Wednesday, December 30, 2009
2010: The year I quit smoking and/or support Lucas
Adding to all this is over the last couple days of my holiday vacation, I've been watching bits and pieces of Liverpool 2 - United 0 from October. First, it was just for the nostalgia of a consistent Liverpool performance. Then today – to be more precise, five minutes ago – I finished watching the last half hour plus stoppage time. Golly that was fun. Other than the simple thrill of the victory, repeat viewings of it keep leading me to see that match as the last great marauding show of defiance from Jaime Carragher. He had somewhere between 20 and 4,357 headed clearances in the match. I'm not sure about the exact number, but it seems closer to the latter number the more I watch that performance. Age will take him sooner than later – as it will for all of us – so let's appreciate things while we can.
That brings me back to the resolutions. I've got my Liverpool moaning out of the way, as you can read in this post, where I all but hump an 8" x 10" glossy photo of Xabi Alonso. That's OK. Sometimes reactions like that are unavoidable, particularly after losing to Portsmouth in this of all seasons. From this point forward, it's time to appreciate what I have.
So Lucas, you're in luck in 2010. RJ Reynolds, not so much. There's 18 matches left in Liverpool's season, and the team is four points out of fourth. That's the goal now, and there probably isn't a "Jim kvetching" level I can reach that will affect whether Liverpool finishes there or lower, which is why I'm throwing my support to you, Lucas. I was irrationally harsh toward you at the start of 2009, and I'm going in the other direction to end the year. It's not your fault the term "favorite son" is an understated way of describing how Rafa treats you. Lately, I've come to appreciate your more subtle gifts, such as how you play well against United – which always counts for a lot in our world – and you've shown a gift for falling down when slightly challenged outside the box in a way that consistently convinces the referee just enough that there's been a foul committed.
See, we're off to a good start.
The whole coming year feels like a countdown. We're 162 days from the World Cup. We're however many days from this potentially life-altering, paradigm-shifting, future-wrecking, Leeds-inducing change in the course of Liverpool Football Club. And on July 5, 2010, all of the city of Milwaukee goes smoke free. Many of my friends, along with my Match Pricks co-writer Colin, cannot wait for that ban to take effect. I've come to accept it and realize people I care about want it to happen now, though they're just glad it will become law soon. Plus, it's as good an incentive as you can find to get on with dropping the habit. It's going to be odd handling my typical match day nervousness when it's 0-0 in the 86th minute and I can't chase my shot and a beer with the full, rich taste of a delicious cigarette. Then again, it would be much more difficult to handle those moments next season with Torres playing for Barcelona, so there's no point in worrying about my own struggles while watching these things transpire.
I got your back, Lucas. After all, if things don't go well, maybe Liverpool won't even be able to entice you back for another year. I don't want to live in a world where your blond pompadour isn't adorned in red. Kick some ass in 2010, buddy.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Would you calm down already!?
Arsene Wenger, the Arsenal manager, predicted a worst-case scenario of “three weeks” out for the midfield player, an absence that would seriously hamper the team’s pursuit of Chelsea and Manchester United at the top of the league.
Arsenal braced for the worst with Cesc Fabregas set to undergo injury scanLook, I never expect any level of level-headed self-restraint from the media, much less the football media (bless their little hearts). Still, the man will be fine. Arsenal will be fine. Cesc missing a couple of games will by no means whatsoever derail Arsenal's fine season. In fact, it'll be good to get Diaby, Ramsey or Denilson a little more time and a little more responsibility.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Occam's Razor, Jesus Christ and my treasured Sidney Moncrief 'Sir Sid' poster
I have spent a good deal of time during the past two or three months thinking about why I can't seem to piece together long-form (i.e., more than 140 characters) football thoughts here at Match Pricks – enough time, actually, to probably write four or five fun and somewhat-interesting posts. It's been a good deal of wasted energy thinking about football, and I've definitely overthought it. After all, I'm the Liverpool guy here, and there's little else to do when you have a massive football obsession but your team is currently specializing in conceding stoppage-time winners and equalizers, own goals and whatever that was yesterday at Portsmouth.
I could've written a dozen posts about the team's injuries. There also is fodder for the strategic approach: breaking down Glen Johnson's forward style at fullback; breaking down how Glen Johnson's defense is always breaking down; the sudden, unexpected demise of Jamie Carragher (minus the United match); and, of course, The Aquilani Conundrum™.
