world cup 2010: usa v england 1-1

It shouldn't have happened at all.  Football, though, is filled with impossible imaginings, especially during World Cup.  Having trailed 1-0 since the 4th minute when Steven Gerrard delivered a beauty of a shot past US keeper Tim Howard, the Yanks nevertheless kept their composure for much of the first half, biding their time until an advantageous opening was conjured.  Clint Dempsey, the rough-hewn yet dangerous US forward, eventually stepped up in the 40th minute with a bold yet speculative strike at best, lacking that special spark of invention.  It shouldn't have happened at all.  Not much power or finesse fueled it... an easy save for England keeper Robert Green to make.

But Green bumbled it--the football gods deciding that it was time to make an example of the West Ham keeper, reminding us all that the ball is capricious as much as it is functional.   1-1.

England pressured Howard plenty in the second half.  Heskey, Lampard, and Johnson all tested Howard--arguably the US's best player--but no opening could be exploited.  Rooney, who had been invisible for most of the game, reasserted his vocation to scoring, though the ball remained unconvinced.  And in the end, both teams walked away with a point each.  For the US, it was a fair result.  Something to work off of and the players' confidence should remain high.  For England, it must feel more like a loss, a bitter gob of spittle at the bottom of the pint glass.

diego forlan: there's a berserker lurking in there, you mark my words

So we all learned something new about the offside rule from Mexico v South Africa! Well, I did, anyway. Now that you SAY it, it seems so obvious...

The most compelling part of the opening day for me was not Tshabalala's splendid goal, or even our lovely Rafa's surly, practical response (he's a great one, Marquez, for the snarling, no-nonsense equaliser, sometimes without celebration, although he did that thumbsucking thing this time, didn't he? which seems to be off-putting to a lot of us yanks for some reason). The match lacked the pace and drive I wanted. Bafana Bafana showed some hunger, but why are El Tri so easily discouraged? Why don't they ATTACK? I kept thinking in the second half. Is it possible they were pouting?

No, the really intriguing part of the day for me was Uruguay v France, which I had to tape (WHY do they make me go to WORK?) and watch late last night, while I was hallucinatory from lack of sleep. I'm the spitting, hissing enemy of catenaccio as much as the next guy, that ugly lockdown strategy that results in 90 minutes of boredom and frustration and very little football. At first that looked to be the way of it, with Uruguay stoppered at the back with a massive defensive plug and France careening around the edges trying to find a way in. What gave it life (for me... it may have been all sleepless hallucination, I admit that) and fluidity was that two-man danger-squad up front, Forlan and Suarez. I never got bored. If I hadn't known the outcome already (my supervisor, --cruel, cruel man,-- announced it to me while I was stuck football-less at my computer), I'd have thought at every moment that Forlan was going to score.

I've been aware of him, of course, since I started following Barca five years ago. He was with Villarreal then, and his name comes up a lot now he's with Atletico (as it does when you score more goals in a season than anyone but Lio Messi and maybe one other guy in the whole world), but I think this is the first time I ever really watched him, and he seemed to me like a man possessed. Like he's going to haul Uruguay to that trophy single-handed if he has to. There's something almost scary in that steely gaze; it puts me in mind of Joan of Arc. How she really must have looked, I mean, not soft and misty-eyed like they make her in movies. Hard, steely, obsessed, fanatical: these things come in handier than soft and misty-eyed when you're going into battle, and I suspect Forlan is a man on a mission. I think villages might get burned in the wake of his fanaticism, old stalwart religions might fall and new, terrible ones rise. I'm keeping an eye on this one from now on.

As for France, how on earth do they do it? They swan around and swan around and don't look very interesting and then suddenly they're in the final. Charmed lives. Maybe it's all the red wine, or possibly the prostitutes. Keeps you young and beloved of decadent gods.

where to watch the World Cup in Athens, Georgia: update 1

We've had some great feedback in comments and email on other places in town to watch the World Cup and are happy to report there are more of us soccerheads than we thought out there in Athens. Here's what we've learned so far. Original post on where to watch the World Cup in Athens, Georgia is here.

