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.

JAPAN v. CROATIA [0-0]

So Much Blight It'll Hurt Your Eyes

HIGHLIGHTS


Nil-Nil, as they say. Nil by mouth, nil to chat about. Lots of chances, none of them taken. Ill nil.

BRAZIL v. AUSTRALIA [2-0]

Ginga Tu Madre

HIGHLIGHTS


GHOSTWRITE THE WHIP, pt. II -- Brazeeow Edition
B&C's all about confluence & coincidence. So when B&C Brazillian affilliate Gosfais got at me and told me he wanted to get in on this blog thang-thang I couldn't resist, seeing as dude is 97% translucent anyhow. Proud to present, Ghost by Gos:

If the appliance store in Jacarei S.P. were open today -- game day -- the staff would be dressed as the Seleção, as they are every other day this month. If you decided to go to the gay pride parade in São Paulo instead of watch the U.S. out-ball the Italians you would find the boys in top form and blue and yellow speedos atop the international standard issue gay pride parade bus, and if you wanted to compare gingas you'd only need to look behind the bus to the fifty foot fotos of Ronald's both fat and snaggle-toothed feinting left or right in support, in this particular case, of Team Banco Santander, a Spanish club I think. Really you'd be suprised to see just how many different brands of times (teams in the Portuguese soccer vocab that had no problemo absorbing the words that the English saliors gave for what happens when a shute goes past a golquiper) Ronaldinho is playing for down here in between representing all of football to groups such as, say, readers of the New York Times.

But if such larger than life depictions aren't big enough to convince you that the nation of Brazil is effectively equaled by the media representation of its football team, you need only look to the mall-sized sign (provided by Coca-Cola) visible from the highway and announcing that "This mall is rooting for Brazil." And if you reallly need it given to you literally, watch TV for ten minutes until your futebol inspired advertising is interrupted to track the movements of the team bus whose slogan correctly translates to "This bus is monitored by 180 million Brasilian hearts."

But the point is that you know all this because are not on the street on gameday, not in the appliance store which is certainly not open, not at the gay parade that was rescheduled so as not to conflict with the game. You and your heart are in front of the TV, where you saw... what? What is happening here? What is wrong with Ronaldo? What, it's half time? Oh a goal? Ronaldo didn't fuck up? Oh, another one? Who is Fred? Brazil are qualified? Yes, Brazil are qualified. But 180 million hearts depending on eleven may constitute an actual heart attack, the signs of which may be manifesting, literally, as Bussunda, the well-known comedian who played both Ronaldo and Lula attested to by succumbing to one while working the Bob Hope beat in Germany. Or it could be that the plan of the Brasilian coach to hit full stride at the end of the tournament rather than the beginning may be unfolding and that these easy victories are just the first steps of a juggernaut, bitch.

If it matters, the team they played against was Australia. Ugly dark blue uniforms were somehow un-football. Maybe because Australians (like Americans who also look and play bad in their navy) are not football players, but soccer players. They don't say football for the same reason that if you were right now transported into an Australian rules football game you would literally die. So it seems that Aussie soccer players got their muscles and 'tude for the same reason that the fellas grinding trannies on top of the Madonna-blasting platform bus did. They were tired of getting thier asses kicked by toothless goons. And believe me, you would never call one of those kleets-up bastards a Socceroo to thier face. When they take their shits off after the game you cry out, my god, give those men some cattle to slaughter, give them huge knives to wield and an unlit cigar to stick into those jaws! Pelamordedeus!

CZECH REPUBLIC v. GHANA [0-2]

Please, Stop Punning on Czech-Check

HIGHLIGHTS


Who knew that losing one extremely tall dude could mean so much? Czech coach Karel Bruckner had underlined Jan Koller as a key to their entire offense, and it certainly seemed so as they were run ragged by Ghana. The Ghanaians didn't deserve the 0-2 loss to the Italians, and certainly proved that here, though such a thorough smacking was unexpected. But who really cares about "kickball" anymore? Here in Germantown, Germany, the real story is xenotropia. Everyone loves the Africans, fetishizes drum beats, headdresses, rhythmic chanting, and Razak Pimpong. Which is fine. Watching the Ghanaian fans celebrate a full hour after the match at the local fan fest was extremely fun -- in fact, it made me enjoy fun again. It's the difference that makes the difference, and that's part of the difference between football and, say, jai-alai. That and those funny sticks.

