Friday, April 27, 2012

EM 2004--Semifinals

EM 2004
Greetings members of a worldwide "syndicate",

Editor’s retroactive notes:

Na endlich. The name finally formed. I remain eternally grateful to all of those whom committed themselves to the very worthwhile goal of reading something else. As much as I may miss you, I’m very delighted that you’re now reading “The Economist” and “Foreign Affairs”. Thanks for fringing and communicating with me, if only a short time. Now I’m getting all verklempt…that must mean draw closer to the end of another tournament. One moment while I retrieve the handkerchief. Blow. Snort. Slob. Things are about to get messy again.

I deeply love each and every one of you.

Editor’s retroactive notes:

Oh, for Christstssake.

The sterling love I feel for you all outweighs the persistent doubt that customarily usurps any optimistic emotion that may surface.

Editor’s retroactive notes:

When will I die? Oh this jejune lovey-dovey crap! Why oh why?

I unreservedly love all my friends. No bravado is required. I love each and every one you more than a two-thousand-year-old Semitic nutcase ever could.

Editor’s retroactive notes:

At long last he begins to make sense

A scant three matches remain before the mundane constraints of a banal pedestrian life fore us asunder. As usual it has been a divine pleasure siphoning away your multicolored bank notes. Even though the fortune piles up via electronic wire transfer, I dream fitfully of cascading Euros, Elizabeths, and misshapen coins that actually possess buying power. Of course I would not enjoy the benefit of dreaming in such vivid color were it not for the fascinating bits of correspondence drifting in from every corner of the world. Theory, thought, and ideas do not exist absent interaction with interesting people. I rise once again, enlivened and stimulated, thanks in large part to all of you.

Editor’s retroactive notes:

Arguing with that turns out to be more challenging. Perhaps I’ll cut the Maudlin Schoolboy some slack and commend him on a valid point. This truth holds even eight years later. Find yourself devoid of ideas? Creative pathways overtaxed and clogged? The immediate response is to blame oneself for poorly structured work habits, lack of self-discipline, or all the empty beer cans strewn about your desk. While there may be some wisdom in the final deduction, innovative impetus is most closely linked to exposure. Reading enough interesting material? Take in a few thought-provoking films lately? Been varying the music selection? What about those you surround yourself with? Sure she gives good head, but does she, on occasion, initiate an interesting conversation?

One anticipates two distinct forms of backlash will emerge in response to that statement. Allow me to address both with some pre-emptive counters. First, some may have the impression that I’m picking on the ladies. Not true. We’ve all found ourselves pincered in wearisome conversations with men who babble on as if they are women. Cases in point is the guy who considers it appropriate to tell you all about his new diet, exercise regimen, and weight targets. I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT HOW YOU’RE CUTTING OUT GLUTEN, DINING MERELY ON SLOW CARBS, OR TRAINING FOR THE 10K RUN. Shut the fuck up! A disturbing number of men broach winding personal anecdotes with no discernable point that are neither funny nor remotely relevant.

Why must you constantly assert yourself when the conversation slips beyond your sphere of knowledge? “You know I didn’t see that movie, but I tell you what movie I did see and I didn’t really like that I took my wife to after I got a good recommendation from my frat brothers with whom I had some really wild times while I was a sophomore after I pledged to another house in Freshman year after I decided that those guys weren’t as cool as the guys I used to hang out with in high school when I first discovered my passion for Lacrosse which I played for four years before I started wakeboarding which I really love along with competitive Magic playing and..I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I” No one gives a shit. You’re nothing more than a godforsaken barking Sea Lion. Enough with the “You know I…” I know you. Everyone else knows you. Kindly shut the fuck up.

And now for the men who will unfailingly insist that a dumb broad should be preferred to a fierier clever one. “She’s so sweet and docile,” you always say, “She never undercuts my ego with a sharp tongue. She cooks, cleans, and sews. She irons my shirts, and kisses where it hurts. She blends in perfectly with the furniture.” Hmmm…I agree that doesn’t sound so bad after all. Nevertheless, the doltish dame has her own specialty: interrupting you constantly. The more exigent the work you’re attempting to concentrate on, the more Madame Needy will burst in to pester you with something so removed from significance it doesn’t even belong in this dimension.

