Dearest Mates,
Another Chapter concludes. Time for all of us to once more
finalize those spreadsheets, set up Skype-appointments, and ensure that our
mutual contact information is up-to-date. Our tiny world of football gambling,
blitz-paced riffing, long-overdue re-connections, and general irreverence comes
to an end.To all my valued and treasured old friends: Know that the depth of our fellowship shall endure, even if it is yet again time to allow this website to lie fallow.
It’s also time for your friendly bookie to engage in some of
his trademarked obsequious gushing. He loves you, even if he seemed somewhat
terse and impatient over the course of the last month’s proceedings. He’s still
a “Bleeding Lionheart” who profoundly appreciates each and every last one of
you.
Living a life centered upon valiance engenders all manner of inconvenient endeavors, impractical commitments, and insanely long thankless hours. It remains well worth it. Better than living the life of a mediocre professor. : ) As I’ve often written, live lionhearted or don’t bother living at all. It’s a vast, empty, and godless universe. Those not cognizant of this fact live their insignificant lives on the tenure-track. Hell with them.
Living a life centered upon valiance engenders all manner of inconvenient endeavors, impractical commitments, and insanely long thankless hours. It remains well worth it. Better than living the life of a mediocre professor. : ) As I’ve often written, live lionhearted or don’t bother living at all. It’s a vast, empty, and godless universe. Those not cognizant of this fact live their insignificant lives on the tenure-track. Hell with them.
Incredible tournament we all just witnessed.
A surfeit of draws over the initial two rounds left us with
a full field heading into the final Group Stage Fixtures. In stark contrast to
the Asian Cup (which featured a record number ZERO draws over the first three rounds), this year’s
AFCON sported a record number of
TWENTY-SIX!! Incredible. We all knew that Group D would end up a labyrinthine
snafu after Gervinho’s tantrum, but the drawing of lots was most unforeseen and
most unfair. Major sympathy is in order for Mail, who missed out on the
Knockouts by the cursed short straw.
The Elimination Rounds brought us some epic matches. The
feted “Congolese Derby” didn’t disappoint. It wasn’t quite as enthralling as
the “Iraq vs. Iran” match, but it came damn close. All six goals were scored in
regulation. Nevertheless, it was a pulsating affair. Cote d’Ivoire’s
dismantling of the Desert Foxes was a pretty one to watch. Ditto the Ghanaian
systematic destruction of those lucky Guineans. The “National Thunder” of
Equatorial Guinea snuck by the “Eagles of Carthage” thanks to some appallingly
bad officiating. Good for them. Karma eventually caught up.
We now look forward to a promising final between two
Continental Behemoths. What a coda to close things out with! Cote d’Ivoire and
Ghana kick off Sunday at 20:00 UTC +1. No wagers will be taken, but Syndicate
Members can be expected to at least have the match running in the background
whilst they wash the dishes ; )
As always, your “Neighborhood Betting Syndicate” was
presented in a low-optic and low-key fashion. We don’t have any grand
commercial aspirations around here. It’s merely about “friends and football”,
just as it was nearly thirteen years ago when a forlorn kid from “Herzblut
City” started the whole project in the LSU Computer Lab. The temptation to add
glitz with a Youtube Channel or a Snapchat Account does exist, but it’s fairly
safe to assume that the enterprise will resume absent all but a few minor extra
bells and whistles.
Syndicate coverage of the 2015 FIFA Women’s World Cup is
slated to begin on May 27th, 2015. In the intervening 110 days, ALL
Syndicate Members who bet will receive a “Schwag Pack” after they settle their
debts. This includes the 11 of you who insisted on rolling their WM 2014
balances over to the next tournament. Let’s all get square with the house
before we embark upon what promises to be an epic tournament. It will work best
if we can all begin with a clean slate.
At some point during the dormant period your friendly bookie
plans a “Syndicate Re-Release” of some old hobby writing. Everyone deserves a
break from the migraine-inducing green text that I superstitiously use for
football blogs. (Recall that green is the color of the DFB. It MUST be so!).
The old Hobby Writing Website your friendly bookie often touted turned out to
be nothing more than a quixotic Pipe Dream, but we could all use a bit of extra
fun as we get warmed up for this Summer’s event.
Not much else to cover, other than how unbelievably
enjoyable “Goodbyes Sections” are to write. You really can’t imagine how delightfully
gratifying these sections are. The happiest guy in the world hacks his keyboard
to pieces writing these sincere posts. So it has been all the way back to the
beginning. I’m very pleased to share some of my favorite compositions from the
past twelve plus years.
From WM 2002—“The Humble Beginnings of a Syndicate”:
To my dearest friends old and new,
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Sob. How sweet. Time for a swift walk around the block.
I can scarcely believe that within a few hours we shall
have no excuse to talk to one another. What a tragedy! L
A short month ago I found myself friendless and clinically depressed. Loneliness cuts deeper than any other adverse emotion, particularly when it descends upon an eccentric character such as myself. Contact buoys one’s perspective in so many subtle metaphysical ways. Hearing from every last one of you has kept me afloat…even those e-mails that respectfully indicated that the sender had no fucking clue what I was talking about. The World’s Game has brought us all together, and reminded a soul wandering astray of the undeniable importance of scope.
Such a wide-open realm of possibilities we live in…wide as the perfectly manicured football pitches I’ve spent the better part of this summer staring at. The money is appreciated, but all of you have given me something that is impossible to quantify…you’ve once again revived my understanding of how incredibly large and complex this earth on which we all live is. Such a beautiful intricacy! Such a magnificent snafu! It’s filled with amazing people, all of whom I have privilege to know.
