WM 2006--Round Two

Tag Syndicate members,

Everyone enjoying the party? We’re officially underway and I’m flying higher than I’ve been since that regrettable late-teen drug experimentation phrase. No, we a’int sparkin’ or pluggin’. I’m under the influence of an action-packed tournament off to a high-octane start. With the notable exception of today’s France vs. Switzerland match, I request not one minute of my finite life back. Much gratitude to all those that called in, came by, or dropped a line. Your bookie is drunker than an off-duty homicide detective. We roll on. Onwards to Round Two. Oh, but first it’s time for the second installment of the feature you either find madly interesting or just maddening. For those that didn’t bother with the primer, I present an encore presentation of Episode One. Prepare to feel sorry for yourselves.

Dispatches from the Penthouse (Fit the 1^st)

Another beautiful Summer Evening in South Louisiana. This morn I awoke at the crack of 11 a.m. After brewing some perfectly proportioned Community Coffee, I sat on my balcony for a half hour consuming caffeine blissfulness while I chained smoked Marlboros while staring at the Mississippi.  The true measure of how pimped-out your crib is literally pertains to the activities you may engage in your bathrobe. The breeze beckoned me. After reading the paper and hitting up the clubhouse treadmill, I favored a quick swim in the pool followed by the pure euphoric ebullience of a sun-dried anhydration. How wonderful it feels to revel in the sensation of every last hair on your body standing straight up courtesy of a mystically burning nuclear furnace over 3.5 Million miles away. A read some more of the essay-centric book “A history of the world in 10 ½ Chapters”. When that began to bore me, I rifled through some more of “The Last Hayride.” When that too failed to sufficiently captivate me, I read two chapters of Madeline Albright’s “Madame Secretary”, did the NY Times Crossword and fell into a deep tranquil sleep. I awoke as the hour drew late and the gentle afternoon breeze wafted over me. A modest dinner and a few glasses of delightful Pinot Grigio later I was back on the balcony re-reading my Oxford Companion to Philosophy with the occasional glance toward the flare from the nearby oil refinery, wondering what in the hell I did to deserve such a peaceful and reflective day. Yes, my friends. Life’s great when you’re a guy who’s privileged enough to be left alone.  Hope you’re all jealous. God may not be great, but life certainly is. JJ

Hahaha. And for those of you for whom the will to live hasn’t been completely crushed:

Dispatches from the Penthouse (Fit the 2^nd)

When throwing a Football Soiree, how many televisions are appropriate? A 52-inch plasma tucked inside the private bar somehow doesn’t seem to be sufficient. Sure eight to ten people can comfortably sip cocktails, snug in their posh surroundings. What about those who prefer to lounge out by the pool? To accommodate the dozen or so who prefer to soak up the sun in chaise lounges, you’ll need to bring down another unit. Careful not to set it too close to the grill or the hot tub. What of the two extra flat screens back in the clubhouse? The ones symmetrically situated on the mahogany-paneled wall in front of the two camel leather couches and four pop-block sofa chairs? Well....this host believes in making the multilingual contingent feel welcome. Thank heavens there are two flat screens. Were one operating under more indigent conditions, it would not be possible to have both the Telemundo and Univision broadcast on. This concludes today’s homemaking hint from Heloise Vice. Four televisions should be commensurate.

Editor’s retroactive notes:

“A genuine part of the Sportsbook must not be deleted.”

“A genuine part of the Sportsbook must not be deleted.”

Such is my mantra. Tempting as it was “A genuine part of the Sportsbook must not be deleted.” We’ll address those that didn’t appreciate this little parody. These summer endeavors always have been and shall continue to be less about my personal life and more about reaching out to those whose company I profoundly enjoy. These sought-after connections are achieved through writing on topics that credibly engage the receipts and subtly highlight what we share in common. Naturally football constitutes the core. For others on the fringe, rarely will there be a shortage of current geopolitical drops, cult-movie references, and exaggerated absurdist descriptions. Humor is the most important binding link. The dynamic and subjective notion of what defines a sense of humor is not something I’m going to touch. Shit. Just writing that sentence was eerily like working on a scholarly article. The only thing I left out was “beyond the scope of this study”. Yikes. Anyway, a closely guarded secret for those still inexplicably clueless is that I secretly shout out “hi” to specific readers by appealing to their specific sense of humor. In order to protect their privacy, they shall never come close to being identified. The “Dispatches from the Penthouse” section was written for one person even as it offended many others.

It’s pure satire, if only by virtue of all the exaggeration. There never was a fourth television. No hot tub ever existed on the premises. The “grill” was a pubic Hibachi I barely managed to put together because the translated instructions were so bad. The walls were not mahogany paneled. There were only two pop-block sofa chairs and those couches definitely weren’t made of camel leather. I know these exaggerations hardly make me look like a pauper, but the whole idea was to poke fun at the “high society” lifestyle. In truth, the Kleine prince had no idea how to really make use of all these amenities and accessories. A few months later he gave up his penthouse to rent a dingy apartment in Berlin with no regrets. The Charlottenburger room had everything I could ever want. It had a desk I could work on. It had a bed I could fuck on. It had a table that I could place booze, fresh fruit, spare change, or whatever the situation warranted on. I broach such matters to assist you with your next dinner party. As you sip Champagne in the immaculately lit grotto and take in the artificial light from the $10,000 phony fireplace, remind yourself that all of this opulence exists because of the woman. The man needs the desk, the bed, and the table. His woman needs a luxuriant domicile that reflects her catch. Take it from a guy who lived in a penthouse, it’s all they fucking care about.      

Hmph. Well since this lavish lifestyle doesn’t pay for itself..(the worst part is it actually does) let’s dive into the lines.

Wednesday

Spain vs. Ukraine

 vs. 

