Supreme Match to determine the Football Champion of the
World:
Waka Waka States-side syndicate members,
As we stand before the terminus of our month-long festival,
I am finally prepared to use that phrase. It saddens me greatly that this is
farewell until 2012, unless of course Ratzinger dies unexpectedly and I have
privilege of writing another “Pope-a-Palooza” betting pool LLL
Unlike the von Trapp Family Singers, I am not particularly skilled at saying
goodbye. I find myself more blocked that John Goodman during the season finale
of “Treme”. Not only must we part, but our next rendezvous will be for Euro
2012 in……the Ukraine LLLL
(a location I am frankly sick of talking about). Before I throw myself off the
West Bank Ferry, do allow me to try and express my thanks:
Stateside syndicate members, it was an honor to spend a
month with all of you. J I was thoroughly delighted to hear from every last
one. It was my pleasure to hear where you are living now, what bullshit job has
you frustrated, what graduate program is kicking your ass, what new babies your
wife popped out, what you decided to name those babies, and even what color
vomit those babies spewed out last Tuesday. You were deemed syndicate members
because you are journeymen like me. Every two years you find yourself in a
fresh situation with loads of new exciting developments to report and tons of
fresh quick-witted jabs to deliver. To all of those that I’ve met during my
travels, my sojourns, and my more extended stays I merely wish to convey to you
the following: The whole past month of furious writing was just for you. To all
those who have found their place in life, and to those who continue to seek,
glad we could share a global tournament over the past thirty days. JJ
May we all meet again in two years time, regardless of where on this planet
life has decided to lead us. May we all once again congregate to celebrate the
beautiful game and its universal appeal. May we all yet again wager money,
level puerile insults, and catch up on the cell until the sun threatens to rise
or set. The spectacle shall return. My sincere hope is that not one among us
will be too busy to revel in it. JJ
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Sniff.
At the risk of sounding like your mother, I just love hearing from you. You
have my personal assurances that your life is neither monotonous nor boring. I
promise I’ll always find a way of reminding you of this crucial truth. No sense
in pretending that friendship is anything other than exceptionally hard work,
the absolute last thing we wish to exert energy on when we trudge home from
another day of draining office politics wanting nothing more than to be left
alone. Simply striving forward through a nonsensical universe requires a
struggle against our baser instincts. The amount of uncertainly inherent in our
daily lives leaves us susceptible to self-induced isolation and
procrastination. Should we face tasks that are straightforward and easily
envisioned, there remains little reason to hesitate. We tend to shy away from
beginning work on the more abstract, whether it be a piece of writing we have
no clue how to approach or an inter-personal relationship from which we have no
idea what to expect. As with most any other burden we must push ourselves to
address, rarely are the resulting feelings of invigoration and pride not worth
it. For the billionth time I must pause to thank all syndicate members who have
brought such rich color and texture to my life. I can only hope that I managed
to reciprocate in some small way.
For far too many stateside members, this is not simply a
goodbye to the sports-book. Many of you will proceed to ignore football as soon
as the Saints kick-off/the Phillies make the playoffs/ Lebron signs somewhere/
The new “American Idol” season starts/ “Jersey Shore 2” debuts/ The Cardinals
enter the home stretch/ The Sharks hit the ice/ LSU signs another high-schooler
who can barely write his own name/Kevin Kolb makes his first start, etc. etc.
etc. To those of you tempted to ignore the real football, I offer you my version
of Al Pacino’s speech in “Any Given Sunday”. Stay hyped. Stay psyched. Remain a
fan……at least until the American football season starts:
“Peace with the Metric System”
“I don’t know what to say really. Three minutes to the
biggest battle of our professional lives. All comes down to today. Either we
heal know as a team, or we’re going to crumble. 2.54 centimeters by 2.54
centimeters…set piece by set piece….til we’re finished. We’re in hell right now
gentlemen. Believe me. And…….we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us,
or………..we can fight our way back…….into the light….we can climb our way out of
hell. 2.54 Centimeters at a time.
Now I can’t do it for you. I’m too old. I look around and
see all of these young faces and think……..I mean…..I’ve made every wrong choice
a middle-aged man can make. I pissed away all my money, believe it or not. I
chased off anyone who’s ever loved me. And lately, I can’t even stand the face
I see in the mirror. You know, when you get old in life, things get taken from
you………. I mean that’s….that’s part of life. But, you only learn that when you
start losing stuff. You find out life’s this game of 2.54 centimeters. So is
football. Because in either game, life or football, the margin for error is so
small…..I mean…one half a step too late or too early, you don’t quite make it.
One half second too slow, too fast, you don’t quite kick it. The centimeters we
need are everywhere around us!
On this team, we fight for those 2.54 centimeters. On this
team, we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for those 2.54
centimeters. We claw with our fingernails for those 2.54 centimeters! Because,
we know when we add up all those centimeters, that’s gonna make the fucking
difference between winnin and losin!!!!!!!! Between living and dieing!!!
I’ll tell you this: In any fight, it’s the guy who’s willin
to die, who’s gonna win that 2.54 centimeters. And I know, if I’m gonna have
any life anymore, it’s because I’m still willing to fight and die for those
2.54 centimeters!!! Because….that’s what livin is!!! The 2.54 centimeters in
front of your face!!
Now I can’t make you do it! You’ve gotta look at the guy
next to you. LOOK INTO HIS EYES!! Now I think you’re gonna see a guy who will
go that 2.54 centimeters with you. I think you’re gonna see a guy who will
sacrifice himself for this team because he knows, when it comes down to it,
you’re gonna do the same for him. That’s a team, gentlemen. And, either we
heal, NOW, as a team, or we will die…as individuals. That’s football guys.
