Riijkaard Maybe... Possibly... Thinking of Making Big Move!

"Although Rijkaard remains acutely aware that there is currently no position at Chelsea to discuss"... we here at The Guardian refuse to allow that reality to stop us from pursuing the hypothetical situation that the 45-year-old Dutch manager may, possibly, be interested in a job that is so far not available to him. Word on the street from our reliable gobshites is that the ridiculously handsome and cool as a cucumber Dutch cat may also be favoring a move to AC Milan, Aston Villa, Valencia CF, New York Red Bulls, or the most likely spot commandeering the Portland Timbers to USL championship glory. More news as we dream it up!

A Night With Galway United

Not one minute inside the grounds of Terryland Park, the home of Galway United FC, and we take a wrong turn. We were late getting to the game, thanks to the extra pint of Galway Hooker Derek ordered in the pub beforehand. And despite the precise directions to the park given to us by our host Jim at the Dun Aoibhinn Guesthouse, it was a bit more of a hike than we anticipated--not so much far away as it was, as Jim described it, "awkward," including navigating a stretch of dark road with no lights or shoulder to walk on. And if you've ever been to Ireland, you know that drivers here are not what you'd call cautious.

But late is late and we were tardy at the wrong time. The home team scored as we bought our tickets. We raced in and tried to get our bearings. The stands were nearly empty, so we headed toward the rowdiest group, only realizing our mistake when I spotted the banner "Limerick Ultras" on the wall behind them. Good thing we're starting our football pilgrimage in Ireland and not, say, Italy. This ground of ultras numbered about thirty, all lanky young man, and they terrorized the Galwegian side by standing throughout the match and smoking the occasional banned cigarette. They even managed to start the game's only chant--"You'll ever be a wanker," we think, directed at the opposing keeper during a penalty kick. At any rate, we managed to hightail it to the other side of the pitch before someone forced us to stand or smoke as well!

Once settled in the bare stands, with only a couple hundred home side fans scattered throughout, we were able to focus on the match. Galway United FC is not a bad team. They seemed to have better ball control than the Timbers (though who could control the ball with that crap turf of old?), and a couple of pretty fast players. The Timbers could definitely give them a run for their money though, and would provide a pretty fair match-up. Galway was also better about attacking the goal (particularly in the first half) than the Timbers of late. They did seem somewhat predictable and lacking in creativity; however, a late-night perusal of the fan board revealed that some, at least, found the match a bit dull due in part to some key missing players. Apparently, Galway United FC does have some prettier moves. The keeper--we think it was their first string guy Alvin Rouse--made a couple of great saves, while defender Wesley Charles packs a powerful header. (We hope we are identifying players correctly here; Galway supporters please correct us if we're wrong.)

The final score was 3-2 with the tie broken in the 89th minute by a Galway penalty kick. A few moments earlier, unrelated to the penalty, a melee erupted on the pitch when a tussle in the midfield led to a Galway United player grabbing a Limerick player in a headlock. Much shouting and shoving ensued. Something to keep the blood up in the bitter cold--and speaking of the bitter cold, that's why we don't have a picture. Fingers too frozen to retrieve camera in time. It had been a long time since that halftime cuppa.

The crowd consisted mostly of men, either with friends or kids, and some teenagers, including a few teenaged girls. We spotted exactly two grown women. Galway seems to have an enthusiastic fan base online, but at this friendly there were no chants, no instruments, no singing, no tifo. No TA atmosphere in other words. The lack of women did mean that for once the line for the women's toilet was shorter than for the men's. In fact, I walked into a deserted toilet--deserted, that is, save for the one man in there pissing with the door wide open, as my mother would say, in front of God and everybody. I beat a hasty retreat so as to avoid embarrassing us both and tried to look nonchalant when he emerged sheepishly.


All in all, an interesting night, and we'd certainly attend games regularly if we lived there. One can't help wondering what it would be like to go to a match on a warm summer night, as opposed to a cold February one. But the lack of a vocal and visible fan base for this friendly, at least, made us long to stand shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of crazed Timbers supporters.

this was written by both Derek and me, even though my name is the only one on the post

questionable attempt at being hans van der meer

I snapped these in Galway a couple of days ago... before the weather turned soggy again.

An Afternoon in Galway....

Walking along the beach in Galway yesterday, we noticed a pick-up game of football going on with a group of mostly African gents. A joyous sight indeed. Score was 2-0 when we left.