It may technically be Round Two, but four squads have yet to introduce themselves. We’ll all watch La Roja with interest, wondering if this is finally the year they affirm their undeniable competence. Though I neglected to mention it in the primer, the Ukraine are also tournament newbies. They may have formed the backbone of the Soviet Squad for sixty years, but here’s a brand new country for us to salute.

The story of Captain Andre Shevchenko is by far the most compelling. Originally a local Youth Academy Prospect for Dynamo Kiev, A.C. Milan bought him for the record equivalent of nearly $30 million back in ’03. Everyone else plays in the Ukrainian Domestic League. Time for a line.   

THE LINE: Spain +3 Goals

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Spain 4, Ukraine 0. I have a correction to make. CSKA Moscow midfielder Andre Husin also played for the team. Apparently he was injured and scratched the entire tournament. That would be the reason I missed him.

The massacre kicked off with an own goal improperly credited to Xavi Alonso in the 13^th minute. I’ll never forget to subsequent shot of two hot Ukrainian chicks consoling one another. Wish I could have somehow made it Leipzig to mollify that sandwich. Villa gave us the first insinuation of his abstruse technical mastery with an ingeniously curled in free kick four minutes later. No skinny Ukrainian girls this time…or even any other time. Eastern European chicas tend to be fans of bread and pie.

Vladislav Vlashchuk hauled down Fernando Torres in the penalty area three minutes into the second half. Villa took the consequential penalty, grabbing his brace with a strange right-footed effort that deflected off Shovkovski’s armpit. Torres himself doted the exclamation point with a lovely first time effort in the 81^st. Great game, as so many this summer were.

Saudi Arabia vs. Tunisia

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There comes a time in every man’s life when he must embrace his “Inner Little John”. Bum-bum-bum-bum/bum “Okay!”. Bum-bum-bum-bum/bum “Okay!” Bum-bum-bum-bum/bum “Okay!” Bum-bum-bum-bum/bum “Okay!” Bloody hell. How many “Okay!”s do we have to sit through before finally coming to the pumping valve of the matter?

For non-stateside readers, the root would be “I DON’T GIVE A FUCK!”

Neither of these teams is going anywhere. I have a Fatherland match to watch after this one, and definitely have no intention of doing so sober. I boycott this drivel. Pick whichever team you so desire! I’m not watching. It’s our first pick.

THE LINE: Pick em’

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Tunisia 2, Saudi Arabia 2. Hehehehe. I’m more satisfied with myself that William Shatner after his “Rocket Man” Solo. Another ruse worked. Of course I watched the game knew it would end in a draw! Granted I was thinking more along the lines of 0-0 or 1-1, but why not? Allah decreed that these two teams were to be equal. He blessed us with some fine football along the way.

This cheerfully inspiring match began when Ziad Jaziri leveled in a tricycle in the 23^rd. Yasser al Khatani was at the end of square ball to level in 57^th. Sami al Jaber straight up fooled Ali Boumnijel in the 84^th to put the Saudis ahead. As in any Muslim vs. Muslim match there was a generous allotment of extra “prayer time”. In this case the extra minutes gave Saudi goalkeeper Marbrouk Zaidi an opportunity to royally fuck up Rahdi Jaidi’s header in the 93^rd. Had the Green Eagles/Falcons of Saudi Arabia not taken so much time to pray they might have escaped with a win. On the other had, it looks as if the prayers of Tunisia’s “Eagles of Carthage” were answered. Allah works in mysterious ways, the least of which is convincing so many talented people that he exists and gives a shit.

Deutschland vs. Poland 

 vs. 

Sixty years ago this wouldn’t have been debatable. In contemporary times….it remains a topic unfit for debate.  How does one conceive of a joke relating to a squad that happens to be a walking joke? Ugh. One feels for the “White Eagles”. Four years after the South Koreas shocked the optimistic Polish contenders with a 2-0 opening win, Ecuador has done exactly the same thing. Just like four years ago, the coach must make drastic changes to his demoralized squad or watch them become the first team to be embarrassingly punted out of the tournament. Now they must face their historical rivals, the Western neighbor that continues to pirate their best players for its national team. My two polish acquaintances have already made plans to welcome the team back to the Warsaw airport next Monday. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

What, if anything, can the Poles do as they head into Dortmund? Wanchope clearly illustrated how weak the Krauts can be at the back. Lahm may now be a household name, but a halfback pouring forward so often entails its own risks. The other halfback, Friedrich, also moves up the pitch entirely too often to be considered a sterling defender. This leaves Metzelder and Mertesacker are the stationary last line of defense and they incontestably have communication problems. Pawel Janas will have to ditch the 4-5-1, sacrificing perhaps Krzynowek for an extra striker. I’d advocate for Rasiak to join Kurwaski up front. Should he wish to keep all his midfielders and play a 5-3-2, the appallingly bad Job would be the logical choice to drop. Such an audacious move seems doubtful, given the Fatherland’s plethora of attacking options.

Apropos the German attack, the only change for Klinsi’s Mannschaft will be the return of Michael Ballack, back after giving “The Country’s Calf” a few extra days to heal. In light of the fact that he cannot be completely fit and Schweinsteiger is on fire, one doesn’t anticipate he’ll be on the pitch for the full 90 minutes. His Pollack stand-in Tim Borowski will in all likelihood relieve him after the hour mark. It may be unreasonable to expect a repeat of Friday’s extravagant goalfest, but I still look forward to a convincing victory. The forecast picks Schweine to continue his amazing run with a brace.

THE LINE: Deutschland +2 Goals

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Germany 1, Poland 0. Before getting to one of the spine-tingling last minute victories in the history of the Bundesrepublik, let me just state for the record that Janas chose Ireneusz Jelen as his second striker in one of the most boneheaded moves of all time. Had he implemented my recommendations fully, the result might have been different. The glorious storybook finish shifted the entire paradigm of the country in one fell swoop. The national mood prior was reflected in my primer section. Everyone seriously doubted Klinsi knew what the hell he was doing. His selections of David Odonkor and Oliver Neuville were thought to be insane. When those two combined for the most dramatic goal in six decades of Mannschaft Football, it became apparent that this team was fated to reach the semi-finals in defiance of everyone’s expectations.