You may think me an eccentric megalomaniacal monster, but in truth my tolerance is probably greater than most. Twelve interruptions per hour is my limit. I’m being quite generous. Ladies, the update on your reorganization of the linen closet can wait until later. Trust me. You can tell me all about what Tanya said and why you’re not to going to the party if she’s going later. We do not need to carry on an entire drawn out conversation via e-mail, text message, or social networking site. We can figure out what we’re doing tonight via a short three-minute phone call. I texted you back during a three-minute break. Now I have to get back to work. It’s not appreciated that fifteen seconds after I pushed the “send” button, the phone is vibrating, and the e-mail box is “pinging” all for something that didn’t even remotely require a response!

Naturally, for just about any woman the “ping” signifying “Hey! Someone’s paying attention to YOU. YOU are important to SOMEONE. YOU, YOU, YOU. It’s all about YOU! ” is like a heroin-crack speedball. For some reason, the rush is even more addictive for the dense ones. I’m not entirely sure what the enhanced correlation between dumb and cloying is. Put it this way:  A dumb and docile woman is like a cat. Warm, cozy, affectionate, ultra-needy, and oblivious to the fact that shit needs to get done. This looks like an article you were reading? I should probably sit on it! Oh, you don’t need to reference that article right now? I think I’ll jump on the keyboard! Oh, now you’re back to reading the article. I guess I should tip over any coffee mugs and water bottles that happen to be lying around! After that I’ll crawl up your pant leg, attack your chair’s headrest, and sharpen my claws on your thinking couch. What? Don’t shut me out. I NEED. I NEED. I NEED. Don’t close the door. I’ll just sit outside, meow incessantly, and stick my paws underneath in an ill-fated attempt to use my lack of opposable thumbs. I NEED! I NEED!  

A few seconds here while I scroll up and remind myself of what the original intent of this tangent was. Oh right. Immerse yourself in interesting people as often as possible. Sadly, this occasionally ends up being an annual affair for your friendly Shadow Scholar. Thank God for football and for all of you. As to my burning desire to share everything I find irritating about women and cats, well what can I say. I suppose I have needs too. It’s hard out here for a pimp. J

What a wild quarterfinal round! That England-Portugal Game had more twists than an M. Night Shamlyhan double feature. Otto’s Greeks beguiled us all again. The Dutch and Czechs are in the hunt for the resurrection of long ago fallowed pride. In a matter of days we shall crown a new European Champion. For the next four years, a different country will claim the distinction “Overlord of the World’s most Fucked up continent”. I cannot say with any certainty that I know which of these four it will be. I can, however, mark off the following four countries. Let us honor the “also-rans”:

Editor’s retroactive notes:

Okay, for the nth time I must admit he was a novice writer. The M. Night Shamlyhan gag was somewhat advanced for it’s time. Now that every last comedic outlet has taken it upon themselves to pile on it feels staler than a box of three month old Wheat Thins…which I’ll end up calling after realizing that I’m too drunk to drive and the empty fridge is being rented out by gay penguins. At the time the original Letterman re-runs weren’t airing to remind us all that topical comedic material ages worse than female porn actresses. Even the timeless classics (think “Spaceballs”) are now only chuckle-inducing in an ironic, reverent, and cultish line drop sort of way. Obscure references still age well and a dueling “Past Vice vs. Present Vice” dialogue can add a minimally perceivable hint of flavor. Otherwise, thoughts about how wise a project it may be to dig up some musty artifacts and undertake a reflective journey through my own internal development have arisen. The prevailing logic hinges on the arbitrary significance of a ten-year anniversary. TEN whole years, people. Throughout the past decade you’ve been the stars of the show. I’m merely your outlandish goofball bookie. 


Not again! The Three Lions have been eliminated on penalties for the third time in five tournaments. If this were Ice Hockey they could simply put a Sumo Wrestler in goal and be done with it. The curse of the snake-bitten Original Footballers continues. It always comes down to something silly doesn’t it? One of these days the odds will have to crash in. Until that day arrives, we bid you “cheers” once again you accursed Isle.

Editor’s retroactive notes:

England went on to be eliminated in 2006…again by the Portuguese…again on penalties. Goaltending issues impeded them from qualifying for Euro 2008, and spelled their doom during the infamous “Hand of Clod” match against the U.S. in 2010. Finally that issue appears to be settled. Promptly sensing that they might have a real chance in 2012, their two-timing Captain displayed his racist streak, costing him the armband and the manager his job. Odds on an end to the torment remain slim, but one can never be sure. 2004 was also the year the Red Sox finally told history to go fuck itself.