ITALY v. UNITED STATES [1-1]

Italian Heartthrobs Could Not Get Rid Of Me

HIGHLIGHTS


Americans will be glad to know that it's become a little less easy to hate them, not merely because of Daniele De Rossi's disgusting display, but also because the U.S. finally showed up to play, albeit after they'd already lost 2 men to red cards. They deserved more than a draw, and for the first 25 minutes of the second half, with 9 against 10, were clearly the better team, putting the Italians firmly on the back foot. True to form, the Azzurri were content to sit four defenders back, even with a man advantage and all the space in the world, at least until the last 10 minutes when they finally decided to press. It was a match the U.S. could have (should have?) won, were it not for Brian McBride being caught offsides.

But whatever. I watched the match in a theater rented out by a bunch of young Germans, and to a man (save the half Italian girl I could hear sigh even from across the room) the U.S. earned at least 50 new fans that night.

But the biggest non-surprise was the Italian red card. Okay, so it wasn't Totti sent off, but perceptive minds have been saying for months that certain Italian players, when given the opportunity, will fail spectacularly. Both American cards were stupid -- on the part of both Mastroeni and Pope -- but Pope looked terrible and was at fault for the only Italian goal, so perhaps the U.S. is better off without him.

PORTUGAL v. IRAN [2-0]

There is the Perfect Riposte

HIGHLIGHTS


"...and after all his problems, and his lack of form, and the criticism that's come his way..."

Hate to belabor this point, but people are yapping 'bout it anyway. Whatever people's thoughts are towards "the boy," as Alex Ferguson likes to refer to him (and anyone else under the age of 25), it was a smart and generous move on the part of Luis Felipe Scolari (and certainly Figo, Pauleta, and other senior members of the team) to allow him to take that penalty. I don't think I've seen a player more subject to the whims of his emotions than he so often is. In what's been a tough, tough year, the kid needs all the confidence he can muster (Of course, as some saw, when dude scores goals in successive games, he thinks he's Cantona. Still nope.)

Either way, Deco's shot was still the best thing going in this game.

MEXICO v. ANGOLA [0-0]

Jogo de Joao

HIGHLIGHTS


Joao Ricardo.

This one's for all you 'keepers out there: Albert, you most especially. Wonder if he could get a run out in either one of these sides. Surely the French could field a similarly strong team, no? Hmm, let's "speculate:"

1 CAMUS, Albert, GK
2 LEVI-STRAUSS, Claude - halfback
3 DURKHEIM, Emile - centreback
4 DESCARTES, Rene (captain) - centreback
5 PASCAL, Blaise - halfback
6 VOLTAIRE - midfield
7 ROUSSEAU, Jean-Jacques - midfield
8 LACAN, Jacques - midfield
9 HENRI-LEVY, Bernard - striker
10 SARTRE, Jean-Paul - midfield
11 FOUCAULT, Michel - striker

SUBS:

DEBORD, Guy - striker
BARTHES, Roland - defender
BAUDRILLARD, Jean - midfield

I think the midfield pairing of contemporaries Voltaire and Rousseau is a strong one (never mind offering the sexiness of having a single-named player in the Brazilian style), and with Sartre in the Riquelme role, Henri-Levy and Foucault should both benefit from the eagle-eyed marksman's ball-distribution. Though, if they should fail to work an understanding, Debord is always at the ready on the bench to come on and really fuck shit up. With Descartes leadership, this team goes far -- the Marcel Desailly of his day.

+Teamgeist = Racist?

Is This the Face of Evil Incarnate?
1nce again, B&C brings you that fire, um, reporting, hitting you what everybody else is scared to say:

Forget the Spanish, the Italians, the Serbs, the Croats, the Greeks, the Argentines, the French, the English before John Barnes, the Dutch until they discovered the secret of ganja brownies (which are "chocolate"), the South Africans before it was cool to do "the Mandela voice," and Oprah.

And pay no mind to all that jive about the ball being TOO round. Think that little Raimundo the 'keeper, playing all day on a dirt pitch in Sao Paulo with a plastic bag filled with more plastic bags for a ball complains about that ish being TOO spherical?

