Diary of a Time-Traveling Gangster

Just Got Back From The Intergalactic Rapping Championships

So I'm lamping a bit

People always ask me things. They say, "Stijls, was Theodor Adorno right when he said that, 'Enlightenment's program was the disenchantment of the world?' " Or: "Yo son, can you explain me Baudrillard's conception of seduction? Can you break that shit down for me?" Or more common, "Is Dipset in this bitch?" I generally answer "Yes" to all of these. But the question I've been fielding most of all lately is, "Why have the French progressed so far in this 2006 World Cup? Their players are so old?" The answer is quite simple:

Djibril Cisse is a time-traveling gangster.*

Ask yourself these questions: Why is his hair so consistently awesome? [Alien barbers.] Why has he severely, gruesomely broken both of this legs in successive seasons? [Because of the skeletal fragility hastened by long periods of space travel.] Why can't he score goals for Liverpool? [Cos' they play in Liverpool.]

It seems quite obvious to me that the Zinedine Zidane that's playing out of his skull on pitches all across Germany is not the Zinedine Zidane of today, but that of 1999-2000. Claude Makelele? Nope: Makelele 2002. Lilian Thuram, currently of (relegated???) Juve? Uh-uh. Thuram 1998.

Hard to believe? Come on. We've all seen Bill & Ted. That shit works. (How else do you think Ribery's face got like that. Mangled in the machine, dude.) You're telling me that Cisse's supposed to be sitting on the sidelines, sadly watching his team make a run to the World Cup semi-finals as he heals from injury? Puh-leeze. Dude's chilling in intersidereal space, waiting for opportune moments to snatch up the stars of the past and replace the stars of the present with them. That is, when he's not blowing up the spot, a/k/a 'the supernova' with Dre 3000 and Delton 3030, co-pilot and navigator on the Spaceship Mother Earth.

Don't be surprised if you see "Thierry Henry: The Monaco Years" (that should be a TV show) out there tonight. Just saying. You'll have this guy to thank.

*Props to Ming Black.

Hell Hath No Fury...

...Just Italians

Okay, like a nation scorned. This is Bruegel, b/t/w.

In the middle of our life's journey, it sometimes becomes necessary to damn those who destroy a host country's hopes to hell. So take a trip with me, D. Alighieri, and our boy Virg-who's-nice-with-the-words, through the Italian National Team locker room.

The Opportunists/Outcasts: Massimo Oddo, Simone Barone, Andrea Barzagli, Cristian Zaccardo. Residing on the shores of the Acheron, a/k/a the substitutes bench, these are people who did nothing in life for good or evil, and are doomed to eternally pursue a banner and be pursued by wasps and hornets while maggots and other insects drink their blood and tears.

First Circle (Limbo): Fabio Cannavaro, Gianluca Zambrotta, Gianluigi Buffon, Luca Toni. Virtuous pagans call Limbo home; not necessarily sinful, but guilty by association. Anyway, they're in good company: Homer, Horace, Ovid, and Lucan can tell them bedtime stories each night. Buffon's a Renaissance man anyway.

Second Circle: Francesco Totti. For the lustful. Punishment includes being blown about by a violent storm without hope of rest, fine for a midfielder who flits about the field in various modes of concentration.

Third Circle: Filippo Inzaghi. Guarded by Cerberus, the Third Circle of Hell is for gluttons of any stripe, especially those who generally score gluts of terrible, ill-deserved goals.

Fourth Circle: Alessandro Nesta. Those of a miserly nature reside here, regardless of whether this quality respresents care with money or an unwillingness to allow opposing forwards opportunities to score.

Fifth Circle: Gennaro Gattuso, Marco Materazzi. The wrathful (which describes the former) are doomed to fight each other here on the surface, while the slothful (the latter) lie gurgling beneath the water.

Sixth Circle: Simone Perrotta. For heretics. Simone, your heretical claim is that you deserve national team selection.

Seventh Circle: Daniele De Rossi. Clearly, this circle houses the violent. Have fun elbowing the Minotaur in the face, buddy. It'll be the Inner 7th Circle for you: Violence against God, Nature, and Art get you afterlife in a flaming desert with fiery flakes raining from the sky.