Les Champs are now officially “Les Duds”. Looks as if the Golden Era has definitely drawn to a close. The Froggies have no Rooney, Torres, Schweinsteiger, or C. Ronaldo. Approximately three fourths of this squad will either retire or be replaced. Lizazaru, Makelele, Descailly, Zidane, and Thuram are set to hang up the cleats. No budding superstars wait in the wings other than Henry, who’s already 26. The search for a new coach will now commence. Santini not only tendered his resignation…he apparently tendered it months ago. Good luck weathering the O’Reilly boycott, mes Ames J

Editor’s retroactive notes:

Newly promoted Raymond Domenech managed to persuade Makelele, Zindane, and Thuram out of retirement for an improbable 2006 dash to the finals. The O’Reilly Boycott ended up having no effect whatsoever on French imports. One wonders if this played a role in him eventually calming down to become a milder and more thoughtful openly- avowed opinion journalist. Nah. I say Colbert, Stewart, and Letterman softened him up. Professional entertainers could feasibly do the same for Hannity…if he were an actual man possessing an actual mind/non-humiliatingly-sized penis.


Repeat after me: A lopsided win the group stages means nothing. Can’t say I’m going to miss these bigots. Did you know that the xenophobic Swedish Democrats walked out on 2002 Coalition negotiations after the majority party uttered the word “multiculturalism”? One cherry-picked ethnological minutia notwithstanding, this was an exciting team that I’m sorry to see be ushered out. Perhaps Larsson can be cajoled into another go around two summers from now. Ibrahimovic, Ljungberg, Allbäck, and Issakson will be back without question. See you cats down the road.

Editor’s retroactive notes:

The Swedes have redeemed themselves on the political front….well sort of. The Swedish Democrats are part of the current coalition. They may have toned down their rhetoric, but it still blows, watching these Nordic countries get all nationalistic and Aryan-obsessed. (Exhibit A: Anders Behring Brevik). Nevertheless, the Swedes must also be credited with originating the Pirate Party, recent recipients of an 8% Berliner Proportional Share. The Swedish Men’s national football team has failed to redeem itself. I now follow their female counterparts, who continue to arouse me with their daisy chain like goal celebration ritual. Yes sir.


Sweden’s symmetrical little sister also bows out. Who’s ready for some gratuitous alliteration? No one! Well I’m bloody well going to proceed anyway. Time for another “Scandinavian Sayonara”! To quote Apu, “Someone really seems to be ‘Haagen-Dazs” Ice Cream.” Ahahaha. I should be paid for coming up with these.” “Olsen’s Eleven” assisted me in shoring up my money line. For this I am eternally grateful. I’m equally as thankful that you exited shortly before it really mattered. Gravesen, Jorgensen, Jensen, Poulsen, and Sorenssen will all be back next time. They shall be joined by a confluence of other players with the same suffixes. Surely there is some reason that the peninsulars tend to favor the “sen” while the Swedes and Norwegians are disposed to the “son”. Or…it could merely be an idiosyncrasy of an Anglicized alphabet.

Editor’s retroactive notes:

Never received clarification on the whole “sen” vs. “son” dichotomy. Flying high as I sometimes do, I can definitely insert an abstrusely ambiguous joke that no one other than a diehard Simpsons fanatic has a chance of getting. The Apu quote came from the episode during which Jasper Beardly (Aka Grandpa Abe’s friend) decides to freeze himself in the Kwik-e-mart freezer. He later becomes an attraction known as “Frostillicus”. Initially he removed all the Ice Cream from the freezer so as to make place for himself. Upon seeing the old man schlep all the ice cream to the counter, Apu remarks, “Someone really seems to be ‘Haagen-Dazs” Ice Cream.” The play on words, in the event you still haven’t gotten it, would be “Haagen-Dazs” = “Hoggin Das”. “Hoggin” = “Hogging” = “Quit hogging the remote.” = “Stop hoggin’ the mash potatoes” = “Don’t hog all of the credit for yourself.” = etc., Christ, you people can be thick! 

Time to hit up the lines!


Portugal vs. Netherlands


Fresh off a grueling extra time nuisance, the Navigators will have to step it up once more against “Clockwork Orange”. Luckily the Dutch should also be fatigued after their own 120-minute match. The hosts are expected to buck the historical trend and make it the final, the first team to do so since….wait for it….the Dutch in 1984.