First of all, @UrbanHaiku has dedicated an entire blog to where to watch the World Cup in the Classic City. She's got some great suggestions I didn't know about and is updating lots, so be sure to bookmark it to keep up.

Normal Bar, on the corner of Prince and Oglethorpe, is opening early for at least the afternoon games. This new bar is an awesome, friendly little neighborhood place. The staff is super and the inside is gorgeous and they have this great-sounding summer cocktail I'm getting the next time we're there which includes Pimm's and ginger and lemon and other refreshing summery things.

From the comments, Agua Linda on Prince was open for the 9.30 Mexico match, and Anonymous reports about 17 or so people, staff and customers, turning up. We'll definitely be checking in here for a Mexico match at some point. Also, Las Conchitas, the Peruvian restaurant next door, is also believed to be showing games. (That place never seems busy, but I had lunch there once and my food was really good.)

Farm 255 is bringing a huge TV screen into the bar for the viewings and @UrbanHaiku reports that the Globe has brought in a TV for the downstairs bar.

I'm so pleased and pleasantly surprised to see many local places joining in the party with the rest of the world!

and so it begins...

We here at apm--like most of you, I imagine--couldn't wait for the 2010 World Cup in South Africa to start.  The opening ceremonies got things started with the requisite flourish and... well, you know, the usual artistic choices that accompany these sorts of things: gorgeous dancers, brilliant musicians, conceptual celebrations of team and country, the honorable Archbishop Desmond Tutu getting his groove on, a giant dung beetle kicking at a soccer ball, and R. Kelly.  Something for everyone. 

And then there were the games.  South Africa doesn't have the best squad in the world--although they did perform well at last year's Confederations Cup in South Africa--but they held their own against a Mexican side that should have done... oh... so... much better.  The first half was mostly in El Tri's favor, though the poor finishing by former Barcelona player Gio dos Santos and former West Ham jobber Guillermo Franco was aggravating for the team's supporters.  South Africa simply looked out-classed.  But come the second half things turned around with a fabulous rocket of a goal from South Africa's Siphiwe Tshabalala (we'll all be able to spell his name fast by the end of the tournament, you just wait) in the 55' minute, sending the Mexican players into a tailspin.  Rafa Marquez evened things up in the 79' minute, but El Tri was unable to do anything other than give South Africa more space, options, and ultimately a couple of wonderful chances at winning the match.  But it wasn't meant to be and the soccer gods bestowed upon the teams a fair draw.  Decent, relatively exciting football to be sure.

The next match, between Uruguay and the Republic of Ireland... sorry, France... was a whole other beast.  I don't know much about Uruguay other than that they've won the World Cup twice before--at the first tournament in 1930 and again in 1950--and they feature one of my favorite players, Diego Forlan.  I had high expectations for this one, but other than a few moments of inspiration here and there, it was mostly a game for lovers of defense and clogged-arterial football.  Not my thing.  It was skillful, tactical football on Uruguay's part, and the way they stymied France was something to behold--a squad that failed to show any enthusiasm for playing except for when Thierry Henry made his appearance in the late second half.  But it was dull, frustrating play as well.  A midday sedative of the worst kind for anyone craving a good dose of progressive, creative football.  In the end, it was 0-0.  Uruguay got a point for parking the bus in front of goal and France received one for their public shame.  Now, if only Forlan could create some magic with his finishing... showing the rest of the world who don't watch his brilliance every week in La Liga why he matters.

But it's just the beginning.  The tournament is long and there are always duds like the latter match.  There will be a couple more... and games that remind us why we love this sport in the first place.  I have a feeling the real good stuff is about to get rolling tomorrow.  A dung beetle promised me.

follow apm on twitter during world cup 2010

Hunkered in our living room(s) or drinking at inappropriate times in our local pub(s)... apm will be watching and blogging about every World Cup game. 

We'll also be Tweeting!  And if you want to follow us there while we vent our spleen or wax poetically about some player or team who defies the script of the tournament... we'd love to have you aboard.

http://twitter.com/aprettymove

where to watch the World Cup in Athens, Georgia

I did this in 2006 for Portland, so here's another round for Athens. That's Georgia, not Greece.