Look, nobody cares what I think the reason(s) might be for Liverpool spray painting the word "SUCK" all over English top-flight football grounds (and the one in Florence, too). But I do want to shout out a simple reason for my own unique pain. It's the simplest answer available: I miss Xabi Alonso. Not, "I wish Alonso was still there." Not, "The team was better with Alonso" or "They failed to replace Alonso." I miss Xabi Alonso.
I didn't work as a newspaper reporter and editor for 7 1/2 years because scientific theory and mathematics were my specialty, so until recently I never understood what Occam's Razor represented. In thinking more philosophically in my old age, I came to realize the easiest answer or possible solution to something was also the easiest one to defend and explain a situation. Of course, a few weeks back I stumbled across Occam's Razor in the dictionary. (There's the sentence you'll never see in any other Liverpool fan's lament.) Well, I started thinking really hard again, but in a much more clean, productive way.
Ultimately, this is an irrational hobby I've dedicated myself to enjoying. There's a million ways to explain it and also no ways to explain it. I could give you five hours of one-sided conversation about why I love Liverpool and football in general, but sometimes it comes down to "I miss Xabi Alonso." Last year, it came down to "I worship Xabi Alonso! He's a footballing genius!" In 2005 it was, "Way to finish off Juve, Xabi!" There's two moments lately that have kept popping into my head, both innocuous but unforgettable. In the Carling Cup at Tottenham last season – a match in which Philipp Degen etched his name on the "Rafa Benitez failed transfers" granite tablets alongside that of Dossena, Voronin, Pennant and the others – Alonso came on as a second-half substitute. Previously, Liverpool had looked even worse than their most-abysmal performances from this season. He suddenly calmed all of the action around him. Things slowed down but didn't become ponderous. Liverpool took a deep breath and the team's play became coherent. They had been losing something like 3-0 or 4-1, and if I'm remembering correctly, they actually got within a goal and briefly threatened to make a game of it. The transformation in the entire team's play was what was unforgettable – and not a coincidence.
The other moment was at Portsmouth last season, a match Liverpool trailed 0-1 and then 1-2 with only a few minutes left. Again, Alonso was a second-half substitute. The action at the end was quite frantic and Liverpool was desperate for possession to create their winning chances. There was a scramble for the ball in the Portsmouth half along the right side, about 35 or 40 yards away from goal. Four or five players spent several seconds fighting for it. Alonso put a foot in and flicked the ball over his head into free space – which he didn't glance to see was available – then turned to control it, assessed his options and restarted the Liverpool attack. Watching it at my friend's place, I gasped. We shared a quick moment muttering something like, "F***ing genius," and then we went back to the match.
Now, that's an ephemeral quality that's impossible to fully convey the emotion of seeing, so your impression of my brief description there might be underwhelming. But I'll never forget it. Never.
That's why this week Colin and I had an email exchange that brought all of this together. It was the very first thing that popped into my head when I read a short note from Colin about a Mascherano transfer rumor. Here it is:
"One of these days, I'm just going to have this "born-again" moment. Only instead of finding Jesus, this figurative dark shroud is going to be lifted from around my head and all the truths of Liverpool without Alonso will be revealed to me in a soul-shattering epiphany that leaves me weeping uncontrollably on my knees in the middle of the bar at 9:21 a.m. on a Saturday.
"What I'm getting at is, I miss Xabi Alonso."
Other than the moment actually happening at my desk in the middle of the afternoon, everything else there is true – well, I didn't weep on my knees, but you get the idea. It sounds ridiculous and absurd, but it's how I'm viewing my Liverpool fandom at this moment. At a Christmas gathering yesterday, during a conversation about traveling to Spain, I mentioned how I want to go to San Sebastián. Of course it's because that's Alonso's hometown! I want to see Real Sociedad play a home match. I want to just walk around there and enjoy the experience, the whole time knowing in the back of my mind that this is the place that gave birth to Xabi Alonso, my favorite player of all time. The midfielder who revealed the secrets of football passing, tempo and control to me as a latecomer to the experience that is the best-possible way to kill two hours during any day.
It's an idealistic, childish way to look at something I take so seriously. It's also goofy and a little weird. Yeah, so?
