Split Tens

Fehr and Loathing

2009-02-10T22:21:00.005-07:00

The point is - at least, I think the point is that if everyone was doing it, it doesn't give an advantage and maybe doesn't count as cheating. In fact, if everyone's doing it but you, you ought to do it to if you wanna stay a big league ballplayer. At least that's the Alex Rodriguez defense. It would have been a better one for Wally Joyner or Marvin Benard, but what the hell? It's what he's running with, and some folks seem to be buying it. It's obviously not about the actual, measurable amount that players improved by using steroids that matters. I've mentioned it here before, but what I find most unsettling about the whole PED shitfest is that MLB locker rooms were made into criminal enterprises. It's like the whole of fucking baseball was the White Sox locker room in 1919. Players juicing, players injecting other players, trainers selling it and peddling it, owners and managers either looking the other way (if they're telling the truth) or encouraging it (in the much more likely event then they're lying.) The worst of the lot was the unholy tandem of Don Fehr and Gene Orza, the snarling, yelping Orthus guarding the herd of superman would-be ballplayers.

Those two half-witted bastards pulled off the neat trick of simultaneously giving the players unfair advantages when the testing was taking place, and then completely fucking them afterwards. It's much too stupid-looking for there to have been serious malice involved, but I guess that is probably worse. Both of them ought to have been strung up on the ivy at Wrigley Field while Milton Bradley and Derek Lee pelt them repeatedly with line drives. Then they should be left there for the duration of the season, subsisting on whatever dribbles of Old Style and mustard dropping from some fat and wasted Bleacher Bum they can manage to catch on their tongues. New ground rule: any ball that hits either of those horrible morons is a home run if its in flight and a double if it bounces off the field first. I recognize that this might give the Cubs an advantage, something I would be loath to do under most circumstances, but most outfield walls don't have an easy punishment available. Fuck 'em.

It's really hard to blame individual players, as I see it. I agree that Jose Canseco, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Sammy Sosa and Alex Rodriguez are a nasty lot of people, none of who you'd want to have around your children or even close friends. But, and I hate to hop on the god-awful loosy-goosy excuse of Rodriguez's, it rings true that if everyone was doing it, then what the hell, why not? Just like Willie Mays and greenies. Big bowl of 'em in the clubhouse. Fuck it, they're gonna keep me awake, they're gonna make me heal faster, they're gonna make me hit more home runs, they're gonna extend my career and by extension make me millions of dollars, fuck it. I'm doing it. It's also really, really hard to blame the Paul Byrds and Andy Pettittes who were tying to get their injuries to heal faster. For Christ's sake, who the fuck wouldn't? Basically, as long as there were no consequences from baseball (another thing Orthus foamed at the mouth to prevent) for using, why the hell not? It was in everyone's best interest, career-wise, to do it. (Aside: not in their best interest for their lives outside of their careers, of course, which Ken Caminiti could tell us all about were it not for his miserable blow-and-juice filled body giving up on the whole goddamn thing when he was 41. As it is, Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds have got to consider that their life of parasailing and occasionally making a couple hundred grand at card-shows is probably completely fucked, so even though they both lived longer than that unlikely soothsayer Caminiti, their lives are on balance much worse for having taken steroids.) So the moral outrage, which I think is completely appropriate, is misdirected.

It's those bastards making the rules that fucked this up. The best way to clean up baseball will be the immediate implication of my Ivy-plan. Donald Rumsfeld could run the fucking thing. He's not doing anything.

The Rain and the Argentine

2008-12-14T13:06:00.007-07:00

El Clasico, it's fair to say, did not disappoint. Real Madrid are a wounded animal with a new shot of brains and they were vicious, cruel and muy peligroso. They played like savages, brutally hacking at Lionel Messi's feet and legs with no regard for fair play. Sergio Ramos, always and forever a two-bit thug masquerading as a pretty-boy, wasted no time putting the sadistic strategy on display, taking a cheap shot no more than two minutes into the game. Other than a bit of beautiful retribution from Rafa Marquez (the go-to man when it comes to demonstrating that just because we play beautiful football, cabron, doesn't mean we don't hit back!) the blaugrana didn't let it get to them.

The rain set the pace for most of the match and came down ever harder. There is something about an achievement happening in the rain that, for no obvious reason outside the aesthetic, makes it so much more glorious. You don't have to think back far (I'd say the 2006 Champions League final) to see how much added character and attractiveness there is to a win in the rain. It is the great equalizer. Yes, everyone is freezing and trudging around in wet socks, kicking a slippery ball and sprinting delicately across a soggy pitch. Both clubs, both benches, both sets of fans are committed to the same misery and the one that wins is the one that has enough huevos to keep fighting, at one point fighting against the rain as though they were up against two opponents and then mercilessly teaming up with the rain against their foes when the time is right. Sorry, Royston Drenthe, but it got to you and it didn't get to Victor Valdes and that may be the only reason you lost. But what a glorious reason.

Iker Casillas is an indecent rogue but in spite of this, it is very hard to hate him, the charming bastard, and I couldn't do it even after he shoved away the penalty from Samuel Eto'o with the type of skill and precision that is at once terrifying and deeply intriguing. Hats off, Iker. I'm not too proud for that. I might have been, had it not been for the eventual showdown of wills that was won by Carlos Puyol (who, in a just world, would be credited with at least 80% of the first goal.) Lionel Messi, of course, finished everything off in a rare display of Total Justice. Hack at his feet and knees all match, send him crashing onto the cold, wet earth time and again. And the most brutal collision of the entire match was Fabio Cannavaro smashing into the post in a vain attempt to stop Leo's pitch-perfect chip in extra time. Yes, sometimes life can be so fair.

On El Clasico, Mixed Feelings and An Era of Cautious Optimism

2008-12-09T12:12:00.007-07:00

Barcelona are three-minutes from kick-off in their last group game in the Champions League this year, a technically meaningless match against Nery Castillo's employers. All you need to know about them is that they've never had any use for Nery Castillo, the bastards, and they think the win Barcelona grabbed from them in Ukraine was unfair. It's nonsense, of course, but they seem serious about it.