Brimming with confidence, Lahm tore down the left flank to set up Klose with a perfect cross inside of ten minutes. The header left something to be desired but still came within centimeters of the right goal post. Lahm replicated the exact same move a quarter of hour later, this time sending in a low pass for Podolski who after one touch forced Boruc to make an acrobatic save. After body-checking Bernd Schneider in the 30^th, Polish midfielder Radoslaw Sobelewski was sent of on double yellows. One man up with an hour to play, it seemed certain that the Mannschaft would find some way of tallying.

Yet neither the goal nor sustained offensive pressure followed. The Poles astutely ascertained that Lahm was the predominant threat and did an admirable job of shutting him down before he could even speculate about moving forward. In principle this freed up both Friedrich and Schweinsteiger to a certain extent, but both played a horrible match. Friedrich appears out of ideas as how to evade challenges and Schweine’s touch was so poor, he could do nothing more than turn the ball over in midfield what felt like hundreds of times. With Friedrich clearly in the midst of a creative crisis, Klinsi swapped him for true midfielder Odonkor in the 64^th as the Krauts switched to a 3-5-2. This had the immediate effect of allowing Ballack enough space to get a shot on goal and generating two quality crosses for Klose. The assault was repaired. All that was needed was a fresh striker and a new factor in the midfield. Podolski made way for Neuville. Five minutes later, the out-of-form Schweinsteiger was relieved by Borowski. Thirteen minutes and one question remained. Could the Poles hold-off the sustained blitz? Any hopes of winning the game were out of the question. They would simply have to endure. Ten minutes remaining. Lahm from distance! Boruc saves to his right. Eight minutes remaining. Ballack has time in the box! Didn’t miss by much. Five minutes remaining. Klose back to Neuville! Boruc stands tall. The onslaught wouldn’t cease. Two minutes remaining. Klose with a dipping header! Off the Bar! Ballack laces the rebound! Off the bar AGAIN! Odonkor collects and drills it into the back of the net!! Oh, no! He’s Ruled offside!

Two minutes of added time were announced as we rolled into the 90^th minute. It just looked like one of those cursed days. Surely that heart-stopping flurry in front of goal was the last chance we would have to get forward. As the 91^st minute began, Janas readied a substitute on the sideline. Had play stopped for any reason the substitution would have eaten up the remaining clock. This was positively the final chance. Metzelder for Odonkor down the right flank. Odonkor controls briefly and crosses. Neuville diving to reach it with the tip of his boot…..again out of all the play-by-play announcers to describe this sensational last-second miracle, only the Japanese captured it like no one else could.

“Grrrrrrrrooooooooooooooollll. Grol! Grol! Grol! Grol!!!!!”

A sea of German flags soundtracked by an Asian who spontaneously elected to pretend he was Mexican. Life doesn’t get much better. 

Thursday

Ecuador vs. Costa Rica

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Should everything proceed according to plan, the Krauts will be in the quarterfinals while the Poles pack their bags. This momentous match will determine whom the Krauts bring with them. No major changes planned for either side. Tico Midfielder Gilberto Martinez is injured, but it matters little for such a one-dimensional team. The entire Ecuadorian Eleven earned top marks for their impressive outing against Poland. Wanchope simply won’t be able to out-class them on his own.

THE LINE: Ecuador +2 Goals

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Ecuador 3, Costa Rica 0. Spot on analysis delivered in concise for. Such a shame that Vicey isn’t “in to the whole brevity thing” more often. Costa Rica’s performance could have even been summed up with two famous words: “Mostly Harmless”. Another fun game to watch. Of the three goals, Austin Delgado blasting a short-side close range effort in the 54^th was the most distinguished.

England vs. Trinidad and Tobago

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What did I tell you? Of course it would take some time for teams to crack the code of and opponent so shrouded in mystery. Now it would appear time is just about up. The Caribbean Honeymoon winds down slowly, the blowout probably postponed until next round. The “Three Lions” are not at full strength, obviating what could easily be a bloodbath. The “Soca Warriors” lose Avery John to suspension and Collin Samuel to poor form. Such news is not necessarily bad, as it will allow them a chance to start a new striker, either Jason Scotland or Kenwyne Jones.

On the opposite side of the tunnel, St. George persistently ails. Sven says Rooney’s still unready to start, though he won’t rule out subbing him in late. Ditto Stuart Downing. The Mail reports Beckham, Neville, and Terry may have to play through some pain. You have to love the British Tabloids, leaking all of this damaging information about their own countrymen. Small wonder this team always loses. They shouldn’t blow this one. A tentative “God Save the Queen” will catch on in the final quarter of an hour.

THE LINE: England +1 Goal

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: England 2, Trinidad and Tobago 0. Only the Gary Neville rumor revealed itself to be true. One imagines that the English will finally get a break from their press this Summer, now that the phone-hacking scandal dissuades the papers from being totally evil. T & T got the better of Sven’s Eleven throughout the first 45. Had Steven Gerrard not astutely bicycled a sure goal off the line they even would grabbed an early lead. Neville’s absence gave Jamie Carragher a chance in midfield as The Three Lions initially rolled out a 3-5-2. Sven grew impatient with both him and Michael Owen almost immediately after the restart, subbing in Lennon and Rooney long before he was ready. Rooney failed to factor in on what was an evening all about Peter Crouch. No one challenges him in the air. Brent Sancho and Dennis Lawrence struggled the entire second half with what could only be described as a two-foot height disparity. Crouch finally came through seven minutes from time. Gerrard added a sweetener in the 91^st. The ploy to attract a load of T & T bets worked marvelously. Good times, good times.

