ITALY v. GHANA [2-0]

HIGHLIGHTS

Vincenzo Iaquinta = Proof positive that Italian Tactics Training for Euro 2004 is still in effect. A most undeserved goal (for him in particular -- Luca Toni's half-volley off the crossbar was speziale; Andrea Pirlo's goal was also topshelf.)

But y'all want to know what's going on in the streets, right? What's really hood, Hamburg? It's the Ghanaians nickname: The Black Stars. Every German is asking: Why are they so named? Are they as excited about the rumored new Black Star album as we are? Where are they hiding the album, and, as a corollary, is the demo disc the very object constantly lodged in Talib Kweli's throat while he raps to beats? If so, let's get it out. Are the Ghanaians the actual members of Mos Def's famed Black Jack Johnson band? We know they can tackle, but who will spit the hottest 16s? I'm betting on Michael Essien.

UNITED STATES v. CZECH REPUBLIC [0-3]

ROADHOUSE, a/k/a, Boyz II Men, a/k/a On blast, a/k/a, Aired out, a/k/a Smashed.

The Czechs deserved to win the last European Tournament based on the superb brand of football they played, and had it not been for the shock-horror hyperextension of Pavel Nedved's knee, we might have had the dream final of (home nation) Portugal-Czech Republic that neutrals deserve. So to see the Czechs dismantle any team is no surprise. To see them William Wallace the U.S. straight w/ no chaser was about as tough as watching that evisceration scene in Braveheart...but still, no surprise.

What was surprising was the utter lack of any identifiable tactics, game plan, fluidity, imagination, tenacity, or any other adjectives or adverbs that, appearing in abundance, carry good connotations. But we're past that. B&C presents...

7 Ways the U.S. Can Improve:

1. Petition FIFA for an injury exception; fly over Dirk Nowitzki immediately. Diggler, a/k/a Das Cabdriver of the NBA will be free and flying on air after leading his team through the NBA Finals and to the championship. Dude's got ups, can score, and Germans love him. More than say, Steve Cherundolo.

2. Pre-game to T.I.'s King. Works for Morehouse sorority chicks; why can't it work for Eddie Lewis?

3. Have Pharrell produce their next album.

4. Have Just Blaze produce their next album.

5. Training ground team talk = Sam Jack. Someone needs to tell these jokers straight up in their grill how disastrous their performance was. And it can't be their coach. Real talk, knowhaI'mtalkinbout? Ain't none realer than Mr. It Is What It Is.

6. Stop calling the shit "soccer." Sure the word's English in origin as it was derived from "association football." We're not wholly to blame. But it's football the world over, mates.

7. Find this kid. Sign him up. Schnell.

AUSTRALIA v. JAPAN [3-1]

HIGHLIGHTS

You can read (for my money) ESPN's best announcer's views on this subject (at least based on the Champs. Lge. -- don't know if he's doing any games Stateside. Hit me up @ blueandcream@gmail.com or something & lemme know. Or, that Skypetonite: I BE ON THAT ALL NIGHT, MAN I BE ON THAT ALL DAY. YOU CAN FIND ME IN THE HANSEATIC CITY OF HAMBURG) but hey, this is my ish, so I'll speak on it deuce.

A nonevent for 80 minutes, especially the nongoal "scored" by the Japanese (which should have been disallowed for two distinct fouls on the 'keeper) but the last ten minutes were quite special, especially when surrounded by a hundred or so Aussies suffering in the Hamburg heat. Tim Cahill's goal was really, really well-taken, under pressure (well, he was in the center of the box, but the Japanese didn't close down quick enough), and it's another case of the Everton man rescuing his underachieveing team at the death.

Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi.

ANGOLA v. PORTUGAL [0-1]

HIGHLIGHTS

It looked to be a rout early on, as soap opera star and part-time Portugal winger, full-time captain Luis Figo weaved his way through the Angolan defence at will, setting up Pedro Miguel Pauleta for the first and only goal. And the Angolans threatened comedy with a series of acrobatic yet misguided attempts at bicycle kicks. Remarkable that they actually came quite close with one of their later tries. But more troubling was the Portuguese imagination, or lack thereof. Ronaldo is making quite a career of tonking shots bound for the woodwork or the goalkeeper's chest. And he certainly leads both league and international play in snide looks, seemingly marveling at and questioning his own perceived genius. Stick to the stepovers and leave Aço Azul for the Pepe Jeans commercials, homey. The Portuguese will qualify, but they'll have to step their gameface up.

Also: LOCO.

Does It 'Ave Somefin Innit Dat Hactually Make U Dance Like A Prick?

As much as I love Cristiano Ronaldo, his mere existence makes it possible for legions of youths, Portuguese or otherwise, to dress like this. Or worse, act like this.

MEXICO v. IRAN [3-1]

HIGHLIGHTS

The Mexicans were the first team I've seen to clinically dispose of a dangerous team with second and third goals, both of good quality, though the winning goal was created out of a mistake by the Iranian keeper Ebrahim Mirzapour and Rahman Rezaei, who gifted the advancing naturalized Mexican (nee Brazilian) Zinha with the ball. He in turn fed Omar Bravo, who cooly finished. Zinha himself powered home a drawing board header to ice the win.

