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During slopestyle qualifiers at the third annual Crankworx international mountain-bike festival in Whistler, British Columbia, rider after rider slams their frame and face into the dirt, their botched back flips, tail whips and 720s replayed ad nauseam on a 30-foot big-screen posited under the takeoff of the course's final drop.
I'm chillaxin' with the three biggest names in fourcross (4X): American up-and-comer Eric Lindsley, and local champs Stacy Kohut and Johnny Therien, owners of R-One, a Whistler-based four-wheel downhill mountain-bike manufacturer. We talk shop and shoot the shit after racing in the Jim Beam Air Downhill event earlier that afternoon. We all come from bicycle motocross (BMX), downhill (DH), skateboard and racing backgrounds and all have snapped our spines, and we're doing something that's never been done: marketing an extreme sport for both able and disabled adrenaline fiends.
"Here's the thing," says Kohut, a former Canadian Paralympic sit-skier and 1994 Super G gold medalist at Lillehammer, "the roots of 4X are in the adaptive endeavors [like quad ruby or "murderball"] of the early '90s, but today this is not an adaptive sport. Nothing against those who did or do, but we don't fly the wheelchair flag." The only "adaptive" part of 4X today is that the bikes have four wheels instead of two, and while that allows people with limited use of their legs to ride, it also is developing into a different kind of extreme sport.
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Four-wheelers do it just as fast
During slopestyle qualifiers at the third annual Crankworx international mountain-bike festival in Whistler, British Columbia, rider after rider slams their frame and face into the dirt, their botched back flips, tail whips and 720s replayed ad nauseam on a 30-foot big-screen posited under the takeoff of the course's final drop.
I'm chillaxin' with the three biggest names in fourcross (4X): American up-and-comer Eric Lindsley, and local champs Stacy Kohut and Johnny Therien, owners of R-One, a Whistler-based four-wheel downhill mountain-bike manufacturer. We talk shop and shoot the shit after racing in the Jim Beam Air Downhill event earlier that afternoon. We all come from bicycle motocross (BMX), downhill (DH), skateboard and racing backgrounds and all have snapped our spines, and we're doing something that's never been done: marketing an extreme sport for both able and disabled adrenaline fiends.
"Here's the thing," says Kohut, a former Canadian Paralympic sit-skier and 1994 Super G gold medalist at Lillehammer, "the roots of 4X are in the adaptive endeavors [like quad ruby or "murderball"] of the early '90s, but today this is not an adaptive sport. Nothing against those who did or do, but we don't fly the wheelchair flag." The only "adaptive" part of 4X today is that the bikes have four wheels instead of two, and while that allows people with limited use of their legs to ride, it also is developing into a different kind of extreme sport.
4X began in the early 1990s when John Davis, also a former Paralympic sit-skier, teamed up with MIT engineer John Castellano to create an off-road wheelchair. Over the next 10-plus years several different designs emerged under a variety of manufactures: Davis' Cobra Ace, Michael Whiting's Phoenix, the Parapros Spyder and, most importantly, the Grove.
Built by Grove Innovations, this bike was the first design aimed at developing off-road wheelchairs for sport, blending full-suspension mountain-bike technology with a motocross aesthetic and relatively high levels of production. After producing 30-plus bikes, in 2002 Grove sold the jegs (the engineering blueprints) to Kohut, who, after further refining the design with Therein, began manufacturing R-One's own rides later that year.
Their bikes grab your eye — Chris King headsets, custom Phil Wood hubs, flashy pink, green, gold and yellow paint jobs highlighting four expertly tuned Vanilla RC Fox Shox. You ride in a fitted fiberglass go-cart seat situated above the rear axles, giving stability on high-speed hairpin turns and a weight ratio that allows you to pop your front end off the ground to aid airs.
Kohut and Therein have tried to market their four-wheel bikes to ski-resorts-turned-summer-bike-parks from their B.C. backyard to Big Bear, but they keep running into the same problem: Resorts only want to buy the bikes with money allocated from their adaptive programs, and those bikes would only be available to disabled riders.
Whistler Blackcomb Mountain Bike Park manager Tom Pearl says he wants more disabled riders out on the trails, but fears that expansion may be risky business. "These bikes cost $10,000," he explains. "Forty thousand dollars [the cost of four bikes] can build a lot of trails. [Expansion is] possible, but as a service to get disabled people out, it's cost prohibitive." Perhaps his trepidation is justified. Though Lindsley and I are recruiting ambulatory talent to start racing in summer '07, there are currently no competitive able-body riders — Whistler Blackcomb has not purchased any of R-One's bikes.
Regardless, 4X riders are giving the downhill community a run for their money, though on drastically different equipment. 4X bikes, while running much of the same high-end mechanics as the pro two-wheelers, have no drive train, and are powered primarily by gravity and periodic arm pushes. Even so, when compared side by side with the other pros, our times keep up.
Kohut swooped first in the Jim Beam Air Downhill with a 5:35.62, only 76 seconds behind pro two-wheeler champ Brian Lopes, and 35 seconds ahead of Coakley Jopling, the last-place pro.
After the race, Kohut, Therien, Lindsley and I sit working on our rigs at one of the festival's entry points. Plenty of people stop — everyone stares. The only way to see these things rail is to get out on the trail. You can't watch us from your seat, so there are frequent misconceptions about how our bikes work.
"You should put a motor on that thing." "Where's the roll cage?" "My neighbor's dog was in a wheelchair once." About half of them drop the "I" word — inspiration. "You guys are a real inspiration; it's good to see you out," says one man. Kohut is not appreciative. "It's good to see you out, sir," he retorts, "are you on a field trip from the home?" As the man shuffles off, Kohut adds, "Some people just don't get it. It's not about a guy in a [wheel]chair racing; it's about people that race who happen to be in chairs."
I remember watching Lindsley trying to huck a 25-stair gap at UC Santa Cruz last October. He wasn't getting up to speed quickly enough, so he grabbed onto the back of a bro's bike. He did a nice job clearing the better part of the first set of 12 stairs, but his precision and poise as he "endo-ed" down the next set before landing on his head was especially adept. After he hit the deck, he flailed his arms. "I wanted to make sure I could still move them," he recounts. He could.
Lindsley is turning into what Kohut calls, "a junkie"; a rider with a downhill addiction. You gotta have guts to downhill period, but when you decide to strap yourself into a 65-pound piece of metal and descend double black diamond runs on a hybrid go-cart, you gotta be mental. At Crankworx '05 he became the first four-wheeler to hit and land Whistler's nine-foot GLC drop, and though he didn't crash, it's something you have to be prepared to do. 4X is a splinter of two-wheel downhill, and crashing is inherent to both sports. Besides, chicks dig scars — right?
Non-4Xers are beginning to show more than a fleeting interest. Scott Hart, the editor of Decline, a mountain-bike sports and culture magazine, rode Therien's R-One bike down B-Line and plans a review in a forthcoming issue. Earlier this summer at Monterey's Sea Otter Classic, Lindsley and I met up with American X, a Tahoe-based extreme-sports production company, who, after filming us at the event (and with some coaxing from Lindsley), funded our Crankworx trip and sent two cameramen to film the events for a forthcoming DVD. "The hope is that through this increasing publicity, the sport will continue to develop and grow to the point where the price of these things will drop," says Lindsley. Right now an R-One ride will set you back $10,000, and though that's not much more than the $7,000-$9,000 you'll spend on a top-end two-wheel ride, it's still steep — especially for a "new-extreme" sport.
"If people are interested, they'll pay," says Kohut. To develop to the next level, the sport needs more riders, and he thinks it's just a matter of time. "4X is a blend of skateboard attitude and BMX style, on a downhill course." At the suggestion that the X-Games could be a potential future venue, Kohut says, "The X-Games are in city centers, not really conducive to 4X, but if they want to hold it on a course where we can perform like the showmen and -women we are — it's on!"
Hell, yeah.
–Gavin Williamson
Web resources:
http://www.sitski.com/offroad2.htm
http://www.whistlerblackcomb.com
http://www.castellanodesigns.com
http://www.livewiremedia.com/chariot.html
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So Zizou has spoken, finally breaking his silence about that infamous head-butt during an interview on the French television station, Canal +. He mixed apology with evasion, and wore a dark green combat-style jacket draped over his shoulders -- a quietly defiant, militaristic touch. Fortunately, he didn't bring a machine gun. His message to the nation, reduced to its essentials, was: "What I did was unforgivable, and if the same circumstances were to present themselves, I would do exactly the same thing again." Unpeeling a fresh layer of vindictiveness, he all but demanded that Marco Materazzi, the Italian defender whose playground taunts provoked his assault, be prosecuted for the "crime" of saying nasty things about his family. Since Materazzi still has a career to consider, it's apparent that Zidane intends it to be a tainted, haunted one. The fact that neither player has been willing to specify precisely what was stated on the field suggests it's too embarassing to go into. In other words, it was the usual petty, hateful, macho "yo mama" crap that flourishes in pick-up basketball games without a soul in attendance as surely as it does in a soccer match eye-balled by billions. Zidane, whose public image is that of a quiet, humble man, is now blatantly trading on his celebrity in calling for Materazzi's head. Had the Italian head-butted Zidane for similar reasons, he would have been dismissed as a moron and a jerk, and deservedly so.
Ultimately, Zidane's legend is likely to be tarnished mainly in the unspoken thoughts of French citizens who'll have noticed that, in stating he had to defend his honor "as a man," Zidane swept the honor of his country to one side. Publicly, though, it will be a different story. He has already been treated to a grovelling speech from France's pathetic President, Jacques Chirac, and the nation's intellectuals have predictably rushed to his defense. Le Nouvel Observateur, a left-wing French newsweekly, applauded him for demonstrating that "dignity is more important than sport and television glory." Bernard-Henri Lévy described him as "a valiant knight," and one of the country's most famous lawyers offered a Clintonian defense of his action. All of this is due not only to Zidane's athletic prowess, but to his status as a Muslim icon in a country that, not without reason, is fearful of much of its Muslim population. Zidane's head-butt carried the faint whiff of an honor-killing, and the French elites, showing their customary spinelessness, have promptly excused it.
And what of Materazzi? A mere journeyman in comparison to the great Frenchman (albeit one with a World Cup Winner's medal, and two superbly taken goals in the final), he is now under official investigation from FIFA and will surely have to play the fall guy to preserve Zizou's aura of iconic purity -- Saint Zidane. There is an irony here, since a player of Zidane's extravagant gifts is able to flourish only when surrounded by "hard" men, by enforcers just like… Materazzi. At the Italian club, Juventus, he had Edgar "Bulldog" Davids to protect him. When his next club, Real Madrid, sold off defensive midfielder Claude Makelele a couple of years ago, replacing him with Mr. Metrosexual, David Beckham -- no one's idea of an enforcer -- Zidane's career went into free-fall.
Granted, it was mostly a wretched World Cup, marred by coaches who tried to turn strikers into an extinct species, and riddled with niggling fouls and floppers and drama queens. From that point of view, Zidane's dramatic lowering of the horns had a certain winning directness to it -- Allez les Bulls! By then the game had devolved into a typical exercise in futility, anyway, with neither side likely to score from open play if they carried on for another fortnight, so why not dispense with the ball altogether and just go at it? Enough of this merde. But unfortunately, Zidane's pseudo- mea culpa has shown him to be full of merde himself.
In anycase, his complaint about what Materazzi said to him raises an interesting question. For Materazzi claims that the stream of insults that issued from his lips did so primarily as a result of, and in reaction to, a look of "supreme contempt" given him by Zidane -- the Olympian glare of a global superstar for a relative nobody. Ouch. In other words, it's a case of hate-looks versus hate-speech. Enough to keep FIFA, and eventually the E.U. and the U.N., busy for decades.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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Not for the first time, the World Cup Final, which was won by Italy on penalties after a 1-1 tie, was a disastrous advertisement for soccer in America. But that was the least of its problems, starting with the fact that the more enterprising team lost and France's Zinedine Zidane, the most distinguished player on the field, ended his career in disgrace. There will be much speculation as to why exactly he decided to head-butt Italy's Marco Materazzi in the chest -- an act of astonishing, jaw-dropping viciousness -- and rumors that it was the result of Materazzi's race-baiting him are already swarming the Internet. (Which is no reason to believe them.) Whatever the cause, it was an act of utter stupidity coming from such an experienced athlete. Nor is it the only black mark on Zidane's World Cup career. He was red-carded early in the 1998 tournament after stamping on a Saudi Arabian player, and he was suspended for the third match of this year's competition after collecting two yellow cards in the group stage. Zidane has a temper and it seems to flare up with particular venom in international competition.
One of the peculiarities of the match was that Italy, the younger side and with a day's extra rest, came out after half-time looking utterly exhausted. They were marginally the better of the two teams for the first 45 minutes, but after that they were clearly outplayed, though they hit the bar and had what appeared to be a legitimate goal ruled offside. There were occasional sparks of lively soccer, but the abiding image of the game, aside from Zidane imitating a goat, was of players lying on the field clutching their ankles, heads, shoulders and legs and rolling around in agony. France's opening goal came from an undeserved penalty (though they were later denied a penalty they did deserve), and perhaps that set the tone for a match that turned increasingly sour, culminating in the French captain's astonishing over-time meltdown. Ironically, just minutes earlier, Zidane nearly headed home what would surely have been the winning goal, following a neatly worked move he'd started. Only the outstretched fingertips of Italian goalkeeper Gianluigi Buffon's foiled him, pushing the ball over the bar. Had it gone in, Zidane would have closed out his career as one of France's great heroes. Instead, he wound up on the losing side, and remained in the dressing room while the rest of his team collected their second-place medals. A sad and very strange end to a career that has given millions so much pleasure. At his peak, Zidane was one of the most graceful players ever to touch a football, and far more of an "artist" than many people who make their livings in white-walled galleries. Yet his ultimate act, witnessed by over a billion people, was one of stunning brutality.
