Archive for February, 2008

22
Feb
08

you know what? fuck you, bolton.

Seriously, Bolton.

Fuck you.

One, I’ve seen you in all your post-WW2 English architectural glory.  You are hideous.  And your football team reflects this.

Yes, I predicted Atletico to win the entire UEFA Cup.  Why shouldn’t I?  Why should I think that some awful hoof-ball, bullshit team would beat them out?

 …because that’s exactly what happened.  It’s exactly what happened you…you pricks.  1-0 at home and 0-0 away?  What a fucking surprise, Bolton.

Fun fact: “Bolton” takes its name from an ancient Gaelic word meaning “those with passable sporting abilities with shit entertainment value.”

 Postscript: Don’t worry Sagnol…you’ll get yours.

13
Feb
08

we’re number 2! we’re number 2!

Last week saw yet another meeting between the U.S. Mens National team in a “friendly” (I believe there is no such thing as a friendly. Especially not between the U.S. and Mexico. And especially not when this happens.) with the national team of Mexico. The two played to a 2-2 draw, with every blog in cyberspace being quick to point out that a draw is not a loss, and therefore our unbeaten streak remains intact.

Whatever.

That game has been dissected to death, so I’m not about to reiterate what has already been said a dozen times over. On the contrary, this post is far more self-serving.

In honor of the match, last week on SBI Ives held yet another of his “You Write the Caption” contests about this picture of USMNT/NJ Red Bulls rookie Jozy Altidore schooling Mexico/Barça defender Rafael Marquez in the US/Mexico friendly last Wednesday.

12
Feb
08

the completely glamour-less glamour of the uefa cup

The UEFA Cup Round of 32 was announced today, and I can’t help but be a little more enthused than I am about…well, anything involving the Champion’s League.

Here’s a list of fixtures I deem interesting after the jump:

Continue reading ‘the completely glamour-less glamour of the uefa cup’

11
Feb
08

An Undeserved Pat On The Back

This past Sunday marked the 148th Derby in the history of Manchester football – a rivalry that has been talked about to death in the last few weeks (sidenote: ManU – Liverpool > ManU – Man City).  It’s always a good game, and there’s some real enmity there.  This month’s fixture at Old Trafford was especially notable in that this past Wednesday marked the 50th Anniversary of the Munich Air Disaster, a tragedy that was, indeed, felt on both the red and blue halves of the city thanks to the death of Frank Smith, former City goalkeeper.

Let’s be blunt: if you follow English football, especially if you follow United, you’ve heard about this.  This is not a eulogizing post, so let’s move right the fuck along, shall we?

There has been much celebration all over the football media today about the impeccable behavior of the “traveling” City supporters during the much-ballyhooed minute’s silence that took place at Old Trafford before kick-off.  City manager Sven-Goran Eriksson didn’t hesitate at all to heap plaudits onto his team’s fans for, essentially, shutting the fuck up.

Am I the only one who sees something tangibly wrong with this?  Believe me…I’m all for hatred.  I’m no hooligan wannabe, but I do think the modern game is too sterile.  I celebrated and sang about how Croydon isn’t really London (alone, in my room, watching the teletext feed) when Charlton did the double over Crystal Palace this past Friday.  I’ve decided against dating girls simply because they are Chicago Cubs fans.  But honestly.  There is a big, fat, fucking Magnum-drawn line between sporting hatred and class.

Let’s run with the Cubs-Sox analogy for a minute here.  Let’s say, in some freak accident, half the Cubs team happens to die.  In this next season’s interleague game, a minute’s silence is observed.  I hate the Cubs.  Hate.   Hate.  Would I say anything?  Fuck.  No.  Why?  Because this kind of thing transcends sports – it’s a matter of human respect and decency.  I don’t care if you’re some meatheaded lager-swilling lout from Macclesfield (I apologize, I couldn’t think of any City-supporting areas of Manchester offhand), if you can’t possibly keep your trap shut for a minute just because the young men who died fifty years ago wore a different shirt than your boys…then there’s no hope for you.

So, congratulations, fans of Manchester City.  Congratulations on, uh…being human?  Normal?  Maybe I’m missing a key component of English football psychology here, but the fact that so many people are visibly elated by this is trouble.  Have we really slipped that low?  Or am I just a better person than I give myself credit for?




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