Of course, the blaugrana have been the best club in Europe this year and that's something that only the most starry-eyed optimists could have imagined before it all started. Even those comparatively dark days of losing at Numancia and drawing Racing in the first two weeks of the season are distant. I, like Pep, have never come to expect victory, though, because that's what assholes like Real Madrid do and it is beneath everybody. Juande Ramos is going to lead his boys into action at the Nou Camp with the clinical ferocity that makes him such a perfect match for, and he'll have a point to make in this Saturday's dreaded/anxiously awaited El Clasico. They may be racked with injuries, and languishing in fifth place in La Liga and unable to make a dent in Juventus either home or away but they're still Real Madrid, and it's still El Clasico. Get your game faces on, my friends, because there is sure to be a good deal of bloodshed.

One thing that's been a little bit unsettling for me is just how thoroughly Barca have been demolishing their opposition. 4-0, 5-0, 6-1. 0-3 at Sevilla and 4-0 at home against Valencia. Those aren't bad teams, man, and there's nothing to do but step aside and admire the refusal for Pep and the boys to give them any extra leverage simply because they're Top 4. The thing is, well, it's entertaining soccer I suppose, but I've long thought that people who don't like soccer because there aren't enough goals are the same sorts of people who must think the best part of sex is the orgasm, and that's a dreary way to go about life and a sure sign that someone has values that I will never relate to. So, I love the technical brilliance of a well-fought 1-0 draw where the goal comes from a late Xavi freekick (speaking of Xavi, as I am, I said some nasty things about him in this space last year and, while pride dictates I not take any of them back, I will say he's done what I always doubted he would and I would be sadly remiss not to salute him for it) or even a match where the team is down 2-0 at the half and comes back for a 2-2 draw. There's something greatly satisfying about precision and winning a fair fight. So, I relish the uncharacteristic lack of tension from watching matches this season, but at the same time hold out hope that I'll spend some amount of El Clasico thinking Barca are doomed to lose.

Well, it seems a little too good to be true that Barcelona are putting together this magic on the heels of Barack Obama's election. Yes, sure, the governor or Illinois is being strung up on corruption charges and the Rapids and Rockies continue to prove that the worst teams to support are the ones you're tied to geographically because they can count on you and so they don't have anything to prove. Sure, nothing is overwhelmingly rosy and there's, as ever, plenty of evil and corruption to contend with (Madrid, Juve and Chelsea are all through to the knockout stages, though even here we have the constantly thrilling reminder that AC Milan didn't even qualify this year) but it just seems like the good guys are winning more often than usual. I highly suggest tempering your enthusiasm, though, friends, because when things get ugly, they do it quick and without any kind of warning, and we must be on our toes. Remember El Pipila? Well, don't forget him. He's got a lot to say about times like these.

Brief Interlude In Which Barcelona's Good Start Is Discussed

2008-11-11T10:27:00.002-07:00

Yes, under the sage guidance of Master Guardiola, the club has once again transformed itself into a clean and lethal strike force that sends fear into the hearts of even its allies. Yes, Samuel Eto'o maybe a temperamental son of a bitch who's prone to sulking and fits of blind rage, but he's also got the clearest vision and most precise technique of anyone you're likely to come across, and that includes that fairy Cristiano Ronaldo. Times like this call for un-liberal language, I'm afraid. The most telling result was not any of the humility-inducing thrashings of Atletico, Basel, Malaga or Almeria. It was the 1-0 win away at Bilbao. Why? Because Basques blow up trains, that's why, and they make goddamn sure that visiting clubs are aware of it. Athletic Bilbao, like Chivas, only signs players who are from their own little piece of the world. Some folks say, and I was guilty of romanticizing in it my younger and less aware years, that it makes them quaint and nostalgic but I say it makes them pseudo-fascist uber-nationalist pigs who want nothing more than to eradicate Africans and South Americans from football, and probably the world. Barca has its share of Catalans - including Pep - in its employ, but they also realize that being pro-Catalonia or pro-Barcelona is about your soul, not the place your mom was when she dropped you out. Lionel Messi and Rafa Marquez have blaugrana blood even though they were born in another hemisphere. Whereas Cesc Fabregas' credentials are under question. So, anyway, round about way of saying that going into the den of Basque nationalists and coming away with 3 points in the face of all that was astounding. This year, there's some depth to the character of the club. Getting Edmilson, Deco and Ronaldinho away was the key, of course, and getting Eto'o to see his role. Not many clubs improve simply by purging their Brazilians but Barcelona did just that, and I couldn't be prouder.

Brief Detour in which Baseball Strategy is Discussed

2008-07-29T19:25:00.001-06:00

There have many weird trends this season. Some, like hitting the pitcher 8th, are kind of quirky and negligably important. Others, such as shattering maple bats, seem dangerous and of critical (but non-baseball related) import. One trend, having really good hitters sacrifice bunt, is so mind-numbingly fucking stupid that I have no idea why all the managers who have employed it have not been taken out and shot for the better of society.

Most recent example: Top of the 6th inning, and the Rockies have a 1-run lead over the Pirates. They are out of the playoffs, probably, but on a hot streak in a weak division. Last night, they took an early lead and completely blew it. Tonight, they had a 4-0 lead that the Bucs had cut to 4-3 by the time of this event.There were runners on first and second with no outs. This is a situation where they can be expected to score 1.573 runs in an average inning. Even better, Chris Iannetta is up and he is hitting .281/.383/.536 coming into the game. Nevermind how good those numbers are for a catcher, those are good numbers for anybody. He is a very good hitter. The pitcher's spot is up next, but Seth Smith (who is hitting .226/.293/.377 in a small sample size) has stepped up to replace the pitcher in the on deck circle. Chris Iannetta sacrifice fucking bunts the runners over to second and third, thereby decreasing the run expectancy to 1.467 runs. Still good! Except Troy Tulowitzki made a fuck stupid baserunning play on a Seth Smith ground ball and was tagged out between second and third. So, first and third with two outs brings us to a Willy Taveras groundout and 0 runs scored in the inning.

Post-script: In the bottom of the inning, the Pirates took the lead and are now up 5-4. The Rockies deserve to lose this game. And! Clint Hurdle deserves not to have a job. This is exactly the dumb shit he does all the time and, let's face it, the honeymoon is over. It's part of a maddening trend, though, and that asshole Dusty Baker started it.