Eighth Circle: Vincenzo Iaquinta, Fabio Grosso. Those guilty of deliberate, knowing evil, a/k/a/ the fraudulent reside here. Falsifiers that you two are, you shall be afflicted with various diseases, perhaps one that keeps you rigidly upright forever.

Ninth Circle: Mauro German Camoranesi. The ninth circle is for traitors, like those born of Argentine parentage, but who choose instead to play for Italy. And of course for those who choose to wear their hair like a samurai.

Days-Old Brot

The Sad Face Invasion

Not coming through, coming through

Watch: Argentina Lose on Penalties to Germany
Watch: Argentina Fight Germany
Watch: Argentina and Germany Actually Score Goals in Normal Time

1nce again, the Schopenhegelian Germanic hordes defeated Argentina's Borges Boyz, not surprisingly in a penalty shootout. Baboons from here to the pampas have described this match as "tense," and have zeroed in on Argentine coach Jose Pekerman's early substitution of Riquelme and forced substitution of 'keeper Abbondanzieri (which limited any later additions of either Lionel Messi or Javier Saviola) as turning points of the match, and they're absolutely right -- but that's not the essential, interesting bit of it all.

What remains remarkable to me is how easy it is to tell who's going to miss their chance in a penalty shootout, simply by looking at the shooter's face as they line up at the top of the 18-yard box. It's a skill I picked up, most likely by hanging out way too much with my Southern Hemisphered homie Gosfais, a former wraithlike goalkeeper with a philosophical capacity (I'm sure) equal to that of his spiritual & positional predecessor Al B. Camus. Seemingly obvious, but foolproof nonetheless. For instance: Riquelme, given the chance to tie the Champions League semifinal second leg, wore an impossibly even sadder-than-normal face before shooting. Result: Jens Lehmann, the German hero of this W.C. quarterfinal, saved his shot with relative ease. Sure, this after-the-factness looks terrible, but we're gonna proceed anyway.

Roberto Ayala: Perennially haunted by the spectre of Dennis Bergkamp turning him out like Bobby did Whitney back in France '98, Ayala's eyes were hollower than Paolo Maldini's cheeks at an Armani photo shoot. [No photo necessary - Ed.]

Esteban Cambiasso: The only balding player on whom you can bet the farm animals when it comes to penalties is, of course, Zinedine Zidane (Had Pekerman substituted differently, this could have been Pablo Aimar shooting instead). [B/T/W, the "Shit But You Don't Know It" jack was completeley unintentional - Ed.]

And though it may seem like Brit-bashing at this point,

Frank Lampard: Prissy T-Rex arms only get you so far in this world, and having all the blood drain from your already too-pale face, only to settle, leaden, in your boots does you no favors when you're the first (technically best) penalty taker.

Steven Gerrard: I think it was an ESPN writer who noted that Gerrard was most visibly affected by Lampard's opening miss for England. That empty feeling carried over into his walk up to the spot and the timid stare he gave Portuguese 'keeper Ricardo right before shooting (Ricardo himself has claimed to have been able to see where the England player were going to shoot "in their eyes" which is a lofty one for sure, but from first to last these guys were about as transparent as my spookfaced friend).

Jamie Carragher: Once his first shot was called back for taking it too early, there was simply no chance he'd score on the second. Even he knew that; hence, the unsurprised look on his face as he walked back to the center circle to watch Ronaldo put them out of their misery.

* * * * * * *

ITALY v. UKRAINE [3-0]

Luca Toni, Not Sleeping With Fishes



When you sit less than 5 rows away from Francesco Totti, it becomes immediately apparent that he is only the rarest of times in touch with this plane of existence. This is not a compliment. Sure, he wanders about the midfield, occasionally nudging on a brilliant ball, but for the most part he's dreaming -- of what I don't know. His wife, Roman gelato, the dude sitting next to me smoking hash, twenty Nespresso machines lined up in rows, a Rick Ross remix of Carla Bruni's Quelqu'un M'a dit -- who can say for sure?