A short month ago I found myself friendless and clinically depressed. Loneliness cuts deeper than any other adverse emotion, particularly when it descends upon an eccentric character such as myself. Contact buoys one’s perspective in so many subtle metaphysical ways. Hearing from every last one of you has kept me afloat…even those e-mails that respectfully indicated that the sender had no fucking clue what I was talking about. The World’s Game has brought us all together, and reminded a soul wandering astray of the undeniable importance of scope.
Such a wide-open realm of possibilities we live in…wide as the perfectly manicured football pitches I’ve spent the better part of this summer staring at. The money is appreciated, but all of you have given me something that is impossible to quantify…you’ve once again revived my understanding of how incredibly large and complex this earth on which we all live is. Such a beautiful intricacy! Such a magnificent snafu! It’s filled with amazing people, all of whom I have privilege to know.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Waaaaaahhh! Can’t take it. Need another walk around the
block. Why are we all so distracted? Why is our instinctual reaction to all the
inner-torment to spread more misery around? What fucking good does it do to
drag others down to the level of your insecurity via some petty protectionism?
Why all the gossip, games, lies, exaggerations, and chest pounding?
What precludes us from reaching out to one another in the spirit of good will and harmony? Sigh Since none of the questions posed fit the answer of “forty-two”, I confess to be thoroughly un-enlightened with respect to the deeper quandaries of the human race. Incidentally, should anyone be interested (which they’re likely not), these old “Goodbye” sections are excruciatingly painful to re-read.
What precludes us from reaching out to one another in the spirit of good will and harmony? Sigh Since none of the questions posed fit the answer of “forty-two”, I confess to be thoroughly un-enlightened with respect to the deeper quandaries of the human race. Incidentally, should anyone be interested (which they’re likely not), these old “Goodbye” sections are excruciatingly painful to re-read.
The cheers echo all across this continent, through the
heart of Europe, to the Southernmost tips of Africa and South America, all the
way through Eurasia to the cradled islands of the Pacific Ocean. Great show,
Lads. Bravo, boys. Gratitude to all footballers and football fans.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Anyone
ever have the feeling that the theme from “Nobody’s Fool” runs on a constant
uninterrupted loop in their head?
From EM 2004—“Revenge of the Syndicate”:
My syndicate brothers,
Another Summer of Revival and Rebirth arrives at its
culmination. As a committed Atheist I must admit, much to my chagrin, that the
events of the past four weeks oblige me to proclaim faith in two separate sets
of Deities. It appears that we must accept the existence of the order of Mount
Olympus.
No other explanation suffices to explain how in the hell the Hellenes (80-1 odds prior to the tournament) are now one valiant miracle away from capturing the only continental title that matters.
No other explanation suffices to explain how in the hell the Hellenes (80-1 odds prior to the tournament) are now one valiant miracle away from capturing the only continental title that matters.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
I
would like to qualify that statement by saying that I now find the African Cup
of Nations eminently entertaining. Africa is the only continent that holds a
meaningful annual tournament, and it’s always a showdown between an unlikely
Cinderella and an established power. This year Zambia astonishingly knocked off
Cote d’Ivoire. The whole Endspiel was so gripping that my Internet connection
gave out no fewer than fourteen times. Cote d’Ivoire, Ghana, and Cameroon had
previously fallen to the mighty three-peat Egyptian champions. Thanks to the
Arab Spring, the Northern African football programs are all in disarray.
This means we can all look forward to a few years of truly competitive African Football….maybe even a lighthearted Sportsbook courtesy of your friendly bookie JJ Before embarking on such an endeavor, I still must figure out what is consistently funny about Africa. You have my word that I’m on it J That being said, I insist upon laying down the law. Ahem. Africa and Europe provide the only worthwhile regional tournaments. Fuck your insipid CONCACAF Gold Cup. What shit could I possibly give about a tournament that will perpetually come down to Mexico vs. The U.S. Juniors? The Copa America never fails to escape my interest. The Asia Cup and the OFC Nations Cup put me straight to sleep. Viva Afrika! Viva Europa!
This means we can all look forward to a few years of truly competitive African Football….maybe even a lighthearted Sportsbook courtesy of your friendly bookie JJ Before embarking on such an endeavor, I still must figure out what is consistently funny about Africa. You have my word that I’m on it J That being said, I insist upon laying down the law. Ahem. Africa and Europe provide the only worthwhile regional tournaments. Fuck your insipid CONCACAF Gold Cup. What shit could I possibly give about a tournament that will perpetually come down to Mexico vs. The U.S. Juniors? The Copa America never fails to escape my interest. The Asia Cup and the OFC Nations Cup put me straight to sleep. Viva Afrika! Viva Europa!
In addition, I profess unequivocal conviction in the
blessings of an eccentric group of pseudo-intellectuals known as “The
Syndicate” “Summer’s gone, A Summer Song. I look at you and then I’m gone.” At
I think those were the lyrics. The best I can do from hazy memories of being a
flannel-shirt-clad young lad who foolishly thought that there was such a thing as
an “Alternative Revolution”. I’ll miss all of you. I’ll think of all of you. I
might even fantasize about the three female ones that came close enough to
giving a shit about football that you wrote me. Great to hear from you, Ladies.
J
How about we engage in some wagers in subsequent times?
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Hahahaha.
The infamous trio included two ex-girlfriends and one soon to be ex-girlfriend.
In keeping with the essential spirit of respect, I shall not identify anyone
beyond those with whom I’m so close that they should have seen it coming. “The
Three” do, however, do justifiably deserve a smile and a wink. You were and
surely continue to be very nice girls. No hard feelings on this side.