The Fix Is Something Something

2008-06-01T00:04:00.010-06:00

I don't really care for or about basketball, but when the Lakers and the Celtics happen to magically play each other in the NBA Championship just after a referee betting scandal, the corruption is just too giddy and blatant to ignore. You've got to admit how ballsy it is for David Stern to go ahead and offer up some corruption as proof that there is no corruption. It'd be like Bud Selig allocating all the good players on bad teams to the Yankees and Red Sox free of charge in order to distract from the steroids scandal. I guess it could be just an interesting coincidence, and the fixing-mechanism known as the Salary Cap has been leading to something like this for a long time anyway, but it smells. The Celtics were a laughing stock not that long ago, and as I recall, Ray Allen was on the downturn of a stunningly uninteresting career at about that same time. Now, all of a sudden he's gone from being the poor-man's Reggie Miller to being the third prong in a three-pronged attack that has taken the NBA by storm. I mean, what the fuck, man? Did the royalty checks from He Got Game quit coming in?

In the interest of a fairytale storyline appearing and a resurgence of interest and goodwill shooting towards the eyes of the NBA, I guess it will have to go seven games. I guess Kobe Bryant will pass the ball to some white guy who makes a game-winning shot when the Lakers look like they have their backs against the wall. (Note: if the Lakers don't have white guys, we're counting Pau Gasol. I'm obviously not going to spend any time looking at their roster or whatever a real commenter would do. Incidently, I really like Pau Gasol. I've only met him once, but he was reading The Power of Now that once. Seems all right.) I guess one of Boston's big three, maybe even Ray Allen, will foul out in the deciding game. Overtime, dramatic three-pointers, close-ups of Kevin Garnett's sweaty forehead. That's what we have to look forward to, and it'd be thrilling if it were less predictable.

Equally predictable has been the dismantling of the never-proud Colorado Rockies empire. On one hand, you can't be too eager to dismiss the whole thing this year because injuries are a convenient and ready excuse for their shitty performance, at least in Philadelphia and Chicago. Pitching has been a completely predictable disaster, and the thing that annoys me most is that Clint Hurdle and Dan O'Dowd seem just as unsurprised as me that all the retreads they're trotting out to the mound are self-destructing at rates that would make even the most diligent suicide bomber uneasy. Glendon Rusch? Give me a fucking break. There's some reason to think that the triumphant return of Troy Tulowitzki and Matt Holliday will mean something, but if a god damn 8 run lead isn't safe, as it wasn't against Chicago on Friday, then who cares? The Rockies had a pretty good chance to put together something akin to the Twins of the early part of this decade or the current Indians and compete year in and year out for half a decade or more. Instead, they opted for sentimentality like the '93 Phillies and '05 White Sox and you reep what you sow, don't you? The best bet is that inflated expectations from last year mean that Hurdle and O'Dowd are on the chopping block, but that kind of optimism is dangerously neglegent of the power of the Good Ol' Boys Club. More likely; another 12 years of mediocrity before a big fluke season. Make no mistake, some guys are about to get traded and the return on Holliday, Atkins or whoever had damn well better be something more than Trader Dan got for Larry Walker. Got help us.

As a newly minted MLS season ticket holder, I think I have some obligation to comment on the goings-on in Commerce City, but I've been watching so gleefully at the dismantling of Rijkaard's men that I have to plead distraction on the soccer front. Zambrotta's the latest to go, and good riddance to the guy who seems like a swell chap for an Italian footballer but was consistently bad at, you know, his job. Edmilson's off to Villareal, and we can all just hope that Yaya Toure has the decency to take him out at the knees the first time the teams square off next year.

The Rapids have been a lot of fun to watch, in spite of their complete unwillingness to finish. Omar Cummings can only score when the ball's put right to his feet and he's in front of an open net, and then he only scores if he can somehow be convinced that in that situation it is totally unnecessary to dribble. Weird, slightly off-kilter Scotsman Tom McManus seems like he might get things going in a little while, but the weird loyalty to Cummings is going to have to stop sometime. Yes, be very afraid. 12 points from 9 matches is good for 2nd place in this ridiculous league, so any predictions or analysis are an exercise in intellectual masturbation that even I'm not willing to delve into.

Now, let's just wait to see who wins Euro 2008, and start shopping for padding and maybe bullet-proof vests ahead of the DNC Convention in August. I think it's better not to be too hasty on these things, but if you're not prepared, you're liable to be swallowed up by the crowd. Let's just say that if Germany, Holland or Italy wins the Euro, that taken in combination with the Celtics-Lakers nonsense is a harbinger of evil and it'd be best for everyone involved just to get out of this city when Barack and Hillary swing in to settle their bloodfight. You don't want to be involved, even as a witness. Believe me.

Eulogy for Frank Rijkaard

2008-05-11T22:31:00.002-06:00

The match against Mallorca today was just absolutely devastating to watch. Frank Rijkaard deserves better, but it reminded me of a bullfight. At the end, no matter what happens, you know the bull's going to die. The optimism (and, with it, the disappointment) of the last couple of seasons had just vanished for me and, it seems, for the club. Even when they went up 2-0, it was tense. You could just feel that they were going to lose. Fans had been whistling at Eto'o and after he scored, he angrily kicked the ball into the net twice more, then waved to the crowd with a scowl firmly planted on his face. There was no joy there, not even though they were ahead 2-0. Not from anybody, and it just seemed so obvious that they were going to collapse. Then, 1 goal, 2 goals from Mallorca in the space of 3 minutes. A third in extra time, just after Barcelona had blown two good chances and just after Edmilson had been sent off in what could only be the most fitting way that the man responsible for the "black sheep" remarks earlier this year to end his career at the Camp Nou.

A third, and the look of heartbreak on Rijkaard's face was shared with the team and the fans, but the loneliness was his own. Out came the white handkerchiefs, which took on a sort of cruelty they hadn't had before. They used to say come on, you're better than this. Just score! Just win! Now, it was clear, so long you rotton bastard, who can't even manage a win against a mid-table mediocrity in his last match at home. So long, you bastard. It's not that he didn't try. It's not that he wanted to lose.