What is certain is that Andriy Shevchenko has the worst pouty-face in international football. It's almost sickening to watch: Middling Ukrainian midfielder spots Sheva calling for a pass, pass is delivered 4 yards off target, Italian defender clears, Sheva throws tantrum fit for a 3-year old. Yes, it's clear that no one on the Ukranian side has the quality or epidermal oleaginousness of Andrea Pirlo, but that's no reason to broadcast that thought to the world with your screwface mug every time you don't get the service you're used to on your multimillion dollar club team. But Sheva did kind of make up for that petty insolence after the match, trotting over to the rabid Italian fans and giving them a hand for their support during his years at AC Milan (despite the fact that they booed him lustily every time he touched the ball, now that he's Chelsea-bound).

And as much as I love to hate them, the sentiment expressed for their fallen comrade Gianluca Pessotto was genuine, and lovely to see:


But then you hear about this and all those warm-fuzzies crust up like the cold in your eyes come morning. Either way, it all makes for an interesting match this evening. I wonder how the Italians will spin this one, given it's the Germans suffering after scandal...

"Suspended Frings Poisons Pre-Game Penne!" -- advance headline from tomorrow's Gazzetta dello Sport, translated, of course.

In Defense of Cristiano Ronaldo

Hate Me Now

But he won't stop now

Watch: Wayne Rooney Sent Off Against Portugal

You knew this was coming. [Full disclosure: Okay, so I am actually making out with Ronaldo as I type. Happens.] There are certain things which I'm willing to concede in this argument: 1) Ronaldo dives, early and often, and this is indeed annoying. 2) He dribbles when he should pass, stands still and feints when he should dribble, and, for having a near-woeful capacity for finishing chances, overestimates the greatness of his shot. 3) The amount of product festering in Ronaldo's hair seems to be at alarmingly toxic levels, even at mid-match (I'm concerned), and this might be having a deleterious effect on the boy's thinking. 4) Hopping on the penalty spot is no way to make friends (but a fantastic way to make Paul Robinson dookie his shorts). 5) Winking towards your bench after an opposing player -- who happens to be your club teammate -- has been sent off is not exactly a stirring example of your innocence in any incident. And, of course, this.

Which is not to say that Wayne Rooney is not a complete fucking idiot. A thick-necked, barrel-chested footballing genius for sure, but still, breathtakingly stupid. Thing is, Rooney's acted in this manner since his first game in the Premiership. Everybody -- the footballing world and probably beyond -- knows this, and Ronaldo more than most since he plays alongside him for 70+ odd games a year, not to mention all the hours spent training, traveling, and partying together. Not only does everybody know this but Everybody -- especially the English -- are aware that it is a tactic of opposing players to purposely try and wind Rooney up precisely because he has trouble keeping his temper down. A result like this is always at least possible whenever Rooney steps on the pitch.

Now Rooney's cleats were firmly planted on Carvalho's Ricardo, but how much of that was intentional I don't know. He was being hounded by two defenders and heroically, impossibly holding both of them off the ball -- typical Rooney stuff. That his foot ended up in another man's crotch is unfortunate, for one man more than the other certainly, but his response was also typical Rooney. I don't think I've ever seen him apologize to any player he's ever fouled, and he certainly didn't here. Instead he let off with the by-now-requisite stream of profanities (In a previous Premiership match, he's reputed to have said 'fuck off' directly to referee Graham Poll in excess of 25 times in some absurdly short amount of time). And here's where Ronaldo comes in.

Running over to the referee and gesturing down at Carvalho, Ronaldo -- as many game reports have put it -- "seemed to encourage [referee Horacio Elizondo] to punish Rooney for a stamp on Ricardo Carvalho." That every player, when fouled, looks up expectantly at the referee -- and those fouled particularly hard couple those incredulous eyes with the international gesture for "card" -- still does not make it right, only normal.

I ask: What kind of referee needs, or takes, encouragement from players to give cards? What kind of referee allows that to happen? Technically, he's only supposed to listen to two players (or rather, those players are the only ones allowed to talk to the ref): the captains of each team. (That's why you see so many of those curt, 'shhht' gestures from good referees whenever he's being trailed by a bunch of protesting, non-arm-banded players, usually Italian.) And unless Elizondo's sweet on Li'l Crissy, I think Ronaldo would have probably been the player least respected on the field, for any number of reasons, probably starting with his style of running.