Portland is a football-mad city--more than 10,000 people turned up for the Italy v. France 2006 final shown on a giant screen downtown in Pioneer Square. I confess that 2/3 of us have been more than a little worried that we'd spend the month watching every single match alone in our living room. That's better than nothing, of course, but half the fun of the World Cup is the camaraderie, the party atmosphere. Slinking out of your house at 9 am to sip Guinness with other football-loving commie reprobates and furriners. In the US, the love of soccer is like a secret handshake. An instant icebreaker. One of my Portland Timbers Army comrades with a respectable identity in the real world but known in local footie circles as Bickle once described it more or less thusly: you like football, you are my friend, and it's true.

Anyway, we've identified a few local places so far that have definitely caught World Cup fever, and we'll be updating this list throughout the tournament. We'll also visit as many of these fine establishments as possible, just as we did back in Portland in 2006, and provide you with reviews.

Also, if you are local, and you love footie, I urge you to get out and try to support as many of these places as possible, particularly the ones that are opening early and going out of their way to promote themselves as World Cup venues. It's not easy being a soccer fan in the US; it's even harder to be a football fan in the American-football-mad South. Let's show them that fans of the "other" kind of football are here to stay.

Here's what we have for you so far:

Transmetropolitan -- No website, but this well-regarded pizza joint at 145 E. Clayton Street in the heart of downtown has been advertising in Flagpole that they will open at 7 am throughout the tournament, providing a special brunch menu, showing matches on seven giant TVs, and running a beer special--$2 pints of Guinness. We'll be taking in the England v. USA match there on Saturday and I'm so excited I'm ready to start camping out in the sidewalk in front right now. Fortunately, that probably won't be necessary.

Casa Mia Tapas -- Also right downtown, 269 N. Hull St. (stumble up to the Manhattan afterward to drown your sorrows if your side loses badly). Also another restaurant I haven't gotten round to trying yet, and want to, so we'll be checking it out soon too. There's nothing on their website about it, but they tweet that they'll be up early for the game tomorrow morning and running $2.50 specials on all beers.

Farm 255 -- Also downtown. 255 West Washington St. Farm 255 just posted (literally, as I'm writing this) to their facebook account that the Farm Cart in all its glorious goodness will be open at 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. with World Cup specials including $2 PBR and Highlife Tallboys. I'm assuming you'll be able to get your food and drink at the cart and watch the TVs at the bar inside? Anyway, I've eaten at both the restaurant and the cart and the food is phenomenal and it's a great space inside; we'll definitely be hitting this spot too.

The Globe -- Pretty sure they're showing games at the upstairs bar. Love this bar on the corner of Clayton and Lumpkin beyond reason as it's barely changed since my university days here (added food and an upstairs bar). Will confirm and provide more details later.

The Royal Peasant -- 1675 Lumpkin Street. Despite their hopelessly outdated footie calendar, this British-style Five Points pub is also a pretty safe bet, as they promote themselves as a place to watch the Premiership and I notice their TVs are always tuned to football when I stop off at the liquor store next door (what?). This is another place I've been wanting to make it to and haven't -- Hillary Brown, food critic at Flagpole, raved about their food not long after they opened.

Agua Linda Tacqueria -- This picture, worth at least 100 words if not 1000, came via Athens Feed's twitter account (worth following if you're local), so clearly that's another spot. Not sure what their hours will be. That's the Atlanta Highway location (I can't find the address), not the one on Prince Avenue. We won't be visiting this one for a review as we are dirty commies without a car and I am kind of allergic to the Atlanta Highway, but it will probably be an especially fun spot for Mexico games.

More to come!

anxious and confident... waiting for the world cup

With less than two days to go before the 2010 World Cup in South Africa gets rolling, it's probably safe to say that I'm not the only football fan out there anxiously surfing the net reading blog posts, news stories, and tweets regarding the tournament.  Also, I'm glued to the television watching old World Cup matches on ESPN Classic... trying to manage to get some work done in the process as well.  Though honestly, it's been more of the former than the latter.