Captain Caveman

There are numerous reasons why Barcelona captain Carles Puyol is my favorite player--the heavy metal locks and constitution to match, his relentless drive to try and play all positions at all times while still being a team player, and most importantly, his loyalty.

Read more about why he's so damn cool here.

Fever Pitch

Okay, not "better than ever" but back all the same.

My first full day in Dublin wasn’t supposed to be like this. But here I am, sick in bed at the bed & breakfast, watching the Sunderland v Wigan match secluded in our little room. No big deal, though. I’m happily out in the world again, where watching or attending a match is routine… just like catching a tackleball, basketball or baseball game is back home in the States. While seated in a shitty, overpriced bar at the Newark International Airport just before closing, there was a table crowded with a bunch of American soccer fans heading overseas as well. Exclamations of “Fulham” and “fuckin’ Dempsey” boomed across the room. I quietly shared in their excitement and thought to myself that yes, we (as in American soccer supporters) are slowly and furtively winning the battle of hearts and mind in our country. Many of the reactionaries in the mainstream American sports press would love for you to think that the battle was lost or better yet, that there isn’t one even being waged. But when I look and hear dudes like that (and they were truly “dudes”), I know that the roots of soccer in the US are strengthening.

Speaking of how the culture of soccer is slowly gaining hold in America, last weekend I spent Saturday afternoon watching Barcelona v Osasuna in rural Georgia (smack down in Bulldog country) with my mother-in-law, a rabid college football fan (Auburn in particular). She loved it, and though I don’t think she’ll be relinquishing her allegiance to tackleball anytime soon (not that she has to or anything), I think the sport gained yet another convert.

Anyway, I digress. And frankly, now’s the time to simply indulge in the ordinariness of having football culture surrounding me.

We arrived in Dublin from Atlanta on Friday. Once I found out that Keane’s lads were playing on television, I made prospective plans to venture to some Irish local and catch the game with like-minded souls, Sunderland being Ireland’s unofficial fave Premiership club.

Alas, it was not to be. Sure, I would’ve loved to have been standing, sitting or slouched in some pub watching the gritty and intermittently entertaining on-field play instead of lying in bed clammy, phlegmy, and doozy from my cold and that full Irish breakfast I managed to wolf down. But there will be other matches down the line to suffer through via television or in the flesh.

Okay, enough of my ramblings. My thoughts will… hopefully… get more focused as my cold abates and we start catching some matches in person.

In Transit

Adaptation is a profound process. Means you figure out how to thrive in the world.
-- John LaRoche (Chris Cooper) in the film Adaptation

Although things have been quiet online... 2/3 of apm have decided to uproot from their rainy Pacific Northwest enclave and head back out on the road... and search for football life beyond the walls of fortress America. We figure it won't be that difficult to find.

So for those of you out there who enjoy our weird, idiosyncratic little blog... we promise we'll be back soon and hopefully better than ever. We're going to dearly miss watching our hometown club the Portland Timbers live in the North End. But perhaps some talented, cavalier, opinionated and like-minded soul will come forward to help apm out and keep the spirit of the green & white vibrant on this site. We can hope.... If not, I guess we'll have to do the best we can and figure something else out. If there's one thing we know how to do, it's how to adapt.

In the meantime, cheers to anyone who's visited and liked our site. Stay tuned, as they
say!

PGE Park Update: Timbers Secret Weapon, I Mean, Crap Turf, Replaced

Owner Merritt Paulson promised, and the happy day has come to pass. Replacement has begun on the godawful turf that has been threatening to maim players for years. There is, I suppose, a downside to this, which is that "home field advantage," for the Portland Timbers, has not only meant enduring 90 minutes of screaming and singing by hundreds of beer/soda/adrenaline-fueled fans, but that however bad the turf was on our players' legs, at least our boys were used to it. Visiting teams from Europe, MLS, and the like have regularly blamed draws or losses during friendlies on the appalling concrete-like playing surface. It will be delightful to see how the big visiting teams explain away their losses to a little backwater USL squad now....

