Eduardo's Legacy

It's worth a few more words than I'm willing to commit to at the moment. And no, the man hasn't died, retired or been shipped to Yeovil.

Eduardo completed his transfer to Shaktar Donetsk this week. Lots to go into this move and while he's painting a happy face, it's one of those deals that leaves you ruefully thinking of what could have been. As such, I've been poking around, rather eager to click a link here or there and see what people have to say about his transfer.

I like Eduardo. I've always liked him. He seemed a great personality as the classic good guy. Couldn't really fault him for too much and he gave us buckets of fun times simply through his affable style and the overwhelming resemblance we noted when he first came on board to Prince in all his 1984 pomp. We've played the shit out of "Purple Rain" ever since he joined the Arsenal. At the Emirates, of course, the team comes out to Elvis' "Wonder of You." That's fun and all but at our pub when the team wins, we crank "Purple Rain" to a level that lets the folks four blocks down hear it. Pulsing, folks. Eduardo stirs the emotions.

Just search through the blog under "Do It For Eduardo". That whole ethos gave me one of the best summers of my life.

Maybe I can re-channel that spirit and we can "Do it for Eduardo!" again to create some more spirited laughs and fun as his footballing spirit drifts away from us this month.

At any rate, as I clicked and looked for a few sordid transfer rumours that would doubtless be dismissed by the time I finished reading the article, much less the headline, I made the mistake of reading the Daily Mail.

And this ... 

Here's a sample ...

Eduardo da Silva joined Arsenal with a big reputation after heading Steve McClaren towards the sack as England manager. But four years on from his goal for Croatia in that Euro 2008 qualifier in Zagreb, he is leaving the Emirates like many before him: with his name almost as badly shattered as the bones in the ankle he infamously broke at Birmingham.



And there's this too ...

he is not the first to stumble under the weight of expectation.
 
Now, (he says with a deep breath) we take great effort to keep things clean over here at Match Pricks. For the most part. And trust me, it can be difficult. But if you read that article, even scan through it, I think you can permit me, in this instance to crank up the volume (I have to think Jim would completely agree on this one). So ...

Fuck you, Daily Mail. Fuck. You. That was nothing more than a heaping pile of whale shit. Go fuck yourselves. I'd say you should be ashamed but you're useless bottom-feeding fucks who clearly aren't equipped with the naturally ability to provide the scant level of critical analysis necessary to think enough to get through a day. Fuck you.

I prefer to think of the Eduardo in the photo up top here. A guy that everyone rooted for. A guy that made us happy. And a guy who had the carpet pulled out from underneath him who kept fighting and kept smiling.

Liverpool signs Joe Cole

Not even 24 hours ago, I never would've even thought they wanted him. But the club's website says he's signed for the team, so I guess it is so.

I keep talking myself into this Hodgson thing. This only adds to the irrational behavior.

As Colin says, being a supporter is just an absolutely torturous experience. OK, time for thinking about this a bit.

The final Soccer Saturday on ESPN 540 just started. I'm headed in a Mourinho-flavored direction.

When the fun is set aside ...

We've spoken at length about the tidal wave of fun that is the World Cup. For those who don't believe us, just wait until after a) the first round of matches and b) the group stage. For the permanent record, as I typed that, Argentina struck again, for the second, on 33' as an Higuain header found its way. The player was correctly judged to be onside. (A sidebar within a tangent: I think, on a whole, the officials in this tournament have been good and frankly quite trustworthy thus far. Indeed, as with any human judgement, there have been spots throughout that could be questioned. But yes, I do believe they've done well and let the matches progress as they may. In particular with consideration to the offside rule. If you'd like to prove me wrong, by all means, please do so. I'm forgetful. And I have a short attention span.)

But I digress ... World Cup, fun, high-fives, back-slaps, shoddy defending, swerving horns, dignitaries and all that. Right? Right.

But football really isn't supposed to fun. It's supposed to unhealthy, spirit crushing, anxiety driving and distraction causing torture. Yes, indeed, it'll be sprinkled through with enough opiates to keep us coming back but the net sum, whether we identify it our not, has very little resemblance to actual fun.

And thus, with that ancient and dusty curtain firmly drawn in front of us for two more months still, we have just been given our first true hint of what lurks behind. Patiently waiting for its call and the first lines in a new script, the 2010/11 Premier League season, a rookie to the cast (thought all expect it to 'catch-up' to the experience of its predecessors in short and rather prescribed order), has just been given his blocking order for the coming season's performances.

The fixture list is up and waiting for your digestion.  Please, don't forget to chew. Tell your friends and family members to plan their weddings, births and other children's birthday parties after consulting with this, yeah?

First thing you'll notice? The first Match Pricks Derby of the season is the first act. After that old man with his blistered hands and hunched back goes through the groaning pains of raising the curtain in time for the Charity Shield (best start now, old friend, I want a good view, snorefest though it may be), it's Liverpool vs. Arsenal on August 14. Sure, they'll probably slap it on down on Sunday for TV, but still, let us daydream that our two empires are still grand enough to cling to center stage yet a little longer.