As for Italy, they offered little of the brio they displayed in their terrific semi-final win over hosts Germany. A World Cup that ends on penalty kicks is inevitably anti-climactic. Couple that with Zidane's disgraceful outburst, the paucity of goals, the endless gamesmanship and diving that marred far too many matches, and you have a World Cup that mostly made a mockery of Nike's "Jogo Bonito" commercials. The best club soccer is a lot more entertaining. So, for that matter, was today's Wimbledon Final.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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Like a man walking a tightrope over a lake of Iberian hellfire, Roger Federer managed to retain his nerve and poise to win his fourth successive Wimbledon title. More importantly, perhaps, he proved he could finally vanquish Rafael Nadal, at least on his beloved grass. It was a high quality match, though played under a cloud of extraordinary psychological tension. Knowing his mental frailty against the redoubtable Mallorcan, Federer pulled a Sampras and essentially served his way to the title while doing just enough with his ground strokes to flummox his rival. With luck, the victory will now allow him to start to relax against Nadal -- who still has an extraordinary 6-2 overall record against him -- and tennis will enjoy its greatest rivalry since the heady days of Borg-McEnroe in the 1970s and Agassi-Sampras in the '90s. Though no American is involved this time around, the match-up is so compelling that more Americans may start to tune in anyway. Let's hope so, as the rest of the world certainly is.
For Federer there is still much to prove, and his next match against Nadal, even if it comes in the final of a minor hardcourt tournament later this summer (as it's bound to), will be vital for him. Having finally defeated Nadal for the first time in six matches, he will need to reinforce his confidence and back up this Wimbledon victory. As for Nadal, you needn't worry about him. At 20 years of age (Federer is 24) he is improving with every passing month and his will-to-win may be the most extraordinary ever seen on a tennis court. If the talented Cypriot Marcos Baghdadis (who gave Nadal a tough time in the semis) can improve his fitness, and if Marat Safin can recover from his knee injury and start playing consistent tennis again, the next couple of years could become even more competitive for the men's game. Otherwise expect the Rafa-Roger show to keep rolling through the rest of the summer. It should be something to witness.
And now, if I'm not mistaken, something called the World Cup Final is about to start.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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The reason the World Cup now has 32 teams rather than 16, as it did in 1982, is that it didn't look sufficiently global back then. (Effectively, it was a mostly European competition with a few African and Latin American sides thrown in.) Now, it's kind of like the U.N. -- everyone gets their say, but only a few say anything that matters. Thus we have no-hopers like Togo, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Japan, Trinidad and Tobago and even arguably the U.S. serving as warm-up acts for the same old soccer powers who always end up dominating the thing and who act as a kind of permanent Security Council lording it over everyone else: Brazil, Germany, France, Italy, Argentina, etc.
Personally, I wish it were more of a round-robin competition in which the very best sides all played each other until a victor emerged. Wouldn't you have liked to have seen Brazil play Argentina, for instance? Or how about Argentina's melancholy playmaker Riquelme square off against the monkish Zidane? How would Italy have done against Spain? Obviously, there's a charm to having total underdogs in the mix, since you never know when someone might surprise you. Greece won the 2004 European Championships, for instance, stunning far more illustrious teams. On the other hand, they then failed to qualify for the World Cup.
But aside from the disappointment of not seeing certain sides play each other -- I would have loved to watch a repeat of 2002's Mexico-U.S. encounter -- there were the individual let-downs, the biggest of which was Ronaldinho. This was supposed to be his coronation, but instead of gaining a crown he crashed out against France wearing a silly headband with a giant "R" on it. Argentina's Lionel Messi was criminally underused, and Wayne Rooney was obviously too affected by his injury to show us what he was capable of. The African teams once again came up short, with Ghana, in its match against Brazil, putting on one of the worst shooting displays I've ever witnessed. On the other hand, they played some great soccer until they came near the goal.
Perhaps the biggest disappointment was the U.S. In 2002, we came very close to beating runners-up Germany in the quarter-final. And if Italy manages to beat France on Sunday without conceding a goal, then the only one they will have given up in the competition will have been to us. Granted, it was an own goal, but despite this year's setback, the U.S., a team with more players than fans (as someone quipped), put up a plucky fight. And since our regional qualifying group is weak, we'll continue to qualify for the World Cup like clockwork, thereby obliquely illuminating certain Old World hypocrisies. For instance, I thought Europeans, unlike nasty Americans, despised flags? Strange, then, how they all seem to be waving them. The American team, on the other hand, had to move around Germany in a flagless, unmarked bus, presumably so as not to cause offense to tender European sensibilities.
It was also sad to see Mexico exiting in the round of 16. They were magnificent against Argentina, particularly captain Rafael Marquez, who was one of the players of the tournament, and it took an absolutely amazing, once-in-a-lifetime goal from Maxi Rodriguez to knock them out. It seemed way too soon.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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World Cup finals, as everyone knows, are usually tense, cautious affairs, and Sunday's final between France and Italy is likely to be no less tense and cautious than usual. But tense and cautious doesn't always mean dull, and there's a good chance that this particular match-up will showcase soccer that is also subtle and exciting. The last major encounter between Italy-France, in the finals of the 2000 European Championships, came down to the wire and ultimately fell 2-1 to the French, with the Italians perhaps unlucky to lose. It was a riveting game, decided in the dying moments, and this one should be also, for they are well-matched teams who both play the continental brand of soccer. The 1994 final, in which Brazil beat Italy on penalties after a marathon 0-0 stalemate, was essentially ruined by the stifling heat of Pasadena in mid-summer. (It was played at noon so that people could watch it live at 9 p.m. in Europe -- a match sacrificed to television.) In 1998, when Brazil faced France, the mysterious pre-game seizure suffered by Ronaldo left the Brazilian team demoralized and in disarray before a ball had even been kicked. Incredibly, they didn't even come out for a pre-game warm-up, and France romped to a 3-0 triumph. Great for France, but it wasn't much of a contest. And in 2002, when Brazil beat Germany 2-0 (with Ronaldo enjoying redemption by scoring twice), few soccer fans complained but the truth was that Germany was a mediocre team while Brazil was barely a team, which is to say a disciplined, cohesive unit, at all. They simply had three superb strikers -- Ronaldo, Rivaldo and Ronaldinho -- all at the top of their form, and that was enough to see them through.
This time around, the level of play is likely to be higher. Both teams are definitely teams, and both have much to prove and play for beyond the trophy itself. The French have all sorts of enticing motivations. They would love to demonstrate that they're not too old, for a start. (Only Trinidad and Tobago fielded a side with a higher average age.) Even more, they would love to defy France's anti-immigration politician, Jean-Marie le Pen, who has repeatedly described France's team, which sports only a handful of white faces, as being not really French. Lastly, there is the personal drama of 34 year-old veteran, Zinedine Zidane, the greatest player of his generation, who is about to retire. Win or lose, he says the World Cup Final will be his last match for either club (Real Madrid) or country. If France wins, he'll be going out on a high note, to put it mildly.
The Italians have some extra incentives too. They haven't won the World Cup since 1982 -- a painfully long time for what is arguably the greatest footballing nation after Brazil. Serie A, the Italian league, is beset by charges of match-fixing, and the scandal is one of the biggest ever to hit the sport and a blight on the Italian game in particular. If they can't undo the scandal, they'd at least like to overshadow it. Then there's the fact that the once proud Italian game seems to have gone into a slight but unmistakable decline. They were beaten (controversially) by South Korea in the last World Cup -- an unthinkable humiliation for the great Azzuri -- and AC Milan managed to lose the 2005 UEFA Champions Leage Final to English underdogs Liverpool after taking a seemingly unassailable 3-0 lead. (If only England's national side played with that Liverpudlian spirit.) And if France has won liberal hearts by representing the new face of multicultural Europe, with the Muslim genius Zidane at the helm, the Italian side is a pre-immigration throw-back without a drop of foreign blood in sight. Cast your eye down the team-sheet and you could almost be ordering off a menu in Little Italy: "I'll have a Cannavaro with a side of Zambrotta, and maybe a Totti to finish. No, make it a Del Piero." Since every member of the Italian squad plays in the Italian league, victory will unarguably represent a triumph for the oft-derided Italian style of play. That could be an extra motivation, too. But presumably, just winning the damn thing will be all the inducement either side needs.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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On Swiss tennis star Roger Federer, everyone from past greats such as John McEnroe, Mats Wilander and Pete Sampras to the players who actually face him on the courts now, seems to be in agreement. He is, or may well be, the most preternaturally gifted tennis player of all time. At just 24, he has already won seven Grand Slam titles, including the last three Wimbledons, and on Sunday will try to make that four in a row when he plays the 20 year-old Mallorcan phenom, Rafael Nadal in the final. The sporting calendar is so busy that if there's a rain delay, always a possibility at Wimbledon, or if the match runs longer than 3 1/2 hours, then the World Cup Final will begin while the two men are still duking it out. For a contest this tantalizing, that doesn't seem right. What if Andy Murray had made the finals of Wimbledon and England had gotten to the final of the World Cup? Wouldn't the Brits have changed the schedule?
In my last post, I wrote about soccer nemeses: the way France has Brazil's number, for instance, or how the Germans have always had France's. But being a team sport, soccer spreads the pain of continuously losing to the same opponent through an entire squad. In tennis, it's personal, and it hurts. Federer has lost only four matches this year, and they have all been to Nadal, against whom he has an embarassing 1-6 record. Last month he lost to Nadal in four sets at the French Open on Nadal's favorite surface, the red clay of Paris, having also lost to him on clay in the final of the Rome Open shortly before that. (Federer held match points in that one, but got tight and was unable to convert.) After winning the first set in Paris, Federer gradually seemed to sink into a morass of lethargy and despair against an opponent who not only beats him on the court, but in his mind as well. Nadal may not be quite so talented a shot-maker as Federer, but his will to win is extraordinary and his style of play (he's a leftie, to begin with) seems to have been designed to foil Federer's. While the Swiss is all smooth Mozartian motion, a classic tennis player playing in a refined classic style, Nadal hits huge, high-bouncing top-spin shots and stalks the court like a trained assassin. Federer wants to win in style, but Nadal has only one goal: to win. And win he does, even against Federer, over and over again with a daunting single-mindedness. Over the last two years, Federer has been as dominant in tennis as Tiger Woods in golf, except against Nadal -- his nemesis. And so we now have the very peculiar situation -- it may even be an unprecedented one -- in which the world's number one player (Federer is far, far ahead of Nadal on points in the ATP ranking system) consistently loses to the number two, while breezing past everyone else.
What makes Sunday's final so pivotal is that, having lost his last four finals against Nadal -- once on hard courts and three times on clay (his least favorite surface) -- Federer finally has a chance to play him on the one surface on which he has been untouchable: the grass of Wimbledon. Should Nadal vanquish him again, it will not only throw the rankings into confusion -- technically, Federer will remain number one, but in every other sense he will seem like the second-best player in the world -- it may also do lasting damage to Federer's potentially delicate psyche. He himself has so utterly outclassed other players -- Roddick and Hewitt come to mind -- as to virtually ruin their careers, leaving them pale, shell-shocked versions of their former selves. Now he is in danger of suffering a similar fate. On paper, his grass-court brilliance should be too much even for Nadal to handle, but that's on paper. The actual match will be played on grass, and in the mind. Men's tennis desperately needs a top-flight rivalry, and if Federer loses to Nadal for the seventh time running it won't be much of a rivalry. Which may be why a lot of tennis fans are hoping that he will reassert his supremacy and finally make his ongoing duel with the young Spaniard into a truly competitive one. Win or lose, everyone knows Nadal isn't going to go away. He is young and utterly fearless. But there is a worry that, should he lose to Nadal on his favorite surface as well as every other kind, the Swiss genius may crumple inwardly and surrender, just as he seemed to do on the red clay of Roland Garros last month. It would be a tragedy for tennis if that were to happen.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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I was in France the night that the French football team faced lowly Togo in its final group-stage game. France had started the tournament poorly, and needed to beat Togo by at least two goals to qualify for the knockout round. Zidane had been suspended for the match, Henry was struggling, team morale appeared to be non-existent, and according to a poll in the French sports daily, L'Equipe, the nation had little faith that its band of squabbling has-been footballers could manage even one goal against Togo, let alone two.
On the night of the match, I had dinner at the home of a French family in a beautiful hillside neighborhood of Angers, a small city two hours south-west of Paris. There was no television in the house, but occasionally (for my sake more than his own), my host, a charming but somewhat mysterious ghost writer named Jan, would turn on the radio to see how things were progressing avec les Bleus. For a long time it was 0-0. We were sitting out on a patio, enjoying a fine summer evening, and from the neighboring houses on the other side of an ancient garden wall we could hear occasional shouts of joy or agony -- it was hard to tell which, and plainly Jan didn't care much one way or the other. But eventually the shouts got louder, Jan turned on the radio again, and it was clear the news was good: France had got its two goals and scraped into the next round by winning second place in its group.
It was then that Jan mentioned casually that France's victory was very bad news for Spain, which had come out top in its group, and (unlike the French) had done so in considerable style. At this point, the Spanish were deemed second only to Argentina in the quality of their play. The team was young, bold, and bursting with energy and ideas. Moreover, in the figure of young Cesc Fabregas, the brilliant Arsenal midfielder who had thoroughly outplayed Zidane in Arsenal's victory over Real Madrid in the UEFA Champions League only a couple of months earlier, the Spanish had the perfect antidote to Zizou's midfield dominance -- a younger, hungrier version of the great man himself. In fact, at 18, he was young enough to be his son.
But my host didn't see it that that way. "You see," he told me, "the Spanish assumed all along that France would win its group as well, in which case they wouldn't have had to play them, which they didn't want to do, because France always beats Spain." Now Spain, confident though it might be, would have to face down its historic nemesis because the French had only managed to come in second. Jan, who didn't give a damn about football, took it for granted that France would beat Spain simply because it always did, as surely as Brazil always beats England.
Another country that didn't want to play France was mighty Brazil. In L'Equipe, Brazil's egomaniacal left-back, Roberto Carlos, had predicted breezily that Spain would beat France, after which Brazil would beat Spain in the semi-finals. In the meantime (he claimed) Argentina would beat Germany in the quarters and Italy in the semis, setting up an all-Latin American final. Notably, Carlos didn't predict that Brazil would actually beat Argentina, because, like France in recent years, Argentina has historically played the role of Brazil's nemesis.
