On the heels of our recent thwarted attempt to view Once in a Lifetime: The Extraordinary Story of the New York Cosmos in the theatre, a pretty move convened at not-so-secret-headquarters last Wednesday night to watch its broadcast on ESPN2. This is a solid, entertaining look at the rise and fall--and implicitly, the rise again, because these are the times that laid the popularity for the rise of US soccer today--of the Cosmos and the NASL. The film opens with narrator Matt Dillon (?) reminding us that in the 1960s no one in the US played soccer, or even knew what it was save for recent immigrants. Cue a collective gasp of horror from all three of us. And then the NASL, and the New York Cosmos, were born.
Imagine such a superstar lineup playing in the US today: Pele, Beckenbauer, Cruyff. Giorgio Chanaglia comes off as a complete wanker and Shep Messing like a guy you really want to throw back a few drinks with while you talk about the old days.
Something else I liked: at the beginning, a journalist whose name I've forgotten was discussing why it's difficult for American sports fans to make the switch to watching soccer. We are raised on American sports, with their endless delays and timeouts, and she likens soccer to a play. You watch for 45 minutes, you have an intermission during which you discuss what's happened so far, and then you watch the second part.
Last night I finally saw Goal! The Dream Begins, already reviewed by Lisa on its theatrical release back in May. I'll just add that I am torn between establishing my film street cred* by pointing out that heartwarming is generally not the kind of adjective I'm looking for in my moviegoing experiences--I am more of a Wild Bunch than, say, a James L. Brooks kind of girl (although I actually do find The Wild Bunch heartwarming in a twisted way, but that's a subject for a nonexistent blog)--and feeling that establishing one's film credentials around Goal! is kind of like pushing a twelve-year-old down the stairs to show what a badass you are. I mean, of course it's a fairy tale: kid goes from illegal immigrant kicking a ball around the barrios of LA to starting for Newcastle United in a matter of months. So sit down, smartypants. We all know this isn't Raging Bull.
Anyway, this film is everything Lisa said it was, but, as she pointed out, it's still engaging. It's chock full of footie cameos, and really, who doesn't want to be Santiago, racing out onto the pitch while thousands of fans scream your name?
*note: I haven't got any
Imagine such a superstar lineup playing in the US today: Pele, Beckenbauer, Cruyff. Giorgio Chanaglia comes off as a complete wanker and Shep Messing like a guy you really want to throw back a few drinks with while you talk about the old days.
Something else I liked: at the beginning, a journalist whose name I've forgotten was discussing why it's difficult for American sports fans to make the switch to watching soccer. We are raised on American sports, with their endless delays and timeouts, and she likens soccer to a play. You watch for 45 minutes, you have an intermission during which you discuss what's happened so far, and then you watch the second part.
Last night I finally saw Goal! The Dream Begins, already reviewed by Lisa on its theatrical release back in May. I'll just add that I am torn between establishing my film street cred* by pointing out that heartwarming is generally not the kind of adjective I'm looking for in my moviegoing experiences--I am more of a Wild Bunch than, say, a James L. Brooks kind of girl (although I actually do find The Wild Bunch heartwarming in a twisted way, but that's a subject for a nonexistent blog)--and feeling that establishing one's film credentials around Goal! is kind of like pushing a twelve-year-old down the stairs to show what a badass you are. I mean, of course it's a fairy tale: kid goes from illegal immigrant kicking a ball around the barrios of LA to starting for Newcastle United in a matter of months. So sit down, smartypants. We all know this isn't Raging Bull.
Anyway, this film is everything Lisa said it was, but, as she pointed out, it's still engaging. It's chock full of footie cameos, and really, who doesn't want to be Santiago, racing out onto the pitch while thousands of fans scream your name?
*note: I haven't got any
Friday, September 15, 2006
In which the Czechs fare only moderately well and Serie A surprises me
I had hoped to write about yesterday's first round UEFA Cup match between Marseilles and Mlada Boleslav, but alas, of the four Czech teams playing yesterday, only Slavia Praha v. Tottenham Hotspurs was televised. So we headed on down to soccer standby the Marathon ($3.75 chicken gyros!) to check out the Czechs (sorry for that).