Nah, son. I call bullshit. Smoke & mirrors. A coverup to mask the real Grand Wizard of International Football. And it's not even Paolo Di Canio.

Why is nobody but Blue & Cream asking the question, "Could the real filthy bigot here be adidas' +Teamgeist ball?"

Evidence: Until Bakari Kone's banger, no black player -- despite an overabundance of attempts -- had scored with a long-range shot, what the Brits like to refer to as a "cracker," a/k/a a "Stephen Merritt." Yet, scrawny Czech dudes are rifling in 30-yard bombs with the greatest of ease. I'm just saying. You be the judge. If we're really going to kick racism out of football, let's start by kicking that fucking troglodyte ball to the fucking curb.

One.

(For reals, no joking here: The fact that I was able to link all those countries up there should let you know that something's rotten in the European Union.)

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

My Oranje Boxcutter Make the World Go 'Round

HIGHLIGHTS


The real best game of the tournament -- the neutral's choice. Or so says Papa Stijls, whom we trust implicitly. (A belated Happy Father's Day to all baby fathers out there. If you ain't call your pops yesterday, shame on you.) For excitement, it lacked nothing. The kind of game you watch wishing you didn't bite your nails all the time cos you really want to chew on that fat thumbnail that's now floating away down some sewer underneath the Alster.

A good match if you like orange, though the Dutch were always going to be the ones to wear it in this tie. Can't stand that Horseface Killah struck the winner, and from more than 6 yards, no less. Can't believe I hate Van Nistelrooy this much after riding for him for years. A pity the Ivoirians are out of the tournament, the favorites of politically-minded, large-hearted liberals the world over. Check the signifiers: 1) They're African. 2) Their country is torn by civil war. 3) Dope uni's. 4.) Didier Drogba, lalalalala. (Okay, then there's this, but hey, that's for Chelsea) 5.) They're called The Elephants. Plus, they're actually incredible footballers, almost every last one of them. That goal by Bakari Kone? What???

We'll keep them in our hearts & heads, and hope they thrash the Serbs, if only for a little bit of satisfaction.

ARGENTINA v. SERBIA [6-0]

Say The Baby

HIGHLIGHTS


Best game of the tournament, not just because I was there. 'Kay, maybe so. That's right: the boy Stijls sold five alien babies -- cash! -- on the black market for his ticket. Suffered through a 5.40am train ride to Gelsenkirchen with already drunk (!) Germans who boarded the train in Bremen, ran the gauntlet of Serbian fans and their semi-Fascist dual-arm thrust salute down the pedestrian concourse, and waited 45 minutes for the Arena auf Schalke to open 3 hours early to pee furiously in order to see Young Lionel Messi, all of 18 yrs. old (Get your Spanish game up). Don't say "precocious" or I'll smack you. It was well worth it all.

Messi, who only played the last 15 minutes, was easily the most exciting player to step on the field. He started running at the Serbs the minute he touched the ball, assisting the 4th goal and scoring the 6th. Mr. Sad Face Juan Roman Riquelme was the best player on the field, but no one will ever associate him with excitement. And I'm sure he'd prefer it that way. Impossible to leave the stadium without this running through your head.

PLEASE: If you love football, or just listen to "mixtapes" all day, you would do well to watch this goal on repeat. Listen to the Latin announcers count off each pass -- 25 in all -- that led to the goal, the 24th being a backheel (!) from Hernan Crespo to Ernesto Cambiasso who scored. It's everything you'd want to teach a child about the game, and -- no joke -- I still get chills after Cambiasso slides to the corner. Even the Serbian fans who'd been in great spirits before this goal, only the second of six, had to give it up. Their team got wifed, big time. The Argentinians had the ball for so long that it was impossible for anybody in the stadium not to notice that the Serbs hadn't a sniff of the ball for almost 2 minutes. And to score after that? It's goals like this that allow everybody to be a pretentious schmuck about football, and hey, that's great.

So suddenly everybody's on the Argentine boat. "New favorites" and all. But B&C's not buying into it just yet. Before we go too far and anoint these guys the football equivalent of the Arrested Development writing team, can we ask the question, "Argentina: Too good?" You know the saying, "Too many cooks make the kitchen smell of cabbage." Just saying. Don't come crying to me when these artistes get bounced for overscoring glorious goals.

UPDATE: Mateja Kezman, still terrible.