Of course, once the tournament ends in a month, I'll be relieved, exhausted, and anxious to forget about loyalties to country for a welcome return to league play.  As Lisa posted last week, despite my anxiousness for it to begin and my sometimes unfortunate romance of the game and the tournament... the World Cup is rarely pleasurable, hardly comforting in the manner that being hopelessly in love should be.  It's agony, pain, and masochism of the highest order.  What that says about my personality... well, I'll leave it at that.

But unlike previous years, I actually have confident, though cautious, optimism for the US team.  Still not a fan of the lumbering defensive-minded hybrid of catenaccio that coach Bob Bradley favors, but we look fit, solid, and confident.  Not overly-confident, mind you, like Ingerland, bloody Ingerland.  Confident in a good way.  So I have high hopes that we'll beat England on Saturday.  The World Cup rarely goes as predicted, though, so take my wish-fulfillment with plentiful salt, lime, and the tequila of your choice.

The last time we played England (I believe) was on May 28, 2008 at Wembley in London.  Two of us had just returned from three months in Spain and had plans to go see the game live... but we ended up watching the match at a pub down from our B&B instead... in a room full of English supporters.  We were roundly humiliated, as was the American team who lost 2-0 against a slovenly English squad. 

Last year's US appearance at the Confederations Cup in South Africa was a big improvement and I found myself falling for our scrappy Yanks in a way that I've never felt before.  Not only did the US look like they could beat Brazil in the final, the guys seemed to feel it as well.  This wasn't a fluke, this was the fulfillment of years of promise.  The US lost the final 3-2, but it was a line in the sand for me.  We weren't going back, we weren't going to return to the dark days of the 2006 World Cup embarrassment. 

We've done well in the big tournament before.  The 2002 World Cup for instance.  But our brutal assault at the feet of the Czechs in 2006 left some long-lasting bruises on many fans and will hopefully remain merely an aberration in the overall history of the national team.  Probably not, I know, but I'm trying to be optimistic these days.  Hopeful.

I know we can beat England.  They don't have any fear... but that's just a sad reminder of their arrogance, naivete, and penchant for self-delusion.  Crazy island dwellers, you know.  I don't for a second think we can win the whole thing, but I do know we can take down Ingerland.  And that's all that matters at this point.  One game at a time....

The Boys From Little Mexico

So how's everyone doing in the last breathless run-up to World Cup? Checking out some of those friendlies? Obsessively filling out wall charts, making predictions? Chewing your own arm off in crazed anticipation?

One of the ways we here at a pretty move have been coping is by acquiring a stash of footie books to keep us going before, during, and in the aftermath of World Cup 2010. We've got some old classics and some great new reads, and we'll be writing about some of them in the coming months. But in the meantime I wanted to give readers a heads-up on a new book we'll be talking more about next month after World Cup, The Boys From Little Mexico:A Season Chasing the American Dream.

This may be of particular interest to Portlanders--the story of the mostly-Latino soccer squad at Woodburn High School. Like some of the best footie books, it looks to be one which is about so much more than the game itself--not that the game isn't enough, but it also acts as such a great lens for everything from politics to sociology and beyond. And in the wake of the Arizona hullabaloo, this is a book about the real America--you know, the one that's full of immigrants, the America that we all came from (unless you are of indigenous descent).

We'll be featuring an interview with writer Steve Wilson in July, but in the meantime, pick it up! After all, what else are you gonna do with yourself in between matches for the those 31 days?

the agony and the... well, the even more agonizing

Some months back over Indian food, I suppose it would've been just after Beckham's big injury, my brother asked about Portugal v England in 2006, asked if it was true that Becks had wept when he was sidelined.
Yes, I said, he'd pulled a Gaza act, but I'd suspected at the time that he knew the Lions were going to be humiliated and was exaggerating his wound so he wouldn't have to be part of it.
There was a silence while my brother looked at me with his eyebrows raised. "Is that a little cynical?"
"In my defense," I said, "you have to remember that by that time in the World Cup I was completely insane."

