The Strike(s) that Shook Italy

If this is finally the year that the German Bundesliga wrests third place in the UEFA Coefficient rankings away from Italy’s Serie A, it’ll have Markus Rosenberg to thank. Down 3-0 and 4-3 on aggregate at Sampdoria with only minutes to spare, the 27-year-old Werder Bremen forward found the back of the net with a low, angled shot from outside the area that leveled the score on aggregate and breathed new life into the northern German outfit, and potentially, into all of German football itself.

The UEFA Coefficients, which determine the amount of European places each domestic league gets, fluctuate annually in correlation with each club’s performance in the Champions League, and are then recalculated and reattributed to those leagues from which those specific clubs hail. Simply put, the better the performances of a league’s clubs in the Champions League, the higher that league’s UEFA coefficient. England’s Premier League currently has the highest coefficient of all European domestic leagues, and Spain’s Primera Division is a close second, each of them able to send their best four teams to the Champions League. It is the third spot in the coefficient rankings that remains so volatile and unpredictable with two powerhouse countries in Germany and Italy jostling for the position.

It was only last year when the whisperings of a changing of the guard in third place suddenly morphed into shouts, made audible most notably in Bayern Munich’s come-from-behind 4-1 thrashing of Juventus in Turin in the final game of the group stage that sent the Old Lady packing for the Europa League, and the Bavarians on to the knockout stages, where they deposed another Italian side in Fiorentina, Manchester United, and Lyon en route to the Final. Juventus’ inability to reach the knockout rounds coupled with both Fiorentina and Milan’s ignominious departures at the round of sixteen (that included an alarmingly lopsided 7-2 aggregate drubbing courtesy of Manchester United for the Rossoneri) was manifesting what pundits abroad had already begun to suspect: that Italian clubs could no longer hack it in the Champions League.

Enter Mourinho. In just his second season in charge at Internazionale, the Portuguese mastermind guided the Nerazzurri to their first European crown in 45 years and third overall, disposing of former employers Chelsea, a tricky CSKA Moscow side, and reigning champions Barcelona, before putting Bayern Munich to the sword in the Final to claim the title. It was a result that not only brought the European Cup back to an Italian club for the first time since 2007, but also reasserted Serie A as the third best league, and therefore, as having the third best UEFA coefficient. Italian football was safe. At least it was then.

Flash forward almost three months and fate offered its football fans another intriguing German/Italian tilt, this time between Werder Bremen and Sampdoria. The German outfit, who just recently sold their most dynamic asset in Mesut Özil (ironically to Mourinho) to Real Madrid, had finished third in the Bundesliga the previous season, which was good enough to land them a date on the Non-Champions Path of the Play-off round of the Champions League with Sampdoria, who finished fourth in Serie A last term.

Werder Bremen were in the driver’s seat, too, after last week’s first leg saw them overwhelm a rather underwhelming Sampdoria side who managed to tally a last-minute away goal in a 3-1 defeat at the Weserstadion in northwest Germany. Then came this evening when the prolific Giampaolo Pazzini ignited the jubilant home crowd of just over 28,000 at the Stadio Luigi Ferraris with two awe-inspiring finishes, the first with his head, the second on a right-footed volley of sumptuous quality that sent the supporters into an uncontrolled frenzy. Progression to the group stage was all but certain when in the second half Pazzini’s forward companion Antonio Cassano cheekily sneaked the ball past Werder Bremen keeper Tim Wiese on a back-heel to make it 3-0 Sampdoria who now led 4-3 on aggregate.

It was a curious affair. The first leg had been dominated outright by the German outfit, the second by their Italian adversaries, whose league, just as they had at the end of last year’s Final, once again looked in position to reign supreme over the Bundesliga for that third coefficient spot. Then came Rosenberg’s strike.

Just like Pazzini’s late away goal in the first leg in Germany, it must have caught Sampdoria and its rampant fans completely off guard. The seemingly impenetrable and elating feeling of safety and progression had suddenly been breached, and in extra time, a blast of admirable technique and quality from visitor Claudio Pizarro ensured that dream of playing in the group stage of the Champions League was quashed completely as Werder Bremen boasted the superior away goal tally and won comfortably 5-4 on aggregate, undoubtedly leaving the home supporters stunned and in a state of serious disrepair.

If one were to examine the UEFA coefficients today, they would see that the Bundesliga has leapfrogged Serie A into third place, and Rosenberg and then Pizarro’s strikes are big reasons why. The Werder Bremen triumph ensures that the group stage will feature the same amount of German sides (three: Bremen, Bayern, Schalke) as Italian sides (Inter, Milan, Roma), as opposed to two and four, had Sampdoria hung on. What’s more is that with Sevilla bowing out to Braga, the Bundesliga will boast the same amount of clubs at this year’s group stage as La Liga, and the same will be said about the Premier League should Tottenham fail tomorrow against Young Boys. If the Bundesliga does usurp Serie A for the third-best coefficient at the end of 2011, then the fourth European spot for German clubs won’t be allocated until the 2012-13 Champions League campaign. However, the coefficient will ultimately and inexorably be determined by the performances of German clubs and Italian clubs, and nothing more. But it would appear that at the moment the Bundesliga has a leg up over Italy’s top-flight division after Bremen’s never-say-die effort in Genoa this evening.

Last year’s Final saw a cosmopolitan Italian side defeat a somewhat-homegrown German side that temporarily rescued Serie A from falling to fourth in UEFA coefficients thanks to a pair of goals by Argentine striker Diego Milito. On this night in Genoa, I found it all too fitting that this German outfit’s two goals that made the Bundesliga’s strongest case yet for claiming the third-best UEFA coefficient came from a Swede (Rosenberg) and a Peruvian (Pizarro). And just like Milito’s, theirs may yet prove to be two of the most important strikes for their domestic league’s history. That is, of course, if the German sides can sustain these kinds of performances.

The New Big Three? Let’s Wait and See

I’m done fuming about LeBron. (Maybe). It has now been eleven days since LBJ’s fateful life-altering, mind-blowing, landscape-revamping, earth-shattering, loyalty-combusting, legacy-tarnishing, self-indulgent-exuding decision (what has come to be known ironically as…“The Decision”) that saw him sit in front of a camera and reveal to the world that he would be “taking his talents to South Beach and play with the Miami Heat,” and honestly, I’m through griping about it. (Maybe). In the past, whenever I’ve learned a new piece of valuable sports information—most notably that of a blockbuster trade or significant free agent signing—my typical reaction has been instinctive, impulsive, and right to the point, as I often have found myself arriving at a bold conclusion within the first few seconds of pondering the new information at hand.

