Grüzi syndicate members,
My sincerest gratitude (especially all you hopelessly deluded Wop-enthusiasts) for making the initial four days of the tournament a highly pleasurable experience! For those I haven't formally met yet, make sure to have those clean crisp bills handy for our introductory handshake on that CA Fall morning. Many thanks all of you for all the multi-book networking. All in all, the inaugural “Sobriety Sportsbook” proceeds nicely. I only think of how a nice cold tall one would complement these matches an average of 73 times per day. That constitutes progress, no?
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Er…is
it me or was the “Sobriety Sportsbook” lacking something other than a few extra
pages, rants, and cutting jokes? Parts of it feel positively soulless. Sigh.
Not a very salubrious message we’re sending here Vicey. LL
I’ve barely had enough time to pointlessly overwork my
academic assignments. Yes, sadly that sentence reflects a pathetic reality that
I must contend with daily. Hmmm…I’ve a notion. Let’s waste some time ranking
these sixteen teams just like old times. JJ
1) Spain 
How about those Spanish language broadcasters? Villa, Villa,
Villa! That name was repeated a minimum of three times after each of his three
goals. Such an enchanting language. Everything comes neatly packaged in
alluring groups of three. Gol, Gol, Gol! Chicas, Chicas, Chicas! Chicas,
Chicas, Chicas??? Vamos, Vamos, Vamos!!!
2) Netherlands 
The descendants of the Flemish
Aristocracy put on a fine show against the Vaticanos, and I am inclined to
consider them odds on favorites. Watching the "William of Oranges"
kick some ass is always a thrilling exercise: "van Basten sends in van
Persie....van der Saar sends it ahead to van der Vaart....van der Vaart kicks
it out to van Bronckhorst...van Bronkhorst finds van Nistelroy in space....van
Nistelroy forwards it to Mario van Peebles ("Panther"
sucked)........van Peebles has van Camp's Pork and Beans in front of the
net...VAN CAMP'S PORK AND BEANS SCORES!!!!
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
I do
believe I’ve fucked the hell out of this barb over the years. About the only
thing left to say is that both “Panther” and “Highlander: The Final Dimension”
really sucked. Poor Mario van Peebles hasn’t done anything decent since “New
Jack City”, which by the way hasn’t aged very well at all.
3) Deutschland 
Oh, we’re back baby. Back with a vengeance. Croats, we’re
coming for you! Our style is impetuous. Our defense is impregnable. We’ll rip
your heart out and eat your children. Nothing can stop us now, not even….what’s
that Jose? Chicas, Chicas, Chicas? Fuck football. Vamos, Vamos, Vamos!!
4) Portugal 
Way to prove it’s a new tournament, Navigators. Christ,
Ronaldo is the best player in the world. How the hell can anyone stop him?
5) Czech Republic 
Coach Karel Brückner has expressed his doubts about besting
the Portuguese…publicly. He also stated, “I still don’t think we’ll win our
group and you can quote me.” Excuse me? Did you just shit on your own team?
We’ll, if they don’t rise to the occasion you might as well pop open a
Pilsner-Urquell and call it a career.
6) Croatia 
After handling the wannabe Krauts, are you prepared for the
real motherfucking deal? Going to eat your children. All praise be to Allah. JJJ
7) Sweden 
Okay, you won. Your team was still so boring I wasn’t
entirely sure I wasn’t watching an unassembled Ikea bookshelf. Watching wood.
Spent a perfectly lovely summer afternoon indoors watching wood. My
wood-watching threshold is about met.
8) Romania 
Round One in the “Group of Death” is complete. Hold the Wops
to a draw and you just might survive.
9) Turkey 
Ganz Ruhig, Brüder. The worst is over and you can now focus
on the important matters….like whether there’s enough Scharfes in that Döner I
ordered. Get on that, please. J
10) Russia 
Speaking of the worst being over, it’s smoother sailing on
calmer waters for the Ruskies from here on out. They showed enough in that
Spain match to suggest they might challenge the Greeks and Swedes.