Which is utterly and absolutely true. Not just neurotic, but bughouse mad. I'd quit my job so I had nothing to ground me into the earth during the month of footballing hysteria. I had no cable so I spent the bulk of my days up at dawn crawling into dark, smoky pubs where I drank gallons of bad coffee and ate (when I had to) terrible, greasy food. Many of these places had no windows. The only reason I knew it was summer was because after two or four or six hours I would have to stumble outside, snarling and vampire-pale, and make my way to a computer where I could unload into words on this very blog all the emotions of the day.

And the emotions were high and many. At the time I was still newly in love with football (newly enough that when I heard the Bill Shankly quote about football being far more important than life and death I thought yes, yes, that's exactly it) and had not grown a skin thick enough to separate myself from whatever absurdities were occurring on-pitch in Germany. When my teams were knocked out (all five of them) I experienced it as heartbreak as true as any I've felt at the hand of man. Successful cheating and diving left me breathless and gasping from the lack of justice in the world, and over-aggressive fouls I experienced as pure evil. In short, I had no perspective.

I have, naturally, been reviewing the events of that last World Cup in my head, and it seems to me, even over the distance of the years, that for every high and soaring moment I experienced there were nine or ten truly excruciating ones. Let's take a little trip down memory lane, shall we?

May as well start with Portugal v England, and get it over with: the stomp, the wink, and that horrible penalty shoot-out. The awful, gut-twisting humiliation when Jamie Carragher took his shot too soon and had to do it over. And Cristiano Ronaldo kissing the ball before he kicked it: was there anyone in the English-speaking world who didn't want to fire-bomb Ronaldo's house after that match? Lucky for him I'm a democrat and have no real training in weaponry.

Speaking of Portugal, travel with me now to Portugal v Holland. I remember sitting in the Marathon, I think it was, with Lynda, and I'd been kind of talking up Portugal as an interesting team... And then for the next two hours it was like watching through one-way glass at a nursery school while kindergartners tore into each other during some ferocious Romper Room. How many red cards were there? I think each team had maybe nine players each left on the pitch, keepers included, at match end. Mark Figo head-butted Mark Van Bommel, Deco PICKED UP THE BALL during play while arguing with a Dutchman... It was mass chaos, one vast embarrassment. We were exhausted afterwards, and I've never yet shaken my mistrust of either Portuguese OR Dutch footballers since.

France v Spain was a heartbreak for me, as La Furia Roja is the great love of my life. In it, Carles Puyol was accused of fouling Thierry Henry, leading to a French penalty and goal and giving France the edge they needed. Puyol came at him from an awkward angle, but Henry went down clutching his head (which Puyol had not touched) and until Puyol stands here and tells me otherwise I will always think of it as a successful dive. The interesting thing is that a month or so previous, following Barca's defeat of Arsenal during the 2006 Champions League Final, Henry (then of Arsenal) had been vociferous in the press about Barca's (Puyol's team) propensities for diving. "Next time I'll learn to dive maybe," he said, "but I'm not a woman." Guess he learned to dive, possibly becoming a woman at the same time.

These are just a few of many. Remember Brian McBride bloodied and dazed from the elbow of Daniele De Rossi? Remember Croatia v Australia, during which the Croatians were so very savage and unruly that poor Graham Poll lost track of his cards and gave one fellow three yellows? Remember the sickening crunch of Michael Owens' knee in the first minutes of England v Sweden?

Then there are two memories that I will never forgive. First, you have not known hell until you've sat in a college bar watching Germany take out the Argentine keeper with a knee to the ribs then win in penalties while frat boys (why do Americans who know crap about football always root for Germany?) roar with vicious Schadenfreude all around you. The other, the worst, was when Fabio Grosso put an end to Australia's hard-won and bravely-fought hopes by diving across Lucas Neill's prone body in the area and drawing the penalty. Although I later forgave the bulk of the Italian team during their rather wonderful humiliation of Germany (my enemy's enemy is my friend), Grosso will know my wrath until the day he dies and beyond.