For example, I remember when I was a sophomore in high school napping on a bus back to campus from a JV Basketball game, when I was rudely awoken by a friend who informed me that the Yankees had just traded for Alex Rodriguez. As a Yankee fan, I was ecstatic. And, as myself, I was predictably extemporaneous: “We’re going to win the World Series!” I blurted out mere moments later. The disgusted looks of my teammates, the majority of whom who were ardent Red Sox fans, will forever be tattooed on the annals of my memory. For there I was, my countenance and emotions in diametric contradiction to the sullen expressions plastered across their faces, a supporter of the baseball club that now could claim ownership for the best player in the game.

There was a silence, and a gloomy one at that, as my fellow teammates sat behind me facing forward, their dejectedness palpable as the A-Rod news percolated throughout the vehicle. I was smug, but had been with good reason. The Red Sox had been the favorites to land Rodriguez throughout the entire winter, but a seemingly imminent exchange with Texas for Manny Ramirez never materialized, and the Evil Empire had reigned supreme once again, just as they had a thousand times before. I was about to turn around and for the first time in my life truly enjoy a bus ride, when one of my teammates spoke up, and I’ll never forget the words that came out of his mouth: “I still think the Red Sox are a better team.” Damn you.

In hindsight, I was right. The Yankees did win a World Series, and Alex Rodriguez was a big reason why. It just didn’t occur until six years after I made my definitive forecast. Boston, of course, won the World Series in A-Rod’s first season with New York and did so in fairytale manner beating the Yankees in the 2004 ALCS after being down in the series three games to zero…blah blah blah blah blah. Where was I going with this again?

Oh yeah. LeBron. That’s right. It was on the 8th of July when I watched “The Decision,” when I was reminded of my impulsive nature of yesteryear and presented a rare opportunity for reflection and redemption. When James made the announcement, the initial sentiment I felt was disappointment. Having suffered through a tumultuous decade of ineptitude as a Knicks fan, it was this summer—this moment actually—that was supposed to change one sphere of my life drastically. I had already envisioned it: I would move to New York, work at some awesome job, and in the evenings attend MSG to watch the one and only LeBron James throw up his chalk and do his thing on the court for the orange and blue, and eventually lead them to one of multiple championships that I could tell my children and then my children’s children about.

Thanks a lot.

My disappointment then morphed into anger. So he was going to Miami to join forces with Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh. Yeah, that seemed fair: two of the league’s top three players on the same team with a five-time All-Star power forward to boot (and this was still days before it was suggested that Pat Riley might have been orchestrating this coup years ago from the time when there was even a sniff of the three starlets teaming up together). On top of that, the Knicks’ master plan to clear cap space (which began in November 2008 with the trading of Jamal Crawford and Zach Randolph...on the same day) and use that and the majestic amenities of New York City as a selling point to lure big name free agents—no, sorry, exclusively LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, and Chris Bosh—to MSG had failed, and the one guy they obtained— Amar'e Stoudemire—has feeble knees and doesn’t even get along with head coach Mike D’Antoni. Excuse me, the two have since “cleared the air” over a plate of truffles and scones, I forgot. Oh, and Crawford won sixth man of the year last season and Randolph was an All-Star in the WESTERN CONFERENCE. My anger gradually turned into an overwhelming fervent rage.


I had loathed the Heat before, having grown up during the Tim Hardaway-Alonzo Mourning-P.J. Brown era, but this was a new kind of abhorrence. Miami, at least on paper, had the most talented roster in the NBA, and that was evident looking only at three players. They have since added savvy veterans Žydrūnas Ilgauskas and Mike Miller to bolster the new big three’s supporting cast, but it really won’t matter who they sign to fill their roster’s quota. In a league whose exuberant youth is more prevalent than ever, in those brief moments following “The Decision,” I likened the rest of the NBA’s hopes when compared to those of the Miami Heat to some lyrics off of one of B.o.B’s latest tracks: the kids don’t stand a chance.

But then I remembered the words of my teammate on that bus ride more than half a decade ago. When word broke the Yankees had added the most gifted baseball player on the planet to an already star-studded roster, my friend still felt the Red Sox had the better club. He was right. So the Miami Heat has LeBron, D-Wade, and Bosh. So what. Will it work? What’s the team chemistry going to be like? Who’s going to take the final shot? And is Chris Bosh really that good (to this day, I have yet to meet anyone who has watched a Toronto Raptors game in its entirety)? We don’t know…yet. But one thing is for sure: a new era, for better or worse, has dawned on the NBA, and the rest of the league will be forced to take note whether they like it or not. But unless your from Miami, or just a fan of Wade, Bosh, or James (though he’s losing fans faster than BP at this point), I think it’s safe to say you’ll be rooting against them (Welcome, the Yankees of basketball). And even if LBJ isn’t okay with that, it’s exactly what he signed up for when he made his—eh-hem, “THE Decision.”

Hitting the Same Löw

The first two lines of Germany’s National Anthem read: Deutschland, Deutschland über alles,/Über alles in der Welt, which translated means: Germany, Germany above all,/ Above all in the world. Prior to tonight’s match against Spain, these words rang true within the hearts and minds of Germans across the globe, their native contingent of footballers having advanced to yet another World Cup semifinal, their confidence level through the roof. They had won with both patience and panache, exerting their dominance over their opponents with incisive passing and timely shooting, slotting four goals per game past Australia, England, and Argentina, respectively, in the run-up to their showdown with Vicente del Bosque’s La Roja. Save a 1-0 slipup against Serbia in the group stage, Joachim Löw’s squad was, in fact, living up to Hoffmann von Fallersleben’s lauding poetry, at least from a football standpoint, especially with Spain’s recent run of atypical unconvincing play: Germany, Germany above all,/Above all in the world. Then came this evening in Durban.