For spectators, the crap turf was frustrating because players, ours as well as others, tended to slip around on it and controlling the ball was difficult. Sometimes it bounced wildly. New turf means better football, fewer injuries, and greater possibilities for exhibitions from major international teams played right here in the Rose City. And it also means Merritt Paulson really is willing to invest in this team, which is one of the best things to happen to soccer in P-Town in a long, long time.

playing the field in the Prem

I haven't had nearly enough time to watch much soccer over the last few months, much less write about it, but after only half-joking in my last post about a growing affection for Man City over the past half-season, I realized it was time to go ahead and admit what I am when it comes to the Premiership: a promiscuous tart. I cannot settle on any one team. Over in La Liga, Barcelona demands, and has, my absolute loyalty and undying love, despite my roving eye. How can you not have a roving eye in La Liga, what with all the short passes and complicated plays and pretty flicks? From my two Davids (Villa and Silva) at Valencia to Robinho deep in the belly of the Real Madrid beast, any time my Barca boys are not on the pitch I'll happily gad about with the rest of the league.

When you are a soccer fan living in the United States, choosing a Prem side to support can seem almost de rigeur. It's certainly the easiest league to follow in the US since the games are televised on the readily-available Fox Soccer Channel. So I kept thinking, you know, that one day I'd look at a club and I'd just know. But it's not going to happen. Year after year, I'm affectionate about a number of teams and faithful to none. My affection waxes and wanes for a many reasons, often fairly inexplicable ones: a handful of players I love from various national teams play with this club, I like the keeper at another, the manager at a third, the fans at this one and the brave struggle against relegation from that one. None of these affections are particularly deep or meaningful. I like Sir Alex but not Man U, most of all because I can't bear Cristiano Ronaldo's smirk; I like Arsene Wenger and keep thinking his flash squad ought to win me over, but it never does. Some Senegalese players lured me to Bolton for a spell, while my attraction to Fulham was only partly explicated by its roster of American players. Sunderland, of course, have already become legends in the annals of Portland Timbers supporters, all on account of their fantastic fan base, traveling here in the hundreds to drink and sing with us. Plus, Roy Keane! Of course, I support the Hammers by a sort of osmosis, and there was a point at the start of the season when I thought Liverpool might settle me down--despite the presence of the loathsome Crouch--but then my eye went wandering again almost immediately and I couldn't remember what I'd seen in them in the first place.

Maybe this is part of why I enjoy watching the FA Cup so much. I always swear loyalty to one side or another, early on. It helps if one side is the underdog--twenty levels down? that's my boys!--and/or has a heartfelt fan base shouting them to victory. It's always so giddy and exhilarating, that first meeting with some club I've never heard of. For ninety minutes I remain entranced; there never has been and never will be another English club for me. Then the whistle blows, the match ends, and slowly I come to my senses. I swear that the next time I'm in town I'll look them up but of course I never will get around to it; within days I'll have forgotten their name. There's always another struggling and charismatic club to win my fancy.

this one is really about soccer...

So, if you were paying attention or read apm on feeds or from various soccer sites, you probably saw the last thing I posted here which was actually intended for my personal blog and totally not soccer-related, because here at apm we are nothing if not 100% professional. I just wanted to come back with an embarrassing bang. I swear, I haven't even been hitting the holiday eggnog or anything, but having potentially subjected footie fans to my ramblings on everything but, I feel obligated to actually provide you with some content now.

One week, on, I am still reeling from Real Madrid's thrashing of Barcelona, and while the scoreline may have merely read 0-1, it was indeed a thrashing. Our boys looked awful and for the first time ever, I am ready to concede that it's probably time for Ronaldinho to move on. However, the first team debut of Serbo-Catalan new kid Bojan Krkic is easing a lot of that pain for me: he's hungry, intelligent, and gifted beyond his years. With the addition of both him and Mexican Giovani dos Santos--also wildly talented but more so than Krkic right now in need of focusing, better communication skills, and maybe a touch less arrogance--suddenly my wonder kid Leo Messi stops being the wonder kid and starts looking like the grand old man of Barca. Okay, I exaggerate, but their performance on December 23 left little doubt as to just how crucial Messi is to Barca's success. Meanwhile, I like Rijkaard's use of Eidur Gudjohnsen as a hardworking midfielder: he's a player I've never stopped rooting for despite his inability to really succeed for us as a striker (and I wish Rijkaard had used him last week).

Speaking of Rijkaard, what is with the absurd speculation that Jose Mourinho is going to replace him? Enough with this nonsense.

In other news: another player, Motherwell captain Phil O'Donnell, tragically collapses and dies on the pitch. There aren't really words for this one: we all imagine how we'd feel if the same happened to one of our beloved players. I don't understand why this happens--what players' physicals screen for, if there's any way to prevent this.