It wasn’t your fault that your boyfriend was hopelessly crestfallen over some below-average expendable mare. There we are. Before getting into any more trouble, let’s expend some words on Vicey’s wretched pursuit of a proportionate soundtrack for his schmaltzy farewells. The preceding words were written to Jan Garbarek’s “Twelve Moons”, spinning interminably on the old trusted JVC “Multi-Bass Horn”. Back in 2008, the Economist devoted an entire holiday double issue to the reasons we love music.
Bottom line? The notes stimulate certain unreachable dormant neural networks that would otherwise be inaccessible. Your mind contains over 300 Octillion separate neurons. To put that in perspective, that’s roughly the amount of grains of sand on earth or number of stars in the universe. Moreover, there’s very little you can do short of drinking yourself into a coma or snorting cocaine five times a day for fifteen years to kill them off.
Merely because their not readily accessible doesn’t mean that you cannot gain passage through the proper stimuli. Music happens to be one of hundreds of thousands of incentives for you to infiltrate the dark recesses of your mind; the hitherto quartered offed and insurmountable barriers. I earnestly hope you allow your own personal melodies endow you with the license of penetrating your own impervious barriers. Now we’ll progress to the Top Ten songs that inspire me to write a proficient “Goodbyes Section”:
It wasn’t your fault that your boyfriend was hopelessly crestfallen over some below-average expendable mare. There we are. Before getting into any more trouble, let’s expend some words on Vicey’s wretched pursuit of a proportionate soundtrack for his schmaltzy farewells. The preceding words were written to Jan Garbarek’s “Twelve Moons”, spinning interminably on the old trusted JVC “Multi-Bass Horn”. Back in 2008, the Economist devoted an entire holiday double issue to the reasons we love music.
Bottom line? The notes stimulate certain unreachable dormant neural networks that would otherwise be inaccessible. Your mind contains over 300 Octillion separate neurons. To put that in perspective, that’s roughly the amount of grains of sand on earth or number of stars in the universe. Moreover, there’s very little you can do short of drinking yourself into a coma or snorting cocaine five times a day for fifteen years to kill them off.
Merely because their not readily accessible doesn’t mean that you cannot gain passage through the proper stimuli. Music happens to be one of hundreds of thousands of incentives for you to infiltrate the dark recesses of your mind; the hitherto quartered offed and insurmountable barriers. I earnestly hope you allow your own personal melodies endow you with the license of penetrating your own impervious barriers. Now we’ll progress to the Top Ten songs that inspire me to write a proficient “Goodbyes Section”:
10)
“Wake me up when September Ends” –Green Day
9) “My
son” –Nubou Uematsu
8)
“Dreamlover” –Faye Wong
7)
“You’ll Never Walk Alone” –Die Tote Hosen
6)
“X-mas card from a Hooker in Minneapolis” –Tom Waits
5)
“The Blood of Eden” –Peter Gabriel
4)
“Ask me Now” –Thelonius Monk
3)
“With God on our Side” –The Neville Brothers
2) “Soledad” –Pharaoh Sanders
1) “Parce Mine Dominihe” –Jan Garbarek and
the Hilliard Ensemble
Thankfully
a man named David Letterman popularized the Top Ten List. I, like every last
one of you, would have been elated to present my Top 100 list. The former
roommates even knew how to put a decent sound together. All of us have the
inherent ability to compose a symphony, be it through words, notes, cadence, or
what might otherwise be construed as prosaic work. Don’t get me wrong. I find
indistinct paint splotches to be as trite as the next man. One simply has to
believe that every last creature has something majestic to bequeath us all
with…..a typical feeling when one is listening to Pharaoh Sanders.
From WM 2006—“The Curse of the Syndicate”:
The
most prying among you will wonder why I’ve devoted so much time and virulent
vehemence toward the obsessive and excessive chronicling of a silly game. The
answer, as it has been for the past four years, is that we need an excuse to
get together. “What’s the point of calling?” has to be one of the fairest
questions inhibiting any hard-working individual concerned with the
particularized aspects of their daily life. Every four years the beautiful goes global, giving us the specific countermand we need to defeat that defeatist query. Booze, the eternal companion of sports viewing, also helps. Every other two years, the Europeans provide us with a comparable opportunity. To those of you who skipped over my Euro 2004 commentary, please hang with me in two years time for Euro 2008. It won’t be the same without you, and I sincerely mean that.
Wasted
and wounded.
It
a’int what the (morose) moon did.
I’ll
see you tomorrow.
Hey
Frank, can I borrow.
A
couple of bucks from you
To go
a waltzing adherents
Waltzing,
adherents
You,
come a waltzing
Adherents
with me
The
lyrics belong to the only man to openly admit that he’s happy to grow older. I
concur with Tom Waits one hundred percent. Someday I’ll ripen into the old guy
I’ve always wanted to be. Hopefully, you’ll all be around…and I’ll see you….on
a downtown train.
From EM 2008—“Syndicate United”
Damn what a fine world we live in syndicate members,
Vicey needs a new moniker. How about “Man on Top of the
World”? A cursory reading of that title might lead one to conclude that the
king sits in his counting house high atop the fortune he’s amassed through a
tiny amount of manipulation and great deal of luck. Not the case. I’m rich in
ways that extend far beyond monetary rewards.
Caught up my work and soon headed towards a bright shiny future, I now have the honor of watching my country win its fourth European Championship with the best cohort of internationally minded friends anyone could ever ask for. Many of you I’ve known for years. Others I can hardly wait to work with. No matter the outcome of Saturday’s match, it’s into the unrelenting sunshine with all of us
Caught up my work and soon headed towards a bright shiny future, I now have the honor of watching my country win its fourth European Championship with the best cohort of internationally minded friends anyone could ever ask for. Many of you I’ve known for years. Others I can hardly wait to work with. No matter the outcome of Saturday’s match, it’s into the unrelenting sunshine with all of us
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Oh
fuck….an icy piercing stab tells me this will be the most painfully awkward set
of retroactive notes yet.