But Spain didn't beat France, and, in confronting Brazil, the French showed once again they had the Samba Kings' number. France has a footballing nemesis of its own, of course, in neighboring Germany, but fortunately for them, Italy disposed of the host nation in the semis. (Italy has long been Germany's nemesis.) Now France and Italy line up in a final together for the first time since France beat Italy 2-1 six years ago in the final of the 2000 European Championship. France has been the more successful team of late, but, in footballing terms, only the Italians can be considered true royalty. The French have won the World Cup once, and like England, were only able to do so when playing at home. As three-time winners, (and twice runners-up) Italy may not qualify as France's nemesis, but historically they are in a different category. Younger, fresher, and scoring superb goals from open play, they are likely to reassert their superiority on Sunday.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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The only sign that Zinedine Zidane is aging is the obvious leadership that he exudes on the field. Once a fiery, red card prone aggressor, he now seems perpetually unbothered by the theatrical antics of his opponents (and teammates). Not to mention, the France team, which was lackluster at best coming out of the gate, advanced to the semi-finals, and now the final, on beautiful plays by Zizou. The free kick that assisted Thierry Henry against Brazil was masterful, perhaps more so than his penalty kick goal that sealed the win for France today. But the oh so helpless look on Portugeuse goaltender Ricardo's face when Zidane was digging in for the shot was the best indication that Zidane is, still, intensely feared.
Claps all around for a resilient Portugal squad, who truly dominated possession in the second half and seemed destined for an eventual goal. The near successful header from Luis Figo in the second minute of stoppage time, which would have been assisted by a downfield Ricardo, quieted the crowd of French fans in "Big Wang's" in Hollywood like the sudden realization that everybody was out of smokes. Another great chance for Portugal in the fourth and final minute of stoppage time was equally as silencing to the French fans (myself among them, if it's not already obvious), though the larger crowd of Portugal supporters clamored at a questionable off-sides call. But off-sides or not, Barthez barreled out of the box and gobbled up the ball off the foot of the threatening Portugal player, and capped the win that will bring France to Berlin on Sunday. Sure enough, with the final whistle, the French fans scuffled outside the (can you believe it's non-smoking) bar for a celebratory smoke and a chorus of "Allez les bleus."
If anybody can stop les bleus now, it is certainly the Italians, who have played with formidable swagger ever since their embarrassing tie with the Americans, and after their stunning victory against Germany, are certain to be confident. If they are to stop them, they'll have to draw from the enduring calm of their captain so as not to get caught up in the Italians' capricious whining that still seems to be soccer's predominant turn off for the Americans who at least try to care. Like Zidane, the entire French team will have to be extremely wise.
--Ryan Vaillancourt
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It was a sublime ending to an engrossing match, with Italy deservedly beating Germany 2-0 with both goals coming in the final minutes of extra time. The 118-minute wait did more than make the goals worthwhile, it made them positively sensational. It also saved the competition from the embarassing sterility of yet another penalty shoot-out which the Germans would no doubt have won. With Italy also hitting the post and bar in the opening minutes of overtime, it might even have been 4-0. In any case, the more talented side triumphed, both goals were taken beautifully, and the effect was all the greater for being so long withheld.
Due to their lack of firepower up front, it's hard to imagine Portugal beating France in tomorrow's semi-final, even with Deco, their diminutive midfield general, back on the field after serving a one-match suspension. He's a superb player, but he's no Zidane, and Pauletta, the Portuguese center-forward, is certainly no Thierry Henry. France's biggest worry is probably the age of its team -- the second-oldest in the World Cup. If they do reach the final, they'll have had one day's less rest than their opponents, and, unlike the dreamy Brazilians, no Italian defender is likely to allow Henry to waltz into the box unopposed to volley home a free kick. On today's form, Italy are a good bet to win their fourth World Cup, putting them only one spot behind Brazil, who've won it five times. Unless, that is, Zidane can do something truly magical and seal his reputation as the finest player of the last decade, taking his place alongside Pele and Maradona in the annals of World Cup history.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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I don't know how large a goal (i.e., the space between the two posts and bar) actually is, but it's clear that goalkeepers, not to mention players in general, have been getting bigger and fitter for years. And the more important the game, the stingier the defense and the harder it is for strikers to actually squeeze the ball past a goalkeeper. Thus soccer, despite a profusion of great goalscorers, becomes a metaphor for impotence. The four quarterfinal matches netted a grand total of six goals, three of them coming courtesy of Italy's convincing 3-0 win over a gallant but obviously outmatched Ukrainian side that had all too obviously reached its level of incompetence. In the meantime, England-Portugal was 0-0, Argentina-Germany was 1-1, and France-Brazil, despite Zinedine Zidane's wonderful master class in midfield, came down to a single goal from a free kick and nothing from open play.
One could fiddle endlessly with soccer's strictures (loosen the offside rule, allow more substitutions, etc.), but one obvious change has been staring the sport in the face for decades now: MAKE THE GOALS BIGGER! If you simply added a foot in width and six inches in height to the goalmouth, balls that now skim the bar would go in, as would every shot that hits a post (of which there's almost always at least one a game) or whistles inches past. Shots that have virtually disappeared from the sport -- the artful chip over the goalie from distance, for example -- would enjoy a renaissance, and attacking tactics would be rewarded far more than they are now. True, there are teams -- Ghana's performance against Brazil comes to mind -- that would have trouble scoring even if you installed a goal the size of a WalMart, and presumably England will miss penalties until the end of time, but a lot of matches that now feature one goal, or none at all, would regularly boast several. Nothing essential about the sport would be changed, and enlarging the space between the posts and bar would certainly not amount to vulgar "Americanization," about which the footballing world is absurdly paranoid. All that would happen is that creative players would be rewarded for their efforts much more often, and inspired forwards like Wayne Rooney would have less reason to be enraged and frustrated by a sport that perversely hands an overwhelming advantage to the forces of negativity.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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This World Cup is not dull! And it isn't the Americans who find it dull, it's the Brits, or some of them anyway. (Or Americans schooled on soccer there.) One Englishman I know, despite his being a lifelong fan who basically shuts down his business during the Cup and who said he would kill himself if England wound up losing to the French, deemed the Germany-Argentina match fantastic. And no one at the Egyptian Theater who paid 10 bucks to watch it on a 60-foot screen seemed bored. (Perhaps some of our correspondents should buy bigger television sets!) Those who are bored obviously haven't watched too many MLS games, if any. (If club play is in fact more interesting than the World Cup, it's only club play in the Premiership, or in Spain or Italy -- and no doubt Brazil.) In the end, though, soccer is indeed a dull game if it takes the wizardry of a Zidane to make it worth watching.
And he is amazing to watch. (The free kick into Henry for the Brazil-France match's only goal was indeed magic.) But so are the Christiano Ronaldos and Lionel Messis, to state the obvious, as well as the lesser pleasures of soccer -- the efforts of an Owen Hargreaves, say, pushing the ball at full speed (near the end of a grueling overtime match) up the left side, somehow out-hustling the defender and crossing into the penalty box; the similar efforts of the nifty David Odonkor after subbing in for Germany; the spectacular sliding take-away by I forget who on a streaking striker; even, simply, some deft passing in the midfield. This is not dull.
Could it be more exciting? Yes, of course. When an England repeatedly prepares to attack, rather than simply attacking, and allows the defense to set themselves, it's a drag -- or can be. But this happens in basketball and hockey, too. Fast breaks are fun, but not always prudent, or well-suited to a particular team. There are things soccer could clearly do to liven up games in which Zidane is not playing -- allow more substitutions, for one, which would likely up the goal count; do something about the over-carding (comparatively speaking, the quarter finals were masterfully officiated). But one of the great pleasures of soccer is precisely the high failure rate: it usually takes something extraordinary to actually get a goal and the joy it sets off is arguably unmatched in sports -- not just in the stands but in the player himself. Consider the pure boyish ecstasy on Beckham's face after his free-kick goal and, by comparison, the typically stoical home-run trot, or the Kobe glare, or some silly dance in shoulder pads and football helmet; hockey, not surprisingly, comes closest, but even then, they're skating in pads, they're not running down a field as if they've just gotten away with murder.
And in the World Cup, it is like murder. Christiano Ronaldo, the handsome Continental dandy, having already helped to vanquish his clubmate at Man U, the thuggish mick Rooney, confidently took hold of the dagger poised at England's heart and ever so deftly pushed it home. And after Henry took Zidane's kick on his left foot and volleyed past Dida, the entire Brazilian side looked like the proverbial victim of sudden violence -- what? how? why? Bleeding, they struggled on before meekly surrendering with only one -- one! -- shot on goal. None of this is dull.
-- Tom Christie
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After the ghastly horror-show of England-Portugal, a match so bad it was enough to convince one that Americans really are right about soccer being the world's most boring sport, France's Zinedine Zidane stepped up in the day's second quarter-final against Brazil to demonstrate that there's a little magic in the old game yet, not to mention in his own aging legs. Still, what should have been a titanic struggle not just between two teams but between Zidane and Ronaldinho in midfield mysteriously failed to materialize. Which is to say, Ronaldinho failed to materialize. At times one had to remind oneself that the man officially anointed as "World Player of the Year" was even on the pitch. For a guy who's been dazzling the world with his vision and skill for the last two years, it was a very strange time to go AWOL.
In the meantime, France, which looked pitiful at the start of the tournament, has recovered much of its old swagger and will be heavy favorites in its semi-final against Portugal. In the other, between Germany and Italy, the Germans will have the usual home-court advantage but that shouldn't alter the fact that Italy has much better players. So far, though, this has been a terrible World Cup, an anti-advertisement for a game which is far more entertaining at the club level. Let's hope the last three games do something to remind us why it's supposed to be worth watching.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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I watched the Germany-Argentina game with a friend from Berlin; at some point in the match, she leaned over and said, "It will be shameful if the Germans lose." After the match, pundits called the Argentine's loss (in penalty kicks) "shameful." Huh? How could a loss in this match be shameful on either side? It was, basically, what everyone imagined it would be -- very close, tightly fought, with a slight edge to the Germans because of the home field. And then the dreaded PKs, and the Argentines ended with a whimper. And Argentina manager Jose Pekerman is (rightly) lambasted for not getting Messi in there. But just as ridiculous as that decision is FIFA's refusal to allow another substitution in extra-time. Messi should have been in there in regular time, and he should have been in there in overtime. The whole substitution thing is absurd. Imagine, for a moment, soccer with open substitution. And the downside is?
Speaking of wacky ideas that will never go beyond annoying a lot of people, the Guardian's Paul Doyle is calling for cutting the number of teams in the World Cup back to 16. In the process, he insults just about everyone outside of Europe, and even them, calling for just four guaranteed teams from the Americas and the disbandment of CONCACAF. Ha ha, British sense of humor. Read it here: http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/worldcup06/2006/06/29/fewer_is_more.html
German word play: Lahm, as in the incredibly speedy Philip Lahm, means slow. So says my Berlin friend, at least. And Schweinsteiger? One who climbs, or mounts, swine. In other words, ... And a lot of fans would suggest that this is what each member of the German team is. But give them credit -- that was a beautiful goal they scored today. Or, if not exactly beautiful, efficient and powerful. Kind of like their four penalty kicks.
-- TC
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With Germany's dismissal of Argentina, widely regarded as the most sophisticated side in the World Cup following its spectacular group-stage 6-0 drubbing of Serbia and Montenegro, football romantics now find themselves in a quandary. Brazil, the traditional exponent of soccer at its most graceful, have been patchy at best, and are in any case so successful (they've won the competition five times and have appeared in the last three finals) and Nike-ified that soccer purists are beginning to regard them with about as much affection as they showed the U.S. national team. Much has been said about the good vibes emanating from the new, unified Germany, able to express its patriotism openly at last, but the German team itself is unimaginative and dull. As for England, they are coached by a Swede whose idea of expressing joy is to stand up rather than sit down, and (so far) they have played remarkably tedious soccer given the talent (Rooney, Gerrard, Lampard) on their roster. Few would object to their winning the whole thing, but unless they suddenly catch fire it's unlikely to be counted as a victory for passionate, lively soccer. Italy looked mighty impressive -- even adventurous at times -- in a comfortable 3-0 romp over the Ukraine, but the Roman game is a byword for calculation rather than thrills. France, which won in '98, still warms a few hearts as an embodiment of today's multicultural French Republic, but until its surprisingly convincing win over Spain, "Les Bleus" had become an emblem of faded glory, mired in infighting and bureaucratic tedium. One of the oldest teams in the competition, too many of its players appeared to believe -- like a lot of French people -- that they were entitled to lifetime jobs, even if these involved running up and down a field rather than sitting behind a desk and acting snooty.
Which leaves us with Portugal, a team that has a likeably volatile Brazilian coach and an attractive style of play. Should the Portuguese beat England in the quarter-final, they will be the only team left in the competition never to have hoisted the World Cup. They have great names -- Maniche, Deco, Pauletta, Figo -- and play with an artful melancholy befitting the birthplace of fado, the world's saddest music. What is appealing about their country is that, in an age of branding, it represents nothing. Brazil means sex and fun. Germany means power. Italy means the good life, France means perfume and riots, and England, courtesy of David Beckham, probably means hair gel. But what does Portugal mean? Unlike a Ghana, it doesn't even qualify as a bonafide underdog. The eleven Portuguese men who will take the field against England today are simply the citizens of a small southern European nation which was once a great colonial power but no longer is. In that ambiguous status lies its charm.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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Argentina coach Jose Pekerman promptly resigned following his team's defeat today (on penalties) against Germany, and that should come as no surprise. What will be a surprise is if he does not also go into exile and wait at least 10 years before showing his face in Buenos Aires, in a muted light if he's wise. His decision not to play his 19 year-old superstar, Lionel Messi, an electric eel of a striker capable of terrorizing almost any defense with a mere touch of the ball, was a crime not only against his own team but against the sport of soccer and the billion(s) of fans naive enough to expect a high degree of entertainment from the world's favorite sport. (If you want to get a sense of what you missed, go to YouTube, type in Messi's name, and take a look at some of the videos highlighting his dazzling abilities.) That Pekerman preferred to use Messi as a "super-sub" is fair enough, given the player's tender years and recent injury problems. But once Argentina went up 1-0, and the Germans got down to the serious business of trying to equalize, not to bring on Messi was madness since his surging runs and disruptive changes of pace and direction would have sown chaos in Germany's defense and forced them to retreat as well as attack. Even the American commentators, not known for the subtlety of their analysis, could figure that out.
