“To my dearest friends both old and new”,
Ten years ago a burgeoning writer gradually emerging from the harrowing tribulations of adolescence chose to employ this sincerest of greetings. After a month of hammering out flippant and facetious content, he could no longer resist conveying his genuine affection for a solid core of over a hundred individuals who graciously shared their time and wit with him. A decade has passed. Many of us have grown old together. Even though the responsibilities of adult life have shifted our priorities, we’ve retained the priceless character traits levity, perspicacity, and (of course) true heart.
When we began we were but children; soul-searching wanders,
united merely by a rapacious sense of curiosity and “Wanderlust”. The beautiful
game afforded us a pleasant distraction; a mood-elevating diversion we happily
engaged in with hopes of parlaying our renewed vigor into the future. As the
arrow of time has moved along its inevitable linear path, more and more of us
have found our place in this world. I thank my wonderfully beautiful syndicate
members for every last detailed reports on the new locations, new careers, and
new families. Though I write a similar iteration on this theme every year, it
has been an especially touching one. My heart sings at the news of your
triumphs; triumphs of the lionhearted over an all-too-often petty and unkind
world. You sharp ones deserve every last bit of success you presently enjoy.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Looking
back at it all, I’m genuinely grateful for all my struggles, false-starts, and
near misses. They enabled me to speak to you from the heart. Thanks for
speaking back ; )
Then there are those who must still struggle through despair
and doubt. These month-long festivals are, as always, dedicated to you. Though
the more heartfelt exchanges cannot compete with the snarky ones in terms of
entertaining copy, I assure you they outnumber those selected for the mailbag
20-1. It is precisely because of these communiqués that I can easily be so nonchalant
when dealing with what might otherwise be one or two piercing personal attacks.
To those ‘on the brink’ of the personal fulfillment they seek, I offer you the
heartfelt promise that the Syndicate will always be there for you. More
importantly, this Shadow Scholar will ALWAYS be here for you. I refer to you
‘on the brink’ of your individual aspirations, because I will not allow you to
fail. Whatever anguish and dejection currently ails you, I will not allow you
to face it alone. Your friendly bookie will never stand pat, picking you up and
carrying you on his shoulders if he must. No one gets left behind in our
circle. Absolutely no one. This world has place for all of us yet. We’ll strive
until the very end.
No rest
for the weary. If anything, my personal failures only strengthened my
determination to let NO ONE ELSE experience similarly dark moments. I’ll be
there for you. I promise.
New members, new friends, and the poor souls who stumbled
across this site when randomly googling something EM-related may be surprised
that we finish in such an austere and even thoughtful fashion. It has always
been so. Our core, now nearly 300 strong, constitutes an actual team. One might
even say that we’re family. Once a year we get to relive the carefree, halcyon
days of youthful indiscretion through some frivolous fluff. We’re quite the
international crew, from every last continent on earth (except Antarctica…no
penguin members that I’m aware of). There’s a very good reason winnings aren’t
disseminated until the end of tournament. It takes me the better part of three
days to calculate over 500 bets taken in U.S. Dollars, Canadian Dollars,
Australian Dollars, Euros, British Pounds, Polish Zloty, Swedish Kroner, Czech
Kroner, Swiss Francs, Mexican Pesos, Argentine Pesos, and a whole host of
ridiculous African currencies. Christ, now you at least know why I’m so adamant
about preserving the single currency.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
The
next bit covers “misfits”; a fitting term to describe those of us who, in spite
of an unrelenting commitment to hard work and self-improvement, still must
suffer under the duress of our own existential dilemmas…along with a few that
others will invariably heap upon us. It’s all dedicated to you, brothers. Keep
at it. Keep working. Keep striving. There’s no other way to get where you’re
going. We’ll all end up somewhere reasonably tolerable. I’m sure of it ; )
We are the world’s misfits, the international journeymen of
Generation Y, a ragtag group of pseudo-intellectuals who are always up for a
heavy conversation over a beer. We’ve got opinions on political elections
taking place all over the world. We’ll debate songs, films, or books with you
until the sun comes up. As much as we love waving our own flags, someone who
waves another will always remain more intriguing. We are global citizens, never
fully content to stray from the cracks between nation states for too long. We
crave the stimulation of the undiscovered harder than the most hardcore of
junkies. WE ARE THE SYNIDCATE…..and we even have a motivational address that we
traditionally close with:
“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 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, I see all of these young faces
and think……..I mean……..I’ve made every wrong choice a bookie in his late
twenties can make. I…ah…. 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…...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! They’re in every break of the game, every
minute, every second.
In
this book, we fight for those 2.54 centimeters. In this book, 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 FUCKIN 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 15.24 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 those 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?!?!?!?!”