Whether it was the absence of the suspended Thomas Müller, Bayern Munich’s enterprising young forward who blossomed vigorously in South Africa tallying a quartet of goals, Löw’s inability to make tactical adjustments at halftime to disrupt Spain’s methodical means of moving the ball forward, or simply Deutschland’s opponents themselves, tonight will go down as one of the more pallid German performances in recent memory. The contagious influences of Miroslav Klose and Lukas Podolski that had become so second nature this tournament had conspicuously evaporated, and while Müller’s replacement Piotr Trochowski initially provided a spark, it came in the form of a blistering shot that Iker Casillas had little trouble turning away, the lone, innocuous imprint the Hamburg winger made all match. Even the normally reliable Mesut Özil—who still should receive consideration for player of the tournament—whose passes were expectedly crisp and precise, was a salient nonfactor, Sergio Ramos’ tackling of the 21-year-old inside the box being the most memorable moment of the match containing the Werder Bremen midfielder. So just how was this train that had gained so much momentum, that been accelerating at a seemingly unstoppable rate, halted so sharply?

It seems ages ago when German captain Michael Ballack was ruled out of South Africa having sustained an injury from Portsmouth’s Kevin-Prince Boateng in May’s FA Cup Final at London’s Wembley Stadium. To be sure, it was a blow to the squad that had grown so accustomed to Ballack’s efficacious presence and pull in the center of the midfield the majority of this decade, but as the group stage progressed, the pundits began to surmise that this nascent, free-flowing fast-paced attack was coming as a result of the former Chelsea star’s absence, a notion that became more and more believable after the 4-1 deposing of England and the 4-0 drubbing of Argentina. It was the latter match in which a FIFA camera spotted the Matt Damon lookalike near the German tunnel, revealing a radiant, and purportedly genuine, smile after teammate Arne Friderich netted his first international goal to make it 3-0. But one couldn’t help wonder if his beaming wasn’t somehow belying his true sentiments, especially if he had heard Martin Tyler coronate Müller as this German generation’s number thirteen, the 20-year-old having sported Ballack’s usual kit number this tournament.

In my opinion, Ballack’s presence in the lineup this evening in Durban would have made a difference, and one for the better I might add. It’s true that a cabal of youngsters—most notably Müller and Özil—had been largely responsible for Germany’s progression this tournament, the injection of youth critical to the team’s success. But this evening, when Spain effectively subdued the infectious exuberance that had encapsulated the German camp all World Cup, the lack of an authoritative leader became glaringly apparent, and Ballack might have filled those shoes (he would have succeeded where Podolski failed in notching the game-tying penalty against Serbia in the group stage, at least). They may not have scored as many goals with their captain patrolling in the middle, but they certainly would have had more direction (and they might have scored more goals, who knows), an area where the Spanish thrive.

Wednesday night’s 1-0 defeat was the German’s second consecutive semifinal loss at the World Cup, and the second consecutive time they have been ousted by Spain in major tournaments, having lost to La Roja in the final of Euro 2008 two summers ago, also by a 1-0 score. Undoubtedly, after a relatively meaningless clash with Uruguay for third place on Saturday, the flight back home to Berlin will be a long one for Joachim Löw and his men. And Lord knows the manager will have to answer for much more than his prominent robins egg blue v-neck he was sporting on the sideline in Durban. But where did they go wrong? And more importantly, how can they fix it? It’s now been twenty years since the Germans last hoisted football’s holy grail, it won’t be for another four years until they’ll be given a chance to break the ongoing drought in Brazil. There will be a lot on the players’ minds as well as Löw’s and his adjutants as they begin to prepare for Euro 2012 qualification next month, but if one thing will stand out the most it will almost definitely be that of the current state of German football: good, but not good enough.

Lakers-Celtics Game 5: A (Reluctant) Review

Anybody who tells you jury duty is fun is lying through their teeth…and through their nose…but mostly just through their mouth. I woke up at 7:12 AM this morning and returned at 6:52 PM, even though the court house closed at 4:30 PM. But, to my extreme elation, I went unselected in the only draft wherein that is smiled upon by the undrafted specimen. After sitting through the preliminary procedures of four different trials and watching more than 200 names being pulled at random out of a box no bigger than a birdhouse, I felt like I had run across a battlefield infested with flying bullets and come out the other side completely unscathed. Then I looked back and saw the Los Angeles Lakers. They were all down.

Game 5 of the 2010 NBA Finals will forever live in infamy for Lakers fans, as well as anti-Celtics fans like me. It was, without question, one of the worst collaborative performances I have ever seen on a basketball court. And that was just the broadcast team (again, I apologize about the sudden change in font. I still have NO idea how to fix it).

I started taking notes just before halftime when Rajon Rondo pushed (I cannot emphasize that verb enough. PUSHED.) Ron Artest after the mercurial former defensive player of the year issued a hard foul on Kevin Garnett. Upon witnessing this PUSH, Jeff Van Gundy claimed that Rondo barely touched Artest—who, just so you don’t think I’m completely biased, flopped in such a way that made Vlade Divac’s renowned histrionics look Oscar-worthy—and then continued to insist this was the case despite multiple replays showing a deliberate PUSH and Mike Breen and Mark Jackson’s pointing the PUSH out to the visionless Van Gundy. Finally, the former Knick head coaching legend conceded, but only after five minutes of ludicrous conjecture. I still love you, JVG, but please, never do that again (the rest of this blog is going to make the sudden jump into journal form. Please stay calm).

-Just before halftime, Paul Pierce appears to be disgruntled as Rondo shuns him by moving the ball in the other direction away from the former Kansas Jayhawk so that someone else can take the final shot before the end of the second quarter. Pierce is immediately questioned by Doris Burke as to why he was so upset, to which the self-proclaimed best player in the NBA ardently and defensively responded “I wasn’t upset!” Three times. Thrice. He was definitely upset.

-Highlight as the halftime show returns depicts Rondo feeding Pierce for a layup. Pretty standard stuff except that Pierce blatantly takes two steps without dribbling the basketball before putting it in (Again, just so you don’t think I’m completely biased, Lamar Odom would later in the game complete the most blatant travel in NBA history never to be called, when he appeared to take at least eight steps toward the basket before attempting a floater. Don’t laugh, LeBron. You get away with this EVERY TIME YOU TOUCH A BASKETBALL).

-The Lakers are not smart with the basketball. Especially Gasol, who finally rebounds the ball, only to turn it over to Garnett in the Celtics’ zone. It is this recurring play that will eventually come to epitomize the series for Los Angeles.