Unfortunately, Pekerman's fearful conservatism is far from an aberration. Brazil, under coach Carlos Parreira, suffers from the same problem. Aging players such as Cafu, Roberto Carlos and Emerson are kept on the field even though younger and hungrier and equally talented replacements are available to put some of that fabled Brazilian fizz back into the team. (When Parreira rested some of his stars in the final group match against Japan, newcomers like Gilberto, Juninho and Robinho not only made the team more entertaining, but far more effective too.) With luck, Parreira will learn a lesson from Argentina's defeat and go for youth and daring in the quarter-final against France tomorrow, rather than trusting endlessly in the "experience" of worn-out athletes dangerously close to their sell-by date. Doing so would also free up Ronaldinho, who has had a disappointing World Cup largely because Brazil's "A" team is much too slow. Not enough people are running into space, and thus he rarely has anyone in front of him to pass to. Great teams are also entertaining ones. Argentina could have been a great team, had its coach allowed it to be. As Latin America's last remaining representative, let's hope the Brazilians draw the appropriate conclusions and go for broke against a resurgent France tomorrow. Win or lose, it will be a better match for it.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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This Ghana team is resilient -- they don't get down and give up. Even without their best player, Michael Essien, and their coach, Ratomir Dujkovic, who was sent off for arguing the offside call with the refs at halftime! If Brazil hadn't been gifted a goal... Meanwhile, Ronaldin-who?
--TC
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One of my colleagues met a crazy lady on the subway the other day. She was from Trinidad and suggested -- after watching some of the World Cup -- that perhaps the damn thing was rigged and the refs were getting payoffs. I, of course, thought that was shit -- until now. Adriano was CLEARLY offside. It was impossible to miss. The Ghanaians were actually outplaying Brazil, but you'd never know it. It's clearly time for soccer to get out of the dark ages and embrace -- wait for it -- technology! All of London is under video surveillance but FIFA is like an old man who can't figure out how to work the buttons. Once again, it's the referees who have changed the course of the match -- and of the World Cup. When a goal is scored on a dubious call, it absolutely should be under video review.
--TC
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Is it any surprise that Portugal leads the World Cup in yellow cards with 18, followed by the Netherlands with 16? (Both teams have two red cards.) That was a mugging out there yesterday. As previously noted, the refs are one of if not the big story here. Record number of cards handed out yada yada yada. But as I see it (ad nauseum), the refs aren't the problem -- it's the penalities that are too harsh, precisely because the calls are so subjective and apparently so easy to screw up. And so you get the situation today with a foul in the box called against the Aussie Neill as time is running out and Italy receiving a golden lifeline -- in spite of there being no real foul. Doesn't matter: Totti knocks the PK in and Italy moves on. The Aussies shed tears. And so it goes on and on...
What are the chances of Ghana upsetting Brazil tomorrow morning? Slim to none, but still, fun to think about. That said, what a great match it could be between the Brazilians and Spaniards, assuming they both win tomorrow. Set your Tivo: July 1, the late game.
--TC
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Poor Frank Lampard can't catch a break. England's scoring midfielder has not scored. Joe D notes that he and his sidekick Gerrard need to pick it up a notch or two against Portugal. And today Steve Jones went on and on (on his Indie 103.1 show) about how lame Lampard's been. "I could kick the ball straighter than that!" Jonesy moaned. But you can't fault Lampard for not trying: He leads the World Cup in shots (with 21!) and is second to Klose in shots on goal (with 9). The proof is in the pudding, of course, and while Klose has 4 goals in his 11 SOGs, Lampard has come up empty. But Lampard is money; look for one of his SOGs to go straight into the (inside) net against the Portuguese.
Some of you may not know (I didn't) that Lampard's father and uncle are soccer managers in England, and Lampard, who plays for Chelsea, came up with West Ham United when both Frank Lampard Sr. and Uncle Harry Redknapp were coaching the team. Uncle Harry is currently the manager at Portsmouth F.C. , who picked up their game enough at the end of the season to stay in the Premier League after flirting with relegation. Such escapes have earned him the nickname 'Harry Houdini.' Lets see what sort of escape his nephew can manage on Saturday.
--TC
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George Best, the great George Best, once said (and I'm paraphrasing a paraphrase) of David Beckham: he can't kick with his left foot, can't tackle, can't head the ball, and doesn't score much, but other than that, he's okay.
Beckham showed on Sunday what the other than that is and how valuable it can be. Against Ecuador, it was the difference, obviously. It was a brilliant shot that caught the Ecuadorian goalie completely out of position (what was he doing buried behind his own wall?). If Beckham played American football, he'd be a field-goal kicker. A great one.
For England to beat Portugal, they're going to need their middies, Gerrard and Lampard, to pick it up a notch or two. You have to control the midfield against Portugal - their strikers are too good to let get in the game.
Speaking of Portugal... and the Netherlands, what a crazy game. The ref was completly lost and out of control - and so was the game: cheap shots, dirty play, fouls, poor sportsmanship. I loved it! I think that game set the record for most cards handed out in a world cup game and continues a theme of this world cup, which is the refs being totally clueless and determining the fates of games with bad calls or bad non-calls. If this were the NBA, the conspiracy theories would be running rampant.
--JD--------
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Two of the best goals of the Cup, if not the best, have come from the Argentines, not surprisingly. The first was the Cambiaso shot off Crespo's back-heeled pass (against Serbia & Montenegro); the second was today's extra-time winner, Maxi Rodriguez's ridiculously awesome left-footed volley after chesting-down a long pass from Sorin just outside the penalty area. Mexican goalie Oswaldo Sanchez didn't have a chance. It will also make a nice pair with Joe Cole's similar volley blast in England's last match.
No surprise that the Argies won, but that it took so long and so much effort was. Mexico seemed sparked by the return of striker Jared Borgetti, and he had several near misses, but it was captain Rafael Marquez's score at the 6th minute (which made up for his weird handball in the previous match) that set the tone for the game. Besides the Rodriguez goal, the pleasure of the overtime periods was the play of the Argentine wunderkind Lionel Messi, who may be the best eleventh man in the tournament. A little spark plug of a forward, he even made an impressive defensive play on what appears to be his 19th birthday. It's really too bad the Germans and Argentines are meeting in the quarters next Friday; in spite of Argentina looking vulnerable today, this may be the real final. That one's a tossup, with a slight edge to Germany and their home-field advantage.
Question: How is it that Mexico, a team the U.S. beats with some regularity, played so much better than we did? Was it just the easier first round, or were they better prepared -- and more inspired?
--TC
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Let's get the Klinsmann-as-next-U.S.-coach talk going. The tall Poles -- wily Klose and young Podolski -- are perhaps the strongest pair of strikers in the World Cup. 10 goals scored by Germany (4 by Klose, 3 by Podolski), 2 allowed -- and none since their first match. But, listen, the send-off of Sweden defender Teddy Lucic in the 35th minute was bogus -- two ticky-tack yellow cards -- and there's no way Sweden is going to come back from two goals and one man down. So you could have turned the TV off at that point.
Again, what other sport allows the referees to take over the game on completely subjective calls? If, as in hockey, the player served some penulty minutes, it would make sense. Or perhaps if it took three yellow cards to be sent off it would make sense. But this system? The Brazilian ref otherwise called a great game; in fact he let them play on more that most of the refs have. Still, with two highly questionable calls he completely turned the game, allowing the Germans to sit back and forcing the Swedes to battle Germany's advantage. Granted, had Sweden's Henrik Larsson hit his penalty kick in the second half, things would have appeared to be close. But they never really were.
-- TC
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Really going out on a limb here, but the winners will be:
GermanyArgentinaItalySwitzerlandEnglandThe NetherlandsBrazilSpain
--TC
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Did anything epitomize the shortcomings of the U.S. squad more than Landon Donovan's failure to pull the trigger with a chance for a nearly point-blank shot on goal in the 89th minute. In case you missed it, let me recap. Down 2-1 at the half, the U.S. team finally started showing some spark about halfway through the second half - mostly with their wing players like Eddie Lewis, who were beating the tired Ghanians on the outside and sending balls into the middle, which we consistently failed to capitalize on. But the pressure was building and you kept thinking something has to break for the U.S. Donovan finally gets the ball on the right side, beats his man in the box and is staring down a 10-12 yard shot, and what does he do? He sends a weak chip cross across the box that goes by everyone. What the f**ck?
Shouldn't be too hard on Donovan, though, because he was just doing what everyone else on the U.S. was doing, which is not shoot. Somewhere along the line, coach Bruce Arena failed to communicate the most fundamental point to his team: in order to score, one must shoot.
Actually, I should be hard on Donovan, because except for blowing that opportunity and sailing free kicks out of bounds, he was another non-factor. If he's "the face of American soccer" the team needs a face lift. In every game, he showed why he's not competitive outside of the weakling MSL - too small, too slow, too soft. But, he's only the captain of my U.S. all-overrated squad.
Here are the other members:
DaMarcus Beasley - No wonder he and Donovan are best friends. They're both tiny tots, who look like boys lost among men in international play. The only difference between them is that Donovan can actually handle the ball. Evertime Beasley touched the ball, it was like he was trying to corral an American football with his feet. How he made that perfect pass to Clint Dempsey for the U.S.'s only goal of the tournament (well, the only one we actually set up and converted) is a mystery - one he should spend all his time trying to figure out so he can do it again in this lifetime.
Claudio Reyna - it wasn't just his bonehead play holding the ball too long and getting tackled near the box that handed Ghana its first goal, though that was enough, and a mistake for which he had the good sense to pretend he got injured on (can shame cause an injury?), but all tournament he never really took control of the midfield like we needed him to do. He's the one with the experience and skill (all-tournament last world cup) and the poise, but like the Americans in general, he seemed lost from the get go.
Kasey Keller - What, you're saying, that's heresy! Look, except for a couple of saves during the Italy game, Keller let everything that came on goal get in the net. Consisently out of position and flat-footed, Keller was a sieve. He couldn't catch a train at Grand Central.
Bruce Arena - what can you say about this guy? Bad formations, bad game plans, bad or no key substitutions (was Josh Wolff injured? Why no Eddie Johnson until it was too late), strange lineups (we played small most of the time when our most effective players were our bigger ones).
There were others that were merely mediocre, but that's my top of the worst. As for our best player - I think that's an easy one: Oguchi Onyewu - the big stopper back. He played poised, calm, was a threat on set pieces, almost single-handedly repelled Italy late in that game... Just a stud. About five more of him and we'll be ready for 2010.
Until then - go Ghana!
--Joe Donnelly
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The Good: A beautiful goal by Clint Dempsey with a just-as-beautiful delivery from the sprinting Damarcus Beasley. Eddie Lewis, Brian McBride, Oguchi Oyenwu and, really, most of the team most of the time.
The Bad: Claudio Reyna's twisted knee. Carlos Bocanegra's non-clear-out, which resulted in Claudio Reyna's twisted knee and Ghana's first goal. The ref's call on Oyenwu, which resulted in a penalty kick by the super studly Stephen Appiah and Ghana's second goal.
The Ugly: Landon Donovan's free kick over everyone and out of bounds, wasting the best opportunity of the second half. Bruce Arena's substitution decisions: too late! Both Convey (who couldn't deliver a ball to anyone) and Johnson took awhile to warm up; in the meantime, the match ended.
Kudos to the Ghanaians, who played fair (mostly) and well -- well enough to win and move on. They get Brazil next. That could have been the U.S., which fought hard once again, for most of the match at least, but just didn't seem to have the magic -- or the luck. They finished with a total of 4 shots on goal in three matches, the lowest count of the 32 teams in the tournament. Not going to get you real far. A very disappointing end result especially for the guys who won't be back next time -- Keller, Reyna, McBride, among others (Beasley? Donovan?), and probably Arena. He didn't move the team forward from four years ago; now he should move on.
But the show goes on, and there are great matches to come. As noted, I watched U.S.-Ghana at the Egyptian Theater in Hollywood, which served free Bitburger beer and really bad danish. It's a great setting, comfortable seats, huge (60 ft) screen, good clarity, and fun to watch with a bunch of fans crazy enough to get there by 7. It cost us $10 a piece, and that price continues through the second round. There's more free beer to come, too, but check out that and other details at www.HollywoodFootball.com. See you for the round of 16. But, please, better danish.
-- Tom Christie
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4am, insomnia, the worst sort -- not even eight chapters of War and Peace can shake it off. (Despite its 1300 pages, there's nothing soporific about this novel.) Can it be the anticipation of this morning's match between us (U.S.) and Ghana? Along with the equally important Italy-Czech Republic game? Although in this particular 'group of death,' there are no real shocks, the Ghanians did surprise the Czechs 2-0, and the U.S. will have to match their speed -- look for Eddie Johnson to get serious playing time today. As Landon Donovan noted the other day in the L.A. Times' profile of Johnson, the youngest guy on the U.S. team has the whole package: size, skill and speed (a combination most other American players lack). They'll have to show not just the grit and determination of their game against Italy but some flair; believe it or not, the U.S. has been creditied with just one shot on goal so far -- Claudio Reyna's near-miss in the first match. That's last in the World Cup and if you don't know what that means, that's 19 behind Spain in its first two games. (Germany leads with 27 SOG after 3 games.) I'm thinking Johnson and Clint Dempsey today, which is to say, I'm hoping. I'll be watching at the Egyptian Theater in Hollywood, and will report afterwards.
Speaking of War and Peace (or Peace and War, as Henry James called it), what can one make of the skirmishes of the last few days? The Prussians, I mean Germans, have surprised even themselves in winning all three matches and looked great against darlings-on-the-verge Ecuador. At 3-0 it wasn't even Klose, as the jokes went, and the Polish-born striker now leads the WC in goals with four. Close behind him is Spain's Fernando Torres (previously touted here), who got two goals in the win over Tunisia. (That's 3 goals in two matches, giving him the per-match high.) The Argies came down to earth in their 0-0 draw with the resolute and talented Dutch, but neither had to win and that showed. Meanwhile, the Brits got through into the next round despite a tie with Sweden and losing Michael Owen for the tournament with a torn ACL. Both of England's goals were scored by midfielders -- one of which was a spectacular long-range shot from the irrepressible Joe Cole -- and that's a good thing (in one sense), given that they're down to three strikers -- Wayne Rooney (who was aggressive, and angry about being substituted out), robot-man Peter Crouch and the untested Theo Wolcott (at 17, the youngest player in the tournament). And then there's Mexico, through to the second round after coming up short against Portugal, 2-1, thanks largely to an inexplicable hand ball by the pony-tailed stalwart Rafael Marquez. To have Los Tricolores in the 16 -- that ought to be enough incentive right there for the U.S. to get their shit together today. More prayers for Italy.