Paraguay vs. Sweden

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Whatever our disparate views, I think we may all achieve consensus on the point that something is definitely wrong with the Swedes. The football team isn't looking so hot either. Their second half form against Trinidad says more about the overworked and undermanned squad they faced. With their prospects for top place in the group all but eliminated, they now face a much stronger side and an uncertain outcome.

Henrik Larsson acquired an thoroughly stupid yellow in the dying moments of the last match, meaning Lagerbäck will be itching to pull him before he earns another. Allbäck played well in relief last time, so expect to see him early. Ljunberg, Linderoth, and Ibrahimovic ran well enough to retain their spots. On cannot say the same about the other two midfielders. Either Alexandersson or Svensson (maybe both) have to sit down. Isaakson returns from injury, but how Lagerbäck revamps the attack remains the primary issue.

One starting goaltender returns while another remains on the sidelines. Paraguay’s Justo Villar looks to have sustained a tournament ending injury in the England match, so it will be Alex Bobadilla for the duration.  No other changes foreseen for Paraguay, where Anibal Ruiz can’t very well bench captain Carlos Gammara after his own goal. One expects a hard fought match decided by a late Ibrahimovic goal.

THE LINE: Sweden +1 Goal

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Sweden 1, Paraguay 0. Both sides made one change. Lagerbäck sat Svensson in favor of Kim Källström while Villar gave young Jorge Nunez a trail-run at left back. Källström did an admirable job while Ibrahimovic was listless. It would later be revealed that he had pulled a muscle. Allbäck replaced him at halftime and the Swedish Steamroller got started up. An insanely curled set piece from Larsson took found the fingertips of Bobadilla at full stretch. Allbäck flicked over Bobozilla and would have scored had Gamarra not somehow outrun the forward to clear it off the line. We were treated to a generous amount of shots of buxom Swedish blondes in the stands. Eventually Larsson and Ljunberg strung together consecutive headers to claim their much-deserved victory. The hitherto bereft Blondes began to hop up and down. Everyone was happy.  

Friday

Serbia and Montenegro vs. Argentina 

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Not a bad debut at all for the Serbs (…and one…oh fuck it. Not worth it anymore. Can’t I just call them the “Serbs”?) They hung with the Dutch, but can they hang here? News out of the Serbian Camp is as distressing as one would expect news from any Eastern European “Camp” to be. Pompey’s midfield gem Koroman is hurt. Captain and lead striker Savo Milosevic is also doubtful. The “Serbs” have even less depth than other tournament squads as coach Ilija Petkovic had to dismiss his son to suppress a team mutiny after the 23-man-squad was announced. That leaves the “Serbs” with the only 22-man squad in the field. They can ill-afford further culling of their group.

After a stellar first match, Argentine coach Jose Pekerman hasn’t even begun to dip into the weapons in his arsenal. Incidentally, if you’re wondering why the Argentine trainer has an obviously German name…stop thinking about it. Only a coincidence I assure you. If you’re curious as to what someone named Heinze is doing on the squad…er…no reason. Enough curiosity out of you! Why is the President’s last name “Kirchner”? I WILL HEAR NO MORE INSINUATIONS ABOUT THE GERMAN PEROPLE!

The White and Sky Blue look damn good and we haven’t even seen Milito, Tevez, or “the kid” yet. I am hence prepared to invest a great deal of faith in my Argentine brothers…er…that is….what I meant to say was…the…people whom I solemnly respect while sharing absolutely no ethnic connection with. Yes. Disregard the commonality of the surname “Weis” in the country. That has nothing to do with this.

THE LINE: Argentina +3 Goals

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Argentina 6, Serbia and Montenegro 0. Mwhahahahaha. Set out the bait, Vicey. Put out a high line with only a cursory explanation. Hehehehe. Make them think that you’re using irrelevant information to justify wagering with your heart. Ahahahahahaahahahaha. Perhaps I find myself caught up in the moment, but this has to be a contender for the most ingenious trap I ever set. As it stood I was doing reasonably well financially, but not quite as well as someone with an exorbitant party budget might hope for. I had to raise some funds in order to give back to the community. I was a regular “booze and bitches” philanthropist; a humble servant of the citizens. Of all the second round games this one sent the neural circuits raging. The Serbian player mutiny was reported to have recurred, a fact I conveniently left out. Sure the Argentines were poised to explode, but no better would could buy into them winning by a margin of over three goals. Vegas only had them as two goal favorites and if I could sprinkle some subtle hints of bias into those compelled to read the write up, a handful of schmucks would think they had the market beat. So sorry, mates. You can’t beat the market unless you’re an insider J

Hmmm..those last three strokes might tempt some to label me a “Vampire Squid”. Lest my living room soon be occupied by a bunch of stoned hacky-sack players, allow me to emphasize that I gave it all back in the form of extravagant galas, visits to those I like, and free drinks/meals for all. Surely even Jesus pocketed some coins when he turned over those tables in the temple. How else could he have afforded to rent that huge table for the Last Supper? That’s right. I take my friends out for large meals too. Spare me the hate mail, as I already know I’m going to hell.

In addition to being the biggest victory of the tournament, international feed viewers were treated to 23,823 shots of Diego Maradona cheering the team on in the stands. This telecast may very well have set in motion the disastrous chain-of-events that led to the disaster against the Germans in South Africa. Show a man 23,823 times and gradually some fucking retarded ideas begin to germinate. Let’s talk goals. Gabriel Heinze drew both defenders to him before laying it off to a wide-open Maxi Rodriguez to open things up in the 6^th. Herman Crespo set up Esteban Cambiasso with an equally classy back heel in the 31^st. Maxi Rodriguez may receive credit for the third goal, but it was Javier Saviola who picked the pocket of Kezman on the far right flank, then stormed into the box to rush it past Jevric to hit him just as he was arriving. Tevez and Messi came in as second half substitutes. Messi had been on the pitch less than three minutes when he played a gorgeous switch just ahead of Herman Crespo for the fourth goal. Tevez shook off two defenders to beat Jevric wide four minutes later. Finally it was Messi’s turn forceful coda via a 20-yard blazer in the 88^th.