And what of the future of our ‘team’? Difficult to say. You
know your friendly bookie would cover virtually every international sports
tournament if he could. Though the Olympics would be too over-scoped, I’d write
on the African Cup of Nations, the IIHF’s International Ice Hockey Tournament,
even 2013’s WORLD BASEBALL CLASSIC. It all comes down to how much hobby time I
can wrest from other obligations. In any event, I can ABSOLUTELY, IRON-CLAD
promise Syndicate Members two things:
1) The new hobby-writing website will be completed before
2012 is out. As inferred above, ALL still-seeking syndicate members need to
come with me. If you’ve been unable to carve out your niche yet, I’ll create
your home. As a frequent reject myself, I know that those of us who live to
assault the keys need their own home. “Extreme Makeover: Vice Edition” will
ensure that we all have a room over our head, under which we can practice our
love in peace.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
The
website WAS completed. Unfortunately, only one solitary writer could find time
for it. I harbor no animosity, brothers. Live your lives. Just check in when
you can ; )
2) We shall all met again next summer for the Confederations
Cup “Dry Run”. One year prior to the World Cup, the continental champions
congregate for a little trial/test. The U.S. will be there. Spain too. Brazil
as host. South American, Asian, African, and Oceanic Champions as well. Back in
2009, the U.S. even made it to the final. Stay tuned.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
This
promise is being kept as we speak….against all the odds. It’s happening ; )
Supreme Champion of the European Football Universe—Italy
vs. Spain
vs. 
Thirty-three days ago, we kicked off “EM 2012—Syndicate Resurrection”.
The following words heralded the advent:
“Welcome
to Europe Syndicate Members,
I
bring you tidings from the gloriously picturesque campus of a highly accredited
European technical institution. Radiant sunshine and a gentle spring breeze
graces our presence. This Eden-like setting has succeeded in imbuing us all
with a sense with a sense of sublime tranquility and unbridled optimism. Every
last one has been seduced by the enchanting day: the birds pleasantly chirping
in the shady trees, the bumbling absent-minded professors stumbling late to a
lecture they forgot they were supposed to give, the schizophrenic graduate
students pacing around reciting their presentations, even the skinny-jean clad,
overly gelled hair hipster scum occupying the bench adjacent to mine discussing
Kierkegaard. It is indeed a day doing it’s utmost to instill an indomitable
sense of warmth, comfort, and hope to ALL of us below-average individuals
preoccupied with mundane tasks. Yes Sir. Life is damn good.
Yes,
I’m drinking. No, it’s not forbidden. Though one shouldn’t falsely conclude
that it is encouraged, I legitimately bought this ONE EURO BEER (roughly 85
cents) from the bar next to the library. Shall we allow that last sentence to
sink in for a spell? Yes, “the bar NEXT TO the library.” I’ll provide you with
the precise measurements in both Metric and Anglo. By “next to” I mean
approximately 15 feet or 4.5 meters away. Welcome to Europe, Gentlemen. As
Vincent Vega would say, we do things “just a little bit different” over
here….at least for the time being. Were you to believe the Cassandra Hacks
working for The Economist, you’d almost be convinced that all of this might
disappear in a whiff of smoke emanating from a bond-vigilante-mushroom-cloud
next Tuesday. Well, I’ve news for everyone, even the sensationally erudite: We
are Europe and we’re not going anywhere….at least not for the time being.
Speaking
of Hack writers, an obscure ghost used these words to describe Europe back in
the fall of 2009:
“Bizarre
Micro States galore! We’ve got ethic enclaves, medieval fiefdoms, breakaway
republics, “kingdoms” that have been a part of the U.K. for 600 years, bitterly
dived realms that can’t decide on a nationality, new countries that were formed
yesterday at 3:34 a.m. when no one was paying attention, land’s whose teams
have goats and sheep playing for them, States who have survived centuries of
warfare by functioning merely as a picturesque tax shelter and a newly approved
treaty that aims to make sense of the whole tangled mess! Ladies and gentlemen,
I give you the quirky inheritor of feudal Christendom… I give you a veritable
patchwork quilt of technocrats squabbling over milk subsidies. I give you
EUROPE! (Turks, Israelis, Russians, Kazaks, Azerbaijanis, and Nordic Colonial
islands also welcome. Everyone join the party!)”