Cruelly, Barcelona fell pray to the same disease that had crippled Real Madrid in such horribly recent memory. All the stars in the world don't make the best team, and if Thierry Henry wasn't the problem, then Ronaldinho was. If not Ronaldinho, then Eto'o. If not Eto'o, maybe Marquez or Puyol or Yaya. Somewhere, at some point, Barca lost the spirit of the side that rose to the top of Europe (my God, was it only two years ago?) and gained nothing but a whole lot of t-shirt sales. Is that Frank Rijkaard's fault? Maybe. Who cares about the last game of the season, though, with nothing to play for but 3rd place? We, Barcelona fans, can only hope that Pep Guardiola can bring the same kind of passion for the beauty and art of football at its finest that Rijkaard did, and manage somehow to convince multi-million dollar shaving cream spokesman athletes that the pride in playing for a club with UNICEF across the shirt is more important than the number of minutes they get, or the likelihood that they'll get to be on the cover of FIFA 09.

Iowa

2008-01-03T21:15:00.000-07:00

I have to say, my cynicism is a little less at this exact moment than it usually is, but on the other hand, my non-cynicism is being completely overwhelmed by, like, meta-cynicism so there's that. I'm not talking about the Republican side, obviously, but watching Barack Obama give his victory speech, there are two overwhelming immediate reactions that I can't do anything to change. I tried to soften one or both with some Rogue Chocolate Stout, but it doesn't taste as it did when I opened it 4 days ago. But a sort of aged, rotting taste is kind of appropriate for my feelings so I'll keep knocking it back.

First, this is really genuinely moving stuff. It feels a little bit like watching an old history tape, and that is because I don't think I've ever seen anyone I really believed in before. What I mean is, I used to wonder when our icon was going to come along and this is really exciting, and fun, like Robert F. Kennedy or something. I'm confused because my temperment is usually so much more muted in terms of enthusiasm. I mean, yeah, these are obvious political platitudes but jesucristo, he just really seems like he means them. I mean, this could be a simple gift of his ability to speak and convince me that he's genuine, but I'm totally buying it. All my thoughts about Richardson being more qualified or Edwards being more angry don't really matter. This is, like, a movement. Hop on the train and roll on.

Second, I am overcome with dread. This not only looks like a historical video, it looks like the part right before the candidate gets shot. I cannot seem to shake this instinct that Obama is going to get killed somewhere on the campaign trail. So, I am pretty much writing this whole thing now to try and talk myself out of this shocking sense of impending doom, but it isn't working.

Oh well. Good luck, man, but the revolutionairies never make it.

The Year Of The Favorite

2008-01-01T21:08:00.000-07:00

You've got no fear of the underdog. That's why you will not survive.

Well, Britt, to this point in 2008 anyone who doesn't fear the underdog has been surviving at an alarming rate. USC thrashed the "Fighting" Illini, racking up the highest total yards in Rose Bowl History and some horrible death machine called the Georgia Bulldogs is ripping everybody's favorite accused-rapist-turned-golden-boy Colt Brennan and his once-proud Hawaii Warriors to shreds. It is, clearly, not reasonable to blame this on 2008 entirely, because it continues a horrible trend from 2007 that involved the Patriots going 16-0, the Red Sox sweeping the World Series, Real Madrid beating Barcelona and Manchester United overtaking Arsenal for the lead in the English Premier League. With the only shining example of the non-survival of the favorite in recent memory being England's horrible collapse in EURO 2008 qualifying, I think things were well on track to set us up for what must be known in the future as the New Year's Day Massacre, 2008.

I know that years changing are pretty arbitrary ideas especially in regards to trends and superstition, but I think we can all admit this is not a good omen for an election year. If Brennan and company can't manage a significant comeback in the second half down in New Orleans, I'd say we might as well put all our money in the pot that says we will be faced with a Clinton/Giuliani election. This is especially bad for me because I have been betting heavily on the Green Bay Packers. I would like to believe that this horrible trend cannot continue for very long, and there would be no better time for such a humiliating fall from grace than the Super Bowl for those hulking, cheating pricks from New England. But today's slate of college football action has got me feeling despondent and depressed.

Yes, things are shaping up to be ugly. And we have a continuous onslaught in the next week, which seems almost criminally unfair. We need time to recover from the bloodbath that was 2007, and nobody has the energy for a National Championship Game just yet, and certainly not an Iowa Caucus. Good Christ, there are meant to be two Iowa Caucuses, aren't there? This is worse than I thought. No rest for the weary, on one hand, but I will be soaking up whatever there is to soak up in Central America very soon and that's the only hope I have. I will be missing the NFL's Conference Championship games and I'm hoping not to see the scores until I come home. Actually, now that Georgia added another touchdown to make their lead 31-3, I might not even want to know after that. Fuck all if it's New England-Dallas. And fuck-all if Roger Clemens wriggles out of this steroid mess, and Hillary Clinton gets elected President. Ahhhhh, hell, why don't we just give the Oscar to Steven Spielberg right now?

I hope it's just paranoia or a horrible ignorance of sample size concerns, but I have a genuine fear that 2008 will be the Year Of The Favorite. I think it might be best to try and stack the odds in your favor as soon as possible. No need to worry about the Hawaii Warriors, compadre. Our posts are safe.

A Grisly End To A Grisly Year

2007-12-24T11:27:00.002-07:00

Things are ugly out here as the hellish bloodbath known as 2007 winds to a close. And, who knows why? But it seems appropriate. Things started ugly this year, got uglier, and ended ugly. In a weird way, everything is as it should be. Now, I'm not into recapping so there won't be some kind of timeline of ugliness written out here, but it is truly shocking that I could react with such vitriol and angst to a year that brought me a very unlikely National League pennant. I guess that just shows how bad things have gotten.

This must be the part where we all kick back to watch Roger Clemens and his old meathead trainer duke it out in the press for several months about whether or not The Rocket got his ass injected with steroids and HGH. Hint: there is absolutely no precedent for pitchers that old to perform that well. Clemens also underwent a very similar body-mass transformation as everybody's favorite Whipping Boy, Barry Bonds, and his BFF Andy Pettitte had admitted to taking HGH in 2002. (Note: a snarky, bitchy admission is still an admission.) So, friends, I think the jury is pretty much IN on this one. The greatest pitcher of all-time has joined the greatest hitter of all-time as a circumstantially convicted juicer.