So what does Rooney do, while staring at the ref who is staring back, but push Ronaldo. And you're ['You' being the legions of English reading this at the moment] surprised that he was red-carded? Unjust? Please. Ronaldo participating in the post-stomp conversation may not have been the height of sportsmanship, but it was far from dirty play. Had Ronaldo been sent off at the "prompting" (for the sake of example I'm willing to go with the idea that prompting the ref even works, though I don't believe it) of Rooney I would love to see the reaction from the British press. He'd have been hailed as not merely a football genius but a cunning gamesman as well. Unfortunately, Rooney's just not that smart, or just not in that way.

Now we get into ideas of "morality" -- not only whose morality is superior but also whose stereotypical "values" are professed louder. The English, of course, would *never* do such a thing. Maybe that's right, I don't know (I don't think so). But maybe that's why they lose. Whatever. But if you listen to the BBC pundits (and I'm sure it's Alan Shearer who says it) talk about Ronaldo heading over to the ref, he very clearly says something to the effect of "Look at that. WE never do that." Really Alan? But apparently WE are fine with punching, kicking and elbowing whenever the ref isn't looking, eh? I find it hard to believe you'd be the player you are now revered to have been without all those 'extras' that you got away with in your career.

But the reaction from all corners of England is the truly reprehensible bit of it all. Let's start with Young Wayne, who's promised to "split him in two and smack him in the head." Fine. I'd expect nothing less, or nothing more, from him. But Gerrard and Lampard are a different story:

"I saw what Ronaldo did," said Steven Gerrard, according to English reports. "I saw him going over to the referee and giving him the card and I think he was bang out of order. If he were one of my teammates I would be absolutely disgusted with him. After Wayne was sent off he (Ronaldo) winked at his bench and his teammates and that just about sums him up as a person. If I were playing against a teammate from Liverpool and they were involved in a situation like that I would never try to get them sent off."

I tend to believe Gerrard, if only because he seems like a stand-up guy (no pun intended), but I have to also believe that if England were playing Spain and he had the chance to get little alice-band-wearing Luis Garcia sent off, he just might not let deed follow word. But wait, did Ronaldo actually present the red card to Rooney? If so, then hold up -- wait a minute! Stop all the blogging! Let the FIFA investigation commence! Who knew dude was packing Prell and spare red cards in his pants all game? Did no one notice? Was it the +Teamgeist again? And Lampard:

"He's supposed to be a teammate of Wayne's at Manchester United and he does something like that. It's not nice, is it? A lot has been made of trying to promote fair play in this tournament and that was certainly not fair play. Unfortunately that's the way it is with some players. We were told that anyone who tried to get someone else a yellow or red card would get a yellow but it just hasn't happened."

"It's not nice, is it?" No, what was "not nice" was your penalty, nor your play during any of England's matches. Cry fair play all you want to after the match, Frank, but while you still had a chance to win the match, you failed and failed miserably. I have the same problem with Americans crying that they were jobbed by referee Markus Merk with a phantom penalty in the Ghana match when the team had a full 45 minutes to right that wrong. And the English "press:"

The Sun has joined the anti-Ronaldo bandwagon, printing a mock dartboard with a picture of Ronaldo winking.
"Here's every England fan's chance to get revenge on the world's biggest winker," the paper said.

Right. Again, I'm not surprised, but I'm no less angered at this scapegoating. Rooney, while dumb, is not the villain, but neither should Ronaldo be claimed the same. It's a shame that he'll most likely no longer be able to play for Manchester United now that he's burned bridges with another one of their star players [Full disclosure: Sir Alex Ferguson has now entered the room and is watching me make out with Ronaldo. I think he likes it.] Hello, Real Madrid, friendly home to all primadonna ex-United #7's.

So in the end, this is less of a defense of Ronaldo than it is an attack on the English mindset at large -- that of the press, the players, and the people -- that is more than willing to vilify foreigners that play in England (who, at large, are blamed for offenses as diverse as bringing diving, defensive football, great food, and superb technical skill into the country) while claiming the moral high ground for themselves. It could only have been Ronaldo to eliminate England once penalties were certain, and given the petulance with which they've reacted to losing -- as petulant as Rooney's push -- they deserved nothing more than Ronaldo's kiss before their collective dying.