That was the bulk of the bad. But there was also good.

I remember a miracle corner by Beckham that bent around into the net... was that England v Ecuador? Gorgeous. There was Argentina v Serbia-Montenegro, in which La Albiceleste showed us all what a beautiful passing game looks like. There was that lovely run by Tomas Rosicky against the U.S., and the best, most joyful, buoyant run ever by Carles Puyol, of all people, all the way down the pitch with the Ukrainians helpless at his heels, then a tap over to Torres who finished: perhaps the most playful, lovely goal of the tournament.

And that's pretty much it. When I try to think of more beautiful things, instead I think of more awful ones: Peter Crouch climbing up the hair of Trinidad's Brent Sancho to head in his goal, for instance. Sometimes it's downright embarrassing to be an anglophile in public.

I know you're thinking I left a bad point out: that OTHER head-butt, the one that got so much attention. I omit it on purpose, because I don't consider it a low point of the tournament. Quite the opposite. Consider: think what a long, excruciating match that final was. Neither side were playing in a scintillating fashion. It dragged on and on, as so many of the matches had, into penalties. Had Materazzi not goaded Zidane into action, had Zidane held his temper, I suspect we'd have all gone home feeling itchy and dissatisfied at the anticlimax of it all, and perhaps felt depressed and enervated for several days. As it was, thanks to Zizou, the 2006 World Cup went out with a bang, and I thank the football gods for it.

Anyway, it was Materazzi. Were he standing here right now, I'd head-butt him just for standing here being Materazzi. You see how violent I am already? And World Cup 2010 is still more than a week away.

ouch!

Ouch.

Though I think that Arsenal player Theo Walcott was a ridiculous choice to be named to the England World Cup squad four years ago (the main reason being he was too young, too inexperienced) it seemed realistic to think that England manager Fabio Capello would name him to the 2010 squad. Walcott has matured over the last four years and shows great promise. Capello obviously thought so too, calling him up to play for his country for qualification... but alas, not good enough to name to the final 23.

More later....

countdown to euphoria... anxiety

In exactly two weeks the 2010 World Cup will begin in South Africa.  For soccerheads, Christmas comes only once every four years.  But it lasts a month.

These two weeks are going to feel interminable, though.  It can't come fast enough.  The trick is to stay busy until kick-off... not to give into the anxiety.  That will come soon enough once the tournament begins.

So this morning, while trying to keep my mind off the fact that I have to wait yet another two weeks before the start of the matches, I came across these cool World Cup murals done by the am i collective based out of Cape Town, who were hired by Portland, Oregon ad agency Wieden + Kennedy through ESPN.  The 32 murals, inspired by wonderfully cheesy Ghanaian movie posters from the 1980s, symbolically show the respective warriors of the pitch ready to take the ultimate crown of the only game that matters.  Vanity Fair magazine also did a piece on it and you can see more of the murals here.

ja! ja! ja!

Now where's my scotch?

bradley's boys at the white house

Yesterday coach Bob Bradley announced his 23-man World Cup squad live on ESPN--generating plenty of controversy at the same time--and earlier today Bradley and the squad were guests at the White House.  President Obama, former President Clinton (who is a US Bid Committee Honorary Chairman), and Vice President and all-around shit disturber Joe Biden met with the team and... well, it bodes well for the sport in this country, I think.  You keep comin' a long way, baby.

one born every minute

asshole

Main Entry: ass hole
Pronunciation: \'as-,(h)ōl/
Function: noun
Date: 14th century
1 usually vulgar : Anus
2 a usually vulgar : a stupid, incompetent, or detestable person b usually vulgar : the worst place--used in phrases like asshole of the world

-- Merriam-Webster   

In William S. Burroughs's classic novel Naked Lunch, there is a scene, a routine really, about a man who taught his asshole to talk.  It's brilliantly funny, upsetting, and acidic in that Burroughs way.  Monty Python on smack.  For years I thought the piece was nothing more than fiction.  Yes, the world is full of strange, unbelievable wonders.  But surely this was just Burroughs riffing off of some make-believe routine he used to do for friends.