The question I guess I have is, so what? I do want to go to games next year and boo the shit out of everybody who's mentioned in the Mitchell Report, including Matt Herges and, what the hell, Glenallen Hill. But I have mentioned in this space that the steroid stuff doesn't really bother me in terms of on-the-field stuff. There was an extremely normal distribution of talent among the players who were named, so if anyone needs any proof that juicing doesn't make someone an immediate superstar, you can just ask Larry Bigbie or Ricky Bones. Admittedly, there is something weird and perverse and immensely distasteful in the idea that Major League clubhouses were central drug trafficking points. This universe where players are discreetly telling other players who to call, clubhouse attendants are stumbling upon vials of horse hormones and not telling anyone, and David Segui is, like, the kingpin coyote is very strange and difficult to completely wrap my head around. This is why I'll be booing the assholes. It is because they are shady, mafia-style criminals and not because they are cheaters. I couldn't care less about the innocence of the game, because that is a meaningless concept, but that doesn't mean the folks who are turning their lockers into criminal enterprises shouldn't be flogged publicly and regarded as traitors to the cause. They should, at least, get the Pete Rose treatment.

If this was soccer, it'd be entirely different. If a bunch of players from Juventus or AC Milan turned out be dealing drugs from the quiet of their clubhouse, I don't really think anyone would be that surprised. We expect corruption from Italian football, and we'd probably just be thankful that nobody got shot over this one. (Actually, if Berlusconi was involved, someone may well have gotten shot.) One of the charms of soccer is that you know who the good guys are and who the bad guys are, and nobody needs to get caught up in abstractions like "the innocence of the game" unless they mean it. If some Real Madrid or AC Milan players tells you he plays for the love of the game, you know he's lying and that's that.

Unfortunately, and you can see I've been blowing off bringing this up, the bad guys are winning more and more often. The dissolution of the Chelsea empire got stopped in its tracks when Didier Drogba started playing like himself. He's hurt now, and so is John Terry, so there's still a good chance for them to drop into midtable oblivion and at least that gives us something to hope for. I wouldn't really be happy if Man City beat them this season, since Man City also got bought out by some truly sinister forces, but I'd be thrilled if they finished behind Everton or something.

As for the mafiosos at AC Milan, they did drop one (ha-ha Dida!) to city-rivals Inter over the weekend in particularly humiliating fashion, but they also recently became the first European club to win the Club World Cup with a brutal victory over Argentine also-rans Boca Juniors. They're set for the only real good-guy/bad-guy slugfest in the knockout round of the Champions League, where they got drawn with Arsenal. A win for Milan would be a win for corruption and deceit and a very bad omen to start 2008.

And, of course, finally, Real Madrid came into Camp Nou like a well-oiled juggernaut and snuck away with an appalling, efficient, extremely effective victory against a better Barcelona team. Their defense was just disgustingly thorough in their dismantling of the attacks that the normally-beautiful Barcelona front line came with. Ronaldinho and Andres Iniesta were thrown around like plastic bags in a shitstorm and they must've thought they'd get the ball every time they threw their hands up in the air because that's what they were left with by the end of it.

Frank Rijkaard is likely to be the scapegoat for the whole mess, but that is wholly undeserved. Deco, who is a thug and a charlatan not fit to wear the Barcelona colors, spoke with glee about the possible appointment of Jose Mourinho, also a thug and a charlatan, but a sympathetic one after his glamor-free dismissal from Chelsea, as the new manager. Then he played like complete shit against Madrid in spite of being gifted a start from Rijkaard. Sounds like collusion? It does to me. I have finally come around to the credo that my best friend has been extolling since at least EURO 2002, and that is: Fuck Anderson Deco. That son of a bitch has got to go, regardless of what happens next.

A more likely scenario is Mourinho coming on board, selling Ronaldinho to AC Milan (who else??) and hedging his bets in the Champions League. This could be devastating, and it probably will be. When Edmilson said there were some black sheep in the Barca clubhouse, he should've just said there were some white sheep, because the whole lot of them save Messi, Eto'o and Marquez look a little lost to me right now. Xavi, especially, has lost almost all of my faith and will have to string together an unprecedented lot of performances to convince me he's useful as a player or a human being. Not that he's probably concerned with proving that to me, since he's probably counting his money or banging a supermodel right now, but fuck. There is a certain pride to playing for Barcelona that these cocksuckers just don't seem to have.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the Presidential Primaries are coming right around the corner. Listen up. Doomsday is coming. Start finding out how much EU and Japanese work permits cost, because you're going to want to be able to skip the Information Line when the time comes.

Hubris

2007-11-21T14:57:00.000-07:00

You would think the English, of all people, would have taken the principle lesson from Beowulf and that is, of course, to avoid hubris. But they thought it was a done deal after Israel's incredible win over Russia last weekend that they would qualify for EURO 2008 and the discussion turned immediately to "Wow, Steve McLaren is vindicated" and "Ohhh, will Beckham be selected for the tournament?" and nobody considered that, without Terry, Owen, Rooney or humility, the team was surely doomed.

Skybet had the English side as 1/10 favorites to win today, with a 4-1 win given equal odds as a 2-2 draw. Hubris, and I knew I should've taken those bets but we live in a puritan society where betting online is akin to child porn as far as ethics and so on are concerned. Otherwise, I'd be a rich man because I really thought England were dooming themselves to humiliation by being so sure of themselves.

And, they faced massive humiliation. Not only losing, but losing to Croatia. Going down 2-0 in 14 minutes. Coming back to tie, and the thrill and relief that comes with it. Having that utterly devastated just 12 minutes later. Just, completely blowing it. At Wembley. Beckham stuck on 99 caps. I mean. The destruction and embarrassment is almost too much. The English not qualifying for EURO is one thing, but the English not qualifying is such thorough, horrific style. I mean, my God.