It’s been my great privilege to share words with those
deeply attuned to the great geopolitical challenges of our day.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Noooooooooo…don’t
do it, Vicey!
I look forward to further fellowship with the especially
find minds soon to flower in the service of International Organizations,
Non-Profits, Research Institutes, and Think Tanks.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Aaaaah.
Make it stop. Please someone make it stop!
From WM 2010—“Attack of the Syndicate”:
State-side
syndicate members, it was an honor to spend a month with all of you. J I was thoroughly delighted to
hear from every last one. It was my pleasure to hear where you are living now,
what bullshit job has you frustrated, what graduate program is kicking your
ass, what new babies your wife pooped out, what you decided to name those
babies, and even what color vomit those babies spewed out last Tuesday.
You were deemed syndicate members because you are journeymen like me.
Every two years you find yourself in a fresh situation with loads of new exciting developments to report and tons of fresh quick-witted jabs to deliver. To all of those that I’ve met during my travels, my sojourns, and my more extended stays I merely wish to convey to you the following: The whole past month of furious writing was just for you. To all those who have found their place in life, and to those who continue to seek, glad we could share a global tournament over the past thirty days. JJ
May we all meet again in two years time, regardless of where on this planet life has decided to lead us. May we all once again congregate to celebrate the beautiful game and its universal appeal. May we all yet again wager money, level puerile insults, and catch up on the cell until the sun threatens to rise or set. The spectacle shall return. My sincere hope is that not one among us will be too busy to revel in it.
You were deemed syndicate members because you are journeymen like me.
Every two years you find yourself in a fresh situation with loads of new exciting developments to report and tons of fresh quick-witted jabs to deliver. To all of those that I’ve met during my travels, my sojourns, and my more extended stays I merely wish to convey to you the following: The whole past month of furious writing was just for you. To all those who have found their place in life, and to those who continue to seek, glad we could share a global tournament over the past thirty days. JJ
May we all meet again in two years time, regardless of where on this planet life has decided to lead us. May we all once again congregate to celebrate the beautiful game and its universal appeal. May we all yet again wager money, level puerile insults, and catch up on the cell until the sun threatens to rise or set. The spectacle shall return. My sincere hope is that not one among us will be too busy to revel in it.
From FWM 2011—“Bride of Syndicate”:
This
project’s brevity notwithstanding, we’ve once again managed share something
significant together. I certainly learned more about this particular game. I
now know more about 126 women than any dirty hermit should. It’s been a blast,
far more fun than anything else I’ve researched this year. I’ve also learned
that having an American mother entitles me to root for American Women. For those who are hopeful that my newfound nationalism will enable me to applaud the U.S. Men’s side…….sorry, I don’t do treason.
Should the States meet my beloved Mannschaft in any international competition, a scant few nanoseconds will be required for me to determine my loyalty. Sorry, Yanks. Women are acceptable, but I cannot enlist in Sam’s Army. They have ways of making me talk….and I’ve always liked talking to them. It’ll never happen.
More
important than anything related to this competition, the most rewarding things
I’ve learned come from you, syndicate members. I’ve learned of new locations,
new occupations, new familial additions and new familial departures. I’ve
listened with glee in learning about situations in which all goes swimmingly.
I’ve been disquieted to learn about unfortunate states of affairs where even the
ingenuity of two creative minds is remiss to find grounds for optimism.
Above
all, I’ve learned that another year has passed and we all continue to grind on.
In the face of disappointments, personal tragedy, and troubles we could have
never prepared for, pressing forward is the automatic response. For what is
life but an endless series of challenges? The further we stretch, the higher
the sky. The longer we carry the heavier the load. Hardly a moment prevails
during which one might pause to congratulate oneself when more trials and the
insecurities associated therewith loom on the horizon. Barely time to reflect
upon what one has accomplished when the glare of what one hasn’t dominates
perception.
Allow
me to personally congratulate all of you with whom I’ve had the pleasure of
spending this time with for moving forward through another year. Whatever
wounding criticisms you face are nothing more than impermanent illusions. No
syndicate member that I am aware of is incapable of grasping the important lessons
and revving ahead. Let the academics be consumed with the empty vanity that
precludes them from listening to any speakers other than themselves at a
conference.
May we continue to speak with one another in the spirit of enjoyment and discovery. To hell with the future one is expected to “win” for oneself. Although I hope these past three weeks have been something of an entertaining distraction for you, a larger hope is that I may still be considered a true friend; one that you may call anytime; one that you may always rely upon.
May we continue to speak with one another in the spirit of enjoyment and discovery. To hell with the future one is expected to “win” for oneself. Although I hope these past three weeks have been something of an entertaining distraction for you, a larger hope is that I may still be considered a true friend; one that you may call anytime; one that you may always rely upon.
From EM 2012—“Syndicate Resurrection”:
“To my dearest friends both old and new”,
Ten years ago a burgeoning writer gradually emerging from
the harrowing tribulations of adolescence chose to employ this sincerest of
greetings. After a month of hammering out flippant and facetious content, he
could no longer resist conveying his genuine affection for a solid core of over
a hundred individuals who graciously shared their time and wit with him.
A decade has passed. Many of us have grown old together. Even though the responsibilities of adult life have shifted our priorities, we’ve retained the priceless character traits levity, perspicacity, and (of course) true heart.