[Let's not forget that the English could still have WON THE EFFING GAME both in regulation and on penalties. (Well, maybe not the latter. But still, there's always the chance that history will eat its own ass and let England win on penalties. The Red Sox won the World Series, after all)]

Dear Australia,

I'd post something about Ukraine, but this was too good to pass up. Courtesy of of the Sydney Morning Herald letters section, via Football365.com:

Just wanted to drop you all a note of condolence on your World Cup exit. Although you were never really good enough to be there in the first place, as one of our foreign outposts we think you did quite well and, most importantly, represented your Queen admirably. So, well done, little colony.

'On the upside though, now at least your long-haired, scruffy, unclean teenage masses can all return to London to resume their minimum wage jobs, serving us thirsty English boys warm beer, just in time for the games on Friday and Saturday. Good timing, really, because as everyone agrees, the real tournament starts now that only the real footballing teams are left.

'Well, chin up, anyway, pickpockets, and I suppose it's back to stealing your mothers' ironing boards and heading to the sea to try to dodge those hungry sharks. How sweet. Best regards and God save the Queen.

'Paul Kaynes West Sussex (England)'

And because England's such a hit with the B'n'C faithful, we present Young Wayne meets Diddy for your viewing pleasure.

Someone Has To Answer For This

Forget De Rossi's elbow, Grosso's dive, Totti's celebration, and Gattuso's face (please). This is inexcusable. Let an Italian come at me with that "we ain't greasy" yang again. I'm talking to you, Pirlo.

People Get Ready Pt. II

Got Your City On Lock


Big faces, big places.

People Get Ready

Lambo, Hear Them Fans Blow


Whoever said Germans were humorless? This is hilarious.

SPAIN v. FRANCE [1-3]

Who's Got Crabs?

HIGHLIGHTS


Don't hate: Lazy YouTubers tarried this post. [Don't You (TM) guys not have anything better to do than upload highlights that I can then jack?]

Things to look for: a) France coach Raymond Domenech's great reaction to the awarding of a penalty to Spain, b) Thierry Henry smartly signaling to the linesman his absent-from-influencing-play status (after being caught offsides around 7 times previous) c) Vieira's nifty Cruyff turn with the right foot and quick dish with the left d) Willy Sagnol throw Zidane out of the way to get closer to the bottom of the winning-goal-pile.

People are talking about Henry's Lee Strasberg routine and whether he's a cheat or not, but you won't find any of that chat here. B'n'C's all about the real stories of this Weltmeisterschaft. Like: Are Cancers destined to dominate in the last half of 2006?. (Know your history) West Coast correspondent Mingus Dynasty, a/k/a Ming Black, checks in with this report:

Apparently, Raymond Domenech relies on astrology, and so must be well aware of the Cancerian partnership of Zidane and Vieira in midfield. Given that Vieira scored on his birthday and the game after; that Zidane scored after his; fellow Cancer Raul scored on his birthday; and with Lionel Messi also celebrating his 19th with usual domination, it's only logical that the celestial order has ordained this World Cup to be the Most Cancerian World Cup of the Modern Age. Indeed, this is confirmed by the positions of the Sun, Jupiter and Uranus, but that's another story.

B/T/W, we're totally obsessed with Zidane's chart right now: "TIP: Master an art form such as poetry, music, photography or dance. You can do it Zinedine Zidane." Or more dire: "TIP: Zinedine Zidane, learn when enough is enough."

Also: they told dude to, ahem, start a Zine.

Bianconeri Blue

As you may have heard, former Juventus and Italy defender, and current Juve sporting director Gianluca Pessotto apparently attempted suicide (unsuccessfully) recently. He was found, as all the articles are sure to detail, "clutching rosary beads" in the street outside Juventus headquarters, apparently having jumped from a window 15 meters up. Pessotto is and was not charged in the match-fixing scandal that threatens to relegate (yes, relegate) Juve and strip them of last season's Scudetto (The tribunal formed to look into the allegations against former Juve general manager Luciano Moggi started today, b/t/w). A few of the Italy players have flown back to visit their former teammate in hospital.