Now. There will be some clamoring for the placement of foreign player limits in the Premiership. Or, I guess, there has already been a lot of clamoring and now the clamorers will likely win. This will not raise the level of the English national team, of course, but it is natural and easy to blame their terrible performance on the big bad Africans and South Americans and Eastern Europeans instead of on their own selves. The truth is, not enough English players are good enough to play for the Big Four and probably not even the top 6 or 7 clubs in the Premiership. This is not a flaw of the league, of course, but rather a flaw of England. All a foreign player limit does is lower the quality of football being played in the sport's mother country, by filling the clubs with lesser players who happen to have the right kind of parents. In fact, the top level English players are exceptionally lucky that they have a passage into such a great league simply because of their nationality. Would Frank Lampard really start for Chelsea if he had been born French, or Peruvian or something? I sincerely doubt it.

A bigger idea is to try and send more English players to the leagues on the continent. The concept that a National Team is irrevocably tied to the Domestic Leagues of its country is laughable in today's football. Even Italian players are leaving Italy at this point, and the English should follow.

In a world where a foreigner limit is imposed in England, The Big Four would have to field line-ups with the likes of Gareth Barry, Paul Robinson, James Milner, Dave Kitson. I mean, there's this weird idea that the level of the Premiership is static no matter who plays there. This is just basically, obviously not true. Imposing the limit would not make the English national team any better, but it would definitely make Arsenal, Chelsea, Manchester United, and Liverpool worse.

A Cynical Era

2007-11-13T10:17:00.000-07:00

We are living in a cynical era. Nobody believes in hope anymore, or the American dream, except old people. I wonder, has it always been only old people who believe in the American dream? Is the whole thing based on nostalgia? Is the idea of a bushy-eyed 18-year-old being sent off by his extended family to fight in some extremely just war because he believes in the Stars and Stripes Forever a myth? Was there ever such a thing as food rationing, fireside chats with the President, 4th of July parades and stickball in the street? Obviously life was never like Leave It To Beaver but was it, at least, ever like The Sandlot? Or are these things just lies and bizarre fantasies passed down from generation to generation? I'm tempted to believe that since the 80's are now being propped up as a time of great goodwill and apple pie and so on rather than a time of gas gouging and Noriega and giant multinational corporations sucking the life out that fireside chat bullshit. I talk like this, and I'm a capitalist! I (heart) Giant Multinational Corportations and I loath Fireside Chats, but I still act with angst about the 80's. As I said, we live in a cynical era.

I spoke earlier about Jerry Rubin, though, and Didier Drogba. So there must be some line in the sand that I draw regarding greed. I think $$$ is super-duper and I applaud the pursuit of it, but there is something disgusting and perverse about ex or current revolutionaries parading around with their wallets bulging. I can't put my finger on it, but I can say quite surely that Che Guevara was a lot more Rockefeller than Zapata, and if that wasn't true when the butcher was alive, it is certainly true now. Felicitaciones, Castro, you pig. You've managed to profit wildly on the idea that $$$ is evil. Lived the American Dream, in that sense. But why is Castro or Che a great hero and someone like George Steinbrenner or Roman Abramovich is a great villain? Or that Thai slaughter fiend who bought Man City this year? He's a bad guy, I'm pretty sure. If the Mullahs in the Taliban had come with a load of cash and bought up Coventry City, would we as a people have allowed that? In the name of tolerance and open-mindedness? Even if they'd made the players wear veils? And would that be okay? I wonder.

The question of capitalism v. socialism, especially as it pertains to sports, is a curious and interesting one. One of the only things you could legitimately claim improved under Castro's regime is the performance of Cuba in international athletic competition. Their baseball team is as good as any in the world, including the US and Japan, and they regularly pump out boxers and swimmers and runners that sweep up at the Olympics and Pan American Games and so on. Cynics would point to how well Soviet athletes performed as compared to their Russian counterparts and say, well, every athlete in Cuba is an amateur so it's not really a level playing field. The Cubans would say it dilutes the purity of sport if athletes are performing for lust and avarice rather than the Love Of The Game. And, as much as our Democratic sensibilities are offended by this, we kind of agree, don't we? As a people? We yearn for the days (which, incidentally, never happened) when people played solely because they love the game and not because it was possible to make loads of cash. We look at greed-heads like Alex Rodriguez and Kobe Bryant and we hate them and say they destroy the innocence we're trying to recapture by following their games. We loath the Yankees and Chelsea for buying championships. We mourn the collapse of Shoeless Joe (who was playing in that love-of-the-game era, but nevermind that) and Pete Rose to the powers of personal gain, and especially its influence when your alternative is chivalry.

According to the company line, there would never be a Shoeless Joe or Pete Rose in Cuban baseball because there's no opportunity for Profit. In reality, Livan and Orlando Hernandez and Jose Contreras are Cuba's Pete Rose. Because, you see, what our innocence means to them is almost absolutely nothing. And it shouldn't. It shouldn't mean anything to El Duque if I am offended by his desire to make his living while he lives. Because the truth is, love of the game or no, El Duque was confronted with a clear choice. Continue to live in Cuba, play for the love of the game, viva la revolución, blah blah blah and also die on a filthy, poverty-stricken island with no hope for making a better life for his family. Or, he could abandon mantras and abstractions like "innocence" and "purity" and opt for some of the real comforts of life by becoming a multi-millionaire almost instantly. Realize, the professional life of an athlete is cruelly short. And his own life is much more important than your idea of purity. So, this is why I always support Cuban refugee athletes. I think they're doing the Right Thing.

However, this doesn't excuse the likes of Drogba and I'm sure my reasoning is intellectually unsound. If someone in the inner city, say, brings it on themselves to get an education and starts a business or something, we applaud it. If the same person makes the same $$$ in gangs or crime syndicates, then they're a shame and a Bad Person. To me, signing with Chelsea even if you didn't want to (as Drogba claims to have done in a recent interview, even saying he hoped he failed his physical so the deal wouldn't go through) is about the same as hustling to feed your family. So, hell, we can be pro-$$$ and anti-corruption, can't we?

This was well too scattered to be a proper essay on the subject and well too organized to belong here. I'll do better next time! Suerte.

Baseball & Politics, for Real This Time

2007-11-08T20:02:00.000-07:00

Okay. Now that evil Rangers have been dispatched into the wilderness by the mighty goodness of Barcelona, we can get back on track. And that is, as promised, some thoughts on baseball and politics.