11) Poland 
We’ve done all we can for you. After respectfully kicking
your ass without so much as lifting a celebratory fist to rub it in, your
self-esteem should remain intact. We obviously couldn’t let you win, but we
sent you on your way cordially. If you can’t beat the Austrians, the pokes
shall resume.
12) Italy 
Stop crying into that vat of olive oil without delay! It’s
far from over, pasta fornicators. Your team will play better..if only because
they could play better with my portly father in central midfield.
13) France 
You Froggies may continue drowning your sorrows in that
nouvelle cuisine presentation. For in your case, I’m afraid it truly is over.
You failed to secure three points against the lowliest team in the group. Your
lead striker is a sociopathic shithead. Where the hell is Henry? Until someone
explains to me why he didn’t start, I give Segolene Royal better odds in the
2012 Election.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Interesting.
The line was written as her only tangible asset, a middle-aged ass that somehow
inexplicably looked fuckable in a sleazy thong, began to fade. I shudder at the
thought of what she might look like a coin-slot emphasizing bikini now. Once
the genes stop cooperating, older women really take a nosedive. Unbeknownst to
me, it would be her baby daddy Francois Hollande who would stage a comeback.
Back in ’08 we thought for sure it would either be Aubry or Royal again.
Suddenly, without the slightest inkling of something resembling a warning, who
dat is? That’s just her baby daddy. Who dat is? Alright you get the point.
14) Greece 
Well, we can eliminate the possibility of any more miracles.
Or can we? Yes, we absolutely can. Rehhakles is finished and so are the
Hellenes.
15) Switzerland 
Well done, hosts! You have the dubious distinction of being ranked
near the very bottom, propped up only by your impotent brethren. Thanks so much
for inviting us in. The real Germans will take it from here.
16) Austria 
Peter Weis,
Peter Weis,
Every morning you tweak me
Thin and white,
Full of spite,
You’re never happy to meet me.
Looking forward to singing you toward the exit.
My Stats:
Spread: 7-1
Straight up: 7-0-1
Good enough. That should
preclude me from submitting something triple the page limit. Onwards to the
lines.
Wednesday
Czech Republic vs. Portugal
vs.
vs.
Brückner has to sit Koller. It’s Barros’s turn anyway. Bring
the old man on in relief. He’ll also have to make substantial changes to the
midfield if he wishes to stop that Ronaldo-Deco-Simao Axis. The Czech 4-5-1 is
conducive to absorbing the Portuguese 4-2-3-1. On the scrap of paper I just
scribbled it on the Czechs are looking very vaginal indeed, with Jarolim,
Galasek, and Polak absorbing the phallic Deco-Nuno Gomez thrust. Yes, I’m
spending my time in the library wisely. At least I’m decent enough to quietly
scrawl some vaguely sexual fenestrations on a scrap of paper. The girl behind
me hasn’t stopped talking on her cell phone for the past half hour. We’re in
the library, bitch! Shut the fuck up!
Where was I? Oh right. The cavernous pocket of the Czech
midfield should be able to withstand the undulating pulsations of the
Portuguese attack long enough to make this match competitive. Eventually,
however, Portuguese penetration will lead to a climactic copulation the timing
of which cannot yet be determined…Now if you’ll excuse me, a certain yapping
Soristitute is begging to have her mobile slapped away from her face.
THE LINE: Portugal +1 Goal
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Portugal 3, Czech Republic 1. Not to give anyone the impression that I find
incessant chatter in the library attractive. The default tactic for tuning out
thirty minutes of unceasing “Yeah, but, I was like, no because, like, it’s,
like, too much work, like, like, like, like” was fantasizing about duck-taping
the whore’s mouth close while I gave her an overdue lesson in submissiveness.
As suspicion rose that I was unduly distracted, bets poured in faster than the
line could move. This one was all over the place…much like a surprise load of
frothy lukewarm seamen.
Brückner
heeded the advice, sitting Koller and starting Barros. In a surprise second
move, he benched Jarolim and started Matejovsky. The Czech cushion proved to be
easily permeable when Ronaldo shook off his marker and charged goalward,
working a splendid reciprocal feed with Nuno Gomez before leaving for Deco.