Strange, but stranger still are how these three articles (and even the Guardian piece) progress from worrying about Pessotto's condition into speculating on what effect this will have on the Italy team, to what their chances are in the next match. Off-putting to say the least, but sadly it's what you get when you're the press at the precipice of the World Cup quarterfinals.

[Secretly, watch for the Italian press to somehow spin this story into some sort of contributing scandal should the Azzuri get bounced by the Ukranians in Hamburg on Friday night.]

BRAZIL v. GHANA [3-0]

Chicken Gristle Eatin'...Slim-Fast Blendin'

HIGHLIGHTS


Always knew "fat" dudes could move like that. And that skinny dudes are always the greedy ones: Adriano, Cafu, Roberto Carlos (we'll stretch that definition a litttle for the latter). But who knew that "ginga" meant "selfish"?

And far be it from sour grapes, but the red card doled out to Ghana's Asamoah Gyan was karmic justice for the revolting display of Ghanaian rolling about on the pitch during the last 25 minutes of the U.S. v. Ghana match (They deserved to win that match simply because the U.S. showed no desire to score.)

Watch: Brazil beat Ghana, again. Or maybe it's just Portuguese beating English...

"SOOPA-Pass," went the German announcer, re: Kaka's visionary dish which was just about all you could say. It came so early, I was still trying to check for the field level sign telling me what city the game was being played in; luckily the space opened up in the section of the screen I was scanning, so I didn't miss a thing. Which reminds me...

Gerhard, You Ignorant Slut

To step away from the game for a minute: here in Germany, it's customary for games to be called by a single announcer for the entire game, in opposition to the American way of play-by-play + color man. This has its pluses and minuses. There is a certain calming linearity to the match: no snide interruptions, coy insiderism, or egotistical grandstanding, but at the same time, a boring game is absolutely unbearable without a Walton to interject a "Throw! It Down! K-Mart! Throw it down!" Germans prefer to save their commentarial interplay for pre-, during, and post-match, where former footballing superstar Günter Netzer and Gerhard Delling trade personal quips as sharp and ridiculous as "Point/Counterpoint" with Aykroyd and Curtain on vintage SNL. And without the laugh track that is Terry Bradshaw or any of those Fox dopes. The barb is exchanged, gruffly, with nary a smile, and the commentary goes on. It could be Python, but I'm not sure if even those guys could deliver these lines as well.

I Woke Up Early On My Born Day

Young City Bandit, Hold Myself Down Singlehanded...
But for real...Word to Moms & Pops.

UPDATE - Other people born today include: Peter Paul Rubens (1577), Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712), Luigi Pirandello (1867), Mel Brooks (1926), Noriyuki "Pat" Morita (1932), John Elway (1960), and of course, Fabien Barthez (1971).

Shooter

Bear Shits Shot In Woods


The biggest story in Germany; that is, between articles about Klinsmann clipping his toenails.

I Try Harder Every Day It's All Work And No Play

Between temporarily relocating the B'n'C bivouac to an undisclosed rooftop in Berlin, the attendant champagne-filled-jacuzzi afternoons (Thx, Hov!), long evenings sampling on ripened strawberries fed paw-to-mouth by white tigers being jacked off by rhesus moneys, and the proto-cannibalistic mornings thereafter, spent breakfasting on freshly slaughtered white tiger meat, who has time to write about football?

Luckily I keep a notebook handy, despite the monkeys' disapproving looks. This World Cup Thing only gets better by getting worse: What kinds of fantastic buffet spreads are being supplied backstage to have so many players desire being sent off? Surely it's no comparison to fresh Bengali, but its got to be amazing. And tasty enough for the refs to want a piece of that pie. Anyway, there's plenty to catch up on, so let's get right into it. A monster post, so tuck right in...

ITALY v. AUSTRALIA [1-0]

Them Crackers Weren't Playing Fair

Scumbag thieves. Did I say that out loud?


SWITZERLAND v. UKRAINE [0-0] (0-3 penalties)

Slept On
How do you not score once in a penalty shootout?


PORTUGAL v. NETHERLANDS [1-0]

Hurt Stunned Astounded Amazed and Dazed

Germans on point.