The big news, obviously, is steroids steroids steroids but let's be clear that none of that shit matters. Athletes have been taking drugs since there have been athletes and any self-righteous old-timer who thinks he did it the right way because he didn't inject HGH in his ass between series when he was, instead, hopped up on amphetamines to get by on those awful, cruel day games right after night games is as delusional as he is hypocritical. And, I'm not saying I'm talking about Hank Aaron, but who else could it be? At least Willie Mays, maybe the biggest speedfreak this side of Abby Hoffman, has the balls to stand by Barry Bonds, swollen head and all, while he shatters the record of the aforementioned Hammerin' Hank. If anything, I'd say, these old players might have the right to be disappointed that their drugs weren't as potent or useful as the ones Bonds, Giambi, et al have been ingesting. But any kind of moral outrage is obscenely hollow and short-sighted. These people are Liars or, worse, Naive. Someone should do something.

The real weirdness in the whole steroid thing is that humans are willing to risk everything for something as arbitrary as the home run record. If someone had found copious amounts of horse growth chemicals swimming around the coked-out skull of Ken Caminiti's carcass and said to themselves, "This would definitely be an appropriate price to pay to win the 1996 NL MVP," then I would have to disagree. But there are loads of folks who evidently do think that the lesson from Mark McGwire is less "It is a bad thing to embarrass yourself and your family in front of Congress" and more "Man, wasn't 1998 awesome?!" The Mitchell Investigation is about to name names, and there will be 11 current free agents on the list. No word on whether that includes Mike Cameron, who is already suspended for the first 25 games of next year for abusing some banned substances, or at least not knowing how to use a Whizzinator. We can run down the list of people who've actually been busted for steroids and think that they were all pretty likely targets. Troy Glaus? Obvious. McGwire, Canseco, et al, very obvious. But what about Wally Joyner and Lenny Dykstra and Jorge Piedra and Marvin Benard and Bobby Estalella? I think those are pretty good counterpoints, myself, but what the hell? The world needs a good witch hunt now and again, and since commies are all eradicated and all the Terrorists are being swung up on hooks and beaten like piñatas at Gitmo and Siberia or wherever, who better than Major League Baseball players? Do you hear that, Julio Lugo? We're coming for you, and we're pissed!

The freakshow of the primary candidates for the Presidential Election is another reasonable topic, although I'm a little worried I have nothing to say about them. The Republicans have sent out a whole host of folks who sounded like good candidates in 2004, but this is karmic revenge for selling their souls and probably asses to Karl Rove and BushCo for the last 8 years. You could have Big Bird and Mr. Rogers run on a platform of "Smile, everybody!" and they'd still lose if they ran as Republicans. Even if they promised to make Gandhi the Sec. of State and Orville Redenbacher the Sec. of Yummy. They're doomed.

Well, they should be. The Democrats aren't as good as they look, and if that's not a thought that sums up the Democratic party as a whole, I don't know what is. Clinton is a weird, fiendish matriarch, like an old schoolmaster out of a Dickens novel, only with a little bit better haircut. She said in a debate that Washington lobbyists represent ordinary Americans, and this was a good hint that she's been eating too many mushrooms out of the Capitol's staffer stash or, I fear, maybe she is just very very stupid. She doesn't seem too stupid, though, does she?, so mushrooms is the only logical conclusion. Nevertheless, a bunch of howling idiots support her candidacy, maybe because they're anxious to have a little more estrogen on the evening news. Ah, who the fuck am I kidding? No one watches the evening news. And Hillary would add about as much estrogen to the party as Bill did. To her credit, though, that's far more than has been emitted from Corazón Aquino, Margaret Thatcher, Andrea Merkel, et al. So, good luck with that. After she and Obama (possibly a decent man?), the crowd gets thin. Any liberal who's all pumped about the field of candidates this year would do well to remind himself that Joe Biden is the one that makes the most sense in the debates and then would do well to downgrade the tequila and rum he drinks to things a little more like rubbing alcohol in both flavor and lethal tendencies.

What freaks. The best possible scenario is a Clinton/Giuliani match-up where Bloomberg runs as an independent and Ron Paul carries his internet support to get his 5% for matching funds in 2012, even though it won't matter by then because nobody will win a majority, it will go to congress, who will fight it out for several years before turning it over to the Supreme Court. Then it will get ugly. I suspect Nancy Pelosi will take Clarence Thomas and Anton Scalia hostage and torture them in her horrible basement dungeon every night until they swear under oath that the Constitution is a living, breathing document. Just as they emerge, though, they'll all be killed in a hail of gunfire by a resurgent Tom DeLay, who will then install a grotesque and grisly Dick Cheney, since wounded heavily in the chariot races that Sitting President Charlton Heston instituted on the Mall (reflecting pool paved over and made a kind of luxury box for Mel Gibson and a raving mob of anti-semites to bet wildly and shout "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" whenever a Jewish rider or even a circumcised horse runs by) as Emperor For Life. No, of course, I am not wishing Dick Cheney to be instituted as Emperor For Life but it'd be a hell of a lot more fun than what's going to happen, a stupid frontrunner election that comes down to who wins Ohio or, worse, New Mexico.

In closing, Vegas seems to be offering stupid odds on the NBA Championship this year. Hint: a 7 game series is a hell of a lot more fluky than an 82 game season. So, even if San Antonio and Phoenix are the most likely to win it all, and surely the most likely to win the Western Conference, if you can get good odds on decent teams from the Eastern Conference, take them. Figure the 7th best team in the Eastern Conference is more likely to make the Finals than the 3rd best team in the Western Conference since the West is so top heavy. And you can get Washington at 80-1 right now. You're welcome in advance.

Politics and Baseball will have to Wait

2007-11-07T13:35:00.000-07:00

Because, at the risk of sending the whole thing spinning into a spiral of hellish, hubris-biting hexation, Barcelona are currently sending Rangers a strong message about who is who in Europe. I don't necessarily agree with Leo Messi that Rangers played anti-football in their first match in the Champions League, because if I was Rangers and I was welcoming the Catalan attack machine into my home, I would probably forget all about offense and hunker down in pursuit of a 0-0 tie myself. Because the strike force of Messi, Thierry Henry and Ronaldinho is as dangerous a weapon as has ever been unleashed in the world of club football (I would even say it is better than the Argentinian trio of Messi, Carlos Tevez and Hernan Crespo but maybe not quite on par with the Brazilian threesome of Ronaldinho, Robinho and Kaka) and the only reasonable thing for a B-list, sectarian, blood-thirsty, drunken Scottish clusterfuck club like Rangers to do is dig into the trenches, put everybody but Cousin in the box and hack away at the knees of the glorious invading forces. Sure, they did what they had to do.