And in news of the bizarre, if Man City doesn't stop their meteoric rise (they're 5th place as of this writing and a mere point behind Liverpool), I am going to end up a fan of both the team and Sven-Goran Eriksson. And that will just be silly. I can't help pointing out that gosh, it turns out Sven-Goran really was a decent coach and that, well, maybe the England team just sucked. It would have been interesting to see whether Mourinho could have turned them around--and if he couldn't have, I don't think anyone could. Fabio Capello? I haven't made up my mind.

FIFA Club World Cup Final and Third Place Match Tonight!

Just a quick note: FSC here in the States will be broadcasting the Club World Cup third place match between the Urawa Reds from Japan and Etoile du Sahel from Tunisia live at 10:30 pm. It should be a great match. Urawa played well against a slightly more fluid AC Milan earlier in the week and unfortunately lost. But the Japanese side had nothing to be ashamed about. Milan, who are more experienced at pulling off the big wins were nonetheless tested by Urawa's technical and attractive style. Don't let the 1-0 result fool you--the match was exciting throughout.

Later in the evening... or morning... AC Milan will face Boca Juniors in the final. The last time these two clubs met in the tournament (in 2003), they drew 1-1 and then went into penalty kicks in which Boca triumphed. Boca's semi-final win over Etoile last week left plenty to be worried about, and they are desperately missing the genius of Riquelme (who is in Japan but unable to play for his beloved club due to legalities) in the midfield. I'm figuring Milan to avenge their previous defeat, but you just never know. More later....

I've Seen Things You People Wouldn't Believe or: Valencia v Barcelona

It was a miserable result for Valencia CF (many of the team's supporters split from the agony at the half), as well as a humiliating public depantsing for their keeper extraordinaire, Santiago "Roy Batty" Canizares, who let three goals burn past him. But the entire team has been dreadful this season and since former Barca superstar Ronald Koeman took over in October, there's still no turnaround in sight for Valencia. Honestly, though, it's hard to imagine anyone stopping those first two strikes by Barca's Eto'o, who looks stronger and more healthy with each game. Canizares appeared... well, flaccid and seemed to be experiencing a full-blown existential crisis trying to stop the well-tuned Barca sans Ronaldinho (he shivered under the covers on the bench, no doubt being rested for next week's grand Christmas present/classico against Real Madrid). In short, the loss of form wasn't all due to Canizares. Valencia's defense simply looked pathetic and as the match went on, their players grew more and more frustrated and quick-tempered, relying on cheap shots to stave off the attacks by Eto'o, Gudjohnsen, and Dos Santos. The latter player, who must've been given a talking to about his frequent selfishness on the pitch (he has a tendency to keep the ball and take reckless shots when he should pass off to an open player, as was obvious in last week's Champions League match against Stuttgart; Eto'o and Gudjohnsen both displaying their displeasure with the otherwise wily youngster from Mexico), delivered a wonderful unselfish assist to Gudjohnsen for the final goal. All in all, Barca look fantastic and seem to finally have a trouble-free backline composed of Abidal, Milito, Marquez (who had a brilliant game today), and captain caveman, Puyol (who just keeps getting better and better). Barca look hungry and ready to deliver a Christmas present to their fans worth savoring.

The victory for Barca did come at a price, though--an injury to Leo Messi at the end of the first half. This is the worst possible news for Barca at this time (Messi is the team's leading scoring so far this season) and it's being reported that the young Argentine will be out for a month or so.

Here in the Portland area, the match next Sunday (the 23rd) between Barca and Real Madrid will be televised on GolTV at 9:55 am. For those of you who don't have GolTV, the Marathon Taverna Sports Bar, located at 1735 West Burnside (503-224-1341) does carry the station and if you feel inclined to fight off some of the tackleball fans who will, I'm sure, be crowded in there as well, one out of their many televisions should be free to watch what could be the match of the year... until they meet again later in the season. Best to call beforehand, though, just to be safe.

FIFA Club World Cup Quarter Final: Urawa Red Fever!