-I’m starting to think the Celtics are just better shooters than the Lake Show, and with their field goal percentage at 97 tonight, they have the stat to back up this thought. I also wrote that the Lakers just look nervous. What happened since Game 3? Ironically, I watched none of it, having passed out on my couch. Has this ever happened to anyone else? Whenever you watch a certain team they ALWAYS perform poorly. Maybe I’ll take Game 6 off and give L.A. a chance. Not that it’ll make a difference for these boys in purple who are personifying Chuckie from Rugrats beautifully.

-Odom missed two consecutive free throws. It’s a free throw. There is NO ONE guarding you. Make the shots please, Lamar. You, too, EVERY OTHER LAKER.

-Has Rasheed Wallace made every three he has taken this series? And why have they all been from the top of the key? Why couldn’t he have just stayed with the Hawks for more than a day?

-Every time I think the Lakers are going to spark a come back, they do something stupid—i.e. Gasol’s pass to Farmer that resulted in a backcourt violation. Fun stuff. REALLY fun stuff.

-Kobe’s one-handed floater. There can be no question that he is the best player in the NBA. That’s right. It’s Kobe Bryant. Not you, Paul Pierce. Thanks for playing though.

-Nate Robinson makes a layup in more space than OUTER SPACE, and then Odom gets mad at Sasha Vujačić, for, well, probably being Sasha Vujačić. Both are guilty of appalling defensive jobs on that play.

-As a Knicks fan, I’m not even sure how I should feel about Nate Robinson’s spontaneously admirable play. Where the hell was it when he played for New York? While I’m happy for the man who was known more for his dunking and jarring in the Big Apple, I’m not happy for him at all. In fact, I think I might even resent him. And the Shrek-Donkey thing might be the end of me.

-81-73 Boston and Paul Pierce just missed the easiest lay-up in NBA history. Was it divine intervention? Could the Lakers really be coming back finally?!?! Of course not. It’s the Lakers.

-The Lakers must be the worst team in the NBA at passing the basketball immediately after grabbing a defensive rebound. Gasol just turned it over again.

-Oh good. A Celtics fan just threw something onto the court as Kobe was taking a free throw. Class acts, these Boston fans. And most of them have been loyal fans through and through. Sorry, by through and through I mean ever since they acquired KG and Ray Allen. I guarantee you most of the people in the building have no idea who Gerald Green is or was.

-Artest breakaway! And...!...instead of dunking it for an and-one he cowers away like a frightened child? At least he gets a couple of shots from the charity stripe though…and he missed them both. That’s a lot of fun isn’t it?

-The inbounds play to seal the win. The only question I ask is this: how many kids in Massachusetts are going be practicing the Rajon Rondo shot at recess tomorrow afternoon?

I had an epiphany last night while I was watching the Lakers put on their biennial clinic of awfulness: I am more passionate about Boston teams losing than I am about my New York teams winning, and I think that’s a problem. It’s a problem because as Boston finished off the Lakers with their epic inbounds play exquisitely executed and finished off by Rondo, I realized that I had put my hatred of one team above the game itself. In other words, my being prejudiced against the Celtics was causing me to miss the beauty of the sport itself: i.e. the Rondo finger-roll. So on the eve of the Celtics’ 18^th NBA Championship, I would like to apologize to Boston and its fans and say to them tonight that the Celtics are a much better team than the Lakers, and they play the game the right way: with focus, with zeal, with energy, and with aplomb (I’m making myself puke as I type this). And to Lakers fans, make sure you check out the first line of Sammy Adams’ newest track: Hey L.AAAAAAAAAAAAA.!!!!!!!….you’ve been makin’ me ANGRAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!!!! July 1 can’t come soon enough.

England-USA: As It Happened

Pre-game:

-Does anybody else think it’s strange (but mostly hilarious) that ESPN pegged Alexi Lalas and Ruud Gullit to do the pregame…at the same time? The main reason I ask is that according to Grant Wahl’s book, The Beckham Experiment, which takes an in-depth look inside David Beckham’s first few years playing in America for the Los Angeles Galaxy, when it came time for Lalas (the President and GM of the club at the time) to hire a new head coach after a dismal run of form by the Galaxy, Gullit was suggested to take the reins by superior powers. Lalas declined for several reasons, and as a result was then overruled by these same superiors and Gullit was brought on as the team’s new manager. He did a terrible job, the two never got along, and eventually on August 11, 2008 (coincidentally, my birthday, so now I’m involved in this mess) Gullit resigned and Lalas was canned as gloomy days continued to linger over the Home Depot Center. Now, the two find themselves sitting no more than a hockey-stick’s length away from each other at a desk in front of a camera, and to no one’s surprise, still disagreeing with one another on several points. Keep your eye on the icy relationship between the two, as the tension is sometimes glaringly palpable.

-Both teams are lined up poised to march out of the tunnel, England in their all-whites, and the USA still in their warm-up uniforms…why haven’t they taken them off yet?

-Now it’s time for the national anthems, and James Milner wants no part of it. He sternly diverts his eyes from the camera and stares forward, probably wondering why he is starting. Aaron Lennon wants no part of God Save the Queen, either, while Chelsea boys Frank Lampard and John Terry chorus away—a true moment of English patriotism from two of the best players in the world, who just so happen to play for the best club in England. You come to expect these things as a Chelsea fan.

-Star-Spangled Banner time. I honestly cannot think of a more poignant moment in football that I have witnessed to date. The United States are going to play England, the motherland, in a matter of moments, and with a right hand on the right shoulder of every teammate as they stand together, united, in line, you get the feeling they’re ready. Even if they’re not, it is hard not to feel proud of this team and the game hasn’t even begun.

-Martin Tyler, who has easily one of the most recognizable voices in sports, will be calling the game with John Harkes, king of MLS commentary (I haven’t forgotten you, JP Dellacamera, don’t worry). There hasn’t been a more lopsided twosome since Jack Sprat and his wife tied the knot.

Game On

1’– All I wrote in my notebook during the first minute?: “Robbie Findley looks nervous.” (The striker’s alarmingly apparent jitters might as well have been a bull’s-eye for ridicule). This should come as no surprise though, as number 20 hasn’t played in ANY of the USA’s qualifying matches leading up to this historic match. I’m already skeptical of Bob Bradley’s decision to start him.