But, when they come to the Nou Camp, they can forget all about defending themselves because it is impossible. Also-rans like Rangers have no choice but to stand gawking at the majesty of the Barcelona kingdom and just enjoy the sights and sounds of the thing and hope that Stuttgart beats Lyon. (They probably won't. They're down 3-1 right now.) So, Henry sent a clear message in the 6th minute and that message is, "Fool me once, blah blah blah, fuck you Rangers." That Messi, the lightning fast 20-year-old, with his anti-anti-football would slot one in right before the half is just about perfect, in terms of demonstrating that while Rangers may have won the battle at Ibrox, they never had any chance of winning the war and they never will.

I would say Barca fans are kind of spoiled, since Henry and Ronaldinho have both been the target of some extremely unjust speculation and hearsay this year, but we deserve to be because rooting for Barcelona is rooting for everything good in the world. Someone has to stand up to the fascist influence of Real Madrid, and counteract the juggernauts of the world with some beautiful 40 yard passes and a shirt that is sponsored by UNICEF instead of a phone company or somebody. Not that Barca don't have $$$, but you have to, and they spend it on players who mean something revolutionary, instead of players who make the cover of Four Four Two. The truly depressing thing is when Barca-style players sign with Madrid, because even good and radical freedom fighters sometimes sell out for the safety and comfort of Big Business. Just look at Jerry Rubin. Or Didier Drogba. This summer, when all the talk was of the golden-boy Kaka moving to Madrid, it couldn't have happened for the same reason the Penguin can't beat Batman, except for dramatic effect. Kaka may be playing for the Mafia at AC Milan, but that's a long way from playing for Franco and his Fascists in Madrid in terms of amorality.

Anyway, loving Barcelona is the same as loving beauty and truth (all ye need to know) and so when some crossbow-firing, vitriolic hate machine like Rangers engages in savagery to keep the good things of the world from victory, we know that's Not Right. And, sometimes the cynics among us believe that things that are Not Right happen all the time and that's just the way of things, but other times, Barcelona gets their revenge by popping in 2 against the supposedly impenetrable Rangers defense before the half, and then maybe there's reason for hope.

I don't necessarily mean that Barcelona winning today means we're entering a golden age of an Obama/Paul ticket winning the white house, or an eradication of sectarianism worldwide, but it's a start. Of course, the game's not over, and the Champions League is a long and grueling fight that still has oligarchs and fascists and mafiosos and gangsters and thieves alive and well, so, like El Pipila says, Aún hay otras Alhóndigas por incendiar. Look it up.

Sunday Afternoon is the new Friday Night

2007-11-06T16:50:00.000-07:00

I do not like American Football but I know it. This is an advantage when it comes to betting, because I have no emotional attachment to any Team or Player. The only exception to this rule is a vicious and brutal hatred for the Dallas Cowboys and New England Patriots, but I bet on both of them on Sunday and won, so the lesson is clear.

I gave 2-1 on the Patriots and 5.5 points on the Cowboys and I was confident enough to have doubled either bet, which almost came back to bite me with New England but never with Dallas. Hubris got the best of me in the Cowboys/Eagles game, though, because I gave 28 points when they were up 38-10 and lost what I would have won on the original bet. So, another lesson learned. One I should've learned from Beowulf but evidently did not.

Zakis felt good about the Eagles bet from the beginning. I offered to double the bet for 10 points after the Eagles went up 7-0 but he wavered and I backed out. I should've known, though. Tony Romo is a movie star and a below average quarterback on a very good team, the Joe Namath of his day, and Wade Phillips is a perpetual malcontent with no history of winning at anything. But the defense, especially the secondary, is a highly trained killing machine. Terence Newman is like the stealth bomber, only more deadly, and Roy Williams is the first player in recent memory to have a whole rule invented to prevent the kind of ugly and efficient slaughter he routinely hands out on hapless backs and receivers. Finally, of course, Terrell Owens is a madman with an axe to grind and if you can't ever really trust him, you should always fear him. Some days, he'll bowl over every pathetic and scared cornerback in the league and some days, he'll try and overdose on pain pills and then blame the whole thing on his publicist or Bill Parcells. I would never suggest relying on him, especially in the long term, but he gives you a pretty good contrast to Romo and Phillips because it seems like the only thing he cares about is destroying everything that's in his way. For his teammates and coaches, this can be deadly, because sometimes he thinks that they are the ones in his way. But, when he doesn't, I don't know what teammate I'd rather have.

I was counting on Owens being in deadly form when I made that 28 point bet with Zakis, who I knew would take it because he's a gambling addict and a man who Likes Football. I don't think he was relying on the shifty apathy of Wade Phillips, but that's what I was wary of, and that's what lost me the bet. This is why the Cowboys will not win the Super Bowl this year. They have the talent, and nothing would make me happier than watching Roy Williams horse collar Randy Moss in the Big Game, but Phillips is a loser and Romo is a maricon. They have No Chance.

Anyway, American Football is unspeakably boring under normal conditions for anyone with the attention span of an adult, but fun to watch if you fill yourself up with enough wine, cigarettes and marijuana and also have some money riding on the thing. I highly recommend spending some Sunday afternoons this way, and if you can find some place that also shows Premiership, La Liga and Serie A matches, then you should be in regular heaven, as long as you don't have any emotional attachments to outcomes. Never Bet On Your Own Team. It is crushing enough to watch your team lose without knowing you will be hurt financially because of it, and it distorts the purity of your team winning if you're partly excited because of Avarice. That's a deadly sin, you know, though I don't think it's one of the commandments. Either way, there's a circle of Hell for people like me, and probably you, but don't worry because there's no such thing as Hell.

What a fun way to start the thing. Maybe I'll talk about the election next, or baseball. Those are, at least, things I care about for some reason besides $$$.