Whatever your reasons for following a sport might be, fun has to be in there. Are you having fun? Is this a fun thing to do? Did I consider the previous two hours a fun experience? You want to answer "Yes" to those questions as often as possible. And you want to do it as simply as possible. It's why I wish I still had my Sidney Moncrief "Sir Sid" poster from when I was a boy. Surprisingly, I can't find it on the Web to post here. It's a crazy, "only in the '80s" sort of sports hero worship. Milwaukee Bucks guard Sidney Moncrief, dressed in his uniform and holding a basketball, posing with a full suit of armor. I had it as a boy, and in college we tracked down one of them to re-live the joy of it.
Now I'm going to be 33 years old in a week and a half, and I'm searching for my current version of the "Sir Sid" poster. I had it every time Alonso stood on the ball in a Liverpool shirt. Last year, it was in a golden, diamond-encrusted frame when I watched the proceedings at White Hart Lane, Fratton Park, Anfield and elsewhere. Now, I can't find it anywhere. It doesn't get beamed to me via satellite television technology and Web searches are fruitless, so I'm stuck recalling it in my mind's eye.
Well, that isn't a lot of fun.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
#JohnnyCashfootballsongs
So, here then, for better or (groan-inducing) worse, is "Personal Jesús Navas"
Reach out and touch del Bosque
Your own Personal Jesús Navas
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who attacks with flair
Your own Personal Jesús Navas
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who's there – on the wing
Feelings unknown and you're all alone
Flesh and bone but can't go out on loan
Haunted by homesickness
Shows the limits of your quickness
Take second best
Put me to the test
Just got a first cap – hey!
Came on for Iniesta!
I will deliver
You know I'm a forgiver
Reach out and touch del Bosque
Your own Personal Jesús Navas
Feelings unknown and you're all alone
Flesh and bone but can't go out on loan
Haunted by homesickness
Shows the limits of your quickness
Lift up the receiver
Chelsea wanted you with Sheva
I will deliver
You know I'm a forgiver
Reach out and touch del Bosque
Your own Personal Jesús Navas
Reach out and touch del Bosque
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
He just can't get enough
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
We interrupt this radio silence
To declare this the single goal for a club is one of the best explanations for the sad state football is in today: A reckless money-game that will one day culminate in a football-version of the the credit-crunch.
Arsenal are playing the game in all its beauty and, supported by a vast majority of their fans, have the patience to wait until their time has come - winning it with sheer talent and craftsmanship rather than buying titles like most of the others do these days. To achieve this and at the same time manage the club into financial soundness is a masterpiece. Anyone who doesn't see this either has no idea about the game or abuses it for personal/business reasons.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Here's the deal: I am connected to this phone at all times. Steve Jobs' marketing and magic tricks have me in thrall. If he said BlackBerry owners should be thrown into a pond and if they float that means they're witches, well, sure, I'd believe him.
So I am going to make a half blogging return to Match Pricks for the match today - on this phone. I mean, I'm not even tapping this out in landscape mode. That's how sick in the head I am with this phone!
I'm looking forward to this. Liverpool and Fiorentina, and then Chelsea on Sunday. Oh yeah, things are picking up again. Let's see what happens.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
I remember when you could still tell a joke in this bar without the world coming to an end
Much to my surprise and eventual delight, I tuned in, if that term still applies to television in 2009, right as Eduardo had won a penalty and given Arsenal the lead. My first thought? "Oh well. Celtic wasn't going through anyway." But as I continued settling into the couch, I started to feel a little quiver and jolt in the parts of me that react in such ways when a controversial sporting moment takes shape. The commentators were moaning about something Eduardo had done. "It's probably best if I wait for a replay," I thought. Well, it took a few different angles, but finally I witnessed what I was sure would be comedy gold and powerful ammunition for weeks and months to come among my friends.
I saw Eduardo – conclusively, definitively, undeniably – go down like a community playhouse trainee desperate to impress the leading lady he had been longing for since the auditions.
It was outstanding – beyond funny, really. I couldn't wait until the weekend so I could meet my friends and regulars, some of them Arsenal supporters, at the only bar in Milwaukee stupid and crazy enough to open at 6 a.m. for "soccer" matches. I was prepared to, quite frankly, give them loads of shit about such an abysmal effort from one of their heroes.