Eight minutes in the Navigators had the upper hand. An electrifying interval of
end-to-end action followed before Libor Sinoko stabbed through a diving header
off a Plaisil corner in the 18th.
A good
match was in the works as Ronaldo defied all attempts of the Czech defense to
close ranks. Between him and Deco, they managed five quality chances on Czech
before the stroke of halftime. The Navigators stormed out of the gate in the
second half, thumping Cech with shot after shot, often in rapid succession.
Nuno Gomez and Simao made him earn his paycheck. Eventually Deco flighted in a
perfect ball directly onto Ronaldo’s right foot for a driving finish in the 63rd.
The Christiano Ronaldo show continued right up until the final minute, when he
motored past an over-committed Czech offense to set up substitute Ricardo
Queresema for the third goal. In the event that anyone is dying to know, NO. I
did not slap the electronic cock out of the bitch’s mouth. I went out for a
cigarette instead.
Switzerland vs. Turkey
vs. Neither Alexander Frei nor Marcos Streller will play. Köbi will have to employ an unorthodox formation in order to simply field a team. Somehow, central midfielders Hakan Yakin and Gökhan Inler will need to be deployed in a supporting striker role to assist nineteen-year-old Ehren Derdiyok, the only option left from the Swiss reserves. In a deliciously ironic twist, all three players the Swiss will rely upon are of Turkish descent.
Can the Swiss Turks beat the actual Turks? Potentially. Two
of the Turkish stars are injured, defender Gökhan Zan and talismanic captain
Emre Belözoglu. No clue how Terim will make it work, but the flexible Nihat and
Tuncay give him options. My Turkish brothers. Surely you can get passed a
dilapidated Swiss side?
I shall stick my neck out and proclaim that, while Turkish
ingenuity is not in principle more resourceful than Swiss ingenuity, Köbi can
lick my balls.
THE LINE: Turkey +1 Goal
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Turkey 2, Switzerland 1. And did they ever come through. Rainy night in Basel.
I said it’s a rainy night in Basel. Feels like it’s raining all over the
world….yeah. This game was played through an early summer mountainous monsoon,
sloppy and messy throughout. Köbi used Yakin in the supporting striker role
while Terim brought Tuncay forward to play next to Nihat.
Of
course the tactical formations were immaterial in this relentless downpour.
FIFA had never held a summer tournament in a locale prone to such harsh
weather, and a freak occurrence in the 32nd soon showed why. The
infantile Derdiyok hunted down a ball on the right flank and played a poor
forward pass that should have gone out for a goal kick. Instead the low pass
slowly crawled to a stop on the drenched pitch finally resting directly on the
goal line where a grateful Hakan Yakin tapped it in. It doesn’t get any easier.
The
tenacious Turkmen were not going to stand for such nonsense. They stubbornly
stuck with their ground passing game, even when the pitch wouldn’t cooperate. A
triangular series of passes in the 57th left second-half substitute
Semih Sentürk perfectly positioned to head in a Nihat cross. Two minutes into
added time, amid the constant flashes of lighting and rolling thunder, the
legendary mystique of this most extraordinary team was born. The “comeback
kids” would conclude the first of three unprecedented last-minute marvels.
Midfielder Arda Turan sloshed forward, maintaining possession in spite of the
deplorable conditions. His final strike couldn’t be said to be entirely
accurate, but it did carom in off of central defender Patrick Müller for a
sensational last minute goal. So began the journey of the most amazing team
I’ve ever witnessed. Perhaps Allah was Akbar after all.
Thursday
Croatia vs. Germany
vs. Slowly talking myself into this new attacking formation of Löw. It may very well be that Klose-Podolski II would prove nothing more than a hapless sequel. Gomez can only mesh better with Klose the more experience he acquires up front. Perhaps Fritz can play wing better than Schweinsteiger. Perhaps Jansen is better than Friedrich. Perhaps….you win another fucking match before I declare myself sold. This one will be no walk in the Tiergarten. Ah..running around Elsa. Berlin could truly be serene at times J
THE LINE: Deutschland +2 Goals
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Croatia 2, Germany 1. Ugh. This one elevated the term “fall off the treadmill”
into the Pantheon of overused hackneyed Sportsbook phrases where it joined
“What the [hemorrhaging] fuck?”, “It’s the battle of…” and “Keystone
DryIceLite”. The actual fall was prompted after watching Michael Ballack fluff
his chance to score a meaningful international goal for the 4,312th
consecutive time. As painful as the match and the tumble were, I at least
earned some sympathy points from a cadre of cute girls in the gym.