Pauletta will once again be available to Scolari. After Nuno Gomez’s stunning substitute performance against England, there’s some question as to whether he can reclaim his starting role. Frank de Boer’s brittle legs will keep him out of this one, meaning the aging lion has likely played his last. Bouma can fill his role adequately. He won’t be able to deny the new starting center forward Christiano Ronaldo. This kid with the silver earrings and highlighted hair will start for Man U next year. At the onset of this tournament I labeled him an untested “young prodigy” Consider your case proven young man. At 21 years of age I’m calling someone else a “young man”. A sinking feeling surfaces topside. It can only get worse from now on LL

Projected Lineups:

“The Navigators”

1) Ricardo
2) Jorge Andrade
3) Costinha
4) Figo
5) Miguel
6) Nuno Valente
7) Ricardo Carvalho
8) Christiano Ronaldo
9) Maniche
10) Deco
11) Nuno Gomez

“The Brilliant Oranje”

1) Edwin Van der Sar
2) Michael Reiziger
3) Jaap Stam
4) Giovanni van Bronckhorst
5) Philip Cocou
6) Andy van der Meyde
7) Ruud van Nistelroy
8) Wilfred Bouma
9) Arjen Robben
10) Edgar Davids
11) Clarence Seedorf

Prop Bets
Over/Under ---3 Goals
120 Minutes— 2 to 1
Penalty Shootout— 4 to 1
Van Nistelroy brace—2 to 1
Van Bronckhorst off a set piece---3 to 1
Robben brace--2 to 1
Seedorf substitution (75+)—2 to 1
Maakay substitution (85+)---3 to 1
Heitinga start—4 to 1
Kluivert substitution (80+)—3 to 1
Van der Vaart substitution (65+)—2 to 1
Overmars substitution (55+)—2 to 1
Sneijder substitution (75+)-- 3 to 1
Zenden substitution (85+)—2 to 1
Christiano Ronaldo brace—2 to 1
Christiano Ronaldo hat trick—3 to 1
Ricardo howler—2 to 1
Petit start—3 to 1
Rui Costa start—2 to 1
Ferreira start—4 to 1
Deco brace—2 to 1
Costinha double yellows—2 to 1
Miguel substitution (75+)—3 to 1
Simao substitution (60+)—2 to 1
Carvalho substitution (90+)—3 to 1
Maniche substitution (85+)---2 to 1

THE LINE: Portugal +1 Goal

Editor’s retroactive notes:
RESULT: Portugal 2, Netherlands 1. No Heroes for Holland until it was far too late. It was all purple during this one. Scolari ended up starting Pauletta while “Schwanz Befürworter” (Dick Advocaat) preferred Overmars to van der Meyde. Deco stroked in a peerless corner that Christiano Ronaldo was able to effortlessly head in and the retreat was on. The “Oranje” were able to produce nothing of comparable quality, even after Advocaat subbed Overmars out for extra striker Makaay at halftime. Roughly ten minutes after the restart Maniche chested down a ball that he sent torpedoing into the back of the net. The true cracker convinced us all and Scolari began withdrawing his offensive stars. Andrade managed an own goal that afforded Advocaat’s side a bit of hope. Immaterial. The Navigators flaunted superior control until the official mercifully fifed his whistle. 

News Break

With only two matches to allot odds for, everyone deserves an update. Yvonne, mein Schatz. I grow tired of the floodlights and concrete. Although I’m comfortably situated in my snug apartment, I’ve come to the conclusion that I should move in with a Rock Band. I myself am no Superstar. I eagerly auspicate the potential of living in close quarters with musicians. A new adventure begins, one shaped by those who leisurely strum rather than those who passively let words inspire them. Destiny stirs me with a vociferous call. I’m going to be a Rockstar Roomate!