Trepidation that the whole spiel might backfire reeled its ugly head when I learned that both Koroman and Milosevic would be starting. Luis Gonzalez induced further heart palpitations when he went out injured in the 17^th. No bother. By the time Saviola willed the third goal through one minute from halftime it was time to commence drinking…just shy of 10 a.m. JJ

Netherlands vs. Cote d’Ivoire

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What a tantalizing match this will be. Following the size of last week’s Germany-Costa Rica crowd, I’ve selected this fixture for the next “Extended Lunch Hour over at Vicey’s” Gathering. An excerpt from the invitation reads:

“How many times have you skipped lunch or come back well before your hour was up? How many times have you returned to work sober? Exactly. You’ve been storing up good will and favors precisely for a moment like this. Moreover, you’ve been working hard all week. Come down a couple cold beers and meet some cool people. Fuck work. You’ll make up for it on Monday. This is South Louisiana. The weekend begins when we fucking say so. It’s Orange vs. Orange. Cote d’Ivoire vs. Holland. No BYOB purchase necessary. All drinks provided.”

I’m making this one a pick and it’s not at all related to the coming therapeutic luncheon. The Dutch failed to impress in their opener. Van Bommel and Van Nistelroy are clearly not up to snuff. Bouhlaruz, Kuyt, and Schneider also seem to be in weak form. Marco van Basten may be forced to dig deep into the Kader to dust off Rafael Van der Vaart, something no Bundesliga fan can accept. Conversely, Les Elephants defended well against my Argentine brothers…er…those Latin American totally platonic non-relatives of mine. Once Michel’s men figure out how to adequately get Drogba involved, watch out. The two Kones have undoubtedly solidified their starting positions. Appropriate Adjustments will made. We’ll witness a stronger side.

THE LINE: Pick em’

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Netherlands 2, Cote d’Ivoire 1. “Extended Lunch Hour over at Vicey’s” was smashing success. All over Downtown Baton Rouge, bleary-eyed professionals stumbled back in their buildings well over an hour late just in time to get nothing done. Others were more responsible and popped in for a quick pint before hitting the road. Overall, a rotating cast of characters made for a very enjoyable afternoon. In no small way contributing to the pleasantries was a fine game of football. Heitinga and Boularouhz ended up splitting midfield duties. Van Persie smashed in a set piece in the 23^rd. Four minutes later it was Robben with a cheeky 180 to connect with a barely onside Rud van Nistelroy. Barabari Kone justified his inclusion with a wicked strike from outside the 18. The same could not be said of Arouna Kone, who was pulled for midfielder Akale in the 73^rd. One can blame the Ivorians' woes on their continued placement in so-called “Groups of Death”, but an even more recurrent hex has been the inability to find a striker who can actually complement Drogba. Through two games in this tournament they had already tried Kalou, Arouna Kone. Barabari Kone, Aruna Dindane, Yaya Toure, and Keita all to no avail.

“Have you ever considered betting on Bodog.com, Peter?” inquired one guest. Why in the hell would I partake in something so heinously boring as online gambling?

Angola vs. Mexico

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Another African team and another pick. The Black Antelopes did a phenomenal job of keeping their former colonial masters at bay while Festa Mexicana pummeled lowly Iran. Big deal. I am as captivated by Omar Bravo as anyone else, but they’ve been smitten by injuries. Borghetti and Franco are out. New standout or no, the top two of the striking corps find themselves on the sidelines. This team has literally been neutered, emasculated, castrated…whatever you wish. Lavolpe’s testicles have been cut off. One can survive with one testicle, but the best a cajone-less team can hope for is a draw.

THE LINE: Pick em’

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Mexico 0, Angola 0. Titi Buego administered the ONE lowly shot on goal for the Anemic Antelopes. At the other end Jose Ricardo made at lest ten spectacular saves in what quickly became a Mexican Rampage. No trickery in this pick, duly noted by the bettors who skewed toward El Tricolor. This was a whimsical pick grounded in the desire to root for the idiosyncratic country I still miss so very much. So libidinous was my lust that I skipped class one day to watch them lose the 2010 African Cup of Nations Quarterfinal. Covering that tournament would be a dream come true, were my commentary not already too unfunny to warrant more. 

Saturday

Portugal vs. Iran

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After narrowly fending off their former colony, time for my Navigators to let it all hang out. Bring out the big guns, Scolari! Bring in Deco to augment Simao, Pauletta, and Christiano Ronaldo. Throw Petit forward for a 3-2-2-3. No mercy. I don’t want to see any praying on this pitch. Dizzy up the Persians. Fuck those spoony bards. Prove to everyone that I know how to pick an overall winner. Punish these primitives as if they were the Greeks. Look them straight in the uni-brow. They might as well be the Greeks. That’s your motivation.

THE LINE: Portugal +3 Goals

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Portugal 2, Iran 0. Scolari wasn’t quite as bloodthirsty as your friendly bookie. He did reorganize the midfield giving Deco the start over Tiago. Costinha replaced Petit and third striker Simao was withdrawn in favor of Maniche. The resulting 3-2-3-2 would fall tragically short of the internecine carnage I required for the big payday. True football fans will note that this was one the exceedingly rare times I opted to divide the formation by four. Yes, I am aware that over 75 percent of football teams play a formation cleaved into tiers of four or higher. Were I some sort of serious journalist it would my pleasure to report on Fabio Capello’s 4-1-2-1-1-1 experiment. All the sum permutations exist. Before my father smacks the back of my head to remind me there are no such things as “sum permutations”, I’ll point out that this was merely an esoteric way of saying that football teams employ all sorts of positioning layers. All the layman truly needs to know is that as long as it adds up to ten; it’s been tried on the pitch. I once read that Brian Clough experimented with a 2-1-2-1-1-2-1 at Nottingham Forrest. It would appear only the 1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1 hasn’t been written about. Personally I appreciate it when commentators give me insight into a Quad-stratum. Beyond that, you’re merely showing off and I draw the line.