Löw’s
lineup crumbled immediately as the Blazer 4-4-1-1 effectively neutralized any
impetus forward. The first shot on goal came in the 24th minute. As
it so happens it was an opulent show of skill from Dario Srna, who executed a
perfectly-timed jump and even more flawless header into the back of the net
from a deep cross from Daniel Pranjic. One rarely sees a 50-yard cross travel
with such accuracy in the international game. It could only have come from
former teammates. Ballack twice sent bending free kicks directly on Pletikosa
and both Gomez and Metzelder sent his deliveries over the bar. The Mannschaft
simply couldn’t coordinate.
Löw’s
halftime adjustment was to bring in Odonkor for Jansen and move Fritz back into
the defensive corps. The move summarily failed to alter to the tone of the
match, with the best opportunities still belonging to the Croats. They finally
capitalized in the 62nd when Lehman parried a Ivan Raktic stinger
that had deflected off Podolski. As quick a reaction as it was, he might have
done better than to steer it towards the post, where it bounced back into the
area again. Neither Mertesacker nor Metzelder were in position for a clearance
and Ivica Ollic to ease it into the unguarded net while Lehman remained on the
deck. Total defensive meltdown. I fell of the treadmill a second time. No
angelic damsel came to rescue after this spill.
The
news got increasingly worse for the Mannschaft, even as Podolski pulled one
back in the 79th. Substitute Schweinsteiger was sent off for arguing
with the referee. The final twenty plus minutes contained zero creativity.
Miscues are one thing, but a team dry of ideas is far more ominous. Four days
after erasing twelve years of Euro misfortune, it looked as if the ship was
once again listing.
Austria vs. Poland
vs.
It’s the battle of Red/White German Whipping Boys! Can I
refer to this one as “Pommes Rot-Weiß”? Why am I asking myself for permission?
Thanks to those of you who pointed out that Austrian keeper Jürgen Macho may
moonlight as a professional wrestler should he need a fallback career option.
I’m quite familiar with this line, as he used to tend goal for my hometown FCK.
Many were the afternoons spent high playing FIFA at my place when some stoner
would interject “Hey…your keeper’s name is ‘Macho’…hehehe…that’s funny.”
Like most anything else, you sort of had to be there….and
even then it wasn’t really funny. The world’s game produces plenty of ironic
names, but keepers seem to be disproportionately represented. Lest we forget,
Macho isn't even the most waggishly named keeper in this tournament. That honor
belongs to, for the fourth consecutive summer, Italy’s Gianluigi Buffon.
Two-time Mannschaft third stringer and current heir to Oliver Kahn in Bayern
Hans-Jörg Butt is likely to give me more headaches after Lehman retires. “Hey
Vicey….hehehe…your keeper’s name is…” Yes, yes I get it. Pass the bong, Beavis.
It’s pronounced [Boot] as in “Das Boot”, [Butte] as in the city in Montana! I
must pre-empt all you budding punsters out there.
Anyway, gentlemen, I think it’s about time we had a Pick.
Home-pitch advantage pulls the Austrians even with the Poles. Accuse me of
viewing them through Kraut-colored glasses if you must, but I don’t see very
much between them.
THE LINE: Pick em’
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Poland 1, Austria 1. As it turns out there was a great deal between the two
sides. After controlling the flow for 93 minutes, Marcin Wasilewski tugged on
the shirt of a streaking Sebastian Prödl inside the box, giving “Das Team” an
absolute last second penalty. Ooops-ski. An otherwise fantastic performance
down the drain. More scratch for the bookie.