-- Tom Christie
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You've either seen it or heard a lot about it by now, the USA's gutsy 1-1 tie with international football powerhouse, Italy. It's hard to overstate the symbolic significance of our team's performance. It wasn't just redemption after a lost-in-space effort against the Czech's (we lost 3-0 and didn't seem like we belonged on the world stage at all), it was also a giant step forward for U.S. soccer, perhaps more meaningful than our quarterfinals appearance in the 2002 World Cup. Why, Europe and European teams have been the killing fields for U.S. soccer, places and opponents where our hopes of being a real player in international football go to die. But the classy game we played against Italy changes all that. I mean, this is Italy, three-time world cup champion and maybe the most exciting and feared team in the world outside of Brazil.
Anyone who didn't see that match might look at the score and think, oh, the Americans fell back in a defensive shell and just played to not lose. That wasn't the case. We attacked from the get-go, didn't lose composure after Italy's early goal, and kept attacking. The biggest difference from the match against the Czechs? We came out and busted Italy in the midfield, sending a message early that every ball would be fought over. And after Daniele De Rossi's cheap shot that opened up a gruesome gash on Brian McBride's face, McBride showed the world how to deal: no flopping around like a fish out of water (I hate that shit) no calling for a stretcher only to jump up a minute later and come back in the game. He simply shrugged it off, got some stitches and came back on the field - his face never betraying anything but steely determination.
Too bad the insane referee had to ruin the game by throwing too Americans, including their most effective player, Pablo Mastroeni, out of the game after De Rossi got tossed. That guy, a subject of some controvery who was suspened recently for irregularities, should never ref another game, ever. Still, with only nine players on the field, the U.S. team bravely held off Italy and counter-attacked when they could. In the end, players like Landon Donovan, Jimmy Conrad, Clint Dempsey, Bobby Convey and others proved to themselves that they can play with anybody. Kudos, in particular, to Donovan and Convey who took on Italian defenders all dayand often beat them with creative moves and plain hustle. My player of the game, though (aside from Kasey Keller, obviously) is Oguchi Onyewu, the big defender who saved the day on more than one ocassion late in the game when Italy kept pressing on the exahausted American squad.
Now, to advance to the next round, the U.S. needs to do one thing more, a lot more: shoot the freakin' ball. Unless we do, we might come out of the tournament with the distinction of being its best team to not win or score a goal.
Tournament favorite Brazil continued to look sluggish and uninspired in its 2-0 win over a so-so Australian squad. Maybe it'll find the next gear in the second round.
--Joe Donnelly
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So the Czechs get blanked and the U.S. plays to a hard-fought draw with a traditional power -- on the backs of 9 men, no less -- and, perhaps more importantly, up to their potential. In spite of his (disallowed) goal, I wish Arena had put in Eddie Johnson instead of Beasley, or perhaps in addition to Beasley -- for McBride, say, though Brian played well throughout. Away from the ball, Beasley has been terrible. Glad to see Clint Dempsey in as well as Carlos Bocanegra (as suggested in a previous post). The main thing was the level of intensity and it was there from the opening minute; they were aggressive and on the ball throughout and that was the difference. That and the referee, Uruguay's Jorge Larrionda. Pope didn't deserve the red (was it an outright red? or his second yellow -- it was unclear) but he and Oyenwu were repeatedly pushing their luck early. The Mastroeni red card was pretty ridiculous, wasn't it?
All of which begs a question: Does this red-card system really make sense? The same thing happened in the UEFA Cup final, when Arsenal keeper Jens Lehmann was redcarded in the opening minutes -- and the game was basically ruined with Arsenal a man down. What other sport does not allow players to be replaced if they're thrown out? Isn't not being allowed to play in both the ongoing and following games enough punishment? Wouldn't the games be more consistently entertaining if teams could always field a full squad? Am I missing something -- like tradition solely for the sake of tradition? No fouls, please, commentators -- as Nacho (Libre) * would say, Take it easy... (Else we'll have to get Jorge Larrionda in here to officiate, and you know what he's like.)
So now we play Ghana next and hope their redcarded players (Gyan and Muntari) will be missed more than ours (Pope and Mastroeni). The Ghanians were great today against the Czechs, less-threatening without their missing players, the giant Koller and his fellow striker Barros, but still potent. Another tough match for the U.S. but one we can win. Everyone in the group is fighting for the 16, so they should be great games. Say a prayer for Italy.
-- Tom Christie
*Speaking of Nacho Libre, don't pay any attention to the Weekly's Scott Foundas (http://www.laweekly.com/film+tv/film-reviews/film-reviews/13777/). The film is a silly hoot from start to ridiculous finish. I haven't laughed that much in awhile. And I'm not 12.
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We said earlier that the Argentines had the most beautiful first-round match, and who is going to top today's second-round taking apart of Serbia and Montenegro (6-0). As Turf Toe commentator Evan Garcia says, masterful. If you have a DVR you must watch this one, if only for the goal by Esteban Cambiasso off Hernan Crespo's wonderful back-heeled feed. Cambiasso didn't start the game and neither did the 18-year-old Lionel Messi, who came on and quickly put a great cross in to Crespo for one goal and later, when there was no one to pass to, scored on his own. But don't just watch for the arias; the skill and fluidity of the Argentine attack is a beautiful thing. After you've watched this one on DVR, go back and watch some of it on the first level of fast speed -- it's an amazing way to watch their passing. It's like a pinball machine without the randomness. Ping, ping, ping, pong, ping, pong, ping, ping, blast. I don't know if the curiously named coach Jose Pekerman is a genius but he's clearly a mensch.
As for the Brits, better Crouch late than never, and it's good to have Rooney back, and Aaron Lennon on the field. (Okay, pitch.) Midfielders are impressive -- Lampard, Garrard (who scored the second goal), Beckham (who brilliantly passed onto Crouch's 6'8" head for his goal), the speedy Lennon and Downing, and my favorite, Joe Cole. But getting two late goals against a lesser talent like Trinidad & Tobago isn't going to cut it -- or win a war with Argentina, who have the same number of shots on goal as England (13) but six more goals (8 scores on 13 shots!). Maybe, like Rooney, they're just warming up.
The Dutch are through into the 16 after knocking out Didier Drogba and the Ivory Coast, who had their chances and, I thought, might win this match. Besides some bizarre officiating, Arsenal's Robin Van Persie and Man U's Ruud Van Nistelrooij were the difference, besting a nifty goal by the tiny but tough Bakary Kone. Next up: Argentina.
-- Tom Christie
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TEAM (MP)* SHOTS ON GOAL Germany (2) 18Sweden (2) 16Ecuador (2) 13England (2) 13Italy (1) 13Australia (1) 12Spain (1) 10USA (1) 1
*(Matches Played)
TEAM (MP) FAST BREAK ATTACKSPoland (2) 14Italy (1) 12Germany (2) 11Ivory Coast (1) 10Costa Rica (2) 9Sweden (2) 9Japan (1) 8Ecuador (2) 7England (2) 7USA (1) 3 TEAM (MP) CORNER KICKSGermany (2) 17Poland (2) 15Sweden (2) 14England (2) 13Italy (1) 12Costa Rica (2) 7Croatia (1) 7Spain (1) 7USA (1) 2
--Tom Christie
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The best day of the World Cup so far? With the Spanish looking great while taking it to Ukraine, 4-0, in the first match; an exciting stoppage-time goal from Tunisia to tie Saudi Arabia (which scored its first two World Cup goals ever, am I right?) and the fantastic Germany win over Poland (1-0) in injury time. With Poland down a man due to a lame second-yellow-card call, the Germans kept pounding it into the box but thanks mainly to great goal-keeping from Artur Boruc (and some luck -- one Mirslav Klose-headed ball hit the crossbar only to be kicked right back up off the bar in the same spot by Michael Ballack), the Poles survived attack after attack -- and looked good doing it. Until substitute Oliver Neuville took a beautiful crossing pass from David Odonkor (in just his third international cap, btw) in a picture-perfect goal of its kind to make Germany and coach Juergen Klinsmann two-and-0 and six points up on the poor Poles. That was intense.
If you're looking for someone to root for after the U.S. gets bounced on Saturday, consider Klinsmann's team. He does, after all, live in L.A. -- in one of the South Bay beach communities. He's gotten a lot of heat from German fans for refusing to move back to Germany when he got the job coaching the national team (one sign in the stands read "Kalifornien ist Deutschland"); but instead he continued to commute back and forth every two weeks. Should Germany win the title, not only would it be in some sense a win for L.A. but Klinsmann would be only the third person in history to win the World Cup as both a player and a coach.
Meanwhile, watch out for the Spaniards who look young and, well, hot. Fernando Torres is 22 and led the team in goals in World Cup qualifying with 7 in 11 matches. Although David Villa scored two goals today to Torres's one, I've got a feeling we're going to remember this guy.
-- Tom Christie
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That's all I have to say about the Brazilians. Except that it's interesting to see what a good, tough European club can do to their beautiful game -- slow it down, interrupt it, create a few question marks. They looked human today, which makes one think more about the Argentines, who showed the most beautiful game in the first round.
-- Tom Christie
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I'm gonna pull up short of saying I told you so, because Brazil did win after all. But the fact that the beautiful Brazilians barely eaked out a 1-0 victory over scrappy Croatia on a great shot by Kaka (Kiki would be better) in the 44th minute, came close to proving the point of my previous post on the Brazilian style of play (Hate Them 'Cause They're Pretty). The point being: beautiful is fine, but it's hard to be pretty when you're eating a mouth full of turf.
A hard tackle is a great equalizer - nothing like it to close the gap between the "beautiful" and the ugly. And that's what Croatia did to Brazil - they closed the gap by playing hard, not beautiful. They tackled hard, they ran hard, and they shouldered Brazil off the ball hard. Except for a rough start, when, like everyone else, they seemed blinded by the Brazilian beauty, Croatia soon got down to business and showed they were in it to win it. No shock, no awe. No crushes on Ronaldinho (I just call him 'ho for short..er). No playing not to lose.
The Brazilians still shoot the ball better than anyone, and truthfully could have scored a couple more goals with some luck. But with any luck, too, (and with someone other than the oustanding Dida minding the nets for Brazil) the Croats would have netted a few themselves.
Though they lost, the Croatian team did provide a blueprint for beating Brazil: challenge all loose balls, take advantage of size up front, tackle hard in midfield and shoot, shoot, shoot. Any time you get an opening, shoot. Don't wait for the perfect shot (it'll be too late), just freakin' shoot. The Brazilians seem taken aback anytime anyone deigns to shoot on them.
But, as with England's dismal showing against Paraguay, the question here is: was Croatia that good or was Brazil that bad? Ronaldo certainly seemed fatter, older and slower than when he was the most-feared striker in the game, and 'ho didn't seem so magical with two defenders closing on him every time he got the ball. But one has to wonder if Brazil, like a lot of the top teams in the first round of the cup, is just pacing itself, which might also explain why the first matches in group play have been so boring, by and large.
We'll see when we get through this round and into the death matches, which can't come quick enough for me.
Meanwhile, kudos to Kaka for his beautiful goal.
--Joe Donnelly
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Re: Mr. Donnelly's take on the Brazilians (Hate Them 'Cause They're Pretty): I didn't play soccer growing up in Ireland but I've spent some time there (love the place) as well as in front of the TV watching some soccer. And I have to say, if you want to watch some working-class football in the World Cup, watch the Australians. BOR-ING! (Except for that guy Viduka who looks working-class but plays pretty, like a dancing bear.) You can't watch the Irish national team, because, ahem, it didn't make it. Complaining about Ronaldhino, who so clearly loves the game and by the way who also so clearly plays hard, is crazy. Plus, if you've spent any time in an Irish pub and a Brazilian restaurant during a soccer match (or, for that matter, any other time), you know where the action is. You don't get to the top of the pile by being only pretty. Beautiful, maybe.
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Based on the early games and a few fairly wild guesses, the final results: 1. Brazil2. Argentina3. France4. Czech Republic5. Germany6. Netherlands7. Spain8. Portugal
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Oh, Say, Can You Hear? Most boneheaded bit in a lot of boneheaded broadcasting was ESPN's obviously predetermined decision to go to an advert during the Czech Republic's national anthem prior to the game. That's just so u(nappealin)gly American. Most boneheaded comment came following the Australia-Japan match, when whoever it was exclaimed, "First goal by an Australian in a World Cup final!" Er, the final is July 9. The same guy later made this boner: "Australia is joyous while the frustration falls to Australia." Er, something like that.
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This has been an amazing week for sports. I know because I came down with a case of World Cup fever, literally, and have been lying around in front of the television. Three world-cup games a day beginning at 6am, plus the awesome French Open final between the weirdly amazing Mallorcan Rafa Nadal and the simply amazing Swiss dude Roger Federer, plus the potentially amazing Dodgers and their wunderkinds (double A rookie Matt Kemp already setting records – first major leaguer EVER to hit six home runs in his first 13 games, or something like that), plus the NBA finals -- do the Germans know about Nowitski?! (A visiting friend from Berlin says no.) Plus, the Stanley Cup, even though nobody around here cares. And although I would have much preferred that Barbaro was running for the Triple Crown in the Belmont, I was almost thankful it was skippable. Here's hoping that the U.S. Open, which begins Thursday, doesn't get too interesting, like Tiger and Phil in a playoff or something. Is it any wonder that Americans aren't watching as much of the World Cup as the rest of the world?