Have you any idea how challenging it is to write a reasonably lucid Sportsbook that can simultaneously sustain both my novice interest and the ephemeral attention span of amateur fans? It’s so goddamn hard that I’m in some way unsuccessful every time I sit down to try. All anyone needs to know concerns the fact that not all midfielders fulfill equal roles. Some have intermediate functions that place them between the rest of the midfielders and the forwards. Likewise some defenders don’t occupy the same lateral position on the pitch. When I write about a 4-5-1, it may actually be more of a 3-4-2-1 or a 2-4-2-2 or perhaps even a 3-3-1-1-1. Some extraordinarily clever individuals who’ve wasted extraordinarily precious moments of their extraordinarily short lives solving extraordinarily boring Sudoko puzzles have written me over the years in the vainglorious hope that the their ability to count to ten somehow makes them smarter than me in one crucial respect. Here’s the deal: people have been telling me to “Keep it Simple, Stupid” since I was old enough to speak. Having largely ignored this advice and met with train-wreck scoped disaster for a good bit of my twenty-nine years, the absolute least I can do is keep my Sportsbook simple. End of discussion. Formations are reported as triple quotients. Quadruple quotients may appear here and there, mostly unintentionally. We apologize for the inconvenience.

Ahem. Amidst all of this rubbish an enjoyable game of football took place. The Navigators were hungry right from the start. C. Ronaldo came agonizingly close twice. Miguel laced another swerving effort from fifty yards that Allah seems to have guided into Mizrappour’s hands. After 80 minutes of sheer dominance, poetic justice was finally served when Rezaieri bludgeoned Luis Figo with a clumsy challenge just inside the penalty area. Ronaldo was credited with the goal he so richly deserved after an unbelievable SEVEN decent efforts on goal. In total, the Iranians were credited with one shot on goal, nineteen flagrant fouls and 32% of possession. If only they could have miserably sucked just a bit more…    

Italy vs. USA

 vs. 

Care to know what sort of party we have in the works? The entire building will be mingling with a motley crew of invited rubes. High-ranking FEMA Officers, D.O.D. Professionals, and accomplished Tax Attorneys will mingle with drunks, potheads, college dropouts, sleazy whores, and the one eccentric German capable of bringing them all together. Your humble host fears not. Getting an eclectic group of disparate personalities to mesh doesn’t come close to fazing him. One merely makes the rounds, stimulates conversation, and most importantly makes sure everyone’s glass is topped off. 

The Party of the Century honors the most important U.S. Football match of our lives. The Czech drubbing was not a fleeting moment of torment to be easily dismissed. A complete dismantling of your team should be considered a serious affront to the very core of your existence. A Eastern European country schooling you in the ways of the beautiful game offended my American sensibilities, even as your foolish pride awarded me the opportunity to clean up. Old glory must be restored. On an outdoor jog yesterday I crossed a fellow runner decked out in Red, White, and Blue Spandex hoisting what I estimated was a five-pound pole supporting a ten-foot flag while he twitched, swayed, stuttered, spit, and screamed at cars for no discernable reason. No clue who this guy was, where he was headed, or even if he was mentally stable. The point is…well…it's up to you to find meaning in something like that.

 

The Road back for Uncle Sam begins with changes to the defensive corp. Arena gave up on Cherundolo prematurely. I’d like to see him back in the anthem line. On the right side, Oneywu and Pope was a match made in purgatory. Whose bright idea was it to pair a young European League player with an older MLS one? Oh right. It was Bruce the Douche. He seems to have plenty of lousy ideas, starting with how many bowls of Puffins to consume each morning. Can someone explain to me why Fulham’s Carlos Bocanegra isn’t starting? He’s McBride’s teammate! There’s little choice but to leave Convey and Reyna in the midfield. Mastroeni, Beasley, and Eddie Lewis might take a seat in favor of Clint Dempsey, John O’Brien, and Brian Ching. Without a functionally fluid midfield, Donovan cannot establish his zone. You’ll stand no chance with your best player denied of space.

I wish to convey to all my Yank bettors that I believe in you. Totti looked terrible and his comeback is increasingly suspect. They’re prepared to present you with the same underwhelming squad that knocked in a couple of lucky ones against the Black Stars. I’m prepared to make you the favorite and even give you a low line. May we all dance all over the flopped wops on the most radiant of days in the greatest city in the universe…. Kaiserslautern. Saturday in “K-Town” and over at my place. Join in. 

THE LINE: USA +1 Goal

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Italy 1, USA 1. Such a hollow victory. Much like the Deep Blue programmers felt when Kasparov pitched a fit, there was no joy in acknowledging the triumph. Arena tapped Cherundolo and Dempsey for the cap, but stuck with Pope, Onyewu, and Mastroeni. Marcello Lippi traded defensemen Fabio Grosso for midfield sparkplug Daniel de Rossi in the hopes of finishing off the wounded Yanks quickly. Gilardino dove to smash in a sharply-placed Andrea Pirlo set piece in the 22^nd. His goal celebration was dubbed the “Nero Fiddle” Donovan’s delivery from outside the area five minutes later wasn’t nearly as keenly honed, but Italian defender boggled the clearance sending it into his own net. With the game tired, a series of contestable decisions revoked the right of players to settle the remaining match on their own accord. De Rossi was shown straight red for a soft elbow that McBride sold with a faux drop & roll. For the love of everything sacred, DO NOT DIVE AGAINST THE WOPS! They refuse to be outdone. One doesn’t bring a bag of twigs to a knife fight. One doesn’t box a pissed off bear’s ears. One doesn’t walk up to Manny Pacquiao and say, “You know I’m something of a pugilist myself. Shall we spar?” That’s their entire game. They produce the reality series “So you think you can dive?” DO NOT DIVE AGAINST THE WOPS.