Editor’s retroactive notes:
Where to commence? Okay. What sucks about living with a Powerpop Emo band is not what you’d expect. They practices were too loud? Not really. They were generally pretty good about rehearsing at reasonable and predictable times. Three times a week during the early evenings. I could easily accommodate them by staying late at the library. They were slobs? That they were indeed, but I wasn’t exactly Mr. Neat myself. I left coffee grounds and Ramen noodles all over the kitchen floor. I also turned the laundry room into my personal office and paced around smoking cigarettes in the backyard endlessly. This seemed a fair trade-off given my roommate’s propensity to leave dirty dishes, empty beer bottles, and nests of audio equipment in every possible corner while simultaneously ruining every couch I had contributed to the house. Wonderfully inconsiderate people; the types that would wreck the entire flat and then scrawl drunkenly scribbled note on a paper towel expressing anger absent any correctly spelled words about how it was all your fault that the house was a mess. All of this was tolerable. What truly ruins your evening is the “After-Bar-Party”. A Rock Group will never fail to invite every worthless loser that closed down the bar to a shameless shindig.

Fellow drunks, I’ve struggled to learn this lesson myself. When the bar closes, THE PARTY IS OVER. No one has anything to gain from the flunkee that proclaims, “Hey, everybody climb into their cars and follow me!” So very sorry that you’re not finished partying. A drunk’s mind tends to dismiss the inhibition that makes us who we are. Letting go of this layer has its positive ramifications, no doubt. We can all stand to let go and take things less seriously. However, the drunk mind also certifies that I’ll crawl out of bed most mornings to take inventory of what I said the night before and how unlike a fully functional person I was when I opted to utter such statements. In a subconscious attempt to restrain “Closing Time Pete”, I’d like to offer some temperate talking points:

1) Those are NOT hot chicks. You’re looking at horse-faced dogs in Lane Bryant stretch pants. NOT hot chicks! NOT hot chicks!
2) I’m impressed by your ability to pick up your car keys twice in the span of three minutes. The problem is you picked up the keys after dropping them twice. DON’T START THE CAR! DON’T START THE CAR!
3) I know how it is. You want the excitement to keep escalating. Please consider C-Span and a Hot Pocket. You never know what’s on C-Span. By the time you’re finished with the Hot Pocket, you might be interested. C-SPAN!! C-SPAN!! It doesn’t mater if you can’t focus on the screen. You can still hear.
4) I know what you’re thinking. I’m “desensitized”. That means I’ll last longer! That means I’ll rock the bitch’s world! The lamentable truth is that the bitch is desensitized too. That means she won’t feel most of it. It’s doubtful she’ll even remember it. You’ll wake by her side tomorrow and her first question will be “Did we have sex last night?” DON’T FUCK THE BITCH! DON’T FUCK THE BITCH!

All of that being said, living with musicians is always a bad idea. They operate on a different wavelength, no better or worse than the way you perceive the world around you. They are precisely as narcissistic as you, but they crave a different audience; they literally need people shouting their names. Where your own perceptive and subjective vision may suffice, they need girls throwing teddy bears wearing stained panties at them. Nothing else will do. “Hey you butt-ugly hairy chicks! Party over at my place. I’ll fuck your disproportionately fuzzy ass!”  


Greece vs. Czech Republic


Hehehehe. They’re STILL here! Viceis spoke the truth. All aboard the Greek bandwagon…except for your bookie. I’ll be damned if I’m going to bet on 85 to 1 underdogs making it all the way to the finals. This insanity must end at some point. Nothing Greeks sell ever pans out, Nikolaidis included. Jiranek may not be at Brückner’s disposal, but Grygera is even better. Rehhagel has done a spectacular job of swapping fit players for unfit ones, but he’s made a meal of his options. Examine the two lineups closely and tell me you fancy the Hellenes. No, seriously. Tell me. Greece will be without captain Zagorakis. Nuff said.

Projected Lineups:

“The ‘Ethniki’ Blue-White”

1) Antonis Nikopoladis
2) Trianos Dellas
3) Giourkas Seitardis
4) Angelos Basinas
5) Stelios Giannakopoulos
6) Angelos Charisteas
7) Takis Fyssas
8) Zysis Vryzas
9) Michaelis Kapsis
10) Giorgis Karagounis
11) Kostis Katsouranis

“Nadorak (The National Team)”

1) Peter Cech
2) Zdenek Grygera
3) Rene Bolf
4) Marek Jankulovski
5) Thomas Galasek
6) Karol Pobrovsky
7) Jan Koller
8) Thomas Rosicky
9) Pavel Nedved
10) Milan Barros
11) Thomas Uijafulsi