-- Tom Christie
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I'm not sure what's more annoying and embarrassing, the losing performance of the U.S. squad against the Czech Republic (3-0), or the chest-beating during the buildup to the World Cup by such soccer pundits as Alexi Lalas. All that noise about the U.S. being under-appreciated by the traditional soccer powers, how Kasey Keller is the best goal-keeper in the world, how Landon Donovan is world-class poster boy, how Bruce Arena doesn't get job offers just because he's American, how this is the best U.S. team ever, how, how, how... How lame! And, sadly, how American. Unfortunately, Lalas (the former player and current Galaxy general manager) and the people at ESPN know that for the American people to care, it has to be about winning. But although we've made huge strides as a program – the team is much deeper now, the talent in general at a higher level – we've obviously a ways to go. Even as I was hearing all the hype, and wanting to believe it, I kept wondering: If we're so good, why don't WE have a guy playing for Chelsea or Arsenal? Brian McBride plays for Fulham in the Premiership. Claudio Reyna is at Manchester City. Eddy Lewis is at Leeds, in the lower English league. All are a long way from Arsenal or Man U or Chelsea, which is where Tomas Rosicky plays when not scoring goals for the Czech Republic -- two of them against the U.S. Monday, one of which was spectacular. And Chelsea is where Ghana's Michael Essien plays. In the interesting, exciting match between Ghana and Italy that followed the U.S. game, in which the passing was both crisp and fluid, the announcer said at one point, "Essien's taking over for his team." No one on the American squad took over; our so-called stars were mute – and moot. We obviously, simply don't yet have the big talents that lead their teams to World Cup victories – or even to well-fought losses. After the game, Lalas and the other ESPN commentators Eric Wynalda and Julie Foudy, were clearly and understandably upset, naming names (Beasley, Convey took most of the heat). They must feel pretty stupid after all of their hype. And even coach Bruce Arena wasn't pulling punches, saying that Beasley and Donovan were nonexistent. The truth is, no one played well. Even our stalwart quarterback, Claudio Reyna, seemed uninspired. The best comments came from Foudy, who singled out center defender Oguchi Onyewu. It was he who had a role in each of the Czechs' three goals. Although he's an impressively imposing guy, and he plays for a Belgian club (AND he has impressive cornrows), he has always seemed less talented than Arena seems to think he is. Maybe there's a lot of potential and he's been brought up to the big leagues too soon, but he just looks lame out there – and lazy. Perhaps Arena ought to consider his other defenders, such as former UCLA star Carlos Bocanegra, McBride's teammate at Fulham.Look for a change; if not, look for a new coach. Too quick to judge? Perhaps; yes, Arena's been great in building the team up, but he was unable to fulfill his promise to President Bush -- that his team would put forth their best effort. He's also made some questionable choices. Starting Beasley on the right side as opposed to his natural left, for instance. And I wonder what Taylor Twellman, the MLS's MVP and leading scorer who was left off the team, is thinking about tonight?
-- Tom Christie
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So the much-ballyhooed , and mysteriously fifth-ranked in the world, team USA got trounced by the Czechs today 3-0. They didn't just get trounced, they looked like a Junior Varsity squad sent out to give a real squad some exercise. What does it mean, aside from the long-known fact that the FIFA rankings are a joke? It means that size and strength, even in soccer, matters. The team the U.S. fielded averages about 5'8" and a 150 pounds. They looked like boys playing men. They lacked the presence to match up against the Czechs both on defense, clearly, but also on offense, where the supposedly aggressive U.S. team was gonna establish its identity. Instead, they were beaten or pushed off almost all the challenged balls, and had no threat up front to speak of. Landon Donovan, being marketed by USA soccer as a world-class player, was an invisible man, an all-encompassing metaphor for the gap between the U.S. and true world-class teams. More than anything else, though, it means the best athletes in the U.S. are still dreaming of being professionals in other sports - basketball, football, baseball, hell, even pro beach volleyball.
And for good reason - those sports pay! Professional-level soccer in the U.S. isn't professional grade, and until it is, prepare for more of the same.
Or it could be this: They have really, really good beer in the Czech Republic. And those boys drink. In fact, I think they drink beer instead of water during the game (having once played in an international tournament against a Scottish team that did just that in blazing heat, and still ran us off the pitch, I can tell you it's not far-fetched). I'll lay my money on a soccer team fortified by a hearty stout ale than on one that's been weaned on Gatorade any day.
On the other hand, professional level football is professional grade in England. There, the top players get paid millions, drive sports cars and date supermodels, or at least Page 3 girls. Making it to the premier league is what every boy there dreams of. Plus, they can quaff an ale with the best of them in Jolly Olde England, too. Which doesn't go very far towards explaining England's dismal showing against lowly Paraguay. In case you missed it, a listless England won 1-0 when a David Beckham free kick was knocked in by one of Paraguay's defenders. That happened in the first 10 minutes. The rest of the game was a major snooze. I mean even 0-0 tie between Sweden and Trinidad and Tobago that followed was more exciting. At least players in that match were running up and down the field trying to score. England and Paraguay looked like a couple in the waning hours of a dance marathon. It was just bad. But the match does go a long way towards proving one of my theories (I thought the last World Cup already proved it) and that is that David Beckham is perhaps the world's most overrated players. He's not mobile; to use a basketball analogy, he's almost incapable of creating his own shot; and he's not much for mixing it up physically either.
Sure, he's got a good touch on the ball, but unless he has enough space and time to make a play, he collapses under pressure. And yes, he's great at set plays - corners and free kicks - but to be an a great player, you've also gotta be creative and dangerous in the open field, and I don't see that with Beckham. Aside from his lucky free kick against Paraguay, he was a non-factor, as he has been in most big international games - unless he's missing penalty kicks, that is.
--Joe Donnelly
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I'm talking about Brazil , or course. The prancing divas of international football (soccer for you provincials). The team full of the players that go by only one name, like Madonna, or Mariah, or Cher or some other ab-fab icon. Ugh. They give me a rash. For evidence, just pick up the June issue of the special New York Times sports magazine, Play, where Brazilian striker Ronaldinho ("the most exciting player on the planet"), is pictured on the cover looking like he's trying out for So You Think You Can Dance. I know it's called "the beautiful game" but I don't think that's meant to refer to what the player's stylist has done with his hair.
The ballet on grass (complete with drama queen "injury" performances that would make a prima ballerina embarassed) played by Brazil, and emulated by many teams that admire them, is a far cry from the game I grew up playing in Ireland - a game in which I suffered more broken bones than in years of also playing rugby and basketball and snowboarding and surfing... okay, maybe not snowboarding. But the football I admire is a hard-nosed working class, physical game. One in which a hard slide tackle isn't cause to flop around like someone punched through your chest and removed your heart. I mean, every time that shit goes down, like it does a lot with teams that play the finesse game of Central and South American, it just makes the whole thing look like a WWE wrestling match, and given the circus-like atmosphere that often accompanies football matches (corrupt officials, rioting fans, death threats to players) only serves to further alienate fans and potential fans around here (not that baseball isn't conducting it's own circus right now).
Look, I'm not trying to be macho. I'm not even sure if that's how you spell macho. I just respect a man's game played the way men should play - which is exactly how my favorite team in the world, the U.S. Women's team, plays it: relentlessly attacking, contesting every ball, using spead and strength over flash and finesse, shrugging off hard tackles and giving it back twice as hard. One could learn a lesson watching them - and that's exactly what the U.S. Men's team did. Their play over the past several years - dating back to the last cup, actually - has more and more emulated our girls' style, which is good, and which gives the U.S. a fighting chance anyway. And even if they lose, at least they're now playing to win and not playing to not lose.
I know it's hard to argue with the Brazilians success. I think they've won about five of these things, and they're players are great. But I don't hate 'em because they're great. Or even beautiful. I hate 'em because they're pretty. Too pretty. Like peacocks. They-don't-like-to-get-their-uniforms-dirty pretty. And I like my football with some blood, sweat, tears and grass stains on it.
-- Joe Donnelly
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The Dodgers: Opening Day and they still suck.
The Angels: I love Vladdy, so I may be biased when I say, they don't suck.
The Lakers: They suck, and will be a sucker's bet at the 7th seed.
The Clippers: I want SL to sport his 'fro and no, they don't suck, but would be better off to suck a whole lot more and be the 6th seed, then rule like they do and rock the 5th, which sucks nations.
The UCLA: My prediction: UCLA 59, Florida 53. #12 for Westwood. No suckagge here.
This bowl of Chili: Awesome. I am going to suck the whole thing down at halftime.
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So, here is my spread, UCLA 58, LSU 53. That's what I'm calling in this weekend's game and yes, I am rooting for UCLA, yes, I love a bandwagon, yes, I am a fair weather friend and yes, I don't care anymore about Big Baby and the LSU team overcoming adversity and defying odds to make it to the Final Four, that's why we have George Mason to write about. Me, I want to see them boys from the 'Wood (er, Westwood, not Ingel) come all types of correct and beat down LSU for a game in the Big Show. UCLA Fight, Fight, Fight.
Also, Clipper at the six seed for home court, Lakers at the eight, USC another national championship, Hillary in '08 and Shamrock Shakes all year round, I need more than a month each year to show off my Grimace tattoo.
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I know, the Zags lost the game to UCLA and I know though UCLA was the higher-seed, that the Gonzaga was the hand's-on favorite to win the game behind, "The Greatest Hesher That Ever Lived", Adam 'The Wizard' Morrison. And, not to get all Alt-Weekly Plaschke on you, but, here it comes:
Simply, it was the greatest game ever.
In years from now, when I am gone, my children's children will talk about this game and remember that I was there.
For one moment, Wooden was once again coaching from the sidelines, in his quite way and once again, UCLA wins.
Sorry, might have been my breakfast.
But, it really was a game to watch, what with the back and forth and the last second heroics by UCLA and the steals and the announcers freaking the fuck out as J.P. Batista, who, I feel lost the game for Gonzaga, missed the final basket.
And that's the point here. Sometimes, when the media, myself included, hypes the holy hell out of something, it loses all focus and will and all of that that makes the game so damn compelling to start with. But last night, as the Clippers fell, as Kobe sat in his bed dreaming of the eight seed, UCLA, a frosh team if their ever was one, came and fought and won. And for that I say Dayenu.
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Now that the Sacto Kings, or Queens, as Shaq (I miss you Shaq: Do you dream of me like I dream about you? The two of us, like homies, riding go-carts, eating 10,000 calorie hamburgers, laughing and giggling as we practice our free throws, shopping for teal and green five button suits) used to say, have passed the Lakers for the number seven spot and New Orleans, or is it Oklahoma City is hot on their tails for the number eight, isn't it time that Kupchak and Dentist Jerry Buss give up the ghost and actually start that 'rebuilding process' they won't really talk about? Um, guys, Kwame Brown doesn't count as rebuilding in anybody's book. I say, it's done for the Lakers this season and they will miss the eight spot by two games.
Case in point was last night's game, a must win for the purple and gold. Did they think that Sacto wasn't going to come correct and ball the last third of the season? They traded their head trip of a boy, Albanian wunderkind Peja Stojakovic for an even more of a head tripper, Tru Warier Ron Artest? Say what you will about Artest, the albums, the sheer psychoness, but the dude can ball and last night he shut Kobe down. Down, Kobe, down. I think we have the makings of a Dodgers vs. Angels rivalry going this season. Guess who the Lakers are?
Questions or comments for the Toe are always welcomed.
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Coach Mike Dunleavy scores his 500th win behind Fire!'s elusive brand of basketball-torial play. In fact, last night Fire! scored 24 points, came correct with three blocked shots, had a career-high totals of 23 rebounds and four steals and even managed to look a little less weird, what with his hair and all. It's amazing what a dominant game can do for you looks and self-esteem. What really needs to be said about Fire! is this: is this kid playing for a max contract or what? And to think of the fact that Sam Cassel didn't even want to come to the Playoff-bound Clippers. For Shame, Sam.
And what about our other LA Team? Kobe left the building without talk to the media after their drubbing by the Sonics a few night ago. I predict they'll fade and won't even get the 8th seed.
At least Kobe will have baseball to look forward to. Speaking of baseball, I think I am the only person in LA really waiting for April 3rd? I can't sleep at night waiting for opening day, all my Dodger-hate is starting to come to a froth.
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With so many distractions in my everyday life, namely the NBA and catching up on what's what with the upcoming baseball season, not to mention some of the worst coverage I have ever seen, I am not surprised that American Idol trounced the Olympics in ratings gold (you knew a medal cliché was coming, didn't you?)
Note to NBC, just because the USA doesn't score gold, doesn't make the sport un-freaking-watchable and watch I tired. The 'I should have never been in Torino in the first place' Kwan show — bust, the Bode DQ show — bigger bust. The only highlight of the Olympics for me so far was women's speed skating. To paraphrase Gordon Gano, I dig them Dutch girls. Too bad it was relegated to off-time.
That said, USA, USA.
On a lighter note: Pitchers and catchers should be at training camp now, all snuggled up in bunk beds, talking about signs and off-speed fastballs and sliders and blocking the plate. I will say it once; Los Dodgers look in all right shape. Will they win the World Series like Gagne said, no, no they won't. Will they win the West? Maybe. I don't think they will, but it's a safe bet. But the other LA team, the Angels, really didn't do too much in the off-season, except sign the other Weaver fruitcake pitcher, ex-Dodger Jeff, to an 8.5 million dollar contract. Great rotation, but, um, where's the big bat we need, Arty?
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While the rest of the world was, sort-of, watching, "Il Pomodoro Volante" win a gold in Snowboarding for the US of A, the Toe watched last night as the Clippers, my beloved Clippers, gave one away to the Chicago Bulls at Staples.
Now, I know that there is a mid-season mission creep in the NBA this time of year, what with the All-Star game break coming this weekend, but in a game that should-of, could-of been a W, the Clip Show lost their focus on the court. When you have the Chicago Bulls' Kirk Hinrich score 17 off of you, there is no chance to win. None at all. Even though it's only mid-season time, these are important games to win.
This is how I picture the rest of the season: It comes down to overtaking the Suns if these boys have any chance of not going one and done in the playoffs. But that's just me. But what about the The Lakers, look for another season of rebuilding.
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In a case of 'What the Frick?', the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim are still, get this, the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. I say it's a good thing, c'mon, I was just in OC last weekend for a Supercross race and aside from the amazingly large amount of bad 'Punk" tee-shirts, a preponderance of Corona Light and Del Tacos, Angels Stadium, whilst not technically in Los Angeles, is close enough. The region deserves another World Series and no matter what Gagne said yesterday, it isn't going to happen with the Dodgers.