Friday
Italy vs. Romania
vs. Alright, Azzuri faithful. Want you money back? Here's your chance. I hate your country and your team. You stole a WM from my beloved squad in 2006 and a place in this tournament from the more deserving Scots! Not to mention, you are the reason I seem to be perpetually at war with myself. Panucci's dramatic antics are a perfect example of why to deserve to lose (Van Nistelrooy WAS onside because of you divin' Dagos). Toni is still among the best players period. Still, Cameronesi and Buffon are old garbage in the Kahn tradition. I’ll give you ANOTHER low line!
Come on, you Central European, Dracula inspiring,
post-communist Republic. We didn't let you into the EU and NATO for nothing!!
Calling all pasta-fornicators. Get your bets in by 10:30 a.m. ET.
THE LINE: Italy +1 Goal
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Italy 1, Romania 1. It could have been much worse for the Wops. It couldn’t
have gotten any better for the bookie J. Yes, the new guidelines and
the accompanying strategy were just the ticket. Textbook bill? Bah.
Irresponsible students hit their parents up for money. I maturely ran an
illegal betting operation to pay for my overpriced course materials. Grad
School in the states is one massive extortion scheme. It eases the pain
somewhat to fork over dirty dollars that came from shady work. Hard-earned cash
or future mortgaging loans only serve to deepen the depression. The only way it
could have possibly been sweeter would have been if they were bloodstained.
It’s no use pretending that you wouldn’t derive the same sick satisfaction.
Tell me you wouldn’t love to saunter into your university’s bursar’s office
with a dolly full of bulging shopping bags:
“So it
looks like I owe you $17,000 for this semester’s tuition? Very Well. Here are
340,000 unrolled nickels for you. I’m just going to dump these out all over
your desk if you don’t mind. Have fun!”
Truly
a great game. Donadoni made five changes, effectively overhauling the defense
and midfield. De Rossi and Del Piero were the new arsenal backing up Toni and they
made their presence felt early with a hard driven cross and a header deflected
inches wide. The Romanians were not content to stay back either, testing Buffon
via Mutu, Chivu, and Tamas. Plenty of action in the first half as both teams
signaled intent while being stymied by effective goalkeeping from Buffon and
Lobont.
Chivu
and Mutu picked back up where they had left off, making Buffon sweat. Chivu
pestered Perotta mercilessly every time the anchoring midfielder attempted to
set up the Azzuri attack. Mutu was trolling around the danger area looking for
any sort of sniff. He got his chance in the 55th when Zambrotta found himself
facing a cross all alone and attempted a back-header to Buffon that he didn’t
get all of. Mutu collected and throttled it in for the lead. Less than one
minute later a Pannucci corner took a deflection off Chielleni and we were back
on level terms.
Both
sides pushed hard for the winner and Buffon and Lobont were forced to make more
brilliant saves over the next half hour. Mutu was afforded the chance to surely
win it from the spot in the 81st after Pannucci obstructed Niculae
in the penalty area. Instead it was Buffon with a dramatic diving save that
saved his squad from almost certain elimination.
Netherlands vs. France
vs. Much love for Domenech & Co. It genuinely blows to be written off after one game. Henry, Ribbery, Gallas, and Makelele are among my favorite players. I love ze French. We should see Henry in action here after that childish nonsense from Anelka. The question remains, why wasn’t he the first choice? There must be something going on. There’s little choice but to stick with Benzema, unless Domenech cares to move either Ribery, Malouda, or Viera back up to striker. We also might encounter old friends Sydney Govou and Willy Sagnol. It looks to be a sentimental affair.
Sadly, there is no denying this is the year of Orange.
Robben, van Persie, and Heitinga are not only superior players; they’re well
rested. Van Basten hasn’t even begun to show his cards, starting many B-Team
players in the Italian Orange Crush. This Mac Truck won’t slow down on account
of a frog in the road.
THE LINE: Netherlands +2 Goals
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Netherlands 4, France 1. Sneijder, Kuyt, and van der Vaart again started in
place of Heitinga, Van Persie, and Robben. For the frogs, Govou started at left
back and Ribery moved up as the second striker adjacent to Henry. Dirk Kuyt got
us started in the 9th, winning the aerial battle with Malouda off a
van der Vaart corner. To their credit, the French refused to capitulate. They
finished the first half the stronger side thanks mostly to furious work from
Ribbery along the flanks. Whatever crosses or squares he sent Henry’s way,
however, the then Barça striker displayed shockingly poor finishing techniques.