A decade has passed. Many of us have grown old together. Even though the responsibilities of adult life have shifted our priorities, we’ve retained the priceless character traits levity, perspicacity, and (of course) true heart.
When we began we were but children; soul-searching wanders,
united merely by a rapacious sense of curiosity and “Wanderlust”. The beautiful
game afforded us a pleasant distraction; a mood-elevating diversion we happily
engaged in with hopes of parlaying our renewed vigor into the future. As the
arrow of time has moved along its inevitable linear path, more and more of us
have found our place in this world.
I thank my wonderfully beautiful syndicate members for every last detailed reports on the new locations, new careers, and new families. Though I write a similar iteration on this theme every year, it has been an especially touching one. My heart sings at the news of your triumphs; triumphs of the lionhearted over an all-too-often petty and unkind world. You sharp ones deserve every last bit of success you presently enjoy.
I thank my wonderfully beautiful syndicate members for every last detailed reports on the new locations, new careers, and new families. Though I write a similar iteration on this theme every year, it has been an especially touching one. My heart sings at the news of your triumphs; triumphs of the lionhearted over an all-too-often petty and unkind world. You sharp ones deserve every last bit of success you presently enjoy.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Looking
back at it all, I’m genuinely grateful for all my struggles, false-starts, and
near misses. They enabled me to speak to you from the heart. Thanks for
speaking back ; )
Then there are those who must still struggle through
despair and doubt. These month-long festivals are, as always, dedicated to you.
Though the more heartfelt exchanges cannot compete with the snarky ones in
terms of entertaining copy, I assure you they outnumber those selected for the
mailbag 20-1. It is precisely because of these communiqués that I can easily be
so nonchalant when dealing with what might otherwise be one or two piercing
personal attacks. To those ‘on the brink’ of the personal fulfillment they
seek, I offer you the heartfelt promise that the Syndicate will always be there
for you.
More importantly, this Shadow Scholar will ALWAYS be here for you. I refer to you ‘on the brink’ of your individual aspirations, because I will not allow you to fail. Whatever anguish and dejection currently ails you, I will not allow you to face it alone. Your friendly bookie will never stand pat, picking you up and carrying you on his shoulders if he must. No one gets left behind in our circle. Absolutely no one. This world has place for all of us yet. We’ll strive until the very end.
More importantly, this Shadow Scholar will ALWAYS be here for you. I refer to you ‘on the brink’ of your individual aspirations, because I will not allow you to fail. Whatever anguish and dejection currently ails you, I will not allow you to face it alone. Your friendly bookie will never stand pat, picking you up and carrying you on his shoulders if he must. No one gets left behind in our circle. Absolutely no one. This world has place for all of us yet. We’ll strive until the very end.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
No
rest for the weary. If anything, my personal failures only strengthened my
determination to let NO ONE ELSE experience similarly dark moments. I’ll be
there for you. I promise.
New members, new friends, and the poor souls who stumbled
across this site when randomly googling something EM-related may be surprised
that we finish in such an austere and even thoughtful fashion. It has always
been so. Our core, now nearly 300 strong, constitutes an actual team. One might
even say that we’re family. Once a year we get to relive the carefree, halcyon
days of youthful indiscretion through some frivolous fluff. We’re quite the
international crew, from every last continent on earth (except Antarctica…no
penguin members that I’m aware of).
There’s a very good reason winnings aren’t disseminated until the end of tournament. It takes me the better part of three days to calculate over 500 bets taken in U.S. Dollars, Canadian Dollars, Australian Dollars, Euros, British Pounds, Polish Zloty, Swedish Kroner, Czech Kroner, Swiss Francs, Mexican Pesos, Argentine Pesos, and a whole host of ridiculous African currencies. Christ, now you at least know why I’m so adamant about preserving the single currency.
There’s a very good reason winnings aren’t disseminated until the end of tournament. It takes me the better part of three days to calculate over 500 bets taken in U.S. Dollars, Canadian Dollars, Australian Dollars, Euros, British Pounds, Polish Zloty, Swedish Kroner, Czech Kroner, Swiss Francs, Mexican Pesos, Argentine Pesos, and a whole host of ridiculous African currencies. Christ, now you at least know why I’m so adamant about preserving the single currency.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
The
next bit covers “misfits”; a fitting term to describe those of us who, in spite
of an unrelenting commitment to hard work and self-improvement, still must
suffer under the duress of our own existential dilemmas…along with a few that
others will invariably heap upon us. It’s all dedicated to you, brothers. Keep
at it. Keep working. Keep striving. There’s no other way to get where you’re
going. We’ll all end up somewhere reasonably tolerable. I’m sure of it ; )
We are the world’s misfits, the international journeymen
of Generation Y, a ragtag group of pseudo-intellectuals who are always up for a
heavy conversation over a beer. We’ve got opinions on political elections
taking place all over the world. We’ll debate songs, films, or books with you
until the sun comes up. As much as we love waving our own flags, someone who
waves another will always remain more intriguing. We are global citizens, never
fully content to stray from the cracks between nation states for too long. We crave
the stimulation of the undiscovered harder than the most hardcore of junkies.
WE ARE THE SYNDICATE!!
From CAN 2013—“Syndicate: Dark Continent”:
Dear Friends,
All too often I find myself reiterating the Syndicate’s
core purpose: a congregational ground for those of the sharpest wit. It is in
this spirit that I’m proud to share with you the most outstanding e-mail I’ve
received over the past weeks
Reader:
Insofar as I can tell, your blog project is essentially NPR. You provide dry,
nuanced information free of charge, and anyone who consume the content gets a
free tote bag.