I did have some residual sympathy for the Spurs owing to their unfortunate gastoenteritis incident at the end of last season. I can't say the match was all that exciting; as I pointed out to Derek and Lisa, I somehow persist in believing that one of these unknown little teams will rise up to truly challenge the Goliaths despite their persistent demonstrations of mediocrity. But it does happen just often enough to keep the hope alive, and I'll never be one of those proponents of shrinking the pool of eligible teams with the idea that it will save us all the trouble of less-than-spectacular matches (because, as we all know, big teams always provide excellent football, right? Riiight.) The announcers mentioned that Slavia Praha had three teenagers on their team and I gotta say some of those boys didn't quite look old enough to drive; were they pressganging youngsters from local schoolyards?
In a moment reminiscent of England substitute keeper Robert Green's pre-World Cup injury during the Belarus friendly, Slavia Praha goalkeeper Michal Vorel collapsed following a goal kick about 25 minutes in. It seems it's rarely anything but a team's death knell when the keeper has to be replaced, and SP fared no better. They seemed to fall apart after a nice goal by Tottenham's Jermaine Jenas at 37 minutes, and though they pulled themselves together at the half, played considerably better, and tried hard for an equalizer, they just didn't have the skill and the final whistle blew with the score at 0-1. Oh, some stuff happened around the 60th minute which resulted in a free kick for SP but we missed that because once it started to rain really hard, the satellite went out for a while. As the waitress remarked dryly, you'd think that if you sold a service in Portland, you'd make sure it actually worked in the rain, but there it is.
Poor little Mlada Boleslav didn't even rate a mention in the post-match reports on Setanta, but their fate was the same as Slavia Praha's, while Sparta Praha and Slovan Liberec won their games. Lineups and links to match reports can be found at the always-informative Czech Football Daily.
Later on yesterday, I caught a thrilling Serie A match between Inter and Fiorentina. Now that was some football! I was so taken with the sight of Argentina's Cambiasso and Crespo on the pitch again, plus Figo to boot, that I fell instantly for Inter, though I found myself rooting for a Luca Toni hat trick to tie things up. Is anyone in Italian football more entertaining to watch? He's not just a great footballer; he plays up the theatrics for the guy at the very top of the stadium. He doesn't just suffer more! plead more! get more surprised! than anyone else on the pitch, he even sweats more than the other players. I swear he does that on purpose. This one ended 2-3; on the heels of the World Cup and yesterday's match I officially repudiate anything I ever said about il calcio being dull. Now I just gotta find a channel where I can watch Juve storming their way back into Serie A, with del Piero at the helm, Buffon holding things down, and my beloved Pavel Nedved as the hero of the day!
I did have some residual sympathy for the Spurs owing to their unfortunate gastoenteritis incident at the end of last season. I can't say the match was all that exciting; as I pointed out to Derek and Lisa, I somehow persist in believing that one of these unknown little teams will rise up to truly challenge the Goliaths despite their persistent demonstrations of mediocrity. But it does happen just often enough to keep the hope alive, and I'll never be one of those proponents of shrinking the pool of eligible teams with the idea that it will save us all the trouble of less-than-spectacular matches (because, as we all know, big teams always provide excellent football, right? Riiight.) The announcers mentioned that Slavia Praha had three teenagers on their team and I gotta say some of those boys didn't quite look old enough to drive; were they pressganging youngsters from local schoolyards?
In a moment reminiscent of England substitute keeper Robert Green's pre-World Cup injury during the Belarus friendly, Slavia Praha goalkeeper Michal Vorel collapsed following a goal kick about 25 minutes in. It seems it's rarely anything but a team's death knell when the keeper has to be replaced, and SP fared no better. They seemed to fall apart after a nice goal by Tottenham's Jermaine Jenas at 37 minutes, and though they pulled themselves together at the half, played considerably better, and tried hard for an equalizer, they just didn't have the skill and the final whistle blew with the score at 0-1. Oh, some stuff happened around the 60th minute which resulted in a free kick for SP but we missed that because once it started to rain really hard, the satellite went out for a while. As the waitress remarked dryly, you'd think that if you sold a service in Portland, you'd make sure it actually worked in the rain, but there it is.
