Wolves at Home

Happy St. Valentine's day to you and yours or it, or whatever you decide to declare your romantic interests to. Whether it be an actual living breathing human being, a sheep or that nice soft sock/pillow, etc.. and so on.

This weekend we were met with the MancScum v. ManShitty derby. However, for myself, it was at a very inconvenient time in the morning. I decided it would best be spent getting myself ready for the proper match and not deal with the fair-weather rabble that tends to show up for these things.

Did I ever tell you how much I detest many MancScum so called fans? I'm not talking about the ones that I actually call friends, albeit in the loose vernacular term. I mean the ones who discovered United when xxx played for them or they won the double or the store down the street sold Beckham kits and he was/is still the best player ever.

You know the people I'm talking about. All clubs, at least on this side of the world have them; the glory hunter fan. There are a ton of these people, who don't know the history, only understand the geographical significance of this weekend's derby and only show up for the big games... when they're winning.

Now, I'll give you the respect if you just happened upon the sport at such a time and it is the reason you became interested, but don't feign interest when it's convenient. If I can't hold a conversation with you about the tactical significance of Coventry's midfield when they are playing Doncaster during a mid-table skirmish during a rainy boring nil nil on a Wednesday night, then we have nothing to go on about, do we?

Don't get me wrong, like I said, if you want to learn and spend time in the salt mines, like we all have, then much respect. However, you need to show up for more than the just the big games, when you are on top of the league.
/rant

The Arsenal match just happened to be on during the same time as the Liverpool match, so we were regulated to the side screen without sound. It didn't matter much to me as it was a much more comfortable match for the boys in red and white.

The Liverpool affair, I must say, was quite fun. At some point during the match, Shorts decided that Wigan needed some props, so to speak. He carefully blended a little ditty off of a Wu-Tang Clan chant, which started to bug a Scouser I'd never seen before. It was kind of funny but to his credit.

WIGAN ATHLETIC AIN'T NOTHING TO FUCK WITH!

He was all about it until he found out that it was the 'latics was just short for athletics and had nothing to do with milk, courtesy of the Lady of Manchester. We'll accept that as true.

This morning was filled with an unusual surprise. Ronaldo (the real one or the fat one, whichever you prefer) is retiring. I remember when he first stepped out for Brasil and was a complete phenom. I even bought his biography, something I never do for footballers but it's an interesting story.

Actually, if Anelka wrote one, I'd buy that too, because I'm sure that's an interesting story. Also, I still haven't seen the Zidane movie, a 21st century portrait. If anyone can get your hands on it, I'd be truly grateful.

Anyways, I knew he'd been hurt and not playing much, definitely not playing to his full 100%. I can admit I actually shed a small tear. The goofy smile, big head and funky hairdo will be missed. I don't see him staying in football, maybe in a back office, running some camps or scouting or something but not as manager.

So to Ronaldo Luis Nazario de Lima, BOA SORTE!
(that bloody well better be correct!)

~LeChat

Man City Away

11 men went to play.. went to play at City!

Ah, what a great way to end the week. THREE points, unbelievable three points but three points none the less. I was convinced of the draw, even after City went down a man. Statistics has it that once a team goes down, usually the team with advantage has a hard time getting to goal.

However, like everything else, the Arsenal flaunts its shoulders against all odds. Watching the boys get out there and start kicking back, as well as gently caressing the ball along the pitch in that silky smooth way was a joy.

I swear a slight tear formed in my eye as this was starting to look like the team of old. By old, I mean even before Wenger was a household name in Islington. Ye Olde Arsenal was a tough nugget, hated throughout the league, known for kicking the sin out of all heretics and punching one in before the 90 was up.

I could wax on and on about this and that, about when George Graham took over, about when Wenger took over and changed the league, about the emergence of unknowns to penultimate super stardom, about the nastiness given to the club in the media; YEARS and years of it.

Now it looks as if a perfect storm of good ol'English stick a boot in with the smooth flavour of continental passing and speed of fleet footed footballers on beautifully manicured pitches has come to fruition.