2’– Carlos Bocanegra takes a throw-in. Wait, was that Carlos Bocanegra or Christian Bale? Well, he isn’t throwing a tantrum on a movie set, nor is his voice changing drastically in his Batman suit. Still, I think it might be him.

3’ – I can’t decide whether I like the USA uniforms or not. The navy blue works well, I think, but at first glance it looks like every American is wearing a permanent white seatbelt.

4’ – England captain Stephen Gerrard scores against a USA backline that appears to be all-too permeable. The Liverpool skipper cut into the box from the right hand side and received a deft pass from Emile Heskey and then slotted the Jabulani past Tim Howard. Another nightmarish start to another World Cup campaign for the Americans. Why does the USA always concede so early in games? England leads 1-0.

6’ – Robbie Findley is three miles offside when he receives a pass from a teammate. Has this guy ever played soccer before?

8’ – Replay of the Gerrard goal. Heskey’s pass was sublime. Why doesn’t he ever play for Aston Villa again? Oh, that’s right, because he’s actually not that good. That pass, however? You won’t see many better than that.

9’ – John Harkes, in reference to Wayne Rooney, just said that the Manchester United forward is “arguably one of the best strikers in the world at this moment.” This comment was greeted by vociferous silence on Martin Tyler’s end. Saying that water is wet would have been a less obvious statement.

11’ – Slow motion replay of England manager Fabio Capello tapping the cheek area just below his eye. Capello is not a particularly heavy man, in fact, he looks to be in fine shape, but the ripple effect this had on his face was remarkable.

12’ – I have to pee. But I can’t get up or else I might miss a goal like this morning when a trip to the bathroom deprived me of bearing witness to South Korea’s first strike. If I know myself as well as I think I do, the next 33 minutes are going to be excruciatingly painful. Also, Gerrard is a beast. He just made a fantastic tackle to thwart Findley’s run on the cusp of the right side of the box. Though I’m sure if he had just made a mean face, Findley would have messed up anyway. From his new palatial settlement in Madrid, Jose Mourinho probably likes what he sees out of his (possible) future midfielder.

14’ Steve Cherundolo just took the worst shot in World Cup history after cradling a quick corner pass from Landon Donovan. It was so bad that people will probably call it a terrible cross instead.

16’ – What’s with team USA and all the orange? From each player’s cleats to Tim Howard’s uniform, you know there are more than a few incensed Dutchmen watching.

17’ – I still have to pee, and have to so much more badly than before. And it’s been just five minutes. This might be the only time in my life where I wish I had a catheter at my disposal.

19’ – Best chance of the match thus far. Donovan made an insanely accurate cross to Altidore’s elevated body, but the ball only grazed the forehead of the twenty year old striker. Capello is visibly upset flailing his arms on the sideline, but the former New York Red Bull should do a lot better. His effort was noticeably devoid of technique.

20’ – Lennon’s run into the box from the right flank is thwarted by American captain Carlos Bocanegra, who rescues the backline for the first time this evening.

22’ – In typical U.S. fashion, Cherundolo burns Milner to the ball on the right wing in crossing territory, and then proceeds to kick it out of bounds when he tries to get clever with his feet. Little does Cherundolo know that foot skills and being American never go hand-in-hand.

23’ – Close up of John Terry. I was thinking the other day about how each and every one of the Chelsea skipper’s ill-advised escapades seem to have caught up with him. There was the slip from the penalty spot at the 2008 UEFA Champions League Final against Manchester United, and then Capello’s stripping of his captaincy following the sex scandal with the mother of ex-teammate Wayne Bridge’s child. Could a loss to the Americans be next in the cards for the misguided JT?

24’ – USA is playing the possession game very well right now, which is a nice way of saying nothing is happening…and I still have to urinate.

26’ – Clint Dempsey tries a rip from outside the box on the right side, but it’s blocked. He should have probably fed it forward to either Donovan or Jozy Altidore, who were pressing just ahead of him, looking to beat Terry and Ledley King. Dempsey bagged a couple of wonder goals this season for Fulham, including a long range chip shot of stunning quality that saw off Juventus in the Europa League this past March, so you really can’t fault him for trying. Soon thereafter, Milner continued his highly forgettable debut at the World Cup by picking up a yellow card for a hard trip on Cherundolo, but you know that somewhere at Eastlands Manchester City owner Sheikh Mansour must have been delighted by the aggressiveness of the tackle. Now if only Villa would accept his transfer bid for the young midfielder…

27’ – Donovan’s corner is headed wide by Oguchi Onyewu, who actually generated a decent bid on goal considering the angle at which he took the cross. Bob Bradley begins to show his first signs of worry, though how could you really tell from his stoic countenance?

29’ – Findley makes a futile effort at a clearance, and I begin to wonder if the 24-year-old striker might have been a more valuable commodity to the national team had he stayed at home with his club Real Salt Lake. Aaron Lennon sends a mouthwatering cross on the ground into the box intended for Heskey who slams into Tim Howard after the Everton keeper punches it away. Even though Howard appears to be injured as he lies motionless on the pitch for several instances, it is a joyful moment in the highest degree for yours truly as I immediately take the window of opportunity and speed to the bathroom to finally pay the proverbial water bill.

31’ – I feel SO much better, and Milner is subbed off for Shaun Wright-Phillips, the former Chelsea man. The unusually early substitution makes me wonder whether Sheikh Mansour is calling the shots from behind the scenes and sticking it to Villa by brining on SWP for the lackluster midfielder. Sounds like a match-fixing scandal if I ever heard one.

32’ – A stat box pops up on the screen displaying percentages of ball possession: USA 59%; England 41%...really? Clearly ball possession does not take into account how pallid and uncreative the USA has been thus far.

35’ – Excellent play by Ricardo Clark (in hindsight, it would be his only one of the evening) who stepped up and blocked an Ashley Cole cross into the box from the left side that surely might have led to England’s second goal. Had Clark not been there, it might have been the Czech Republic in 2006 all over again for the USA.

36’ – Findley makes a decent run (believe it or not) down the left flank, cuts in towards the box and then passes it into a sea of white shirts. Why is this guy starting again?

38’ – Tyler reminds us all that Serbia and Ghana will square off tomorrow, and I can’t wait to hear the exorbitant amount of last names for the White Eagles that end in the suffix –ić.