Hehehe. Couldn’t have put it better myself. All loyal
members can expect their “Schwag Pack” in the post before the end of the month.
Admittedly, it’s one of the more atrocious business models you’ll ever
encounter. Such a shame that I’m not business-minded when away from my job.
What I am, who I am…is nothing more than a sincere thinker who appreciates
company….just like you. Sports that transcend borders have afforded us an opportunity
to get together every so often. Isn’t that cool?
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Take note, Syndicate faithful. If you want your place in
the mailbag, produce something of the caliber above.
While The Syndicate isn’t exactly Nikolai Gogol’s Magnum
Opus, piecing it all together does necessitate some work. Insofar as I’M
concerned, the time invested analyzing obscure statistics, happily hacking away
at the keys, setting amateurish lines, coordinating trans-global communication,
and spending an inordinate amount of time in line at the Post Office might as
well be time spent in heaven on earth.
Ordinarily, such “Goodbye Sections” serve as occasions
for an unparalleled set of ruminative thoughts; a chance to bid farewell to
treasured acquaintances until the sands of time fortuitously flow. Life is
short. The sands of time can go take a running jump off a short cliff. In less
than three weeks, we’ll rendezvous again for the World Baseball Classic.
Following that, we’ll break until the Summer.
The newfound frequency of the Syndicate doesn’t mean I’m
not prepared to pour a drink, crank up a little Randy Crawford, and get
entirely too sentimental. I love every last one of you. I miss every last one
of you. My deepest gratitude to all of you for staying in touch and playing a
role in something truly special to me. Wherever we find ourselves, whatever
petty tribulations we face, at least we have each other. No matter what trivial
nonsense dominates our thinking, no matter what daily frivolous and
inconsequential problem threatens to send us astray, no matter what inherently
shallow need drives us toward the brink of madness…we have each other…and that
means everything.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
……and I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry. ; ( ; (
From WBC 2013—“Syndicate: Reloaded”
Dearest
Mates,
Once
again we find ourselves on the precipice of a “non-Syndicate” cycle. Time for
your friendly bookie to slither and squirm back into the “ViceCave” from whence
he came. The next time we convene, we’ll all be contending with the sweltering
summer heat.
Consider that for a moment. No gentlemen will be prompted to enter their wagers until the sultry calefaction of the brutal Summer compels us all to make insipidly insane decisions…like buying a ticket for “The Fast and the Furious—Part Six” in order to spend at least one hour in an air-conditioned movie theater. Sorry to augur such unforgivable stupidity, but it will happen.
Consider that for a moment. No gentlemen will be prompted to enter their wagers until the sultry calefaction of the brutal Summer compels us all to make insipidly insane decisions…like buying a ticket for “The Fast and the Furious—Part Six” in order to spend at least one hour in an air-conditioned movie theater. Sorry to augur such unforgivable stupidity, but it will happen.
…
…
…
All
that remains is our traditional “Saccharine Section”, the part in which your
friendly bookie composes something from the deepest recesses of his heart.
Excuse me as I set the mood. Drink? Check. Music? Hmmm….Randy Crawford worked
brilliantly last time, but this is a very different syndicate. Hmmm…Loreena
Mckennitt? Nah. That’s WAY TOO sweet. “The Eels”? Nah. That’s a bit too hard.
Brian Eno? Fuck off! As many times as I could listen to “And then So Clear”,
it’s still one song stuck on a loop. Eric Bibb? Grrr…again, “Panama Hat” is but
one song. John Hiatt? ONE SONG…..but wait a second. That chorus to that one
song, “My Old Friend” aptly summarizes how I feel about all of you:
“My
old friend(s)
You
make me feel young again”
Look,
guys. Even Mr. Wordsmith here has difficulty constructing something that
adequately conveys how touching and vitally important it is that we can all get
together like this. Life’s a cruel bitch. One might even deem life a mentally
unstable girlfriend. Occasionally she coquettishly invites you to partake in
the most uplifting of spiritually intimate moments. For the most part, however,
she’s busy sticking her finger in your face, reminding you that you’re no good,
and telling you to get lost.
We’ve
all been there. We rise up every morning to face a fresh set of challenges.
Even the most positive of attitudes can’t withstand all the finger pointing we
must endure. I write such words in order to speak directly with those members
who might not have had the strength to compose something witty for this book.
Your bookie cares about you. He cares about your adversity. He loves you, and
will always be there for you.
No one
travels the obscure path of a Shadow Scholar without good reason. You’re my
reasons. One shouldn’t anticipate an upgrade in the optics of my little blog
anytime soon. It may come straight from the heart, but this large and gentle
heart has many obligations beyond producing and starring in a “one-man-show”.
Whether you’re on Cloud Nine or sloshing through the muck of self-doubt, you’re
always welcome here. I’ll always be glad to hear from you.
From CC 2013—“Syndicate: Judgment Play”:
Alvorada
Syndicate Members,
Time
to get saccharine, sentimental, slushy, soapy, and even downright tender. If
you’re a new syndicate member finding it difficult to cope with over 2000 pages
of esoteric text, I highly recommend skimming through all NINE “Goodbyes and
Championship Picks” Sections.
Your friendly bookie ultimately likes communicating with you in a sincere fashion. After all of the sardonic shadowboxing, there comes a climactic time for heartfelt words.
Like any quixotic dreamer, I’m absolutely nothing without you. In a world inundated by “information overload”, you took a few minutes to, at the very least, casually browse through my words. It doesn’t matter to me how paltry your numbers are. It will never matter ; )
Your friendly bookie ultimately likes communicating with you in a sincere fashion. After all of the sardonic shadowboxing, there comes a climactic time for heartfelt words.