 With the gauntlet thrown down, the dagos dusted off the playbook, dropping left and right every time a U.S. player so much glanced in their direction. Moments later Mastroeni executed a perfectly legal right-footed slide tackle that hit nothing but ball. Pirlo fell to his knees as I’m he had been castrated. Mastroeni was expelled. Shortly before the half Eddie Pope adroitly dispossessed Christian Zaccardo. He rolled all over the pitch pretending his jersey was on fire. Referee Jorge Larrionda threw him off on double yellows. Through their trademark thinly-veiled stage acting, the guineas had regained their advantage. Arena attempted to inject some life into his eight-man-outfield by bringing on Conrad and Beasley. Beasley cruelly had a fine goal disallowed after an uninvolved Brian McBride was ruled in an offside position. Bocanegra and Reyna struck the bar. Kasey Keller made two spectacular saves on substitute Alessandro del Piero long-range lighting bolts.

This game marked a turning point during which the tournament went slightly off the rails. Within a few matches we had surpassed the World Cup record for bookings well before we were even out of the group stages. When one plays sixty-four matches means one cannot escape a game or two being marred by officiating controversies. However, a sad plurality of subsequent games couldn’t be described as clean. This overshadowed a cup that featured more skillfully crafted football than any other. So many moments of magic were unjustifiably forgotten as the wops flopped their way all the way to the top. When asked about WM 2006, the first word to pop up in any average person’s head will be “head butt”. Dirty, filthy, greasy grimy wops. To be absolutely candid, I still haven’t forgiven McBride for waking them up. DO NOT DIVE AGAINST THE WOPS.

Ghana vs. Czech Republic

 vs. 

Where’s everyone going? There’s yet another main event on the card! A handful of drunken lingerers will stick around for this one much to their own personal reward. The whole handicapping community is in the tank for the Czechs. I refuse to give up on the Gold Coast.

The Jan Koller injury is a serious blow. A 4-5-1 absent the star striker makes for a headless snake (or a freshly circumcised penis for those of you who need a spot of vulgarity to jolt you back awake). Envisioning either Vratislav Lokvenc or Marek Heinz adequately filling his shoes proves more than problematic. Both are past their prime. If they were yet considered goal-scoring threats they wouldn’t be bumbling around in the Austrian and Turkish Leagues respectively. The Black Stars demonstrating promising form in their 2-0 loss to the Guineas. Michael Essien, Mathew Amoah, and Asamoah Gyan all came close to beating Buffon. They face another heavyweight hotshot in Peter Cech, but the Black Stars have too much talent to go goalless in consecutive matches.

We once again break away from the concurrence of the crowd. This bookie refuses to back a circumcised penis. If you’re one of those who doesn’t ascribe to the mystical power of the foreskin, please feel free to take advantage of my:

UPSET ALERT

UPSET ALERT

UPSET ALERT

THE LINE: Ghana +1 Goal

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Ghana 2, Czech Republic 0. Grab your dick and double click. For the record, the lewd mentioning contained therein was in no way meant to be anti-Semitic. Top class performance from the Black Stars, who were so domineering throughout that they could have easily won the game 5-0. Many U.S. fans resent Ghana for eliminating them in back-to-back- World Cups. Few will recall that had they not manhandled the Czechs in this one the U.S. would have been all but eliminated already. This was the infamous match when Hapoel Tel Aviv’s John Pantsil pulled an Israeli flag out of his shorts in order to convey a not-so-subtle “go fuck yourself” to Ahmadinejad and his Iranians. He instantly became a German hero. The man with watermelon-sized balls of steel.

Were it not for the supreme athletic ability of Cech, Michael Essien would have had a hat trick. He had a dream game, shaking off every tackle to snipe four boomers saved only by Cech’s brave keeping. Stephen Appiah had Cech beat from eleven meters, but his penalty unluckily slammed off the far post. Appiah was successful in picking out Gyan with a heat-seeker that Gyan brought down with a god-like first-touch. Gyan let it bounce before smacking it first time to give the Black Stars the lead inside two minutes. Shelly Muntari controlled another Appiah pearl and fooled Cech by switching over to his left foot for another sparkling goal in the 82^h. The Czechs did absolutely nothing worth mentioning in the intervening minutes. This one belonged to Africa, the Jews, and (ironically enough) uncircumcised penises. 

Sunday

Brazil vs. Australia 

 vs. 

Timmy Cahill and the thunder from down under certainly knocked everyone’s teeth out with that theatrical late win. The Brazilians are up, but not quite yet running. Ronaldo lasted all of 69 minutes before it was time for a pair of hot pockets. Ronaldinho and Adriano got some warm up shots. The remainder of the gang turned in a lukewarm debut. Were I Parreira I’m not sure I would even start Ronaldo in this one. A more polite observer would say he’s not yet adjusted the timing of his runs. This viewer thinks he runs like first-term Clinton. Robinho struck me as the superior athlete. Hiddink will likely promote Cahill and Aloisi to the starting eleven in place of Bresciano and Wilkshire. Last week we had a “Longitudinal Scrap”. First thing Sunday morning in Munich it’s a “Latitudinal Scrum”.