The
“treaty” at that specific juncture was Lisbon, rammed through on a second try
past an obstinately cautious Irish electorate. Now we are pleased to present
the EFSF (European Financial Stability Facility) and it’s little, shier sister,
the EFSM (European Financial Stability Mechanism). Together they pack a punch
of over 500 billion Euros. Add the IMF’s contribution and we’ve got 750 billion
Euros protecting yield spreads. Add the potential of flexible credit lines from
either the IMF and World Bank and we’re over a trillion. Give the Chinese a
polite phone call and we’ve met the requirements elucidated by the honorable
Hans Beinholtz:
Europe:
Eat dinner at ten. Take a nap at two. Meet your lover at four. Meet your
mistress at five. Meet your lover’s mistress at six. Even if my beer-fueled
back-of-the-envelope casual calculations don’t add up (imagine that), I’m
fearlessly confident in the proclamation that we shall always exist. Nobody
gets past the troika, not even “Mr. Pudding”. Now if we could all leave the
needless, obsessive, and ultimately narcissistic pontificating to the those
poor, lamentable souls who happen to comprise my immediate family, why don’t we
all get together and enjoy what appears to be one of the most promising
football tournaments ever?
All
the traditional powerhouses are present. For the first time, insofar as I can
remember, no major stars are injured. Poland, Sweden, the Czech Republic, the
Ukraine, and Ireland are all back after furloughs of two years or more.
Defending European and World Champions Spain are determined to make it three in
a row, bringing an estimated 785 million Euros (nearly a billion dollars) worth
of talent. In terms of salaries, only Germany comes close with a roster pushing
525 million. That isn’t to say that insanely talented Portuguese, Dutch, Czech,
Wop, English and Swedish sides don’t have a nearly equal chance to contend. Who
knows? In 2004, the Greeks shocked us all. The Irish, Ukrainians, Danes,
Croats, and new-look French all stand ready to do the same.
Who’s
ready for some football? It’s been nearly a year since I’ve had the honor of
posing that question. Back into the library to set the syndicate up.”
Why do I bring this up? Mostly because I’m picking Italy.
Sorry, La Roja fans. Del Bosque reminds me too much of Löw in that his
confidence in selecting a lineup has passed the danger threshold. Those who
have been following closely know that I’ve been screaming at him to start to
Llorente at striker for a good month. He may very well finally capitulate, but
it will too little, too late. Pirlo will give every last ounce in his farewell
game. Balotelli surfs cloud nine. This Spanish side just doesn’t inspire
confidence. I’ve watched as they’ve experimented with the front three:
Fabregas, Torres, Pedro, and Negredo. There simply isn’t a solution, not after
the Navigators found a way of neutralizing the “ticky-tack” short-passing
scheme. Prandelli may have fewer options, but the blueprint is there for
everyone to see.
I reprint this introductory passage to remind everyone that,
WE ARE STILL EUROPE! Just as I sincerely wish that those Syndicate Members
presently pinned-down by worldly travails rise up for our final match, I need
to see Europe unite and ignite together. ALL BETS ARE OFF, as they should be.
One way or another, a gigantic party will commence on Sunday evening. It
doesn’t really matter who wins. I want to see Spanish fans join the Italian
parade if the Azzuri take it. Likewise, I want you Wops to hoop it up with your
Latin brothers should you come up short. My message to all Europeans: Time to
put the flags away. It matters not which country we belong to. The time has
come to get drunk together. Another four years will pass before we can all
forget the borders and dance as one. This is OUR time. Plenty of room in Europe
for all of our brethren. EU Policy wonks will tell you otherwise……but guess who
writes their policy papers?
Fuck the divisions. All together now, my European brothers.
We are one, united behind a common flag. Let’s celebrate what it means to be a
part of enlightened Western Democracy. Let us all rejoice in the common ground
we share on human rights, economic justice, personal liberty, and true freedom.
The States beat us on the GDP front, but we’re the ones who truly know how to
give people the freedom to do as they please. Sorry, Americans. Out criminal
code represents true liberty.
AUF GEHT’S EUROPA!!
THE
LINE: ITALY +1 Goal
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Spain 4, Italy 0. An immeasurably joyous final. By far the most action-packed
final that I’ve ever witnessed. Goals and intrigue throughout. Coarsing through
the Goodbyes Section always leaves me a bit misty-eyed. You’ll have to excuse
me if the usual intricate analysis seems unbecoming. I’ll cover the goals in as
brief a flit as I can manage: Fabregas served up Silva for a 14th
minute opener. Barça’s beast then topped himself with an unthinkable feed to
Jordi Alba in the 41st. Xavi then outdeked the entire Italian
midfield to assist Torres in the 84th. Torres then provided a nifty
give-and-go for Mata in the 88th. 4-0 La Roja. Game(s) over.
Why
spend do little time on the history that was made that evening? Because our
history overshadowed anything that transpired on the pitch. Spain captured
their third consecutive crown. Big deal. We closed our tenth consecutive
Sportsbook. Go us. All bets were off. This night belonged to everyone. Winners
and losers alike. Everyone’s a winner when the final match rolls around ; )