Heading into the second half of Argentina vs. South Korea. 2-1 to the Argies.

" ... And it's all left to play for!"

Featured at OnMilwaukee.com

Some Match Pricks articles with a touch more consideration have featured at OnMilwaukee.com in the last couple of days. More to come. For now, in case you've missed them as they featured, get the stories here:

10 Reasons to be Stoked for the World Cup

US Soccer Team Seeks Revolutionary Victory

Germany's Victory Steeped in Gemutlichkeit

Here, drink this. You'll love it. Soccer Saturday

Saturday was the apocalypse. It was a super particle collider. It was a flash in a pan, a grand slam, a hole-in-one and a supernova of energy. And some other really big things.

It was a moon bomb.

We damn neared blew up the moon (credit to Jim) with the collective energy that was bursting out of seams across the globe. It was the first Saturday (read: the day that most people are not slaving at a desk, or read: the day that I am not slaving at a desk) of the newest and most modern World Cup. This was a celebratory and technological critical mass. Extreme masses of people from extreme fringes of the world's population poured forth to experience all of it in ways that had never been done before. It was the same four years ago and it'll be the same again in four years' time. But for this space, this time, it was critical mass. For the football fan, it was all we could want. For the techy savy urban liberals we are, it was all we could want. Tweets scattered across the globe and pulsing forth from the bottom of our great green and blue globe. Instant video to share. Instant reaction to report. Photos from fans that made us each feel like we were there.




More people. More channels. More coverage. More opinion. More experts. More phonies. More funny hats. More face paint. More bets. More tweets. More shots. More Bayernjager. More, indeed, shots. More Maradona.

Football was there to be had, of course. But there was so much more. So much to experience. So much not to miss.

Saturday was more of everything. We all did our best, again, across the globe, Augustus Gloop impression. Every last one of us. We were licking the bowl, nibbling every last crumb of it like cretinous slobs. You might not get another chance, you know? Take it while you can.

It was, in the end, an odd type of family reunion. I'm quite certain I'm not alone in that expression. Text messages from close friends you hear from every six months. Phone calls with loved ones to check in. Checking in to ensure that you're soaking it up to the extreme extent they hope you are. Get all of it, they say. Get every last drop of the experience, they encourage. Gotta meet their expectations.

What was that I wrote last week about high-fiving, back-slapping and whatever other way you see fit to communicate with people? It happened. That fellow who's impossible talking speed mixed with the ripping Manchester accent? First time you saw him in four years if it's been a week. Those people you see every week? The ones with whom you're only ever able to exchange erstwhile glances of disapproval because of the team they support? Don't think for a second you weren't happy to see them. Don't think for a second you didn't high-five them and slap the hell out of their back. You wanted to be sure they soaked up every last drop of the experience too. You wanted to be sure they knew everything you knew. Did they see things the way you did? Did they taste it all, smell it all and hear it all? Was their perspective ... as overflowing as yours? Did they know? You sure were gonna try and make sure they did.

It was community. It was experience. It was celebration. It was humanity. And all because of the World Cup. Everyone was there. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone wanted to have a say.

It's rarely been as easy as it was to get up at 5:00 a.m. I popped out of bed with springs in each step. The dawn's walk to the pub, the magnetic center of the footballing universe for anyone outside of South Africa ... and make no mistake, there's one here, there's one there ... you all know the experience ... that walk at dawn was as pure a joy as I've known. Why? Because you knew it was all there in front of you. Gobs of football. That oozing human experience. And a little bit of the unknown.

In the middle of all of it, Jim and I had the opportunity to again contribute to the Soccer Saturday radio show. This time it wasn't in the comfy ESPN Radio studio in the middle of downtown Milwaukee. This time it was live. Right in the middle of this massive black hole of joy and energy. To be clear, this location wasn't designed to suck joy out where it once was so much as it was a massive gravitational center where all of the above was located. And smack dab in the middle, Jim and I stood with a couple of headsets and did radio. It was about as much fun as I've ever had. Here's the segment. As with every week, check the widget on the left, scroll down and you'll find the Match Pricks segment. Listen to the others as well. Peter Wilt had some good fun and our friends Ryan Wickins, from London, and Ryan McCauley, an American, had a good segment where they offered their thoughts on the big USA vs. England.

Opening thoughts

It's terribly sad to wake up here in Milwaukee this morning and learn that Nelson Mandela's great-granddaughter was killed in a car crash after the kickoff concert. I'm guessing he was going to appear at the opening game and deliver, obviously just by being there, a worldwide statement of pride for South Africa and inspiration for everyone watching. Now he will not, and it's because of just tragic circumstances.

OK, diving into the matches today, with an eye on Colin's beloved France in the second game. My first contribution to the Match Pricks coverage at OnMilwaukee.com is up and running today. It's a primer for tomorrow's U.S.-England match.

As usual, more soon ...

A few things before we begin

My 2010 FIFA World Cup™ iPhone app tells me we're now a little more than 17 hours from this sucker getting started. I'm wondering if I pay $7.99 for the app upgrade, will it also give me a Brazil 2014 countdown clock? Because I cannot wait for Brazil 2014 to get going. I'll hold off for now. Maybe I'll buy it tomorrow.