I've been dying to see the Japanese club Urawa Reds play for years, ever since I saw footage of their dedicated and crazed supporters in the stands madly chanting, doing the pogo, and brandishing those gigantic flags in unison for their beloved team. Like many of us, I love the spectacle and clamor of supporters benevolently unhinged; of fans shedding their collective skins of decorum and polite behavior and willingly surrendering to the gods of passion, emotional turmoil, and the frenzy and drama of the match at hand. There's nothing else like it. And when your team disconnects from the frivolity or grimness of the everyday world, playing football with all of the intelligence and furor their bodies and minds demand, it seems heretical not to succumb to the passion yourself. It seems like sin.

Watching the Urawa Reds (and their exuberant supporters) face off against the Iranian club Sepahan FC last night in the quarter finals of the FIFA Club World Cup definitely lived up to my expectations. The tournament, aired here in the States on FSC and held for the last four years in Japan, is not a favorite among European clubs--because it interrupts the schedule of whatever European/Champions League title holder is involved, not to mention is yet another tournament in an already crammed schedule--but I've always enjoyed watching it considering it pairs up teams (the six champions from the various global confederations) that you would never get to see play against one another otherwise. Last year, for example, we got a chance to see Barcelona and Brazil's Internacional vie for the title (Inter won 1-0).

This year, the six teams are Boca Juniors, AC Milan, Etolie du Sahel from Tunisia, Pachuca, Sepahan, New Zealand's Waitakere United (an underdog team if ever there was one, with most of its players working "real" jobs when they're not on the pitch), and Urawa Reds. Sepahan beat the daylights out of Waitakere on the first night (3-1, but it felt much worse), Etolie du Sahel shocked everyone by knocking Pachuca out 1-0 Saturday, and then last night the Reds and Sepahan met up. These two teams have a history with one another, as the Japanese club beat the Iranians 3-1 last season in the Asian Champions Cup (a win that landed the Reds in the Club World Cup).

Well, it seems that the Urawa Reds like them some Sepahan. Although both clubs played a fluid, well-paced and energetic game, the Reds' skill on the ball in the midfield and their methodical--though far from dull--pressure on goal (they won 3-1; the third goal was an own one, though) was impressive and could pose a problem for AC Milan on December 13. Milan are the favorites, no doubt, but I wouldn't be surprised if Reds striker Washington--a towering Brazilian who has played for Fenerbahce among other clubs--and midfielder Shinji Ono have something to say about that. We can only hope!

A History Lesson: AC Milan v Celtic (1-0)

Never again! It was like watching the Kombai tribe drain starch from sago palms for hours on end.

Yesterday, with no real strain on my part despite my past indiscretions with Berlusconi's team of dangerous looks and moves, I decided to root for Celtic in their vital Champions League Group D match against Milan. Barcelona is my team, of course, but I thought I'd root for the scruffy team from Glasgow since my attraction to Milan has been fleeting of late. It wasn't intended to mean anything in the first place. Just fill the hours when I wasn't watching Barcelona... or West Ham. It was always supposed to be superficial, thoughtless, and incorrigibly wicked. I could've simply remained neutral... but I never seem to remain neutral whenever I watch other teams play, however much I try. At some point, I always take a side, declare loyalty (albeit a temporary and non binding oath) to my "new" club, and rage against the opposing team. Maybe it's an American thing. Maybe it's just me. It is what it is.

Celtic are no strangers to me. But it's all secondary knowledge. Everything I know about them has come from books, articles, and highlight reels. I'm not aware of anyone (as far as I know) who actively supports them. Nevertheless, I always figured I'd see them sometime when I made it to Glasgow, as well as catching their Old Firm rivals Rangers in action. When in Glasgow....

Matched up against the sleek, current European champions Milan, I expected Celtic would really take it to 'em, especially since the Scottish club was fighting for a spot in the knockout phase of the tournament. Celtic only needed a draw to advance, but their fate was also predicated on whether Benfica managed to beat the Ukrainian underdogs Shakhtar, which was being played at the same time. At any rate, Celtic's fate wasn't entirely in their own control. To me, that means it was time to kick out the jams! Instead, Celtic played with the desultory finesse of a team best left for vulture gnoshing. Their display of "football", brilliantly slog-footed as it was, made me yearn for the Rangers v Barcelona match a few weeks earlier which resulted in a 0-0 draw. A game so depressing on Rangers' part, with their spineless dedication to the defensive anti-football grind, that their manager Walter Smith actually had the gall to gravely commend his lads for their "excellent result" afterward. Perhaps Mr. Smith has a crueler sense of humor than I originally thought.