Like any quixotic dreamer, I’m absolutely nothing without you. In a world inundated by “information overload”, you took a few minutes to, at the very least, casually browse through my words. It doesn’t matter to me how paltry your numbers are. It will never matter ; )
…
…
…
Now
we’ve determidedly arrived at the mushy part. We’ll employ the bold font, just
for good measure:
Time
to say goodbye. For many of you, the words I presently write will be the final
ones we exchange for another year. It’s even possible that they're the final
communiqués we’ll ever. People move on, and they have every right to do so.
I’ve ethereally poked fun at the girl that suggested I pursue who suggested
that I pursue a tenured full-professorship, but I honestly understand how PhDs
feel.
An individual can pour every last morsel of his or her heart and soul into teaching and looking after others, only to feel as if all the thoughtful advice was useless. As the years pass, even the most lionhearted amongst us grows cold and cynical. Our eyes are no longer able to recognize the “bright stars” in our limited field of vision.
An individual can pour every last morsel of his or her heart and soul into teaching and looking after others, only to feel as if all the thoughtful advice was useless. As the years pass, even the most lionhearted amongst us grows cold and cynical. Our eyes are no longer able to recognize the “bright stars” in our limited field of vision.
I’m
truly sorry if I’ve missed any “bright stars” that crossed my path. I may only
be a “Pretend Professor”, but I’m just as guilty as a real one when it comes to
ignoring real talent. All I have to modestly offer in return is the hope that
you’ll join us for our next Syndicate in a few weeks…..which essentially means
I have practically nothing to offer ; ( Care to come watch some European
Women’s Football? I can’t hope to convince you. Even this ultra-cool graphic
won’t sway you:
I’m
certainly no salesman. I’m merely a humble bookie who enjoys both reading and
writing existential ramblings to escape the monotony of daily life. Curious
about how deep the roots of the Syndicate burrow? Days of searching yield the
following:
From 2009’s “Syndicate: Afterlife”:
Deutschland
Before I
get to the gloating, I would like to request a moment of silence for our
keeper, Robert Enke. Robert took his own life on Tuesday, throwing himself in
front of a RegionalExpress near Hanover. Details remain sketchy. He was a
professional success with a beautiful young family. It boggles the mind what
would possess someone with so much going for him to voluntarily leave this
earth. Robert, I don't know why you did it. Whatever your reasons, I hope you
found the peace you were looking for. Wir werden sie nicht vergessen!
Herzlichen dank für ihren Beitrag. J
Tragedy
notwithstanding, life must always go on.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
A heavy
national discussion ensued, focused primarily on the topics of clinical
depression and the debilitating pressures of ultra-competitive environments.
That frail and doubting human beings somehow discern a way of navigating the
cruel rat race every day can occasionally be seen as a miracle. There exist no
regular blueprints, no guaranteed tactics, and no consistently effective
strategies to combat what random neuro-chemical cocktail the mind has selected
for you on any given day. Each individual plows through the regular mental
maelstroms with an ephemeral set of methods and gimmicks that work…until they
no longer do.
The misleading cliché so often written about Robert and those who chose his fate was that they lost the battle. However, to attach the connotations of a fight to the whole process serves to mislead. One has as much control over one’s mood as the weather above. The objective is never to forcibly resist, merely to endure. I’m aware that a few simplistic words mean nothing to those who lie crushed in a compact heap in some shade-drawn little prison of room, the weight of the world gradually compressing the space into an ever-tinier cell. The only advice one can dispense is to hang tough and sweat it out. You will feel better soon. Even if no one can reach you, you will feel better soon.
The misleading cliché so often written about Robert and those who chose his fate was that they lost the battle. However, to attach the connotations of a fight to the whole process serves to mislead. One has as much control over one’s mood as the weather above. The objective is never to forcibly resist, merely to endure. I’m aware that a few simplistic words mean nothing to those who lie crushed in a compact heap in some shade-drawn little prison of room, the weight of the world gradually compressing the space into an ever-tinier cell. The only advice one can dispense is to hang tough and sweat it out. You will feel better soon. Even if no one can reach you, you will feel better soon.
You’ll
feel better soon, mates. Don’t ignore that crucial fact. YOU’LL FEEL BETTER
SOON!!
From FEM 2013—“Syndicate X-2”:
Of
course I still maintain the strength to thank all of you. Thank you for your
bets. Thank you for your riffs. Thank you for your enduring companionship. We
live in a retail world governed by short-term memories, shallow pitches, and
hollow sound bites. It is such that I express my sincere gratitude for your
respect of the Syndicate’s foundational principles. Thank you for not graffiti blasting the comment section. Thanks for not resorting to the tactics of “internet trolls”. Thanks for not actively promoting the Syndicate on your Tumblr account. In short, thanks for remaining the mature and thoughtful brilliant minds that make you Syndicate Members.
We may
love callow humor, but Syndicate Members will never resort to the cowardly
behavior of dickless losers who enjoy posting poorly-written crap on Internet
Message Boards. You’re my guys! Never! Syndicate Lines are posted on the Web
for the sake of convenience. This accessibility forces me to delete a half
hour’s worth of “Porn Troll” data every day. Occasionally, I have to delete the
useless comments of a semi-literate imbecile. Mostly, however, I’m busy
deflecting the stat-suckling of some truly sick individuals. Be grateful that
you’ll never have to deal with such sub-human scum.
From WM 2014—“12 Years a Syndicate”
Thanks
to each and every last one of you. Thank you for sharing your time, your wit,
and your wagers with me. Thank you for the privilege of hearing your news.