That’s all it is. Now………..WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!?!?!?!”
THE MATCH TO END ALL MATCHES—Supreme Champion of the
Football Universe
Netherlands vs. Spain
vs. 
vs.
As is our tradition, we’ll skip the chitchat and call for
final wagers. This constitutes your final opportunity to win your money back,
gentlemen. Spain will win, whether Torres starts or not. Start the Fiesta now.
Practice your upside-down exclamation marks. The “goofy Germans” haven’t a
chance. The Dutch shall be humbled once again, by a two goal spread no less.
Grab a cold Pabst Blue Ribbon. Surround yourself with cool friends. Take in as
much of Africa’s finale as you can. This is a moment none shall miss.
TO MY SPANISH FRIENDS: Cast off your regional allegiances.
Today is your day to bellow pride in your nation from the very bottom of your
belly. On this day, you are both the European and World Champions. It matters
not whether you are Basque, Catalan, or Islander. This is your day; a day you
could not forget even with 200 grams of the most potent painkiller on the
market. Don’t worry about your intake. Football will carry you all the way home
JJ
THE
LINE: Spain + 2
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Spain 1, Netherlands 0. (120 a.e.t) The astute observer will note that all bets
were on. I simply couldn’t bring myself to cut everyone off so precipitously.
The unavoidable disadvantage of allowing wagering on the final match concerns
the prevalence of those for whom the whole journey ended on a sour note. I
inflated the line intentionally, so that the torrent of money that came in on
Spain would remain in my pocket. You may recall that even if your team won, you
still lost something the Euros you shelled out celebrating. Apologies. You’ve
my word we’ll return to the more laid back tradition this Summer
We
beheld 120 minutes of exciting if somewhat tentative football beamed live from
Johannesburg’s Soccer City. Both coaches opted for a 4-3-2-1, placing their
best striker at the tip of some seriously sturdy spears. Kuyt, Schiejder, and
Robben served as van Persie’s auxiliaries while Pedro, Iniesta, and Xavi were
tasked with feeding the ball to Villa. The latter collection enjoyed the better
half of early possession, Xavi and Iniesta working especially well together on
the right flank. Mathijsen and Heitnga kept things tight at the back, however,
ensuring that there was no outright early threat. Sergio Ramos forced
Stekelenburg into a few routine saves and Heitinga kicked out a Villa lob
destined to cross the line.
The most heart-racing chance of the first half belonged to Arjen Robben, in injury time. It was Casilias first save of the match, perhaps fortuitously introducing him into a match in which he would have to display perfection. The first twenty minutes of the second half similarly belonged to the innovative and prolific Roja. Puyol headed on a beautiful ball for Capdevilla in the 52nd. Two minutes later Xavi unfurled another gorgeous free kick that Stekelenburg had to prove equal to.
De
Jong and van Bommel finally started winning of the midfield battles and were
able to send Sneijder forward in the 61st. Sneijder unleashed Robben
with a very sharp pass and then Bayern München winger was in on goal with only
Casillas to beat. Casillas gallantly ran out to meet him and, with excellent
anticipation, dove to ground to smother the eventual effort. The exact same
scene essentially played out in the 82nd when Robben twisted and
turned past Puyol and Pique, leaving Casillas to bail out the Spaniards with
another superhuman squelching save at Robben’s feet.
Del
Bosque’s men were not short of opportunities themselves as the game approached
full time. Substitute Jesus Navas spun straw into gold after receiving a switch
from Xavi. After racing up the right flank he picked out Villa with a frozen rope
cross that the Valencia forward was sorely unlucky to see deflected just wide.
Ramos again looked unstoppable in the air, even if his finish was a tick off.
He sent one nanometers over the bar in the 79th.
Extra
time adjustments saw the ineffectual Xavi Alonso subbed off for Fabregas and
Rafael van der Vaart brought on for the uncommonly quiet Nigel de Jong. The
Dutch began to show significant signs of fatigue, having been forced to cover
more ground for over an hour. The Orange spent most all of the added periods
back on their heels, desperately defending in hopes of sending the match to
penalty kicks. They found themselves forced to commit to full salvage mode in
the 109th after stingy and staunch central defender Johnny Heitinga,
who had played a fantastic match, was sent off on double yellows. Xavi, Navas,
Fabregas, and Villa pelted Stekelenburg with hopeful efforts in pursuit of some
inviting rebounds. Both halves of extra time belonged to la Roja, in large part
thanks to the precise work of a fresh-legged Fernando Torres, brought on the
106th to shake things up.
Iniesta
had draw to suspect foul on Heitinga four minutes prior to the second added
interval. Four minutes from time he would ascend to the status of historic
hero. With penalties imminent, Torres made the extra space work to his
advantage. He drew a third of the Dutch defense toward him with a sparkling
lateral run, ultimately chipping it toward a wide-open Fabregas. Fabregas
spotted Iniesta onside and, within the blink of an eye, the two had an
understanding of how they would collaborate. Cesc played it in forward, with
Iniesta running out to collect. After steadying with a single touch, he rifled
in a cross shot that left Stekelenburg with no chance even at full stretch.
Pandemonium.
Thus
concluded the 2010 Sportsbook, longer and more in depth that all the others
combined. It took me over a month to catch up on all the sleep I had denied
myself. When the bags under my eyes finally began to recede, I experienced the
restless melancholy of the rested. Better to exhausted and elated, engaged in
something that one loves.