And speaking of Naelson Zinha (who got shit from some corners of the Mexican press for being selected for the team -- a variant of that same-old "we don't need the foreigners" lame jive Brits are familiar with -- on claiming Mexican citizenship rather recently) how charming is it to think that in the midst of all the immigration hullabaloo back in Amerigo Vespucci, there are actually those out there trying to be Mexican. Leave it to football to bring nations closer together, or rather, expose delicious ironies like these.

SERBIA (& MONTENEGRO) v. NETHERLANDS [0-1]

HIGHLIGHTS

...a shadowy flight into the dangerous world of a country who does not exist...

or

How the Dutch Are Like the Wu-Tang Clan

If Busta can jack that Knight Rider beat, then I can gaffle the voiceover. And a player still has his locks. But fe-real though, two-on-one shouldn't be fair.

However, when you're relying on Mateja Kezman to score your goals, the psychic scars left after the oft-brutal disintegration of a nation are the least of your worries.

And though it took the better part of 10-15 mins for the Dutch to settle in, with Serbia looking (gasp) dangerous early on, it merely took one incisive lobbed pass from (cough) Arsenal striker Robin van Persie through to (choke) Chelsea winger Arjen Robben to open the scoring. Robben attacked mercilessly throughout and probably deserved a hat trick.

Which is a lot more than the Horseface Killah deserved, meriting his seat on the Manchester United bench for the past few months with his absent performance, and subsequently, Marco van Basten's substitution of Dirk Kuyt for him.

Only thing left to settle for the Dutch now is who is more deserving of the title DutchMasta Killa -- Robben or van Persie -- now that Dennis Berkgamp has been put out to waterlogged pasture.

ARGENTINA v. COTE D'IVOIRE [2-1]

HIGHLIGHTS

Heartbreak. A crowd full of Germans rooting against highly favored Argentina, and honestly, how could you not? The Ivoirians are so likeable, with their bright orange and green trimmed kit, lowercase-lettered names (Puma's housing the jersey game, b/t/w. And the Italians haven't even stepped on the pitch yet), and so many dudes rocking what some might describe as the Malcolm Little conk (I've no idea how to produce hair of that texture, but believe me, B&C is on the case. And by the way, can I still say "conk"?). Not to mention they are supremely skilled, quick, strong, and I'm sure they look good in leather too.

Which is why, despite their disappointing but not disheartening loss, the Ivory Coast wins B&C's first, weekly, "Come Up In The Spot Looking Extra Fly Award." Wear it well, gents.

And b/t/w, mothereff the Crouch-- do the Drogbacite.

TRINIDAD & TOBAGO v. SWEDEN [0-0]

Shaka Zulu = Overrated. Chaka Khan = Played out. Blame Kanye. Chuck Knoblauch = Still trying to find first base.

Shaka Hislop = Hero.

T&T deserve to advance based upon excellence of player names alone. Theobald. Sancho. And of course the aforementioned Shaka Hislop. And for looking quite shaky after the first few shots directed his way, Hislop produed a man-of-the-match performance, and with his team down to 10 men no less.

Early candidate for Hate-to-Love-Haircut-of-the-Tournament: Christian Wilhelmsson, who luckily makes up for that rattail with mesmerizing ball skills.

I'm waiting for someone to write a rap song called Shaka Hislop. Betting on Spankrock.

ENGLAND v. PARAGUAY [1-0]

HIGHLIGHTS

Welcome to B&C's first installment of GHOSTWRITE THE WHIP!!! (a/k/a BLOG!!!) Please give a hearty hallo! to B&C's star stringer, TerrorDaktile.

England just beat Paraguay 1-0 on a 3rd minute own goal flick of a swerving
Beckham cross, how drab. There was swagger aplenty from the fabled midfield of
the Three Lions - Lampard, Cole, et al with heads on a swivel throughout the
match - though it felt like their intent was more often to catch a glimpse of
the surname on the back of the jersey than to hold off a Paraguayan opponent.
And this will be the downfall of the England Glamour Boys. For all their claims
to toughness and stick, and in spite of true hard men John Terry and Gary
Neville (yeah, I said it), England are a bunch of overrated, average skilled
prima donnas. Peter Crouch didn't get to do his robot celebration because he
didn't have a single look at the net. But he is a robot, that much is certain.
Michael Owen is far from match fit. The offensive threat of the ranging midfield
produced three, maybe four looks at goal from outside the penalty box, the best
chances left to a pair of Lampard strikes that didn't so much worry the goalie
as require him to participate in the motions of the game. There was no England
possession of note. Steven Gerrard forgot to participate. Beckham played with
fight but his often visionary final balls kept going to the Paraguayan center
backs. The thought bubbles over Beckham's head when he went into 50-50
challenges read like apologies to his countrymen for being, as the Univision
announcer called him, Mr. Spiceman. There is an inexplicable arrogance built
around a shell of insecurity pervading the English sideline. As a fan of futbol,
impartial as a function of being American, I found more to cheer for in a
Paraguayan side playing against bad luck for 87 minutes. Paraguay isn't winning
anything this year, but neither is England. That said, with the return of a fit
Wayne Rooney I am fully prepared to eat my words. Rooney plays without a concept of failure. But Rooney's Achilles may be close to his achilles, as the victim of
two broken foot injuries in the three years since he's taken on otherworldly
footballer status. His fragile feet are
responsible for hitting the shit out of the ball, an irony that doesn't betray the
whole of the English side. Otherwise, this is a team of effete and effeminate
playboys playing at being working class. It's not working, and there's no class.
All of these feelings will be forgotten in fifteen minutes, when T&T kicks
off against Sweeden and the planet Earth spins hurling through infinate space
and I begin to critique the enviable brilliance of 22 other people. Go on Dwight
Yorke!