40’ – An absolute howler by English keeper Robert Green puts the USA level with their colonizers at 1-1! Dempsey’s throw-away strike with his weak foot from outside the box deflected awkwardly off of Green’s hands, then squirted past the goal line before the West Ham keeper could rescue it. Green could go on to become one of the greatest keepers in history, but this moment of sheer ignominy is surely one he will never forget. To reprise the lamenting words of Tyler, “[Green] has given up one of the softest goals you’ll ever see at this level of football!” Something like this was bound to happen to England, who has suffered a myriad of similar unfortunate events over the years in this competition. All I can say is—whoa, whoa, whoa! They’ve already started playing again?...

41’…No sooner had I started celebrating when Glen Johnson fired a cracker at Howard who made a solid save to deny the Liverpool right back. If that had gone in, I’m pretty sure I would have thrown my Subway sandwich at the TV. No, I definitely wouldn’t have done that with my sandwich.

44’ – First Beckham cameo, a slow motion replay of his reaction to Green’s howler. They might as well have just taken a still frame shot, because the dismayed expression plastered on his face goes unchanged for at least seven seconds. Slow motion replay of Green raising his right hand as if to say “my bad” ensues. Now I just kind of feel bad for the guy.

45’ – Gooch expediently gets rid of Lennon’s cross, and I realize that the AC Milan defender’s beard could easily rival that of Baron Davis, and maybe even that of James Harden.

46’ – An extra ball just bounced onto the field and Donovan kicked it out of bounds just as the official ball came rolling his way. Are you kidding me, ball boy? Even Cosmo Kramer would do a better job (though according to that particular episode, the K-man is actually an exceptional ball boy, so I’m not sure how far that joke really goes).

48’ – My mom informs me that she’s going to start fining me if I don’t clean up my stuff around her house. Being a fresh college grad is so awesome.

It’s Halftime, and surprisingly, I’m feeling pretty good about team USA right now.

45’ – Capello brings on Jamie Carragher for King. The man who retired from international football back in 2007, only to return to the stage this past May may have inadvertently established the path of the least resistance for all international footballers everywhere. He didn’t have to play in any of the qualifiers, yet he gets to play in the opening match of the World Cup. Sounds unfair, right? Yeah, that’s because it is. And Robbie Findley already sniffed it out.


47’ – Nice hand ball, Jay DeMerit.

48’ – Aaron Lennon makes another lightning run down the right flank and into the box, leaving Bocanegra, who never stood a chance, in the dust. His cross could have been better, but with nimble runs such as these, the crosses will come. Lennon is my English player of the game thus far.

50’ – The music that inevitably emanates from a vuvuzela upon blowing into it—which, according to my friend, sounds like a constant fart—is incredibly obnoxious when you concentrate on just that sound…even if you don’t, it’s still impossible to block out, and still is pretty annoying.

52’ – Heskey makes a clean breakaway, but Howard is there to stop the aging striker as he swallows up the Jabulani immediately as if there was an endless amount of duct tape on his hands. It is becoming a little too easy for these Brits to exploit the American backline. Luckily, Tim Howard is really good at his job.

55’ – Findley missed header. Nice bro. Really well done. Seriously though, why is this guy even playing?!?! I’d rather have Brian Ching or even Eddie Johnson in there! Okay that’s a lie. But at least Edson Buddle!

57’ – The vuvuzelas continue to resonate throughout Royal Bafokeng Stadium, only this time, I pick up something that sounds like a dying yak. Probably a broken vuvuzela.

58’ – Slow motion replay of Capello, who looks frustrated, making a chopping motion from top right to bottom left with his hand. Obviously, he was not pleased with the way that delicatessen in Rustenburg sliced up his ham sandwich at lunchtime.

59’ – Carragher yellow card for a hard trip on Findley. Is this the moment when the American striker/all-around disappointment is finally subbed off? Nope, because that’s wishful thinking. Tyler duly (and perhaps spitefully in my direction) reminds all of us once again that Findley didn’t play a lick of qualifying matches.

61’ – Gerrard yellow card for tackling Dempsey. The two Europa League semifinalists meet again.

62’ – Donovan free kick = miserable Bocanegra header (even if he did hit it squarely). However, down on the other end, Gooch cancels it out by heading out an inviting cross by Johnson. We’re back on an even keel.

63’ – Lampard, who will be remembered from tonight’s game more for his singing God Save the Queen than anything else, has a go with his left foot from outside the box, but hits it right at Howard who deflects it over the net with relative ease.

64’ – Corner falls right to Johnson who booms it past the post and behind the line for a goal kick. This is going to be one nervy finish for the Americans.

65’ – Altidore almost scores! Green got a hand on the shot from close range and deflected it upwards and off the woodwork! How close it was! That’ll temporarily boost Green’s spirits.

66’ – A bloody-lipped Johnson makes an appearance, and is then sent away to receive treatment. Was that blood or was Johnson enjoying a grape Popsicle unbeknownst to his audience?

67’ – Another pitiful header attempt by Findley at midfield. Please take him off, Bob. Please…I’m (we’re) begging you…

68’ – Foul on Onyewu. Free kick to follow. Lampard takes it from 27 m and launches it sky high over the cross bar. Lampard may have had one of his more fulgent seasons this past year at Chelsea, but his play tonight is doing little to dispel the notion of his critics of his being a disappearing act on the international stage.

71’ Rooney’s first real chance on a header goes wide, as Gerrard’s cross had a little too much mustard on it. DeMerit deserves a considerable amount of credit tonight for containing Manchester United’s crown jewel so well, despite this chance that was more of an aberration than anything.

73’ – Findley’s chance! A lone breakway! And...! He blew it. Obviously, he blew it. Who saw that coming?

74’ Findley yellow card for tripping Gerrard…is there anything this guy can’t do incorrectly?

75’ – Rooney launches an unexpected screamer just wide right of an outstretched Howard, who seemed to be caught off guard. A few moments later, Rooney sets up SWP with a deft touch to the left, and Wright-Phillips’ attempt to curl it around Howard is met by the hands of one of the world’s best keepers (is John Harkes writing this blog?).

76’ – Powerade advertisements spring up suddenly across all the boards around the field’s perimeter. Whatever happened to All-Sport by the way? Was that not one of the tastiest beverages we kids had in our lifetime?