I was wrong.

A man named Barney Ronay has mastered the trick.  Unbelievable indeed!

And after you read about that incredible piece of human ingenuity, you can read a measured and thoughtful reply.

one door closes...

Looks like Real Madrid have axed Manuel Pellegrini as manager of the team. Madrid performed well last season in La Liga and gave the reigning champs Barcelona trouble throughout the year. But when "The Special One" makes it clear that he would love to manage the team... not to mention stick another shiv in the hearts of Barça and their supporters...you don't deny him. No one puts José Mourinho in a corner! No one!

apm on twitter

Oooh... fancy.  Although we're pretty good with the typewriter/computer thingy, we're not the most tech-savvy.  We're stubborn.  Somehow apm managed to get a twitter account started up.  I know, I know, baby steps.  What next?  A facebook page?

So if you're at all interested... follow us over at that place where everyone talks about eating a sandwich and sexting and all those other things the kids are doing.

http://twitter.com/aprettymove

materazzi and mourinho: a tearful farewell

Whoa. Does this mean the hearts of Jose Mourinho and Marco Materazzi aren't two sizes too small? This may force me to recalibrate my entire worldview.

Expect to hear word of Mourinho's appointment as Real Madrid manager any day now, natch.

We are coming back... just in time for the 2010 World Cup.  Take it as something to look forward to or just another thing to make you angry.  But it's gonna happen.

Hope to see you here too.

Cheers,
the apm gang

Racing Santander v. Barcelona

Three goals in seven minutes from three different players. And by the 27th minute of the first half, it wouldn’t have been arrogant to consider the game over. I’m surprised that Racing Santander didn’t just turn out the lights in the stadium during half-time so that their shell-shocked supporters could split to feed their sorrows with plentiful plates of boquerones and mugs of Estrella Galacia. Surrender now before things got even worse and Barcelona really started getting their groove on.

But this is football. Teams, especially good and respectable teams like Racing, don’t give in even when they’re obviously outclassed by the flashier more powerful Barça. Still, it’s got to be rough for their fans. I don’t think anyone would have blamed them if they’d ditched their team and headed for the exits.

But this is football and supporters don’t do that. Ever. Thankfully, Óscar Serrano gave the home fans something to cheer about in the 72nd minute when he slipped the ball through defender Rafa Marquez’s feet and scored one past keeper Victor Valdes who seriously didn’t have much to do before then.

It’s been a good four weeks of La Liga and it’s difficult to imagine but Barça look even stronger than they did last season. I wasn’t sure how Ibrahimovic was going to fit into the squad—he seemed selfish and petulant to me while playing at Inter and for the Swedish national team—but his kinetic repartee with Messi, keen vision, and physical strength up front is excellent and he’s fun to watch. He’s also more dependable than either Eto’o or Henry when it comes to finishing.

I know it’s early still, but I think Barça are realistically on their way toward another brilliant season.

Racing Santander 1, Barcelona 4.

Bring Me the Head of Diego Maradona

One of the great heartbreaks of my soccer-watching life was watching Argentina lose against Germany in the quarter finals of the 2006 World Cup. But I knew that with so many great players in the squad--Messi, Riquelme, Crespo, Aimar, Cambiasso, Coloccini, Tevez, Mascherano, Zanetti, Milito, Heinze, and others--that they'd arrive in South Africa ready to make things right. Unfortunately, many of the above players (Riquelme, Crespo, Aimar, Cambiasso, Coloccini) are no longer on the team for various reasons. Messi, so brilliant with Barcelona, is played as a striker instead of the gadfly forward Pep utilizes, and Tevez and Palermo (Palermo!) are disappointing to say the least.

So what's it going to take for the once-great player to step down from managing the Argentinian national squad? With the team currently in fifth place in their World Cup qualifying group and at risk of not making it into the tournament next summer, is Maradona so untouchable that he can't be fired? Is he so arrogant that he can't see that the best thing for the team, for his country, is to walk away after last night's defeat against Paraguay?

Don't answer the last question. I should know better than to ask it.