Prop Bets
Over/Under ---3 Goals
120 Minutes— 3 to 1
Penalty Shootout— 4 to 1
Koller brace —2 to 1
Koller Hat Trick—3 to 1
Barros brace --2 to 1
Nedved brace –2 to 1
Heinz substitution (75+)--2 to 1
Rosicky substitution (60+)—2 to 1
Hübschmann substitution (70+)---3 to 1
Smicer start—4 to 1
Smicer substitution (45+) --2 to 1
Vryzzas brace –4 to 1
Charisteas brace –4 to 1
Nikolaidas start –3 to 1
Nikopolaidas howler –2 to 1
Papdopolas substitution (55+) 3 to 1

THE LINE: Czech Republic +2 Goals


Editor’s retroactive notes:
RESULT: Greece 1, Czech Republic 0. Right…..For those keeping track, that’s five consecutive incorrect predictions involving the Greeks. Zagorakis shook off his injury to claim his spot in the starting eleven. Czech firepower was the story of the first 45. Rosicky scorched a shot from 20 meters out that unluckily hit the crossbar in the third minute. Koller achieved a similarly inauspicious fate at the twenty-minute mark, heading goalwards only to find the iron. The Czechs kept up their march, denied by industrious and disciplined Greek defending along with rotten luck. The one bloke who entered a prop bet on the Smicer substitution came agonizingly close to collecting double pay. Smicer was substituted in the 40th minute to relieve an ailing Pavel Nedved. Not only did the ball prefer the woodwork to the back of the net, now the favorites had lost their captain.

Stalemate persisted for twenty minutes after the restart. Koller and Fryzas traded near misses. The Greeks were finally seizing some momentum. Vryzas and Charisteas suddenly found their mutual rhythm, facilitating a few scary flurries on the edge of Cech’s goal. Rehhagel showed the intrepid ambition that made him “Man of the Year 2004” in Greece. He swapped Basinas for Giannakopoulos and reoriented the entire midfield to the left. For the next ten minutes Vryzas received nothing but cutting passes that left him all alone. An eventual Greek breakthrough seemed certain. Around the 80th miunte Barros and Rosicky figured out Rehhagel’s strategy. They doubled up on Giannakopoulos to shut him down, freeing Grygera up to push forward and string a few switches over to Koller. This had the added bonus of freeing up Smicer. Karagounis was forced to initiate late challenges on him twice in the span of five minutes. He was given a stern talking to after the first and booked/suspended after he was forced to do it again. The Czechs finished the final minutes of full time strongly; Barros and Koller pulling the trigger on respective efforts that went just wide. It mattered little. Extra time beckoned, with the cruel “Semi-final Sudden Death Rules” in place.

As my prop odds make clear, I did not know that the sudden death rules had been reinstituted for this tournament. Rule changes are common year-to-year. Sometimes tournaments are governed by replays; other times the away goals rule, still other times by pure aggregate totals. Relegation and Promotion are either determined by playoffs or points. Most European leagues stick with one system for seven to ten years before voting stakeholders decide that the other will be more profitable/advantageous. The variety and fluidity of the game remains something to be admired. On the other hand, we shall never know if the Czechs could have mounted a comeback in the final fifteen minutes. It was decided that the Silver/Gold Standard would govern Euro 2004. The two overtime periods are divided into fifteen-minute sessions. Should one team find itself ahead at the end of 105 minutes, they’ve won via means of a “Silver Goal”. The “Golden Goal” applies to teams that gained the lead in the final 15-minute period. I always hated this system and was glad to see it scrapped.  In first period extra time the Greeks won a corner. All ten remaining players, including the keeper, sat in the middle awaiting Tsiartas’s service. The Czechs couldn’t possibly defend them all. The conclusion of the highly unusual set-piece configuration an exceptionally wide corner that fell to an unmarked Traianos Dellas, who nudged it in anticlimactically. The score sheet would record the time of the strike as (105+1). No time remained for the Czechs to even conceive of mounting a counterstrike.

Rehhagel certainly deserves credit. He took off top scorer Vryzas for the technical specialist Tsiartas at the start of extra time. A smart personnel move does not make me yearn any less for any earlier abolition of “The Silver/Gold Standard”. Er…note to Ron Paul supporters: I’m talking about FOOTBALL. For the love of everything sacred, I really don’t need you asswipe potheads e-mailing me your opening talking points and me being dragged into a Monetary Policy debate with you. Please no. I was only talking about football. Let’s just move on to the goodbyes….