If you watched only the first 40 minutes of this one, then you saw the best game of the World Cup. If you watched the whole thing, then you saw the most entertaining match of the tournament, but whatever the two teams were playing by then wasn't soccer, certainly wasn't "football," and was too "professional" (read: pu-ssay) to even be compared to Aussie rules or rugby. It was a tragedy worth tears, but when the two teams weren't trying to carve notches out of each other's flesh, it was a pleasure to watch, especially after the mind-numbing match earlier in the day featuring...

ENGLAND v. ECUADOR [1-0]

Leaving Your Empire In Ruin

Once again I'll leave you in the capable talons of birthday boy TerrorDaktile:

Kill me now.

Are you serious that these people invented the game? They play like they have crumpets in the shorts. They play like they have Lyme Disease, no offense to those who actually do. They throw up on the field; I throw up on the TV when I watch them play. So boring, so conservative, so predictable -- in short, so...English. Three Lions my arse. No, seriously, my one donkay could trample these house cats. Have you really made me a die hard fan of the Tri Colores, England? For 90 minutes ive never loved anything more than Ecuadorian football. I'm painting the tri colors on my face, I'm rocking the Jheri-curl mullet, I live and die on every yellow-footed touch of Valencia. He is my savior, and you, england, are forcing me to this end. Perhaps your coach is to blame, perhaps the 4-5-1, perhaps Joe Cole's pants are
too high, England. Lower Joe Cole's pants. You're moving on to the quarterfinals by boring people to death. Is it me or is Frank Lampard terrible in front of net? Where was this lamentable play between August and May? Here is a typical England World Cup game: a) find the weakest team in the field. b) play them. c) complain about the stifling German heat. d) wear short sleeves in the first half, long sleeves in the second. e) don't score. don't ever score. f) who cares?

England: You're not going to be champions, and these so-called victories which are really terribly predictable foreshadowings are simply lengthening the depressive bender the entire country will slide into during the days following the loss. Please lose. I can't continue loving others in order to have less pity for you.

MEXICO v. ARGENTINA [1-2]


Straight From Jorge

A shame that the World Cup's Latin-inflection had to be reduced by a factor of one with the outcome of this one, but at least the game produced one of the most compelling encounters --and fantastic goals, again by Argentina -- that we've seen. Apparently, you can't be too good.

Which sets up this way-too-early match between the Argentines...

And, the GERMANS

Self-Assembly Required

How do you celebrate the German team's first knockout-phase match appropriately? You watch the match with 1.2 million other Germans in their capital city. Berlin's Fan Mile, which yawns from the western side of the Brandenburger Tor down the Unter den Linden, allows you to experience what it's like to smell a million plus people piss in two adjoining parks.

But fandom, while often smelling this terrible, is often cleverer than you'd expect: Swedish fans were treated to a song that, loosely translated, means "You're naught but furniture-makers."

And between this destruction of all things Swede and the GERMANY v. ECUADOR match, Miroslav Klose kind of looks like the most complete forward at this World Cup.

°°°°°°°°°°
And because you'll get this kind of in-depth cultural reporting on no other blogshore, a recap of one of the more exciting encounters of one of the more memorable group stage games:

Watch: SWEDEN v. ENGLAND [2-2]

Swedes have terrible bladder control. Twice before the match had even begun, I was propositioned (if that's the word) to be pissed over. You see, I was seated at the top corner of a crowded bleacher section, too far from a bathroom, but apparently too close to what was an inviting edge for this Swede. "I would like to *piss*. Do you mind if I *piss*?" The three Germans seated next to me and I all answered in the affirmative. "Yes, we do in fact mind if you piss over our shoulders."

The average life expectancy in Sweden is exceeded only by that of Japan and the country has been rated the second most liveable in the world, after Norway. There are no discoverable figures for most incontinent, however. Which is frustrating. Are Swedes allowed to just piss willy-nilly wherever they damn well please? Does "liveable" take into account the fact that dining rooms, stairwells, and foyers could very well be treated as just finely appointed Porto-Sans to this fair-haired nation?