Homey will be back with the quickness when he's got that itch, so we hope you enjoyed.

No sign of Neckface yet...

POLAND v. ECUADOR [0-2]

HIGHLIGHTS

Seen mostly through the window of a pizzeria on a tiny television, the streaks of yellow and blue seemed more composed than their opponents, the white dots. But the outcome of this match was never in doubt, as the Ecuadorian's possession of two out of the three primary colors exceeded that of the Poles, who have only red to show for their troubles.

GERMANY v. COSTA RICA [4-2]

HIGHLIGHTS

A fine beginning to any tournament. Six minutes in, a goal of the highest quality, courtesy of Philipp Lahm, one of the young stars of the European Tournament of 2004. And a prompt reply from Paolo Wanchope, which only made it easier to root for the Costa Ricans, especially when surrounded by 55 German male field hockey players and their girlfriends at a private party (yep, for those who don't already know, dudes rock them curvy sticks and short shorts out here on the regular -- no skirts though). Though the Germans put two more in succession past the Costa Rican keeper, the Ticos didn't give up, showing spirit reminiscent of their performance against Brazil in the last World Cup that resulted in a second goal for Wanchope. Cue my smiles, and dirty looks from the rest of the room. But the equalizer was not to be, as Torsten Frings unleashed a shot somehow more impressive than Lahm's, and even I can't hate on that. 4-2.

Golden moment: Oliver Kahn, the deposed German 'keeper, seated on the bench, chuckling to himself and Chelsea defender Robert Huth, and loosening his pants like Al Bundy in front of the television.

255km on the Back of My Daredevil

They try, and try. Hate for days. But: They. Can't. Hold. Your. Boy. Down. How does one get from Hamburg to Berlin? Top down, chrome spinning, of course. Free wireless on the Autobahn. What? Don't say say the top's down; say the titties is out.

Erm, I like rap musics.

Big Bank Take Little Tank

As one of you may know, the World Championships of Football begin today. The Schopenhegels of Germany, gracious hosts of the tournament, enter into a mortal struggle for the soul of the universe and a free 40G Ipod against the Cloud Foresters of Costa Rica. The world is watching. As befitting an occasion of such crucial importance to national pride, and despite the quantifiable gulf in the footballing prowess between these two nations, Germans are taking this game quite seriously, preparing detailed dossiers on the Costa Ricans -- defensive formations, danger men, real estate investment options, etc. In fact, the Germans prepared for today's match not merely by kicking soccer balls amongst themselves repeatedly, but also by watching a short documentary about what makes Costa Rica, and Costa Ricans, tick.

To essentialize, Germans like philosophy. Part of the pleasure of watching international soccer comes in reducing an entire nation, a people, and their history, to one or two representative and easily explainable characteristics that describe best how they kick a ball about a field. Therefore, the idea that Germans would not only appreciate watching game tapes about their opponents's skills, but also ones that described those opponents' culture, their competing philosophies on life, and the bountiful biodiversity of that country's rainforests seems just about right. It's not a knock -- it's rather admirable really.

Either way, game on, we say.

Your boy Stijls is here for the duration, out in Europe, spending Euros, so kick back and keep clicking.

Allow me to reintroduce myself...

Wilkommen to Blue&Cream -- the Eff-ing Internet's Elysian Fields, Webternet Valhalla, Fothermucking Blog Shangri-La -- that most hallowed of spots, where Ghostface and Thierry Henry are forever locked in constant conversation. We'll be blessing you with that good when you need it, and even when you don't. I could tell you more, hit you with the B&C mission and all 'a that-ness, but if you ain't know by now you better ask somebody. Actually, you can just ask him:

"An artist, in my eyes, is someone who can lighten up a dark room. I have never and will never find differences between the pass from Pele to Carlos Alberto in the final of the World Cup in 1970 and the poetry of the young Rimbaud, who stretches cords from steeple to steeple and garlands from window to window. There is in each of these human manifestations an expression of beauty which touches us and gives us a feeling of eternity."

Ooh Ahh, eh? That's B&C Royalty of the Highest Order.

Also, Welcome to the internet. Enjoy yourselves. Hallo back y'all.