At least Rangers had a methodology. As far as I could detect, Celtic's whole plan was to pantomime the game at its dullest, and keep things dreary in the midfield, creatively prevent any and all attempts at scoring against Milan's keeper Zeljko Kalac (Celtic had no more than three shots on goal the entire evening). Oh, where was Henrik Larsson when you need him?

My earnest sympathy for the Scottish underdogs betrayed me within twenty minutes. And so I crept back toward Milan, unable to resist their venal allure and wishing that they'd wallop Celtic just to teach 'em a lesson and hoping that the true underdog Ukrainian team could manage to equalize against Benfica. Shahktar, who seemed to be playing with far more courage and vitality in their own match (as well as with basic footballing skills) from what I could make out from the brief channel-switching I did, were sadly unable to pull through.

Supposedly, Scottish football is on the rise. But if the performances by Celtic and Rangers on the wider European stage are indicative of their newfound ambitions, I think I'll start learning where the nearest Sago palms are located.

The Kids Are Alright... (for now)

With one project more or less out of the way... today seemed like as good as any to get this apm blogger back to his football scribbling groove, what with all of the Champions League games being played today and tomorrow and the FC Barcelona v Olympique Lyonnais match in particular. Barca only needed a point to go through to the last 16, but Lyon had a lot more at stake as they were vying for the crucial second place spot.

It was only three minutes in and the Barca kids were definitely alright when the dazzling Bojan Krkic (still only 17!) delivered a fantastic cross from the right off of a blistering counter attack, finding Andreas Iniesta near goal eager to unleash an intelligent finishing move. But four minutes later, Lyon answered back with a spectacular 40 yard free kick (that I'm not so sure was actually intended as a goal) from the always dangerous Brazilian Juninho (who looks more and more like Oleguer's twin), effectively declaring "game on." Thankfully, Barca never lost their cool, although Juninho and our own hulking Toure Yaya (who has been a smart and splendid addition to the squad this season) did have a little moment near the end of the first half--which got Rijkaard booted off the touchline and into the stands. I must've blinked, since I missed what that was all about.

Early in the second half, Barca took the lead again after Lionel Messi was taken down in the penalty area by Lyon's Sébastien Squillaci. The frantic Lyon side pestered on, although they failed to ever control the game. But their persistence paid off when Juninho evened things up again from a penalty kick in the 80th minute.

Can't say I was disappointed with the result. But we really could've won the game since we had more than a few opportunities to win the game outright--namely via two golden chances by Eidur Gudjohnsen. Poor Eidur. It's good to see him starting for the team again, though he looks a bit desultory. He's always been a second or two behind the rest of the squad, but we really needed him to shine these last two matches and quite frankly he's disappointed.

Regardless, Barca is through to the next stage. Also, I saw that the battered and bruised Sevilla side went through as well after their 3-1 defeat of Arsenal (who had already qualified). Good job, lads!

random questions

1. How can I overcome my heartbreaking attraction to the underdog?

Yeovil Town and Torquay battled fiercely this weekend in the first round of the FA Cup. I knew absolutely nothing about either team, yet within minutes I'd thrown my full weight behind Yeovil. I suspect it was because the Torquay boys looked bulkier and more ornery. The match was a hard one and Yeovil managed a first sweet ball into the net then a tantalising near-beauty off the bar before losing heart completely and becoming sort of puzzled obstacles around which their opponents gleefully ran on the way to an ever-mounting score. Full-time: 4-1.



2. Why am I more excited about the FA Cup than Euro 2008?

My blood is up. I'm counting the days until Staines Town takes on Stockport County. But can I be bothered to tune in to see my beloved 3 Lions on the pitch? or to watch Israel play Russia? I cannot. Perhaps my reluctance is a result of remembered pain from the World Cup, still creaking in my joints and bones, and my subconscious is guiding me sensibly away from national teams in general and the agony which follows in their wakes.