Thank you for graciously filling me in on where the last year took you. Thank
you for having the courage to still remain a part of this project heartfelt. Twelve years in and 19 Chapters complete, we still have each other. That means everything. Your friendly bookie once more takes a blushing bow and exits the stage bursting with pride at what we’ve accomplished together…and it’s all thanks to you.
Goodbyes
Sections always pose a serious challenge, particularly now that the digital age
now enables us to exchange every last prosaic detail of our pedestrian lives
with one another virtually anywhere our smart phones can catch a WIFI
connection. Why must we only congregate at specified intervals Vicey? Don’t you
realize that I can send you photos of that concert I’m at instead of actually
listening to the music?
Anyone
catch the seething sarcasm in that last rhetorical aspersion? Listen to the
music, dammit! We all need to take the time to listen to the music as it
pulsates in tandem with the stage lights, appreciate the many intricate layers
of that book we’re reading, share some intimate laughter with good friends
during a night out on the town, and make some seriously passionate love
morning, noon, and night. There’s a time to share with the world and a time to
simply enjoy living in it.
I find
the majesty of the World’s Beautiful Game the perfect excuse to reconnect with
all of the brilliant minds I may have lost contact with over the course of
life’s sometimes tedious slog. That’s the beating heart of the Syndicate: It’s
you. All of you are the reason I take a full month off every year and spend my
so-called “vacation time” working the keys so hard. The month-long journey
affords everyone enough time to check in at least once. We now find ourselves
at the end of that journey once again. I am fulfilled by your participation,
touched by your words, and reinvigorated by yet another adventure that we’ve
all undertaken together.
Now
it’s time to get back to work. For those Syndicate Members who have found their
place in this world (and that’s literally more of you every year) work serves
as joy and a restorative. Many continue to seek. Others, unable to do what they
truly love, have learned to love what they do. Some struggle to ward off old
demons while others simply stopped feeding the beasts.
A most
amazing aspect of these past twelve years has been watching such a diverse
group of members grow, mature, and get out of their own way. So many of you
have slain every last one of your adolescent dragons and gone on to find
careers, start families, and divine your specific contribution to the
communities and societies in which you live. Your friendly bookie stands tall
and proud behind the dear friends he once described as “the world’s misfits;
the international journeymen of Generation Y”. It’s been a most soaring
spiritual experience…and that’s coming from an adamant atheist. ; )
WE ARE
THE SYNDICATE!
For
those for whom life continues to adversely accost, there remains an
inexhaustible well of hope. To begin with, there’s an industrious, diligent,
and assiduous Shadow Scholar out there who absolutely won’t allow you to fail.
Whatever doubts assail you or self-inflicted wounds plague you, I will not
allow you to fail. If need be I can pick you up and carry you on my broad
shoulders for a time.
Hope
will also always abound for Syndicate Members, specially selected for their
depth and potential. When one seriously assesses the challenges life throws at
you, a majority of them are concoctions of the weak and petty. We all deal with
misery at times and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with seeking out company
in times of distress. Nevertheless, never let anyone drag you down into some
sort of gloomy and tragic fantasy world of pain and sorrow. Stand tall,
members.
My Updated Stats:
Spread: 23-39
Straight Up: 30-21-11
Final stats will be delayed until it is once again time for
the Syndicate to convene.
Third
Place Match
Congo
DR vs. Equatorial Guinea
vs. 
Ghastly officiating can’t save the hosts this time. They’re
even luckier to be here than in 2012. Nevertheless, you still have yourselves a
low line, gentlemen. Make the most of it. Good Luck.
Note that this will constitute your final opportunity to
place a wager on “Geo-Syndicate Redux”, Gentlemen.
The Leopards should prevail. Kike or Iban might acquire an
early lead, but Mbokani Bolasie, or Mabwati will claim the victory.
THE
LINE: Congo DR + 1 Goal
Supreme
Champion of the African-Footballing- Universe
Cote
d’Ivoire vs. Ghana
vs. 
We couldn’t have possibly planned a better finale. Two
African Giants on the descent fight for the right to add a trophy to their
legacy. Despite being two of the scariest dominant teams from the Dark
Continent over the past decade, neither one of them has captured the coveted
continental crown. “Les Elephants” lost two finals they were favored to win in
2006 and 2012.
The Black Stars have blown it in two consecutive semi-final rounds, in addition to losing to Egypt in the 2010 Finale, fumbling it away to Cameroon in the 2008 Semis, and shockingly failing to attain the knockouts in 2006.
The Black Stars have blown it in two consecutive semi-final rounds, in addition to losing to Egypt in the 2010 Finale, fumbling it away to Cameroon in the 2008 Semis, and shockingly failing to attain the knockouts in 2006.
One of these countries stands poised to get a 400 lb Gorilla
off their back. It will make quite the story. With very little between the two
sides, “Bookie Privilege” has been invoked. In “Syndicate Speak”, that
translates to:
ALL BETS ARE OFF.
Allow me to reiterate for the “Scrollers”.
ALL BETS ARE OFF.
Your final chance to wager is on the Third Place Match. See
Above.
Gervinho alongside Bony with Yaya Toure in midfield is
just….it’s just too much! “Les Elephants” claim their long-awaited Continental
Championship. Such a pity that Drogba won’t be there to celebrate with them.
THE
PICK: Cote d’Ivoire +1 Goal
Enjoy
living your life. Enjoy it for it's own sake. Work hard and play even harder.
Appreciate the painting. Delve deeper into that novel. DVR an entire series and
write a critique of all of the story arcs. Make laughter and love as often as
you can. : )
We’ll
meet again. The Syndicate will return. For the time being……
“Go
kick a ball with a stranger”
Seriously…go
kick a ball with a stranger.
--S.S.
P.J.V.