I can really only get into the Sunday action at the pub though. Saturday was spent at my cousin's wedding. I watched the morning games from bed or on the tubes. I did download the Football Manager demo, which is pure class. If you ever were a proponent of the old SI Champ Manager, then this is the series you want to play.

So Sunday it is, made it down for the second half of the ManYoo game, which I paid about five minutes of attention to. I think I was talking to the Deputy about food or something, when the Sheriff turned around and said one of the best lines of the week.

I just love Gary Neville's balls.

YES a direct quote. He tried to recover but I know what I heard. It kind of reminded me of this picture.

 

Classic! Need a say more? Sorry Sheriff, told you it was blog worthy and so is that picture. I think it's from one of the cups but I can't remember I must have used it in a previous blog. It just goes to prove something, doesn't it.

(self edit due to the amount of emo suicides lately, don't want to be blamed)

Fine, don't get all mad at me but it's the truth. Now personally I have no problems with you loving on each other like so, that's all well and good. I mean didn't the Greeks do that as well? Just keep it in Manchester.

Anyways, by the time the ManShitty game came on, ManCity himself was quite a few sheets to the wind. He reminded me of the gentleman's wager we had going on and was proper fired up for the match. Too bad it wasn't going to be his day. Originally he was going to head to the bistro to cause a riot but he didn't feel like dealing with the American Football traffic on the south-side.

There was a good crowd on hand for both clubs, which was good to see. HalfArseDean was slumped in the corner being angry. I swear it's quite unusual for him. Myself, or so ManCity himself kept telling me, was out of sorts as well. I don't know.. I think my cousin's wedding killed my spirit. It's the middle of the first half of the football season and you're going to get married. WHAT? Anyways that's all said and done.

So today as I was doing my daily perusal of the Guardian. I found this equally brilliant quote. Now me and Michel P aren't always on the same side of the ball but this is one issue I think we both agree on. I'm just going to totally lift it, damn you copyright.

Uefa's president, Michel Platini, has claimed introducing goal-line technology will lead to "PlayStation football" but admits that referees have to be masochists to cope with all the criticism thrown at them.

He goes on to say;

One referee is not enough, not in the modern era where you have 20 cameras. It is unfair: the cameras can see everything but the referee only has one pair of eyes. Every time he makes a mistake, those cameras are there to focus on it.

Which, like I said, I completely agree with. His idea is to put goal line assistants, right behind the net. While it may be better on paper than actually in practice, I think it's not a bad idea. Ice hockey has something similar going on and it seems to work out, at least they used to, I know they review stuff every now and again but then again Ice Hockey has more play stoppages than Football.

The one true beauty in football is the flow of the game, end to end. The rules, as the Argentines and Italians would say, are a mere suggestion. It is possibly one of the most natural of all the regulated sports, in my opinion.

Joga Bonito?


~LeChat

Implosions and Classic French Novellas

I've been keeping my head low on the whole thing. Yes, I've got your messages and texts and fb posts and e-mails. I just haven't cared to respond to anyone on this at all besides a nod and a smile.

When it first went down, was I surprised? NON!

Should I have been? NON!

Should anyone have been? NON!

Why in the world am I here then? Typing this thing that's been done to death like the off-sides call that wasn't because the ref didn't call it. Those things don't beat your team, not scoring long before the call even mattered are the things that beat your team.

Referees are human, however highly or lowly you think of them. They miss calls.

Managers are for the most part human with the same caveat.

Players who make millions off the backs of supporters.... are human and are prone to err. Whether through their inane personas, lack of purpose in big games or general overall stupidity, these things are the things that remind us that they are human.

Professional and World class football has a way of making us, as animalistic and barbaric as we can be at at times, forget that these people are in fact just like us in many ways. They have fears and regrets, moments of clarity and insanity, loves and hates. They bleed when cut, perspire when hot, and after a long night of drink and curry... their shit does stink and probably burns if it is the hot Thai curry that tastes so good.

All that I am saying is that when a squad has lost its faith in the leadership, things do happen. It is a pity that it happened on the big stage with the lights shining down and the curtain wide open during a public dress rehearsal but that's life, isn't it?