Then everyone in the world went loony tunes about it. Of course, the most important has been the two-game ban Eduardo received. I maintain it's essentially meaningless because Arsenal will sashay through their Champions League group, but still, it's a real thing that has been put into effect and it has repercussions, however unimportant I deem them. But also, there have been the downright silly tangents that sprung from that decision. Arsenal supporters have, perhaps understandably, jumped to Eduardo's defense. But the obscene reactions to the ban startled me, and there's now Zapruder-esque compilations online of "fellow diver" Wayne Rooney that have been posted as a response. I've read calls for a full UEFA retrospective of dives that have affected Arsenal. On the other end of things, the Daily Mail is excitedly urging (is there any other action for that paper?) to join their campaign to "shame the divers."
The back and forth about this for two full weeks has been stunning, even surviving the similarly outrageous Chelsea "child trafficking" development and all it has given birth to regarding luring talented young players from overseas to the promised land of Premier League riches. Such is the never-ending bore of each and every international break.
Not all of this ruckus has been pointless, of course. These debates are revealing as to what sprouts from the mind-set of modern football supporters. The best take that I've seen came from Sport Is A TV Show, which offered many more sensible layers and arguments about diving than I'll likely ever be prepared to discuss here – particularly the case for a player having the good sense to go down once he is actually fouled in the box.
See, I've written this post about seven times since Eduardo dived, but the central point has never changed: Eduardo's dive was a gifted moment I could use over and over to enliven the ephemeral qualities that make watching football in a large group so much fun. I feel like climbing to the top of Kilimanjaro and shouting, "But wait, wait – just wait a goddamn minute!! He got caught in an hilariously awful dive! We can use this!"
When I was on that couch watching those replays, the very first thing that entered my mind was how I could point to such a silly display the next time I was at the bar, seeing my Arsenal-supporting pals "Ooohing" and "La-La-ing" when Eboue and Arshavin and van Persie played a nifty yet fruitless triangle sequence among them that ended with a through ball played a touch too hard that Jussi Jaaskelainen would easily collect. These are the moments we, as snorting and chortling men, come to embrace while taking part in our routine of getting together, watching these most-often agony-inducing matches and loving how we can do it again and again and again.
And with it happening so early in the season, I had a full nine months to wear that joke out. I couldn't wait. Now, it seems like all the fun is gone. Why bring it up anymore in such a setting? "But, but, but Boruc kind of nicked his foot!" "Johnny Foreigner always does such things. We must stop it!" "Rooney dives, too!! At least Eduardo doesn't snog his granny!!!"
Ack, to hell with it. Look, these sorts of moments matter, people. Eduardo falling over like someone told him to pretend he was studying under Lee Strasberg had a lot of potential. This was something to cherish for those among us who love our Arsenal-supporting friends but, honestly, must admit sometimes it all becomes a bit much. I've seen Colin – and buddy, I'd take a bullet for you – turn over a scoring sheet at a bowling alley and sketch out Arsenal's attacking intricacies for a perfect stranger! Turning to a friend like that and reminding Eduardo was shamelessly exposed for a fraud one time helps keep our loved ones grounded. It keeps them humble – and if anyone could use some humility right now it's Arsenal supporters.
Look, football is humbling in its nature. The highs are followed by equal lows – I know as a Liverpool supporter – and moments like what happened with Eduardo are natural examples of that aesthetic. But the wild-eyed reactions all around with Eduardo's dive have, I feel, robbed me of that opportunity. I could've kept my great friends on their toes and level-headed all season if people would've just laughed and shut the hell up. Accept what happened for what it was and move on. Instead, I'm forced to spell it out in a more-direct fashion in this post.
The world took all the fun out of Eduardo's dive. Pardon my unseriousness, but that's the biggest travesty for me.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
The CW Chimes in
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Never a better time ...
... to trot this one out after Saturday's 2-1 loss for the Arsenal at Old Trafford. Say it with me now!
Murky waters
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
On Milwaukee ... on Match Pricks
If you haven't checked us out at the Highbury at 2322 Kinnickinnic Ave., what are you waiting for?
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Recommended Reading
Today's big winner, Marina Hyde. Give it a read.