Like many of you, I'm spending these final hours just killing time while waiting for Sepp Claus to slide down the chimney and charge $599 to my Visa account before turning the TV channel to ESPN. Having covered nearly every possible angle of the World Cup that genuinely appeals to me, I've taken to reading virulent "anti-soccer" opinion pieces from American writers online and then soaking up the slightly less articulate hate in the reader comments below. It's pretty great, if only because I never considered joining forensics in high school, and reading these things allows me to play "Spot the flawed/ignorant/misguided argument" at work. Plus, it's kind of amusing, like how after you bite the inside of your cheek and then you just keep flicking your tongue over the wound is amusing.

One thing that's jumped out at me – other than the ironclad statement as fact that there will be riots, suicides and murders in England if the U.S. wins Saturday – is the American anti-soccer voices in the comments are a refined brand of potent "Out with Johnny Foreigner-ism." I'll write it off as that particular brand of lunacy that always is found in the comments section of any online newspaper or magazine that permits unfettered reader feedback. Nonetheless, it's jarring. Imagine if these folks gave soccer a chance and actually learned it has many entertaining qualities - only to find out the filthy, cheating non-English players always dive like sneaky jerks. They'd look up the meaning of crestfallen and then be that.

Now I'm starting to embody the arrogant American soccer fan stereotype, which I've learned today is a primary reason many people don't like soccer, at least among those who commit their thoughts to anti-soccer Internet comment sections. Apparently (white) Americans who like soccer come across as too-cool-for-school and act superior to the common man who built this country with his two calloused, meaty hands, felling one tree after another until we created the concept of industry out of three blades of grass and a stick, by gum. There were some comments in there about those of Mexican, Puerto Rican and Latin American descent, but nothing about those many millions being snobby. It was a little more base, to be polite.

I'm laying it on pretty thick now, so I'll leave the Internet comments behind and extend an invitation to anyone who runs into me during the next month to have at it and ask me what's my deal with this soccer game and why is it so great. I adore the World Cup. I'm using the majority of my available vacation time from work in 2010 to deposit my butt on a barstool or couch and just watch whatever I can. I'm giddy about Spain versus Honduras. I want to hug it and kiss it and name it George – but I don't want to crush it. The point is clear, though. I'm on the enthusiastic side of things.

If you want an explanation of the offside rule, I'll give it to you. If you're polite, I'll explain the nuances of the rule. If you ask about countries, I'll discuss them with you. If you ask about Ronaldinho, I'll say, "He's not playing," and then I'll quickly change the subject. I've never looked at my obsession with soccer, football, the World Cup and all it entails as revealing anything about myself other than, well, that I'm a nutjob about soccer, football, the World Cup and all it entails. I hope my happiness doesn't tarnish your opinion of the thing that makes me happy.

To everyone else who's just dying to get this thing going: wow, hey? LOLLA-GOLLA-BOLLAWALLA!!! Ah-OOOOH-GAAHH! Ah-OOOOH-GAAHH!

It's been a long wait. Glad it's finally here.

(UPDATE: Many thanks to Howie Magner at Milwaukee Magazine for the kinds words in his latest column. Also, Brian Phillips is keeping it going at Slate. Thursday's piece explains why we call it soccer here instead of football.)

OnMilwaukee lets us serve as World Cup hype man for the city

Colin has a piece freshly up at OnMilwaukee.com reminding Milwaukeeans how much damn fun the World Cup is for anyone willing to open their mind and take the ride.

Match Pricks has been granted this larger audience in our fair city, and we hope a few converts come along after it's over. Your preconceived notions of soccer hooliganism turned sour, gang. Hear us out, watch a match and give it a shot. There's a good chance you'll love it – or at least you'll enjoy the monthlong party.

OK, more to come on this front as we dig in here.

Jim

Check this out, check us out and have fun Saturday

Can't recommend enough heading over to Slate for Brian Phillips' piece on the history of American soccer in the 1920s. While we're all counting down these interminable hours and minutes until the World Cup finally starts, this Phillips piece does a great job telling a forgotten story about soccer in America.

While you're over there, type "Brian Phillips Moldovan" into Slate's search box. Click the first result, if you haven't read it already. It was my introduction to Phillips, his terrific site The Run of Play and, indirectly, playing Football Manager on my iPhone during my bus commute to work. (Long story.) What I'm saying is, the guy's got range, folks.

More Match Pricks stuff will be popping up here and elsewhere soon. Maybe not quite Slate-level elsewhere, but we like to explore the room, as they say, when we can. Details will follow.

Also, ESPN 540 is bringing the Soccer Saturday show to the Highbury, 2322 S. Kinnickinnic Ave., this Saturday morning for the 8 a.m. broadcast. South Korea v. Greece will be wrapping up when the show starts, and Argentina v. Nigeria will be a few moments away as we're winding the show down. Stop by and drink while watching people do a radio show. That sort of opportunity just isn't available any ol' day, you know.