77’ – Gerrard good cross, Heskey can’t keep his header down though and the ball sails over the net. Can the U.S. hang on?!? Ahhh!!! Buddle for Findley!!!! Buddle for Findley!!! Miracles can happen! And it only took Bob Bradley an hour and thirteen minutes to realize his blunder.

78’ – England is starting to pour it on. You feel like it is only a matter of minutes before they find a breakthrough…

79’ – Peter Crouch is subbed in for Heskey…this wave of sensible managerial moves is contagious!

82’ – Terrible pass from Lampard that skids the width of the field an out of bounds. If there is an X-Factor tonight, not only is it not Frankie, but the Chelsea midfielder is quite the antithesis.

83’ – Bob Bradley flashes a thumbs up from the touchline. This is the most animated I have ever seen the U.S. manager.

84’ – Grueling attack by England is defended well by Onyewu, as Gooch causes Lampard to slip up in the box. Shocking.

86’ – In the midfield, Michael Bradley flattens Rooney whose raging temper makes its first cameo of the night. Stuart Holden comes in for Altidore. Well done, Jozy. You’ve done well for someone who can’t even legally have a beer after the game.

87’ – Excellent slide tackle by Gooch to knock the ball out of the box. His endurance hasn’t betrayed him, as several experts predicted it would, especially in crunch time.

89’ – Donovan tries a rip, but like every other shot on this night, it is way too high. Valiant effort though. If anyone deserves to take that shot, other than Howard, it is LD on this night.


90’ – Second Beckham cameo, and he is not a happy camper (sorry, I had to get at least one Jim Gaffigan allusion in there).

94’ – Herculez Gomez looks poised to become the first person named Herculez to play in the World Cup (I don’t know that for a fact, but I’m pretty sure that’s the case)…but the whistle blows, and the Americans have stolen a point! Special thanks to Robert Green, Clint Dempsey, and the gods of the football world! We owe you more than one. Bring on the Slovenians.

The All-Cool Omitted Team

In case you’ve been living under a rock (who ever came up with that expression anyway?) these past few months, most of you know by now that the 2010 FIFA World Cup will kickoff tomorrow (Friday) when hosts South Africa battle Mexico in the commencing match at 10:00 AM et. And with 32 teams journeying from all corners of the world to the Republic with three times the amount of capitals as the United States comprising the globe’s most fulgent footballers, there will be several familiar faces on hand for those of us who watched the 2006 World Cup in Germany. However, FIFA’s 23-man per team limitation rule forces each international boss to trim his squad before the beginning of each World Cup, which means that several countries—most notably Brazil, Spain, England, Argentina, Italy, and France, all of which are gushing with talent—will enter South Africa devoid of a few (erstwhile) superstars (and that’s just from the countries that qualified). But don’t worry. Unlike the rest of the world, we here at the All-Cool Team have not forgotten these men, or, The Missing, if you prefer. Below is the latest squad addition to the All-Cool Team—The All-Cool Omitted Team—because sometimes cool people just get left out of awesome events. So here’s to you, gents. We’ll never leave you behind (And by the way, I have absolutely NO idea why the font seems to change in every section of this post. I have tried to fix it a million times and it hasn't worked. I'm sorry).

Team Captain and starting Right-Winger: David Beckham
Club: Los Angeles Galaxy
Country: England

This may come as a surprise pick to most of you, especially those of you who have read Grant Wahl’s book The Beckham Experiment, which at times paints a not-so-cool portrait for the English winger. However, we know what Beckham is (cool) and we know what he would bring to England’s squad this summer (coolness). He still has one of, if not the most accurate, crosses in the game today, and when healthy, not even Juninho can match him set piece for set piece. The validity of Beckham’s coolness was confirmed this past winter when England manager Fabio Capello admitted that the evergreen winger would be included in the 23-man squad for South Africa, despite vociferous whisperings that the former Real Madrid boss would be leaving the English icon at home due to his ongoing decline in form. Heartbreak struck in mid-March, however, when Beckham suffered a torn left Achilles tendon while playing on loan for AC Milan against ChievoVerona, ruling the man with the golden bend out of the World Cup. Beckham may be on the sidelines for the world’s most storied tournament, but his coolness will be felt by all.

Starting Right Back: José Bosingwa

Club: Chelsea

Country: Portugal

Still a bourgeoning talent at 27 years old, the Portuguese wingback will share solace in the injury department with his teammate David Beckham. Sustaining a knee injury back in October that kept the fastest man alive (other than Usain Bolt and Conor Casey) out of the Chelsea lineup for the rest of their double-winning season, Bosingwa still requires more surgery, which will keep him out of the World Cup this time around. A diligent defender with unprecedented speed, it is unquestionably Bosingwa’s conspicuously large unibrow that makes him so cool and so popular with the All-Cool Team Selection Committee. I’d say we’ll miss his presence in South Africa, but we have to remember that not only is his unibrow ubiquitous, but it can be seen from space, so while he may not ever make it onto the pitch, we will definitely be seeing his long, thick strand of hair just above the eyes. What did you think all those TV blackouts were in the first place anyway?

Starting Right Center Back: Philippe Mexès

Club: Roma

Country: France

The fact that the best defender for the runners up in Italy’s top flight wasn’t selected to go to the World Cup should be grounds enough for incumbent French National Team manager Raymond Domenech’s (already and inevitably imminent) dismissal (even though he is set to step down after the tournament). To give you a frame of reference, it would be like Manchester United’s Nemanja Vidić or Rio Ferdinand being glossed over by Serbia and England, respectively. Laurent Blanc wouldn’t be so careless. Despite the immutable disadvantage of playing for a club in Europe’s most corrupt, horrendous, and downright unwatchable domestic league Serie A (yeah, yeah, yeah, we all know Inter won the treble—they and Roma are the outliers), Mexès has all the ingredients of a cool player: 1) His name manages to comprise an astounding number of letters just to say the name Philip (he would have gained superfluous cool points had he slipped in a second ‘L’ there) 2) His last name includes an accent mark that curves to the left, which is rare in the eyes of the All-Cool Team and 3) His hair rocks. And he’s a great defender. You think France will fare better with a geriatric William Gallas and an unproven Sébastien Squillaci in the middle? A word for Mr. Domenech: cool is never in excess, so next time, choose Mexès (you jack-ess…too much?).