She sums up, quite well, why I hate predictions. I couldn't care less what you think, random person, about how the league will shake out or who will score how many goals in the FC Twente match this weekend. I quite prefer, thank you kindly, to actually watch it blossom myself (even if it might be quite a bit like staring down the road in the hope that Godot fella will turn up). What's the fun of piping in with, "Well, I reckon 3-1 today, friends. Could be 2-1 though, couldn't it?" If you're reading closely you'll quite rightly call me out on that. "But Colin, didn't you just the other day say you predicted 6-nil for Arsenal's first match!?"
Yeah, I did. I also predicted the first goal would come from the team. It's a helluva lot more fun to slap down a 6-nil whopper than it is to say, "Hmmm, well, let's see here, we're on the road, pitch should be a little dry, that won't do at all, will it? No, Arsenal need that fast pitch don't they? And that Arteta, he's top, top quality, isn't he? What's that? He's out? Hmmm, well Lescott, he's been in form, hasn't he? What's that you say? Distracted, eh? Yeah, I reckon you're right, but then, for all their attacking talent, Arsenal are weak in the spine, aren't they? Not much experience there, is there? No, no, no. That new Dutch boy, well he's unproven too, isn't he? How's that? Belgian? Really! Well, who knew!? We all know how qualified Belgians are (eye roll). Ah, I suppose you're right, Marc was Beligan, wasn't he? Wait, no, I always thought he was Dutch. He's Dutch, isn't he? Tim Howard though, top keeper, he'll be a difference maker, maybe a clean sheet in store for the home side! Huh? He's got that Tourette's? Didn't know that. Well, I reckon it's gotta be 1-1 then, yeah? I mean Everton really are up for it, aren't they."
Your favorite team's Champions League group of death scenario is quite real, my friend
1. Liverpool/Arsenal/Utd./Barca/Chelsea/Milan/Bayern/Sevilla
2. Real Madrid
3. Atlético
4. Wolfsburg
How's that grabbin' ya, ultra-confident fan of a No. 1 seed side?
Real Madrid in that pot of No. 2 seeds: You don't need me to say any more than that. Atlético in the post of No. 3s, with Kun Agüero and Diego Forlan might not have enough in defense to really scare the balls off anyone, but that attacking talent is certainly more dangerous to face than some of the others in that pot, like Olympiacos, Bordeaux and Besiktas. And lastly, for the top teams, those two matches with the No. 4 seed are supposed to be walk-throughs that only aid qualification for the next round. Well, Wolfsburg only won the Bundesliga last year.
OK, that's the end of this post, or as I call it, "The perfect example of the 21st-century short-attention Internet generation." I spent 10 minutes writing something that has a shelf life of exactly 20 minutes.
On with it then ...
UPDATE: Barry Glendenning informs me that apparently the group stage draw offers country protection, so Atlético could not be in my little fancy-pants "group of death" vision. But Chelsea and Liverpool got paired together only a couple, two, three years ago. Hmmm ... For argument's sake, throw Dynamo Kyiv in there as a replacement because no one really enjoys traveling all that way to play in some dodgy relic of a stadium.
UPDATE: 'Eh, screw it. My little scenario theory is shot right through. I couldn't even get a blog post up to last more than 10 minutes or have any usefulness. I'm leaving this up just so you can laugh at me. I'm cool like that sometimes.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Here's the thing Part II
Here's the thing
No place, no glory, no clue
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Chess: Give 'em rules, watch 'em take over the board
Monday, August 24, 2009
Liverpool v. Aston Villa: Live-ish here at Match Pricks
Kickoff is in a minute, and I'm going to post in the comments here some thoughts, but not really a blow-by-blow description like the well-visited Match Pricks Live Blogs from last season's Champions League. Just mixing it up and seeing what might work.
First up is my appreciation to get Jon Champion as the lead commentator for this effort here in the States. My second favorite in that role, behind Martin Tyler, naturally.
OK, off to the comments ...
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
I've become fascinated with our new Twitter tool over there on the right, so loom there or on our Match Pricks feed for 2nd half thoughts/jokes/random screaming.
Gotta believe this one is pretty much finished, though.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Welcooooommmme Baaaaaack!!!
YES!!! Today is the perfect reminder why summer is the looooooongest season of the year. It's so nice to have these matches back – even if we have to sit through the three straight months of "I'm telling ya, Barcelona is going to sign Fabregas – and this time, they really, really mean it. For serious."