Poor little Mlada Boleslav didn't even rate a mention in the post-match reports on Setanta, but their fate was the same as Slavia Praha's, while Sparta Praha and Slovan Liberec won their games. Lineups and links to match reports can be found at the always-informative Czech Football Daily.
Later on yesterday, I caught a thrilling Serie A match between Inter and Fiorentina. Now that was some football! I was so taken with the sight of Argentina's Cambiasso and Crespo on the pitch again, plus Figo to boot, that I fell instantly for Inter, though I found myself rooting for a Luca Toni hat trick to tie things up. Is anyone in Italian football more entertaining to watch? He's not just a great footballer; he plays up the theatrics for the guy at the very top of the stadium. He doesn't just suffer more! plead more! get more surprised! than anyone else on the pitch, he even sweats more than the other players. I swear he does that on purpose. This one ended 2-3; on the heels of the World Cup and yesterday's match I officially repudiate anything I ever said about il calcio being dull. Now I just gotta find a channel where I can watch Juve storming their way back into Serie A, with del Piero at the helm, Buffon holding things down, and my beloved Pavel Nedved as the hero of the day!
Thursday, September 14, 2006
What, Me Worry?
The plot thickens as more information trickles out in regards to the supposed West Ham United takeover by the mysterious company MSI (Media Sport Investment), which is itself a "subsidiary of a secretive investment firm registered in the British Virgin Islands" as reported over at The Guardian. As a West Ham fan I'm excited by the two Argentinians, Tevez and Mascherano, being snatched up by the club. But the fine print is so much more worrying and should fill any fan with trepidation about the future of the club and the Premiership as a whole. Or should it? Isn't this the way of the football world now, at least in regards to the top tier teams? If you don't have the cash, you don't win championships. West Ham are now at a position to challenge the top clubs in the Premiership--Chelsea, Liverpool, Manchester United, Arsenal--and has a good chance to wind up in sixth place by the end of the season come spring . . . or perhaps even higher. The scruffy working class yet oddly sleek and modern East London club is vying for something bigger and greater for their treasure chest and their supporters. But at what cost? Am I being naive about this? Or am I being naive in not being more worried about the whole thing?
You can read more about Tevez, Mascherano, and the West Ham affair here.
And speaking of great Argentinian players, Juan Roman Riquelme--the fabulous, intelligent tactician of the national team this past World Cup--is hanging up his boots on the international front and will now devote his attention to his ailing mother and his day job at Villarreal. I'm absolutely floored and saddened by this announcement and hope that he'll return to the national team sometime down the line. Riquelme's smooth slowing down of a game's tempo and his expertise at delivering the right pass at a crucial moment or delivering a brutal finish when an opponent is vulnerable, is a joy to behold. But if Riquelme is off, not engaged in the creative build-up of a match, the whole thing can come undone resulting in lethargic passing with nowhere to go. Sad, sad news. You can read more about Argentina's Dr. Mabuse here and here.
You can read more about Tevez, Mascherano, and the West Ham affair here.
And speaking of great Argentinian players, Juan Roman Riquelme--the fabulous, intelligent tactician of the national team this past World Cup--is hanging up his boots on the international front and will now devote his attention to his ailing mother and his day job at Villarreal. I'm absolutely floored and saddened by this announcement and hope that he'll return to the national team sometime down the line. Riquelme's smooth slowing down of a game's tempo and his expertise at delivering the right pass at a crucial moment or delivering a brutal finish when an opponent is vulnerable, is a joy to behold. But if Riquelme is off, not engaged in the creative build-up of a match, the whole thing can come undone resulting in lethargic passing with nowhere to go. Sad, sad news. You can read more about Argentina's Dr. Mabuse here and here.
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