Starting Left Center Back: Jean-Alain Boumsong

Club: Lyon

Country: France

Another French defender whose absence Domenech is soon to lament. The most stoic and businesslike member of the All-Cool Omitted Team, Boumsong’s name says it all. BOOM-song. I challenge you to find a name more fun to pronounce. That, and the fact that the 30 year old center back was instrumental in securing Lyon’s first trip in club history to the semifinals of the UEFA Champions League this past spring, are the main reasons why Boumsong will always have a spot on the ACOT (Also because he was pretty much the only defender of the omitted we recognized).

Starting Left Back: André Bikey

Club: Burnley (Championship)

Country: Cameroon

I honestly have no idea why Bikey went unselected for this summer’s tournament, especially when you consider that he is only one of three players on Cameroon who played in the English Premier League this past season (Tottenham’s Sébastien Bassong and Benoît Assou-Ekotto are the other two), the remaining six (of the 23-man squad) haling from clubs in the less competitive leagues in France and Turkey. Sure, the Clarets were relegated back to the Championship in May, but that is no reason for Cameroon manager Paul Le Guen to punish the versatile defender. Traditionally a center or right back, we have moved André to the left side of the backline in the hopes that he will not reprise his act of pushing a Ghanaian stretcher bearer at the end of a match against Ghana in the semifinals of the 2008 African Cup of Nations. We are confident that a player as cool as André will have the presence of mine to do something far funnier the next time he loses his cool (which is impossible).

Starting Left-Winger: Kyle Beckerman

Club: Real Salt Lake

Country: United States

Sometimes you can tell greatness just by reading a moniker. That is not the case here, as the name Kyle Beckerman sounds like a hybrid from the little kid in the movie Blank Check and the fat bad guy (I think his name was Bitterman?) from the same movie. But we here at the All-Cool Team know a winner when we see one. All you need to do to convince people of Beckerman’s coolness is to slip them an image of the semi-talented midfielder, which will duly reveal his main element of greatness: his hair. Just like Bosingwa’s unibrow, Beckerman’s dreadlocks can also be seen from space and often have been mistaken for Kevin Mench’s Bob Marley wig that he wears on Halloween. The name of Beckerman’s team might be the dumbest of any (besides FC Dallas or Seattle Sounders FC), but it would take a dumb person to call the 28 year old from Crofton, Maryland not cool. Bob Bradley: you should be ashamed of yourself for not taking this enterprising, young spirit.

Starting Central Defensive Midfielder: Michael Essien

Club: Chelsea

Country: Ghana

Coolness has no roadmap, because its name is Michael Essien (I hope that makes sense, though the more I read through it, it doesn’t). But just like every other Chelsea player who was selected to play at the World Cup, Essien will be unable to participate due to injury (Germany’s Michael Ballack, Nigeria’s Jon Obi Mikel, and Ivory Coast’s Didier Drogba have suffered similar fates, although the Côte d'Ivoire captain may still be fit to play). However, Essien, in our minds, is perhaps the best player in the world and without question the best African player around. He is versatile and has a missile of a foot from outside the box and made one of the best goals ever in the Champions League Semifinals against Barcelona on a left-footed volley from deep last year. He is versatile and tenacious as well as an optimist famously saying once that “Anything is possible (in football), you just need to believe in yourself,” which made everyone on the team cry with inspiration, except for Boumsong, who never cries.

Starting Central Attacking Midfielder: Ronaldinho

Club: AC Milan

Country: Brazil

I was playing soccer recently with a friend of mine, and we were talking about Brazil’s chances of winning the World Cup. “Even without Ronaldinho,” I started, “I still think they’ll win it all.” Wait a second. Brazil?...Without?...Ronaldinho?...It? That was pretty much the gist of the shocking reaction this news triggered within my friend. It was inconceivable to him that the two-time FIFA World Player of the Year had been left of manager Dunga’s 23-man roster for South Africa. Well, in the words of the infamous Cosmo Kramer: “Here’s to feeling good all the time.” So the Dinho is a big fan of the drink. So what? Does that make him any less capable of performing on the grandest if stages? Eh, probably. But make no mistake, Ronaldinho still has that magic touch and can still do things with the ball few people would even dream about (I think we’ve all seen the new Nike ad Write the Future featuring the one and only whose crossover inspires even Kobe to emulate the Brazilian magician after sinking a game-winning shot against the Blazers). The fact that he will not be at the World Cup saddens us all here at the All-Cool Team, but the thought of him downing ten consecutive shots of Bacardi 151 in a five-minute span in some club in Rio before tearing up the dance floor while his teammates battle North Korea will put his bucktoothed grin on all of our faces.

Starting Right Striker: Lisandro López

Club: Lyon

Country: Argentina

Probably the most subdued character on the ACOT roster, López brings composure and unspoken leadership to a squad that is lacking somewhat in each quality. Argentina boss Diego Maradona has a plethora of forward talent at his disposal such as Gonzalo Higuaín, Carlos Tévez, and Lionel Messi (not to mention Kun Agüero and Diego Milito), but he could have added the reliable López to the pecking order as a reward for a fine season at the Stade de Gerland that saw him bag 24 goals in all competitions (Maradona must have been to busy toasting a Pop Tart to even notice). My only wish is that this section could be funnier. Unfortunately, there really isn’t anything funny about Lisandro López; he’s just really good.

Starting Left Striker: Hulk

Club: Porto

Country: Brazil

No explanation necessary...(his name is HULK).

Starting Goalkeeper: Antonios Nikopolidis

Club: Olympiacos (Retired)

Country: Greece (Retired)

The man who bears an uncanny resemblance to George Clooney has selfishly decided to deprive all of us of his illustrious saves in the forthcoming World Cup by retiring (it probably has something to do with the fact that he is 39 years old). Nikopolidis’ greatest international accomplishment was helping the Greeks stun the football world by capturing the 2004 UEFA European Football Championship defeating hosts Portugal in the Final 1-0, after securing a string of three clean sheets in the knockout round. Also, when he played for Olympiacos, at one point he donned the number 71, which screams cool. He will be missed by his Greek teammates as they do battle in Group B with Argentina, Nigeria, and South Korea, but will always have a spot on the ACOT (even though he wasn’t technically omitted).