Robben
and van Persie were early second-half substitutes and wasted no time proving
why amateurs such as myself had them picked for the starting eleven. In the 59th,
Robben tore up the left flank and crossed to van Persie to a one-touch volley
rocket. Henry managed to pull one back with a flick of a Sagnol cutback in the
71st. Robben restored the two goal lead one minute later after some
fine passing by van Nistelroy and van Persie. Just for shits and giggles
Sneidjer lofted a ranged effort the 92nd that bounced in off the
crossbar. My cats have brought me Frog corpses with more liveliness.
Saturday
Sweden vs. Spain
vs. Well done, Zapateros. “Fernando Fernando” and “Villa, Villa, Villa!”. Yes, it’s the country where even if you reduce five names to one, the remaining name must be repeated at least once. Get some lyrics for that National Anthem and we'll talk.
Likewise, well done Swedes. The win was about as ugly as the
blond dye jobs your less Nordic-looking players feel compelled to give
themselves, but Ibrahimovic has the squad purring along like a well-tuned Volvo
S80...or perhaps even a Saab S32 Lansen.
We all know who the better team here is, but the Swedes have
a secret weapon stashed away: Mind-numbingly tedious football. Should they
succeed in slowing down the pace of the game, tackling controversially, and
keeping the ball in neutral territory rather than even attempt to press
forward……well then we all lose even if they draw LL
THE LINE: Spain +1 Goal
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Spain 2, Sweden 1. It was Villa with the Thrilla. The opening goal at the 15
minute mark owed everything too his opportunism. He took a quick corner short
to David Silva. Silva used the seemingly infinite time and space he had been
granted to carefully pick out Torres on a cutting run.
Five
minutes later an injury to Carlos Puyol left the Spanish defense weakened,
enough so that Ibrihimovic could blast in an equalizer in the 34th
over a flat-footed Sergio Ramos desperately trying to cover the side he wasn’t
accustomed to. Ibrihimovic himself suffered a knee injury sometime before the
end of the half and would not play after the restart. The back 45 belonged
solely to La Roja. Villa and Torres shelled Isaaksson without interruption, at one
point knocking his nose out of joint with a scorcher that would leave him with
two black eyes the next morning. Villa could have easily scored a hat trick
with all the comets he unleashed. Instead, it was his final strike in the 92nd
that bested a clearly fatigued Isaakson. A much deserved last second win.
Greece vs. Russia
vs. Oh we’ve a very tasty special for all of those who think the Pavlyuchencko and Pogrebynak injuries are too much for the Ruskies to overcome. True, a disappointing debut for Hiddink's squad. Still, I am confident this is the best Russian squad ever. An inspired qualifying campaign makes me two entire goals confident! Act now, before I claim the Artic Seafloor as well.
SPECIAL BONUS BET:
Odds on Players opposing Russia getting poisoned
Ionanis Ammanatidis (Greece) 3 to 1
Nikos Liberopoulous (Greece) 9 to 1
Christian Wilhelmsson (Sweden) 12 to 1
Henrik Larsson (Sweden) 25 to 1
UPSET ALERT!
THE LINE: Russia +2 Goals
GENTLEMEN,
ENTER YOUR WAGERS
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Russia 1, Greece 0. Too confident. This would have been a fine payday had the
poisoning gag led me to get cocky. Note to writers of all stripes: When, near
the end of a marathon writing session, you surprise yourself by coming up with
an idea in spite of your depletion: IT’S NOT AS GOOD AS YOU THINK. You’re
standards have merely been lowered.
Pavlyuchencko
recovered from his testicular injury and made the starting lineup to little
effect. In a game in which he squandered numerous chances, the only goal came
when Greek keeper Antonis Nikopoladis foolishly abandoned his goal to chase a
ball he had no business going after and Segei Semak coolly flicked it over his
head to a Konstantin Zyrkanov waiting in front of an untended goalmouth. The
knuckleheaded play currently circulates among various online blooper reels.