3. Anybody see "Eastern Promises"?

Cronenberg's ongoing study of bodily apertures and modifications of the flesh continues with this inspired ode to tattoos and throat-cutting via the Russian mob in London. In it, a luckless young Arsenal fan is walking home from Stamford Bridge. Chelsea has just wiped up the pitch with his loved Gunners. He's putting on a brave face. He pauses in a graveyard to pee against a tombstone and gets his throat cut right through his faux-Arsenal scarf. When challenged about the scarf, Cronenberg told the GUARDIAN, "I wish I could have had the scarves more accurate. But my lawyers and producers said the club would never agree to have their merchandise used in this way..."

it's a hat-trick for Benayoun; an embarrassment of riches for Rafa

And there it is! Just as the world loses faith in the Merseyside lads, they strike back by breaking a Champions League record! Just yesterday Derek sent me his condolences (prematurely, I'm happy to say) and I replied that I'm so tired of watching Liverpudlian draws, I could spit. And now this! 8-nil over Besiktas!

It looks like Arbeloa is the running partner I've always wanted for Benayoun. There was some fine interplay in the first half, both of them playing like gangbusters, and the post-Hammer Israeli was on fire in the second. The Turks were so intent on marking Voronin and Crouch (everyone seemed obsessively freaked out by Crouch's height) that Yossi was able to run with a fair amount of freedom.

But all the Reds played well. Voronin gave lovely assists (how about that Brazilian backheel, eh?); Gerrard showed a piece or two of his mastery; the young Ryan Babel was exciting with his own backheeled goal. Even Harry Kewell seemed fit and ready, and before this week I'd forgotten he was still on the side.

All that said, a win like this is a little mortifying for everyone. I genuinely grieve for that brave and beleaguered keeper, so often seeming like the only Besiktas man on a pitch filled with men in red. And I take my hat off to Rafa Benitez: he is a true gentleman, obviously uncomfortable with a point-margin this extreme. Tommy Smyth can rail against him as he pleases, but Rafa is a favorite human of mine in the footballing world. He carries with him an enviable air of grace in both defeat and victory.

Go, you Reds!

a short hiatus

apm will be on hiatus for the next 2-3 weeks as 2/3 of us are buried under deadlines. (There is always, of course, the possibility that our lovely and talented third member Lisa will decide to do a stealth post.)

Please check back later in October for new posts!

Elementary Particles: Barcelona v Real Zaragoza

The papers, in and beyond the borders of Spain, have been speculating about a possible move away from Barca to Chelsea for Ronaldinho. And despite vociferous denials from the Camp Nou via president Joan Laporta and coach Frank Rijkaard, the press continues to beat the drums that there's turmoil within the club, et cetera. Nothing new, of course. And frankly, if Chelsea want to spend 80 million euros on Ronaldinho, they can have him since no player is worth that much money. And if the big, fleet-footed Brazilian would rather play for the Blues than with the Blaugrana, then my heart is broken and good riddance.

But I don't think he's going anywhere, certainly not to Chelsea, and as Laporta and Rijkaard mentioned in their press conferences over the last few days--"Barca is where it is today thanks to him." And so it is.

Still, critics insist that Barca is unable to play without Ronnie and that the team is unstable without him. I find such comments amusing since it's obvious that they haven't been watching the squad of late. I know it's still early and that some players have taken awhile to find their forms, but the last three matches have been showcases for fabulous, progressive football at its finest, and I think proof that the team is strong with or without their celestial #10.

GolTV co-announcer Phil Schoen summed it up best today as Barca dismantled an increasingly frustrated and impotent Real Zaragoza side: "Whenever you get tired of the modern, cynical game, you might want to leave this one on tape." With Ronaldinho still out because of an injury (and I ain't talking an injury on the dance floor while he was juggling Rum bottles or whatever it was he was supposed to have done... if you listen to the Spanish press) the team played better than I've seem them all season and maybe even longer. They look strong. They look fabulous. And they'll look even better than ever once Henry actually can break through his malaise (though he played fine all game despite his woeful finishing... but he's getting there) and fine-tune his communication with Messi and Iniesta. I'm thinking next match, Henry will definitely step up and remind us all of yesteryear.

No surprise, Messi was peaking yet again, and like the match on Saturday against Sevilla, he almost earned another hat-trick. But he did garner another two goals. Iniesta also notched another beauty and he continues to be my second favorite player on the squad (after captain Puyol, who will hopefully be back from the injury list soon). I hope to write about Iniesta once my project is finished within the next few weeks. He's been a consistent joy to watch and his performances just grow stronger and stronger in that left-side attacking midfield position vacated by Mr. #10. A joy to behold and his vision and pace never fail to impress me. The kids dynamite--Gio Dos Santos and Bojan Krkic--made their moves known, too, and I'm excited to see what they'll continue to bring to the club over the years. Even Marquez scored! End result: Barca 4, Real Zaragoza 1.

