Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Day Four: Motivational
Y’see, I’d wanted to write about this thing that happened with my job, but we’re smarter than that (and, also, the situation came to an anticlimactic conclusion). And then I’d wanted to write about this book I finished
reading skimming and how the whole thing seems like a self-congratulatory, calculated publicity stab (no, it wasn’t OJ’s new book about how things COULD have gone had he actually killed his estranged wife and her friend). And then I’d wanted to write about our going to Atlanta this weekend—how it’s not a Meetup, really, but we’ll get to see a handful of our bloggy friends for a few hours drinks (okay, LOTS of drinks). And THEN I felt like I should mention that I’m, inexplicably, LOSING to Patricia in our Steelers vs. Cowboys bet on which team would do better this season (two words, ‘Boys: Start Bledsoe).
Mostly, though, I just felt I should write. Just write.
Drinking • Roadtripping • Sports • The Media • Weekends • (2) Comments closed • Permalink
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
No, Really, This is the Last One.
Three Best Things from World Cup ‘06
- That second goal Brazil scored against Ghana in the second round. Where the guy (not that fucker Ronaldo) received the ball right in front of the goalie and sort of passed it to himself around the goalie’s head.
- That time the player from Trinidad & Tobago was kicked in the balls, and he was lying on the field, reaching into his shorts and rubbing himself . . . for all the world to see. As a teammate was helping him off the field, he was holding open his shorts and spraying cold water on his battered bits. (I’m guessing. He may have had some thirsty rodents in there.)
- That my friend telecommuted for the entire World Cup and was able to watch all 64 games live (with a few exceptions). I watched several games on his giant HDTV (when I should’ve been at work). There’s a funny story where he was on a conference call during the U.S. / Ghana match and he’d told the meeting participants that he’d just come out of another meeting as if he was in the office. Just then, the U.S. scored their only “real” goal of the World Cup and someone in the living room screamed, “IT’S ABOUT FUCKING TIME!” Really, that story only gets better . . . each time I relive it.
Three Five Worst Things from World Cup ‘06
- You know the worst thing has to be the flopping. A soccer-hater in my office forwarded around this crude, line-drawing animation he’d found where one player is doing the alternating step-overs then the other guy kicks the ball away and the first player flops on the ground. About sums it up, right? Maybe the U.S. team would do better if they could master the art of recklessly dribbling the ball into the penalty box and then falling down whenever someone brushes against them, or stumbling over a player who’s been lying prone in their path for several seconds. Because, y’know, I’ve seen players manage to stay upright with another player leaping onto their backs, and jumping over the outstretched legs of opposing players at a full run. Does being near the penalty box suddenly make them “special?” Seriously, the most fascinating thing about the Zidane head-butting incident was that it was the first time I’d seen an Italian player legitimately fall down during the entire tournament.
- On the subject of flopping, how about Marcelo Balboa? At first, I was, all, “Eh, whatever, let’s just watch the game.” But with all of his talk about, “He really sold that” in reference to the flopping, and his general support for taking a dive to gain a cheap scoring opportunity, I started to wince every time he opened this mouth. Jackass.
- Losing $10.
- It’s gonna be really hard for me to get enthusiastic about college football this year. You ask, “Why? How could that be?” And I say, “Because you didn’t graduate from Florida State University, and your alma mater’s coaching staff isn’t going to squander some of the nation’s greatest college football talent. Again.” Or, something like that.
- The U.S. team underperformed. So, in keeping with recent World Cups, maybe in 2010 we’ll light it up. Hey, and Bruce Arena can finally use that substitution he didn’t use in the Italy game. Y’know, like, isn’t there some kind of “Sorry-We-Didn’t-Play-to-Win” raincheck/coupon for World Cup substitutes? “Here you go, Eddie Johnson. Here’s your big chance to shine. Make your country proud.”
Speaking of . . . maybe our next president will realize there’s an international soccer tournament happening and his nation’s team is, in fact, part of it. I’m sure W’d be all over it had it been some fucking cow-chip toss.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Wherein I’m a Fuckin’ Heel. And Anglophiles Everywhere Weep Wee Tears. Again.
So I guess England won’t be beating Portugal for a trip to the semifinals, eh? One nation is transformed into an appropriately sorrow’d collective of Wayne-Rooney-stomping-Portuguese-nuts-replay-watchers, while the other catapults to the top of the heap of Soccer Nations I Love to Hate . . . seriously, right ahead of Spain and Mexico. God bless you, Christian Ronaldo, you fuckin’ choad!
The other news from this weekend was my sister-in-law (in-law) giving birth. Being the one person who’d expressed a disinterest in actually being present to watch, I volunteered to keep Mia and her cousin while everyone went to witness the Miracle of Childbirth. The event started to unfold Monday, and I stayed with the girls. Until I had band practice. Which I did not cancel as we had to prepare for our show (which is tonight). And, as it turned out, the band practice magically coincided with the exact climax and finale of the birth. So Michelle had to sit in for me. Yeah, I suck.
In other news, I’ve had water in my left ear for about five days. And it’s, seriously, starting to drive me right motherfucking crazy.
Sports • Weekends • (3) Comments closed • Permalink
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
I Actually Had a Dream Wherein I Played Soccer Recently
I hadn’t meant to not post anything for more than a week. I’ve even been telling myself, “Post more, not less, post more, not less . . .” It’s not working, apparently.
Besides my regular job, keeping up with the World Cup for my secondary job (as a bookie), working on my freelance job, celebrating fatherhood (and winning some money at poker while doing it), and trying to figure out exactly what the Christ is going on over in Deadwood . . . I, perhaps understandably, haven’t had time for much else. Not that I want to whine about it.
But allow me to further isolate whatever readership I still have by whining about the World Cup. Am I the only one who isn’t happy about the U.S. team tying the Italian team? Sure, we were screwed over by the ref, and maybe we were lucky to avoid allowing another goal (and, yet, lucky to get the goal we did [thanks, Italian defender-dude]), but we scored a (disallowed) goal with nine men. Why did we back off and spend the last 15 minutes of the match in our own half? Why did Bruce Arena sit on the final substitution that he could’ve used to insert Eddie Johnson into the game?
Because we’re happy with a tie, that’s why.* We’re happy needing to win and then STILL needing help from another team, just to advance (and face Brazil).
How about if we had won that game and then went on to beat Ghana, we’d control our own destiny . . . and possibly win the group altogether (and, thus, avoid having to play Brazil right away).
I love the can-do spirit of Americans in international competition, don’t you? What happened to “playing to win?”
In other news, this prison is very close to our house and I drive by it on my way to work. To think, had I left 15 or 20 minutes early and gone the normal route to work, I could’ve seen a SHOOTOUT!
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
I had the opportunity to watch a lot of soccer over the weekend. Some U.S. mens “friendlies” and an MLS match. And, more than once, I think I fell asleep watching. I know, True American response. Still, it’s hard to admit. I want to be the ardant soccer supporter, but there I was, in my father-in-law’s recliner, totally “one-eyeing” it . . . and then NO-eyeing it. Michelle’s voice cut through the darkness, “Honey, you are totally sleeping.”
“No, I’m . . . I wasn’t. I was just resting my eyes.” *
Only a minute later did I realize that the score was different than I remembered. And if I could “rest my eyes” during all the hoopla the commentators make when someone scores a goal in soccer, I MUST have been asleep.
* My grandfather’s favorite cover for cat-napping.