Mo' Problems

Unkay...so I'm officially obsessed with watching Rio Ferdinand play at playing Kutcher while watching his England teammates embarrass themselves. From the slightly dated (but on point, I suppose, for Rio) rap selections to Rio's cornrows, it's essential viewing.

Two more for you, mere minutes before England take on T&T's Soca Warriors:

Peter Crouch (of Robot fame)

Gary Neville (of moustache fame)



Well Droopy Swingers

The Middle Passage

West Coast correspondent Skywalker sends this tip, that the Trinidadian players have been promised barrels of rum should they defeat their opponents this afternoon. Their opponents are, of course, the English British Knights -- a match that every news organization on the planet has termed the C.L.R. James Memorial Cup. The news that Dwight Yorke will be out 'til 4am, drunk and partying with globe-breasted blondes is no news at all -- the rum can only help. But this report conflicts with, erm, conflicting reports that the "winner" of the match (colonizer or colonized) will be presented with an autographed copy of A House for Mr. Biswas, by its author V.S. Naipaul. You know, for those who haven't gotten around to reading it yet.

Oi, BECKHAM, I'm talking to you.



David Odonkor is my new favorite German!

Which is not to say the Poland keeper Artur Boruc wasn't totally hard done by to watch the winner fly past him after having valiantly denied the Germans for so long. Which is not to say that Klose and Podolski and Klose and Ballack and Klose and Klose didn't spurn chance after chance. Which is not to say the woodwork wasn't working overtime.

Which is to say, after providing the assist for the winning goal in injury time in front of his home Borussia Dortmund fans Odonkor ran, not to the goalscorer Neuville as did Klose and Ballack, but directly to coach Jurgen Klinsmann, whom he embraced. Klinsmann had put him on as a substitute in the 64th minute.


(You try finding) HIGHLIGHTS

Update: HIGHLIGHTS (really)

A bounty of great goals in the most entertaining of dour-on-paper matches. The first, scored by Zied Jaziri, created by William S. Burroughs and almost out of nothing, is a candidate for goal of the tournament so far (Bet on it, cos they always like to sneak one in the Top 10 from some game you definitely avoided). And we here at B&C couldn't be happier for Bolton man Radhi Jaidi, heading home the equalizer in classic Wanderers style. Fat Sam, we're sure, dropped a tear, and his chicken tikka sandwich.

Peep the Saudi team's homepage, the Brazilians of the Orient.


We Got Taras Shevchenko Place Going Nutz


Can't say that Spain are my favorite team in this tournament, for obvious reasons. Just looking at coach Luis Aragones makes me ill. Which is not to say that the players are of the same mindset, but we all need our reasons to root, for or against, yes?

And despite Andriy Shevchenko being Chelsea-bound, I've got to say I'm riding for the Ukranians. Remember, this is a country that suffered for decades under Stalin (forced famine in the 1930s, forced the Russian language on its people and, though Stalin was long gone by then, forced omission from the '94 World Cup when Russia decided they'd represent the C.I.S. themselves) only to see a presidential candidate poisoned in 2004. And, erm, Chernobyl. Karma -- which should be coming around -- one hopes is a better crosser of the ball than the Ukranian wingers. And for the bookish looking for a reason to lean, "Sheva" shares his surname with the Ukraine's most famous poet/personality/person, Taras Shevchenko, now 150 or so years passed.

But it may be all for naught after a 4-0 sacking (3-0 for purists who know that penalty, the first of the World Cup, was B.S.) A shocking red card. Sure Fernando Torres' goal was one of the best scored so far, but only because it came after Carlos Puyol's dogged, skillful run.

Francesc Fabregas Soler = "Cesc." Awesome.

Little victories: At least there's a team that took a worse beating than the U.S.



The most professionally taken goal yet. Leave it to the elegant
Brazilian midfielder whose name signifies dookie-bubbles to babies in a multiplicity of languages

What else is there to say about Brazil? Ronaldo's fat? We knew that.
Check out their president. That Roberto Carlos has always been and still remains the best, most consistent player on the pitch, regardless of any other -inhos lurking with intent? My boy Von knew that too. That it's Gilliam's best? Surely.

See, you're an open book, Brazil. But we know there are things you're terrible at that don't involve lingerie models who excel in the defensive center-mid role. For instance: They lack a common border with Chile and Ecuador, yet abut every other country in South America. What, too cool for the Chileans, Brazil? An abundance of natural resources, huh? What could you possibly do with all that jojoba? Get into distribution. See dude.