THE LINE: Brazil +1 Goal

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Brazil 2, Australia 0. Ronaldo proved there was life in those Turkey legs yet, impressively outdancing Craig Moore to set up Adriano in the 49th. Shortly afterwards it was time for his nap. Robinho came charging in and played like he had just snorted a rail of cocaine. Thrice he might have scored were it not for agile reactions from Mark Schwarzer. Seconds from time Schwarzer couldn’t hang on to another Robinho fireball that leaked through for Frederico Chavez Guerdo (anglicized name “Fred”). If the Brazilians and Portuguese get an anglicized name, I think it only fair that I should be able to chose a Portugeuseized name. Ahem…introducing “Pedro de Josefferia da Silva de Weisare”. The reality that, at last count, some 65% of Brazilians/Portuguese seem to have “da Silva” in their name necessitates the adoption of new monikers. 

Japan vs. Croatia 

vs. 

The hard luck Japs must dust themselves of and rise from the rubble. Presumably they’re capable of doing so, but I decline to place my trust in Zico ever again. Tamada on the bench?!?! Moniwa for Tsuboi??!?!? What on earth is this fool thinking? The Japs are being run by a madman who’s only consistent marching orders appear to revolve around ordering his team over the cliff. In the event the tacit allusions to “rubble” and suicidal marching orders aren’t exactly resonating, I believe the Japanese are doomed. The Aussies dropped a Gap Band sized bomb on them. More shelling is yet to come.

The Blazers had a nice dress rehearsal against the Brazilians. Now it’s Showtime. Put this wounded animal out of its misery. You are the thrills. You are the pills. Turn em’ out. Turn em’ on. Turn em’ loose. Turn em’ wrong. Drop another bomb on them.

THE LINE: Croatia +1 Goal

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: Croatia 0, Japan 0. Lost a bit of money here. The Croats were my hope, they were my smoke. They dropped a bomb on me…baby…they dropped a bomb on me. Before moving to the match, I wish to lodge a formal objection to the Gap Band’s gratuitous use of firework effects in that song. After they sang “You Dropped a Bomb on me” for the 400^th time, it was more or less clear what had transpired. We were fully aware that a bomb had been dropped. There was simply no need for any more aural confirmation.

We were privileged to behold another enchanting match. Although no one scored there were thirty-plus near misses. A few minutes after kickoff Miyamoto ruthlessly tripped up Dado Prso in the penalty area and the referee pointed to the spot. Dario Srnja took the spot kick but Kawaguchi made an implausibly fantastic save to his left. That dropped a bomb on me. We were in motion. It felt like an ocean. A surefire explosion turned out to be corrosion. All right. I’m reasonably content that everyone has that horrendous song in their head. That’s the last of it. I promise. For my next magical trick I’ll somehow find a way to pester everyone with Marcy’s Playground’s “Sex and Candy”

Niko Krancjar’s header ricocheted off the crossbar and Ivan Klasnic, but I’ve no cause to complain. Had Atsushi Yanagisawa not inexplicably missed a wide open net by sending a gorgeous pass in the wrong direction, the game might have turned out quite differently for the Blue Samurai. Nahiro Takahada narrowly beat out Australia’s Vince Grella for the three-quarters tricycle kick of the match. Any time a player leaves his feet to strike a mid-air ball at an acute angle it should be a goal.

We unconditionally received our full-allotment of Japanese eye-candy in the stands. One exemplary specimen was even sucking on a lollipop in a suggestive manner. Yes indeed. She wasn’t “suckin on a chili dog, outside the Tasty Freeze” like Mellancamp’s Dianne. Her lips weren’t pursed around a straw so that she might be interpreted to be “suckin on sweet tea” like nearly two-thirds of shitty country songs feel obligated to include. No sir. She was sucking on a phallic lollipop! “I smell sex and candy…here with me. Who’s that lounging…in my chair…here with me.”

France vs. South Korea

 vs. 

The previous Frog match left me so disinterested that I very nearly flipped over to Dr. Phil. Okay…I actually did flip over to Dr. Phil to learn the invaluable lesson that women shouldn’t stay with a man who does Meth habitually. So glad this guy’s worth over $40 million. Ideally this one shall wash the saponaceous aftertaste of Daytime TV clear out of my mouth. “Schwanz Befürworter”, the Red Devils of Asia, and the Tigers of Asia rhythm section will provide anodyne relief to what has thus far been the most spiritless team in the tournament. Why are the French here? They should be the ones watching Dr. Phil from the communal TV area in their retirement home. Raymond Domenech has no surprises in store for us. On the other hand, “Schwanz Befürworter” knows how to modify a team for a match,

After his laggard running in the opening match, Jin-Cheul Choi needs to be entered into permanent retirement faster than a Bladerunner replicant. A thirty-five-year-old has no place on this stage. Should Advocaat resolve to tap into his killer instinct, Kim Nam-il would be an excellent choice for an extra midfielder. Relax, he only shares two out of three syllables with the demagogue. Another player barreling downhill is Gug Chong Song. With two fullbacks out of commission, “Schwanz Befürworter” must only channel some intrepid combative energy to make this one a conclusive blowout. Throw Kim Do-Heon out there while you’re at it. Finish off the Frogs. Keep the Koreans in Germany.

 THE LINE: South Korea +2 Goals

GENTLEMEN, ENTER YOUR WAGERS

Editor’s retroactive notes:

RESULT: France 1, South Korea 1. This one turned out to be quite stupid. The lineup predictions were more or less accurate, but bloody hell. Makelele, Malouda, Viera, and finally Henry worked an impeccable series of passes to make it 1-0 in the 9^th. Viera should have made 2-0 a few minutes later. Replays showed his effort was over the goal line. We definitely need goal-line technology in football. NO INSTANT REPLAY. Goal-line technology will work. Sixty-two minutes in Ribbery should have made it 3-0. Sixty-six minutes in, Henry should have made it 4-0. Seventy some odd minutes in, Zidane should have made it 5-0. The French found their flair. Ji Sung-Park’s lucky deflection gave the Red Devils a draw, permitted only by some torrid French finishing, The “Tigers of Asia” responded to in their usual fanciful fashion. I couldn’t help internalizing the dismally forgone conclusion that I would see precious little more of them.