Who's up for a road trip with the Toe?
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Back from a long hiatus, folks. I know you all missed the Toe. But, the Toe travels, but the Toe is still here, the 12th man in a world of fakers. Speaking of the 12th man, I think there was some sort of footie ball game this past weekend, though I couldn't really tell, there weren't any promos on ESPN.
That said, even though the officiating was beyond reproach, like the worst game ever, the Seahawks — my West Coast pick — played a really terrible game. Like they say in clichéd sports movies, "You can't win if you don't score points" and the 7-3 score at halftime made me wish I would have bought some beer before the game and started drinking when the wrankely Stones took the stage. The second half was less than delightful, false calls, bad plays on both teams and the most underwhelming MVP ever in Hines Ward. One last thing: If W wants to do something about activist judges, why can't he do something that will affect us just as much, this time, in a positive manner, do something about activist officiating, won't you. Jeesh!
But, alas, it all means nothing, or close to nothing, when we, the collective 'We" of Los Angeles doesn't have out own team to root for. Where are the Los Angeles Stars, or the Hollywood Diamonds, or the Beverly Hills Lawyers — our own team? I will be the first one in line asking my friends for free tickets. Keep that in mind NFL.
Again, that said, no football team, but we do have two basketball teams, or one and a half, in my opinion. I won't go on about the Lakers; they already take up too much of Jim Hill's sportscast on the 11 O'clock news and too much focus of the LA media.
Even when they lose, the still get double the airtime as the Clippers. Like last night, if you didn't watch the Clippers game, you won't believe the hype on the team. Against an undermanned Knicks, the Clippers played a bad game, I mean, long road trip, we are tired as fuck, bad game. Turnover city, bad passes, Kaman's hair. All of it, bad. But Sam Cassell, in what looks like the trade of the century for the Clipps, came up with two timely treys with time winding down, then some stifling D, an odd Five Second violation on the Knicks Jalen Rose and the Clipps won another, to pull within one of the Suns. I think they could win the Pacific, but that's just me. And the Lakers: I can sum them up in one simple sentence: They won't make the playoffs, even if Kobe goes for 101 a game.
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It's the fourth and the Clipp Show is up by 33 over the Nuggs. 5 three-pointers so far and my boy, Shaun Livingston is going nuts, 12 points and five assists, including an awesome no-look to Wilcox for the dunk. The season is halfway over and the boys are coming to life, 7 1/2 left and this game is in the refridge... Hell yeah, you know the rest!
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Days later and I'm still so sick and tired of hearing about #81's greatest game ever and how, if there were one guy that could break the The Stilt's 100-point game, it'd be Kobe.
I get it, move on.
I get it; the Lakers will sneak into the playoffs, if they are lucky, as the seventh seed, go one and done and then talk about rebuilding next year.
Here's what I would do, you know, trades, buy-outs and general team narishkeit:
Kwame Brown: I'd trade big-bust Kwame for the Fish that Saved Pittsburgh. That dude can ball.
Kobe Bryant: I'd keep him, but fine him a cool million per point he scored over 50. Seriously. And an extra mil per game without at least 10 assists.
Andrew Bynum. What happened to the whole a mind is a terrible thing to waste? Send the kid to college, even if it's LACC, even for a semester. The Lakers' motto, stolen from Chuck E' Cheese should be this: Where a kid can be a kid.
Brian Cook: Go Illini! I like this kid, even without any real production.
Sasha Vujacic, Von Wafer, Aaron McKie, Slava Medvedenko, Chris Mihm: Um. Er. Um. Can I trade these guys for a new set of tires for my Subaru?
Lamar Odom: I'd trade Lamar, but for whom? The Lakers should take a loss and get someone whose contract expires at the end of the year and then sign a real two. How about someone like Scottie Pippen?
Smush Parker: Smush, he's my favorite Laker, but is worth a damn? You bet'cha. Rucker in the house, y'all. This kid could go for 20 a night if someone would just PASS THE BALL!
Luke Walton: The Grateful Dead and Basketball don't mix. If they did, this kid would be a star. Also, he turned down an interview for a magazine with me, thusly costing me some do-re-mi. No, I don't hold a grudge. Hate the guy. Dump him.
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Last night, sitting in my hotel room, tired as sin, it was a choice of watching either a repeat of the Minnesota game or the women's semi-finals of the Australian Open, a match between Amelie Mauresmo and Kim Clijsters. I love tennis, growing up in the verdant hills of Tarzana, I got my fair-share of games in and I still play. Though I suck. I mean suck.
Being of fan of ALL the stick and ball sports, I watched the match and up until the the time Clijsters, who is Belgian, just like my dad, retired due to a twisted ankle the match was as good as the five set men's match between Federer and Haas, with all those broken points.
Trust me, this was much better sports than watching Kobe get two assists in a game. In fact, forget Kobe's new nickname of 81, people should call him 2. Holla!
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What a welcome home. I was in South Africa all last week on assignment (that's a photo of me petting a cheetah at an animal reserve outside of Cape Town). I get in yesterday afternoon, after flying from Cape Town to Jo'Berg, Jo'Berg to Atlanta, Atlanta to LAX to find 300 plus emails vying for my time, but could I reply and actually get any work done. Hell, no. Yesterday was one of the best days for sports ever. EVAH!
To wit: Steelers vs. Denver. Awesome, awesome, awesome. Old school smash mouth footieball at it's finest, then it was on to the Seattle vs. Carolina game, where I was rooting for West Coast all the way.
I have always liked Seattle, ever since they got beat a few years ago by the Hated Rams. So seeing them finally — FINALLY — pull it off was great.
Just an aside: It might have been the jet lag, but does anyone else tear up at the Burger King commercial where the King gets the QB fake and runs it in for a touchdown? No? Oh, me neither than.
But the real deal, after watching the Clippers pummel Golden State with my man Chris Wilcox pounding out 16 points was trying to stay awake to watch Kobe go for 81.
I was tired, but that was such a fucking bore.
Some may say, wow, how amazing. I say it's a bunch of horseshit. Watching your star player go 28 of 46 shots and hit 18 of 20 free throws is amazing, but in an NBA Live 2006 kind of way. That's not basketball. Kobe went seven of 13 from behind the arc and added six rebounds and two assists to his game. It's the last stat, dear friends, the two assists, that has me worried about the purple and gold's future this, next and the season after that.
You touch the freaking ball more that 45 times and you pass for an assist twice. TWICE, KOBE, TWICE!
Some may say this is what the team needs to get energized. That a win like this is the fire under the ass of an underperforming Laker team. I say, bullshit. This is a coffin nail in their season, because for the rest of the season, it'll be Kobe ball and I'm sorry, you can't win on that alone.
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As much as I love me some 'SC footie ball, and nothing — NOTHING — gives a chill down my spine like good sportsmanship, this takes the cake. It is NOT good for you to root for the other team when they score the game-winning touchdown. Looks like someone needs to retake Cheering 101. She sure is purrty, though.
And last night, in what amounted to Nike Vs. Nike. The team of Air Zoom Huarache 2K5 beat Nike Zoom LeBron III by one point when Nike Zoom LeBron III missed a jumper with time running out. The crowd went wild as free shoes rained down on Staples Center.
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The dude shoots 45 for four games in a row and I think they are
going to take the Heat this weekend. Though, I still love me some
Shaq. And now, NOW, Kobe, er, um, Tobey, has his own made-for-TV
biopic, Tobey Bryan's Backcourt Violation (NSFW). A combo of the movie and the Heat game, what an evening.
In other LA news, the EB-less Clippers beat the Magic behind Fire!, who came correct with 15 points. Is it me, or does Fire! need his own plushy doll with matching crossbow you can buy at the Staples store? No, it's not just me.
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This is from the list issue. Spring Training is just around the corner. I stick to everything I say here. Oh, FYI, Furcal is undergoing knee surgery this week. Whoops! It was pre-existing injury too. Ever heard the phrase due diligence, Mr. McCourt?
Happy New Year and let the injured list begin.
My 6 meditations on the Blue SoxThe Dodgers have sucked since 1988, but they may suck just a little less this season. Paul DePodestas love of Sabermetrics which is baseball ruled by numbers and odd statistics almost ruined our beloved team for good last year. Theres been a slight recovery recently, as general manager Ned Colletti, owner Frank McCourt and skipper Grady Little slowly righted a few of the many wrongs, but dont get your hopes up too high: An ill wind still blows in Chavez Ravine.
Taking Out ContractsNomar Garciaparra, Kenny Lofton and Rafael Furcal were good additions. But whats with the shorty deals? It just leads to disharmony. With Nomar and Lofton, one year is not enough to get them in the mix and start to generate a cohesive team. And if its true that the Blue are waiting for their farm prospects to mature, well, thats just planned failure. To paraphrase Donald Rumsfeld, You go to war with the team you have...
Baseball Isnt Like Fine WineAnd age doesnt help. Half the Dodgers roster is long in the tooth. This year, Kenny Lofton will be 39, Sandy Alomar Jr. 40, Jeff Kent 38, Bill Muller 35, and the great hope, Mr. Mia Hamm, the pride of Whittier, Nomar Garciaparra, is already 33. Sounds like a great team to me, if this were a video game and you could turn off the stamina and injury settings. Its a schande, as the old fans of the Brooklyn Dodgers still scream from their hospice beds. If you think the injury-depleted lineup was bad last year, wait for 2006, when the Dodgers main sponsors will be Metamucil, Viagra and Geritol. Forget the batboy, wheres the kid with the canes?
Mo Money, Mo ProblemsWatch out: Prices for tickets, parking and maybe even concessions are going up again. Thats a nice reward for the more than 3 million faithful who went through the gates last season despite the fact that their team still sucks. Lets see . . . an extra 5 or 6 bucks a person times 3 million with that kind of dough, come April we should have Manny Ramirez playing in a park full of seats embroidered with gold filigree. And a whole new front office. Because a family business shouldnt always be run by the family.
New DodgerismThe actual new seats and other off-season fixes are just a start for the McCourts. I predict that in the next five years, youll be able to live in a Dodgertown Loft, connected to a pleasant pasteled outdoor shopping complex where youll be able to walk after the game for some dining at the Chavez Ravine location of Dave & Busters. The McCourts are developers, not baseball people, and there is a whole lot of wasted land up there.
Project Five-Ton GorillaTruth is stranger than satire. In breaking news, first reported by the Boston Herald and then by the L.A. Times, the McCourts held secret meetings with the NFL earlier this year to bring a team to a new facility theyd build next to the Dodger Stadium, replete with shopping, parking, etc. Councilman Ed Reyes, whose district includes Dodger Stadium, said McCourt promised to keep elected officials and community leaders aware of any potential development. His comment to the Times: If hes making these overtures, its a big blow to the folks who are building a level of trust with him. Thats important when youre dealing with issues of that scale. Write this down: The McCourt familys days in L.A. are numbered. The team will be sold by the end of 2006.
If You Cant Say Something Nice...Admittedly, this team is an improvement over last years minor-league, AAA-ball stiffs. 2005 got off to a 18-5 start before tanking, and many observers are expecting another great start for this year, followed by a dive a month into the season. But not me. I love the Dodgers, and the Blue doesnt need any more Weltschmerz. My prediction: The Dodgers win the division, then the pennant, go on to the World Series, where they take it in four. Then they win the Baseball World Classic, shut out the Venusians at their home stadium on Phobos, travel back in time to beat Abner Doubledays 19th-century Steam-Powered Baseball-Playing Robots, and return to the present day to crush the insurgency in Iraq. All by Tax Day, April 15, and without the aid of steroids.
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This too is from the list issue. I know, I know, the Clipp Show has lost 9 of 12 and they look like the Clippers of old. Whatever. The season is long, they are still in the Western hunt and things always change after the All-Star Break. Trust me.
I know, I'm sounding like one of those dudes was all up on the Dodgers shit when they started 18-5 last season, but, er, um. I have nothing on that. I do sound like one of those dudes. Again, whatever. Go Blue!
9 Reasons To Get on the Clippers Bandwagon
The Clippers made a surprise bolt out of the gate this season to take the top spot in the Pacific Division. A brief cold streak on the road and some nagging injuries let the Suns edge them out, but with the Lakers, yet again, falling on hard times, it looks like Los Angeles' "other team" is finally getting the respect it deserves. Here are nine reasons why we should all root for the new home team.
Fear the Other 'Fro: Shaun LivingstonEvery team needs a young phenom to carry the mantle for the future, and the Clippers have that in Livingston, the 20-year-old, 6-foot-7 point guard out of Peoria, Illinois. Sure, he's been injured off and on for the last few years and most of this season. Hell, the kid is still going through puberty, but he's playing behind veteran Sam Cassell, averaging almost 8 points a game and has a mean-ass fadeaway jumper that reminds me of some other once-young phenom who plays for another Los Angeles team. Just bring back the 'fro, Shaun.
And the Best-Dressed Award Goes to...Peep James Singleton's knee-high tube socks during game day. The Clippers have style. Almost every Clipper rocks a headband, their center has hair like a hesher and GM Elgin Baylor dresses like Bill Cosby. The Clippers remind me of the Bad News Bears, which is a sincere compliment.
Good ShowThe Clippers are fun to watch. Remember when Phil Jackson's zazen-conceived triangle offense was like watching a choreographed Yuen Wo Ping combination? Well, neither do I. But when I was at the Clippers-Cavaliers game a few weeks ago, I got that Showtime feeling again. Whereas the Lakers' entire offense is give the ball to Kobe, pass to Kobe and, when all else fails, throw an awkward lob to Kobe. That's some ugly sports and boring to boot, the Clippers' movement is fluid. They pass plenty, make nice drives, and sometimes score spectacularly. With Cuttino Mobley and Sam Cassell, the Clippers' transition game is only getting smoother.
They Need UsWith the Clippers on top, Staples Center is packed for big games, but the crowd seems lost. Theres excitement, but it's almost an unsure "we still wish we were at a Lakers game" feeling. Like, who the fuck just scored that basket? And since the hard-working Clippers aren't the dead-obvious, flashy, asshole Lakers of yesteryear, many Angelenos are confused. Still, in my informal polls, people would rather see Cuttino Mobley drain it from the wing than watch Von Wafer lace up his shoes some more.