Anyway, our refusal meant little. By the time England had blown their first lead, our entire blue and yellow section was treated to the unmistakable sound of a furious stream of pee hitting pavement from 50 feet. Sven-Urine Eriksson had merely turned backwards with neighbors to the right, left, above and below, kneeled on his bench-seat, opened his fly and let loose.

Sweden is also the second most environmentally responsible country in the world after New Zealand. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, Sweden. But does "envioronmentally responsible" just mean that you can just shit everywhere and call it fertilization?

°°°°°°°°°°
Paid No Never Mind

And for those still pining for the U.S., two post-mortems, one from this dude, and one from Drago -- you know, the guy from Rocky.

The Good:

Dempsey--Goodbye MLS, hello Europe...Why have you not been playing earlier and why are you the only player that can rap and beat someone on
thedribble?

Convey--You can tell that this guy is an asshole but also really good...he's the free kick man from here on out

McBride--If only Dempsey and Convey were playing together more often you may have gotten some service.

Onjewu--a good defender, especially if there was a fast player to pair you with (oh well).

The Bad:

Reyna--U-R the man, but the gold watch was ready years ago.

Beasley--Quickly developing "Poor Man's Michael Owen Syndrome;" a player that looks great on the highlight reel until you watch the game and realize he's NONEXISTANT for 88 minutes.

The Ugly:

Donovan--I hate you...you're fired, you suck, you'll never rise to the occasion. Watching you play in this World Cup reminded me of watching the movie MUST LOVE DOGS on my last cross country flight. Needless to say, it was the last time I ever actually felt like puking in total sobriety.

Eddie Pope--next time a lumbering 6ft 7inch Czech comes thundering into the box you should guard him. Oh yeah, and next time you try an offsides trap make sure you aren't the only one trying it. Italians take advantageof that shit.

Cherundolo--you're about as big as Roy Keane...too bad you're not a highly skilled, raging madman. On a good day you look like you might make the cutin the Swiss 2nd division

Bocanegra--I do actually like you, but you always have that stupid look onyour face like you meant to go to football practice and somehow wound up at soccer practice and never really grasped any better understanding of thegame since then.

Eddie Johnson--next time just tell Arena to fuck off and sub yourself in for Donovan or whoever...it's a travesty you didn't play more.

Two Can Play The Game

Arthur's Legacy?

Three lessons in the German language:

"Train" is masculine.
"Cat" is feminine (even dude cats).
"Girl" is neuter.

Get A Real Job

Seriously. You call that work?

SPAIN v. TUNISIA [3-1]

That's A Hawaiian Silky

HIGHLIGHTS


Ali Bouminjel = "Ali, Bomaye!" ???

"Sounds like" for sure, but both have a penchant for punching things as well, perhaps way too much. But even Ali II knows betten than to challenge on a ball outside of the box unless you're sure your're going to get it or are willing to foul the shit out of the advancing striker. He effectively lost the game for the Tunisians. And Fabregas effectively won it for the Spanish.

Lastly, Fernando Torres: worst penalty, worst hair.

SAUDI ARABIA v. UKRAINE [0-4]

What A Co-inky-dink

HIGHLIGHTS


B&C management was heartbroken at the 4-0 loss the Ukranians took against the Spanish, so it was exciting to see them improve their chances of qualification with a 4-0 drubbing of the Saudis, who showed none of the talent or resolve they displayed against the Tunisians in their previous game. More than anything though, I'm really psyched to see a team wearing yellow go as far as possible.

TOGO v. SWITZERLAND [0-2]

Calm Down, Youngster

HIGHLIGHTS


Tranquillo Barnetta --> Top 5 Sweet Names of Tourney. I could ask how the chillest cat at the Cup is at all Swiss, but then again I'd have to do the same for "Trini" Christopher Birchall. Togo had their chances, and a legit claim for a penalty when Mingus Dynasty's boy Adebayor went down, but it wasnät to be for the Togolese, who had their own problems to worry about.

FRANCE v. SOUTH KOREA [1-1]

I Can Go To France For Free

HIGHLIGHTS


Moratorium on Brits who say "Terry HENN-RY." That's just gross.
And I'm guessing Camus would have made that save, unlike Barthez.
The French need dynamic wingers who can get the ball to Henry in dangerous, difficult places. I suggest these guys.