Happy Season Starts Today Day, everybody.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Deep breath
Monday, August 10, 2009
The jumbled mess of summer
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Welcome Alberto Aquilani (and others)!
In all serisousness, though, I'm going to give you some time to settle in before I make any judgments about how good you are. Good luck, buddy. We need and want you to play well.
Also, Match Pricks wishes a courteous hello to Michela Quattrociocche, Aquilani's squeeze:
I guess they handle driver's license photos a bit differently in Italy.
(UPDATE: I might have welcomed Aquilani and his girlfriend too soon. The scuttlebutt in Liverpool is that there's a problem with his medical. Well, we'll see, I guess. Not sure what happens if he fails the medical. Silva? Probably their best bet. Updates coming, although I'm sure if something's wrong, it'll be all over the Web shortly.)
I might have rushed to judgment
Fully aware that Putin's devious ways leave me susceptible to the harsh bite of the Russian bear, I still have to applaud the man for this naked – literally(!) – appeal to Match Pricks and many of the ideals we represent.
Shirtless, free, caring for animals. I mean, I love the zoo. Who doesn't love the zoo?! Only cretins and malcontents don't love the zoo. And a lot of zoos have horses. And here's Putin – shirtless and free, without a care – tending to a horse.
It's a tricky business with these Putin photos. He seems to be reaching out, extending an open hand to Match Pricks, and saying, "Match Pricks, I am not unlike you. I, too, embrace and cherish the warm touch of freedom. Let us welcome the new season together, arm in arm, like brothers awaiting the return of our beloved papa!"
For now, I await rather than reject Putin's efforts. Bring me photos similar to these, only with Jintao joining you in your freedom pursuits, and we can discuss things further, Putin.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Don't look back in anger
"The English just don't work on developing players like Alonso - a 'pivote' in Spanish terms."
– Phil Ball, April 18, 2005
My denial ended this morning when I saw that Xabi Alonso handed in a formal transfer request at Liverpool. He's set, certainly now, to move to Real Madrid for somewhere in the area of £30 million or a bit less. It's an excellent profit on the £10.5 million Rafa spent in 2004 for him, but it's only money. Liverpool is clearly the loser in this transaction.
The above excerpt from Phil Ball is from what has always been my favorite take on Alonso. Nothing I've ever read elsewhere about Xabi's unique skills and ability to play the game ever matched up so closely with how I felt about what I was seeing from him. I strongly encourage you to read the entire piece, Ball's take on Liverpool's place in the European game after the 0-0 draw in Turin that paved the way for the miracle of Istanbul. Oddly enough, Ball's 2005 Champions League analysis also holds the answer to how we've arrived at today, with Liverpool set to lose its absolutely priceless "pivote."
"I remember late last summer when Alonso's transfer to Liverpool was confirmed. He'd been in Real Madrid's orbit for several months, and there had been rumours here in San Sebastián that he'd signed some kind of pre-contract agreement with them - something Xabi always denied.
He has a flat just around the corner from me (well - it belongs to his folks) and almost every morning before he packed his bags to try his luck abroad he would have his café con leche (in a glass) and croissant in my local bar. One morning, as he sat quietly on his own on a barstool reading Marca, some wag standing at the bar quipped 'Xabi! Don't go to bloody Madrid, please!' Alonso looked up from the tabloid and smiled. 'I'm not going there. Don't worry', whereupon the local star went calmly back to his coffee and paper.
What neither I nor the wag knew at that precise moment was that José Antonio Camacho, newly returned to Madrileño fields to sort out the galácticos, had told Florentino Pérez that he didn't fancy Alonso - that he wasn't his type of player. Pérez, who had been previously advised by the Director of Football Jorge Valdano to buy Alonso at all costs, was keen on placating Camacho at that delicate point in proceedings, and wanted him to feel that he he could get his own way, particularly in matters of signings. This had been Camacho's big whinge the previous time he'd walked out on the club. So Alonso was dropped from the shopping list, Benitez replaced Houllier at Anfield, and wasted no time in bringing him over to the Mersey."
In 2009, there is no more Camacho that needs to be placated. There is only Valdano who tells Perez how to spend the money – wherever it's coming from. And with Xabi making his intentions unmistakable, here we are then.