C. Mag & Cro-MagThough he's on the injured list for the next month, it's always fun to see Corey Maggette "C. Mag" have a good game. 'Nuff said. But last time I was at Staples, the guy who impressed me the most was Chris Kaman, the Cro-Magnon-looking center, who I've given the nom du sport 'Fire!' as in the eureka moment when our prehistoric ancestors sought and discovered the elusive and magical element. Fire! After getting a thorough beat-down at the hands of Zydrunas Ilgauskas during the Cavs game last month, Fire! came correct against them the next night with 12 points and 19 boards. (Looks like Fire! took a look at Ilgauskas' $55 million contract and decided to start playing.) I even heard recently that Fire! is taking up the crossbow. I shit you not.
Elton BrandNight after night, season after season, E.B. plays tough. It used to be hard to watch his great efforts go to waste. He'd put up numbers only to have the team dump in the last five minutes of the fourth. Now E.B. has backup, and the Clipps are winning most of those games down the stretch. That's why I asked Santa for an Elton Brand jersey for Hanukkah. Um, Santa? I'm still waiting.
Tickets Are Cheap and PlentifulFor the price of a movie, you can go to a Clippers game. Lakers tix are still through the roof, although after two years of Kobe-ball, ticket promotions are starting to pop up. Can you imagine discounts during Shaq days?
That Dude in the Blue and Red SuitIf youve been to a game, you know who I am talking about. He's the guy dressed like Two-Face in the Batman movies. He's always yelling "Go Clippers!" and dancing in the aisles. I think I once saw him starting a 'wave'. A fan's fan in a city of fakers, dayenu.
More Blue Than RedThe Clippers air their games on Air America KTLK-AM 1150. Progressive basketball at its finest!
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So, you can argue all you want, should Carroll have gone for it on 4 & 2 with 2:20 or so left on the game clock. Should he really have given the ball to LenDale to get those yards? Would I have done the same?
The answer is yes.
Close it out, let a team that one 34 in a row win it once more.
Best game of football ever played.
Ever.
Ever.
That might have been the best sports game ever played, while I throwing around the hyperbole.
I am stunned, stunned but just wait until next year . I still think Young is a scowling bastard though.
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I'm going out on a long Birch tree limb here, but I'm feeling it. I am. I am. I am feeling this score. This is my call for the Rose Bowl game tonight.
USC 47 - Texas 24
That's 71 for the over-under. My homie Beau said it seemed kind of high, but these are two potent offensive teams, well, at least USC is. Anyone want some action, LA Weekly style?
Reggie Bush will rush for 250 yards with 355 all-purpose yards, Leinart will pass for 3 TDs and that scowling bastard Vince Young — feh, who cares.
Is it me, or is Young kind-of annoying. Like after he placed in the Heisman, he said he let his team down. Dude, let your team down? You just came in second for the freaking Heisman. Anyway, this will be the day he really lets his team down in a (sorry, here it comes) Texas-size way. Thanks. I'll be here all week. Try the Veal.
Go Trojans! Expect updates during the game.
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From the LA Times, " After spotting Northwestern 22 first-quarter points, the Bruins scored 36 in succession en route to a 50-38 victory, their first bowl win in three seasons under Coach Karl Dorrell."
My prediction was UCLA 47, N'Western 38. Again, Yee Haw! Please set you line and odds on the Turf Toe's rantings. Thanks.
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While most of LA is waiting in vain for the USC/Texas game this Wednesday night, the 'Other' big LA bowl game gets going today. That's right, UCLA vs. Northwestern at the Sun Bowl in El Paso, TX.
I think Bruins Coach Karl Dorrell has done a pretty good job of turning the team around the last few seasons. But are they a top 5-ranked team, not a chance. How about next year? I don't think so on that either.
But they are ranked 17th and if they didn't fold against Arizona (?), 14-52, they would be 10-1 and somewhere a little bit higher, like maybe — gasp — top ten.
I'm feeling good about this game and the Bruins. My prediction, UCLA 47, N'Western 38. Yee Haw!
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I am burning that WWJDD tee shirt. I am so pissed. Look at this, he looks like a mensch, not like the Johnny Damon we love. I know, 52 million over 4 years is a lot more than 40 over 4, but to me, this is one more reason to hate the Yankees.
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I'm not going to dump the team from my bookmarks menu just because they lose a few games. Like their fifth loss in six games. Basketball, as they say, is a game of runs. It just seems like the Clipps got a little cold on their road trip. Some good news from the 97-75 loss at Indiana. Shaun Livingston, in his first start of the season, had 10 points and five assists in 39 minutes. That kid is going to be a star. Just bring back the 'fro Shaun.
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Kobe shoots for 62 freaking points and outscores the whole Mavs team after three, the Clippers get rolled up by the lousy Nets and the Dodgers, which are slowly becoming a graveyard of players once in their prime, sign a one-year deal with another old timer, Kenny Lofton.
All good stuff and interesting news for sports fans. But it's nothing – NOTHING – compared to the fact that the Astros gave Roy Oswalt a Caterpillar D6N XL bulldozer for winning game six of the NLCS. They pay the dude 17 million over two years and then buy him a bulldozer for winning a game he needed to win anyway. This is everything that is so right and so damn wrong with sports today.
As always, your comments are welcome.
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With Nomar's new one year contract, Bill Mueller and perhaps, Johnny D coming to Chavez Ravine, LA is beginning to look at lot like Boston, minus the ear-splitting accents, the abundance of cute preppy girls and the overall homogenized ethnic diversity of BoTown.
This is my question: Why the short deals? What the hell are the Dodgers waiting for? This isn't basketball, it's baseball, where contracts are long. Don't get the Toe wrong, I don't want to see another Dreifort or Todd Hundley debacle, but come on, how about three year deal so people can Vulcan Mind Meld with the Blue? Sour Grapes on my part? Looking for an excuse to bash a team that is down? Still pissed at the Blue? All of these I say, maybe. Now let's see what the boys down in the O.C. do.
Also, does Grady realize the BoSox lost the '93 ALCS?
Comments? Send me a email.
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I'm was in Miami this week on assignment and as I was flipping through the channels at the Shore Club, where I was staying, the local news came on. I always like to see the local news outside of LA to get a compare and contrast kind of deal. Like, is the news elsewhere as vapid as what we have in LA. The answer, natch, is always yes.
So the news is on and I'm watching and when it gets to the sports segment, it was all about the Heat. How they dumped Van Gundy and put in Riley as Head Coach, the first game played with Shaq back, the team dynamics. Fred Roggin with a Latin accent kind of stuff. The sportscaster was interviewing Shaq, who was just being himself, which means that he was being the best center with the greatest personality ever. I got kind of sad, I miss the big fella. I miss his jokes, his semi full of Hanukkah gifts for underprivileged youth, his all around Shaqness.
Is he as great a player as he once was? No. Is he worth the dough the Heat are paying him? No. Did Jerry and Mitch make a good move trading him? Sort-of. But that's not the point.
This is: I love Shaq. When he played for the Lakers, I would sometimes have a dream where Shaq and I would be riding go-carts, or hanging out playing horse. I'm serious about this. I would have bromance dreams of hanging with the Big Man. What I am trying to say, the Lakers (and Clippers for that matter) need someone to take up the mantel of awesomeness and make hoops in LA more fun and dare I say it, vapid, like it used to be, like it should be. We need someone at Staples to act a fool, just like a good celebrity sports figure should do.
Where's my Afro and fur coat, I'm trying out for the ABA.
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OK, Ned. Good work, Mr. McCourt. You signed Bill Mueller, that's pronounced Miller, for all of you West Coast people who have never seen a BoSox game in your life. Yeah, Miller, er, Mueller won an AL Batting title, a World Series ring and did some good work with Boston. But, c'mon, the dude is 34. Yeah, the Toe knows it's only a 2 year deal, like the Dodgers would really sign someone long term and he came fairly cheap. I'm a little up in the air, but still feel sort-of good about this. Now sign Johnny Damon! Slowly Dodgers, I'm coming around. I'm still sleeping with my Red Rally Monkey but I'm willing to try if you're willing to try, OK?
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When I was a kid growing up in the San Fernando Valley, I wasn't too much into high school sports, so going to the game on a Friday night wasn't high on my list of things to do. In high school, I had my photography classes and books and seeing bands at Bebop Records in Reseda and hanging at Bob's Big Boy to keep me occupied. I also went 'Over The Hill' into 'The City' to hang out. It wasn't jocks vs. dweebs thing, back then, it just was.
But when I moved back to LA in the mid-1990s to go to grad school at CalArts -- Jedi in the house! -- I started to follow my high school team, Woodland Hills Taft High School Toreadors. I don't go to the games as an adult, that'd be West Texas Style, I just follow the team from afar. So this year when they got off to a great start, I was pumped. 5-0, 8-0, 10-0, 13-0. On Friday night was the City Championship game against Crenshaw, who Taft beat 35-34 in their opening game of the season. Taft wasn't so lucky this time around and they lost the game 20-14.
Now, some of you out there may read into it a subtext of inner-city vs. the suburbs, a triumph of the poorly funded team beating a richer one, there is class and race and all of that involved and if you want to write a movie about that, be my guest. I know those issues are there, but I'll leave those types of things to a better writer than myself, someone like HG Bissinger, author of Friday Night Lights.
I look at the championship game purely like this; it was about high school football at its finest and if you know it or not, Southern California has some of the best teams in the nation. Think of that next season when you look through the LA Times sports section and wonder how your old school is doing.
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After an extensive search, Grady Little is the new Dodger manager. Wow, what a choice.
For Shame, Ned.
Look for the this photo to happen a lot, except with the pitcher in Dodger Blue and in a game that won't matter a lick. Oy Vey.
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So my prediction of USC, 47, UCLA 22 wasn't too far off. If this whole "writing thing" doesn't work out, maybe there's a place for me as a Vegas odds maker. That'd be sweet, living the life like Ace Rothstein in Casino. I can just see myself in those suits. After watching the 'SC rout, I went down to watch the Clippers play the Cleveland Cavaliers at Staples.
Staples was packed. This year, going to a big Clippers game is like going to a mid-level Lakers game a few seasons ago, except with a lot more Penny Marshall, which is a small, good thing. But the Clipps crowd seemed a little lost -- actually, a lot lost. Since LA is a bandwagon town, where people have a hard time thinking for themselves, they go to watch the Clippers and really don't know who or how to root for them. There is an excitement, but it is a confused "we still wish we were at a Lakers game" kind of deal. Like, who the fuck just scored that basket? But still, in my informal poll, people would rather root for Chris Wilcox to drain it from the wing than Von Wafer to lace up his shoes. That's right, Von Wafer.
Clippers won; C. Mags played a great game; Elton Brand is a freaking monster. But who really impressed was Chris Kaman, the Cro-Magnon looking center, who will from now on at the Toe be referred to as "Fire!" As in, a cro-mag man looking for and finding the elusive and magical element. Fire! After getting a thorough beat-down at the hands of Zydrunas Ilgauskas (???), Fire! came correct with 12 points and 19 boards. It looks like Fire! took a look at Ilgauskas' 55 million contract and decided to start playing. Also, the Cavs have a kid who's been playing for only a few seasons who looks like he's going to be a star. His name is LeBron something and he's pretty good. I think he deserves his own shoe.
In other news, the Dodgers, who have a gold-glove shortstop, Cesar Izturis, on the roster already, albeit on the DL, signed another SS, Rafael Furcal, to a 3-year, 39 million dollar contract. Look for Furcal to disappear into the 'Blue Hole' and put up career worst numbers batting in front of Jeff Kent and JD Drew, two chumps on a team of chumps. Wow, what a line-up it's looking to be this year. The Marlins are dumping franchise players and we get another shortstop. Another bad move, Mr. McCourt, but saying that has become second nature to this hack.
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When I was a kid growing up in LA, I hated USC, I mean hated them. The joke was University of Spoiled Children — we were pretty smart there in Tarzana. I mean come on, how could I be a Young Democrat and like a big, rich private school like 'SC. I loved me some Bruins. But, a few years ago a perfect storm occurred, I had a homie from Iowa who was a big Hawkeye fan and a girlfriend who was going to UCLA and I need — NEEDED — to root against those two teams? I don't like Big 12 Schools, or states for that much either, and I love LA, so USC it was. It was Carroll's first season; the team was coming together to win their first National Title — or a BCS bullshit share of it. It was great and most of all; I got to give the whatfore to everyone else. UCLA is doing a little better this season, but all of those wins sort-of lie. If they played tougher teams in the PAC-10, they'd be 5-5. But that's me. 'SC is going to mollywhop them today. My prediction, USC 47, UCLA 22, Reggie Bush rushes for 5,000 yards and breaks 3 Bruins ankles — literally. For the record, I love the team, but still hate the school. Go Trojans!
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A sports blog from the Weekly? Yes, a sports blog from the Weekly. But don't sports suck? Well, no, sports don't suck. That was when we were kids, when sports sucked. Now they don't. In fact, they're awesome.
And now, to assuage the fears of all the media people, fair-weather friends, potential dinner buyers and alternative weekly readers, it's time to meet The Turf Toe.
What is the Turf Toe, besides a common sports-related ailment? Well, what folks around town are already colloquially calling 'The Toe' is "one man's expedition into the heart of Los Angeles Sports, including public relation department fogs and smokescreens, misleading payroll numbers, inconsolable coaches and the players they hate, home team bashing, all knit together with the never ending love of what is hereby predicted to be the 4th seeded Los Angeles Clippers."
AND: This is no bandwagon when it comes to the Clipps, dear friends. This being the Weekly, natch, we ran about four months behind schedule getting the Toe up, just in time for my boy C. Mag to finally come and play.
Also, since this is LA, there are high school sports, college basketball, the region's search for a football team and an occasional shout out to motor sports and cars to report on. Because what goes better with a cup of sports than a dollop of automotive, right?
All of this shall be written with over-reaching grandiloquence and peppered with numerous grammatical and spelling errors on an almost daily basis!
I've got to run, that's the shot clock buzzer going off -- my first, and only, sports cliché.
Questions, comments, reservations, etc. are most welcome.
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