The fact that these things happen to teams all the time, usually in a more private matter. I am betting no one remembers the year Brasil struggled through the group stages and barely made it into the Eight... I remember.

What happened? Brasil had a big collapse and lost faith in the manager. The squad had a ton of infighting and as usual, politics were playing a major role, instead of the football. These things happen to every team and many times, not usually at the final tournament but it does happen.

There is no team that wears a mighty armor that can not be undone by the tiniest of thorns.

So where does this leave me? Who shall I be supporting now that Les Bleus are gone? I have no idea and I need to wait until the dust settles.

Je me souviens.

~LeChat

Internationals/WC2010 Qualifiers

Always, these things, mucking up the beginning of the season. Don't get me wrong, when June/July comes around I'll be all about some internationals. Right now, it's club not country. Actually, in reality, it's always club before country.

Alas, my brilliant plan for the weekend was to stay in, maybe catch a match or two on GolTV and do stuff around the homestead. However, other people and their random plans seem to do me in. Which now has made me an associate member of some Lithuanian society. I wonder if I can put that on my CV?

Saturday was the only real day for any football. I wake up with a splitting headache from the Lithuanian porters or maybe it was the weather. I can't really tell anymore. I decided I was hungry and headed down to the pub. The weather wasn't really that bad and I knew the Scotland game was on and the England game would shortly follow. Did I say breakfast sounded good at this point?

I headed towards the pub when I found out ChelskiGirl was doing her farmer's market thing. In my mind, it was a good idea to walk over and say hello, grab a coffee and head back to the pub afterwords for a box-tie.

I poked my head in while walking by, nothing exciting was happening, said hello to Irish and B-Dawg then took the long journey to Harbor East. I wish I knew the mileage but lets just say I wasn't really prepared for the walk. It became hot and annoying real quick, but I knew there would be an ice coffee at the end.

There are some things you do for your mates, walking across the waterfront to say "Hi" should be one of them. It wasn't as bad as I am making it out to be. I got to the market, sat around and people gawked while sipping on some icy coffee goodness before finally deciding it was too hot for me.

When I got back to the pub, there was a weird assortment of people. The bar was full but not crowded. I ended up grabbing a table in the back, since most of the normals were outside sipping their mimosas and the Scots were well involved in their game of chance.

For Scotland, I think it's always a game of chance. It wasn't a bad match but nothing to get too excited about either. However, my breakfast box-tie was delicious. There is something to be said about potatoes, eggs, bangers and cheese, all together now. I'm getting hungry thinking about it.

Now I remember what had the day being kind of odd. The Scousers were nicking pints of blood with the Red Cross outside. A couple of the ones I know kept asking me to give but I politely declined. I am not a giving blood sort of person.

ChelskiGirl and DJM, one of the Chelskiboys, decide to show up for the England friendly. We all end up at the far end of the bar next to some weird guy, whom I assume was a Chelski supporter of some kind as well. He kept asking random questions about the ban, not in a way where he was going to spout forth knowledge, but in a way where it was something he just read in the paper this morning.

Basically, it was a mellow, have a few and call it a day type of day. The pub had a strange crowd, almost as strange as the Scotland match. It wasn't busy but there were people around. The three of us basically joked around about how powerful Kazakhstan was going to be this year and that there is a shirt that say "I'd rather walk alone." This is a must buy, just to annoy the Scouser friends.

The blood drive did provide some entertainment. The Scousers, I should say RedScousers, who did give would come in looking like death warmed over and asking why aren't you guys giving blood. There was usually a laugh, a look at you, and some other funny remark coming from the three of us.

I guess all in all it wasn't too bad.

I did learn something though. ROONEY now dives on the International level as well. He is a cheating little bastard. I don't ever want to hear that guy call any one out for diving again.

I also learned that putting up a facebook post calling Maradona a fat c**t will get you in trouble with some people. I guess they didn't find me saying "Ok I won't call him fat anymore," as the apology they were looking for.

Til something interesting happens.

~Le Chat

P.S. For your viewing pleasure - Maradona is still a fat c**t