It is impossible – and, I would maintain, improper and impolite, too – for Liverpool supporters to look angrily toward Alonso for choosing this move. He is owed every gratitude for his part in the two most thrilling Liverpool stretches of this decade: the miracle of Istanbul (only possible because of his brilliance in Turin in that 0-0 with Juventus when Gerrard didn't play) and his consistent brilliance last season, when the team made its most serious, sustained run at the title.
But from a personal standpoint, I owe Alonso for the lifelong gift he gave me during his time with Liverpool. He showed me how to understand – really understand – the game: how it works, how attacks form, how its most thrilling aspect – the pass – can reveal the joys and exhilirations that come with watching it. I am one of those ignorant Americans the popular press enjoys mocking. I've never played the game at any serious level, didn't grow up watching it, had no mentor to show me the ropes at any point. In 2004, I was blindly watching Liverpool, having only grown attached to the team in about 2000 when I first seriously started watching football. In the five years Alonso spent at Liverpool, that all changed. Alonso's approach to "executing football" unlocked all the doors for me, and I came to treasure the sport beyond those who just thrill at the sight of a grease-topped fancy lad spreading his legs over a free kick, his ass perched daintily in the air, and blasting the ball over a wall. Brilliant free kickers and penalty takers come and go. But Alonso, this was someone whose calm, reasoned approach to distributing the football explained to me in easy-to-understand terms how 11 players work together.
I'll watch the game for the rest of my life through Alonso-colored glasses. I couldn't be more grateful.
Good luck, Xabi – to an extent, of course. As a Liverpool supporter, I so desperately want the team to meet Madrid in the knockout stages of the Champions League that it will likely border on a type of mania as that stage of the competition approaches. It is not hatred for you or what you want to accomplish. I hope Liverpool gets a chance to face you at your best. You felt insulted by the Gareth Barry madness of summer 2008, responded with your finest-ever season and then chose to move on. I can accept that. Rather, it is the colorful trinkets that have been assembled to surround you at Madrid that I want Liverpool to conquer – again, I should remind.
Here's hoping that meeting is coming up soon.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Emiliano ‘the balls’ Insua about to get the shot he needs to blast the Premier League into a concussed state
Match Pricks has no choice but to interrupt its summer-long smacking of Jintao in the face to actually get back to business and post something today. Yes, you've forgotten about us, but thanks to Twitter and Facebook, those of you who could be bothered to remember we exist during the Summer of '09 are back here reading this today. And there's a good chance you're as jacked into the stratosphere as I am because you heard Fabio Aurelio hurt his knee pretty seriously while playing with his children back home in Brazil.
Why is a serious injury to Aurelio being greeted so warmly? Why am I positively giddy about a loyal, effective servant looking at a long stretch out of action? It's all about the balls, baby.
Type in the term "Insua" on our handy-dandy Match Pricks search engine here, and you're going to to find buckets of high praise for Emiliano Inusa, who is by any definitiion, the balls when it comes to exciting possibilities for Liverpool out of the left back position. Insua blew doors off the League at times and offered thrilling attacking possibilities when pressed into duty last season in December while Aurelio was hurt and Dossena was playing like he was wearing the opposition's shirt.
In short, I'm hopeful Aurelio loses his spot in the first team. Yeah, that sounds awful, but I have seen the way and the light, and its name is Insua. He was unfairly ripped from the team in January to go play in some U-20 hooey-phooey tournament for Argentina. He never got all the way back into the lineup – mostly because Aurelio in the second half of last season was so amazing. Still, Blackburn at Anfield as spring was sprung featured Insua and Riera performing an Astaire-like showstopper of movement and one-touch passing up and down the Liverpool left flank that looked like professionals giving some good-natured business to a group of giggling schoolchildren.
Fabio, you're amazing. We love you. We really do love you. The free kick at Old Trafford last year is seared into my memory. Your second-half play was a jolt of energy to a nervous bunch of fans clinging to a title chase that didn't pan out. I hope your health returns and you live a happy life that includes much more football.
I just want to see Insua charge out this season and blow the dicks off the Premier League. The kid is incredible. And I'm certain given an extended run with the first team, we're going to see even more great stuff. With Johnson and Insua out there, well, whaddya know, Liverpool will feature a pair of attacking fullbacks. Who knew?