All in all, it was a brilliant mid-week match and a straight shot to the critics who naively think that Barca can't hold their own without Ronaldinho. He'd no doubt be missed--I personally would hate to see him depart--but we'd get by. He may have made the club what it is today--i.e. a global brand--but he didn't put the club on the map. All of the individuals that make up this glorious squad are important components of its success--including Oleguer! But none of them are bigger than it; none of them are bigger than the history, the supporters, the residue of good and bad memories that surely permeate the atmosphere within the Camp Nou. That history combined with those players and those Fortean moves are the elementary particles that make Barca so dear to so many the world over.

I hope the fans greet Ronaldinho with loving arms when he returns to the pitch soon. But I also hope that he doesn't forget that we'll sleep fine without him if he ditches us for that icy Russian blonde.

You Cannot Stop Us. We Are the Rose City.

Over at Soccer City USA there are numerous threads saying all the things I would say here: we are bursting with pride and love for our team. Of course we are sad to have lost the semifinal match against Atlanta, but we are not disappointed in the Timbers one bit. These are tears of joy, not anger or frustration. There is so much eloquence and emotion over there that my own contribution here seems almost superfluous, but here goes.

I won't try to recap the grueling match, which you can read about here, or rehash complaints against the refereeing. I want to try to remember what it was like:

As the boys in green, subdued, paid their final respects of the 2007 season to the North End supporters, the defiant chant arose: We're gonna win the league! We're gonna win the league! I don't know how, I don't know when! We're gonna win the league! (Next year!) I sang along until my voice broke and I had to focus on blinking back tears, because we won't be back to watch them win next year. Oh, I can't complain: we'll be seeing lots of football elsewhere, the Hammers and Barca and St. Pauli and plenty more, but our hearts will be back in PGE Park and we will be following the Timbers as closely as we can.

The mood at the wake after the match was one of melancholy defiance, punctuated by bagpipers. And then the players arrived. I saw Tommy Potl wander in, followed by Lawrence Olum, Scot Thompson. Something like half the team showed up. A beautiful end to a beautiful season, and we knew then it was time to go, so we finished our pints, shook hands with Olum and thanked him, and left. For the first time in weeks, on the way home, no one stopped us or shouted from cars to find out the score, as though the city already knew its summer love affair with the Timbers had come to an end.

What an amazing showing from the Portland fans! There are so many people who have worked so very hard over the years to make the experience of attending a Timbers game what it is--most visibly, those who dream up and then make into reality those mad displays of tifo, those who turn up early to hang banners and haul flags and other paraphernalia back and forth from the Bullpen, and the capos, who spend much of the game with their backs to the action on the pitch in order to perform the often thankless but crucial task of keeping a rowdy crowd of drunks* in full voice and on tune. Even when they are sometimes rowdy and drunk themselves.

I went to my first Timbers game in, I think, 2003, when I bought a GA ticket and slouched into a seat in 207 and witnessed a small but spirited party erupt in the section below. I never imagined then, and I did not imagine even at the start of this season, that I would eventually see seven or eight or nine sections in PGE Park standing and singing for an entire game. That I would see the entire west side of the stadium on their feet. And here is what I thought, at the close of the brilliant, beautiful, 2007 season: we have done what naysayers around the world did not believe could be done. Here in the United States, we have taught one another, and we have taught Portland, how to attend a football match. We have done the impossible, and that makes us mighty.**

Finally, I have no idea if any players for the Timbers have ever seen or are even aware that this blog exists, but if any ever stumble across this: thank you for bringing us so much joy this season. Much love to you all.

More here:
The saddest photo you've ever seen
More pictures from Allison Andrews
KPTV video of Monday night Gavin Wilkinson interview
Oregonian piece on who's signed for 2008 thus far
Scot Thompson in the Tribune: "I love this team to death."
Forgot to post this the other day: Josh Wicks is USL First Division Keeper of the Year
Timbers among nominees for USL First Division Rookie of the Year, Defender of the Year, and Coach of the Year
You Tube highlight reel of the 2007 season

*Disclaimer: Rowdy crowd of drunks is an exaggeration used for purposes of humor. I am well aware that not only is the entire North End not a bunch of drunks, but that some faithful followers of the Timbers are a good fifteen or more years away from legal drinking age.
**Sorry. Geek alert.