You can dance if you wanna…

“Macarena” by Los Del Rio. “Who Let the Dogs Out?” by Baha Men. “Ice Ice Baby” by Vanilla Ice. 2006 by Cristiano Ronaldo. In 2 years what will all of these things have in common?

They will all STILL be one-hit wonders. Mark my words, Cristiano Ronaldo will not have another year like last year. His latest hissy fit has shown that not only does he throw tantrums on the field but he’s too much of a bitch to actually do anything. Seriously, you headbutt a guy and his ass should be on the ground with 4 or 5 broken ribs. Not laughing at you walk off with a red card and then going home to treat your mother to the seafood dinner of her life and then avoiding her like the drunk chick at a party. If you’re gonna pretend to be a man… well, you should probably start by stuffing your pants. Take that banana out of your ass, move it to the front of your pants so no one but the guys in the locker room get to see the actual size of your plantain. And from now on, it must be a requirement that the “best footballer of the world” stand up on his own two feet both on and off the field.

In a preview of this upcoming week in Premiership football:

Portsmouth vs Bolton:

A team that succeeds with mediocrity matched up against a team that is experiencing second season syndrome in its seventh season in the Premiership. Usually when the fat guy jumps ship, the boat floats a little easier, but so is not the case for poor Bolton. Portsmouth registers their first win with about 6 goals from defender/midfielder/striker/keeper Matty Taylor. Seriously, trying to figure out what position he plays best is like trying to guess whether or not Pat urinates standing up or not.

Tottenham vs Derby:

One team that can’t buy a goal with 7,648,400,000 Hungarian Forints (about 40 million US) and another team that just can’t seem to stop letting them thru with their mediocre defense and overrated keeper. Oh wait, they’re both Tottenham. Spurs to draw Derby County 2-2 in what will be the battle between two teams that will undoubtedly be relegated anyways (well, only half kidding there. I’ll tell you which half when the season ends and one of them goes down).

Birmingham vs West Ham:

Consider this one to be the antithesis of the Liverpool-Chelsea match. I call it, the pillow fight of the premiership for week 3. Each team will struggle valiantly against God’s cruel design to suck just a little bit less than the other guys. West Ham has gone out of their way to sign a strike force that is quality, but until they start playing games with a 1-1-8, it won’t yield any truly positive results. Until then, Birmingham can enjoy 3 points this time around when the referee gets bored and begins awarding goals for being able to successful complete about 4 passes (2 more than West Ham).

Wigan vs Sunderland:

After dispatching Tottenham in week 1, Sunderland have established themselves as this year’s Reading. If Wigan survives one more season, it will mean that God does not exist, Christmas is cancelled, the Tooth Fairy will OD on cocaine and heroine and the Easter Bunny will probably hang himself. Sorry Wigan, but saying, “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can” probably won’t help you stay afloat. It doesn’t even win the Little League World Series. Saying it in Spanish however might work. I would say Wigan drops 3 points here, but technically they never had them and will likely not get them. Teams should seriously get negative points for not beating Wigan.

Fulham vs Middlesborough:

Fulham could turn out to be one of the more pleasant surprises this time around. I don’t know why. It seems like all they did was sign a bunch of players from teams that were actually worse than theirs, but its not doing too bad so far. Usually when a team signs an Irishman, they can be counted on for 5 red cards, 14 yellows, 2 months of FA suspensions and 7 or 8 broken limbs of opponents. So far David Healy has been delivering the “Luck of the Irish” for them with 2 goals from 2 matches. Right now he’s on pace to score about 15 goals more than Drogba and about 35 more than Cristiano Ronaldo. I predict a draw with Aliadiere cancelling out Healy’s 2 minute strike in the 95th minute.

Newcastle vs Aston Villa:

Newcastle enjoyed a position after week 1 that will be long gone by the time April rolls around: a place in the Champions League. As Big Sam goes out to prove that you can play like total shit for 89 minutes and still manage a win, Aston Villa takes Liverpool’s top keeper and puts him between the uprights. Scotty Carson allows 2 goals on 46 shots on goal and Shay Given allows 2 with about 41 shots on goal and then tears someone else’s colon.

Reading vs Everton:

Reading takes on my leading candidate to finish 5th in the league and potentially even better than that if Liverpool decides that they would rather not have their Champions League spot (Rafa would be keen to keep that tho, as that is the only reason he is still employed). Best game to watch on Saturday and you will enjoy watching Everton do something to Reading that Manchester couldn’t quite do… score goals and beat them.

Manchester United vs Manchester City:

While United stumbles out of the gates, City has gotten off to a flying start (albeit, against pillowbiting competition). United staking claims to have the deepest squad in the land gets their chance to prove that they can score this year without Rooney and Ronaldo. They did have problems scoring with them tho, so maybe losing your two most prized posessions could be good for you. I will probably expect that the City players will be experiencing a “crash” as their fugitive owner continues to pay them in crack and unmarked Canadian bills. United takes all 3 points while Carlos Tevez and the City players spend too much time trying to snort the touch lines.

Blackburn vs Arsenal:

I have come to the conclusion that the comment boards on foxsoccer.com stories are a safe haven for inbreds all around the world. Is it just a trendy thing to discount Arsenal? Seriously. Out of 8 self-proclaimed “pundits” only 1 has predicted an Arsenal win. What happened last year when Arsenal played Blackburn in the league? First time, a team without anyone named Henry rubbed off 6 goals onto them at the emirates and then Arsenal went on to prove that 10 visiting men are better than 11 rovers with a convincing 2-0 win. This time around Wenger sends out 8 men, makes no substitutions and manages to come away with a 12-0 win on goals from 10 different players (3 of whom don’t actually see the pitch).

Liverpool vs Chelsea:

This one is always as unentertaining as a big league game can be. Two teams that have won cup after cup by sitting back. I do more attacking when I watch this shit. Rafa will probably throw darts at a first team roster to determine who starts, and Mourinho will probably complain about refereeing. My prediction for this game… 2-1 to Chelsea with injuries coming from Gerrard in the 43rd minute but John Terry coming back and injuring for Chelsea himself when he goes down in the 6oth minute. Finally Essien will put himself on the stretcher for his squad as he injures himself in the dying minutes playing his usual centerback position. Dropped points and paramedics for all (scoreline: 1-1).

Three cubic acres of money: EPL Preview 2007-2008

I used to watch Ducktales when I was a kid, because Ducktales was the tits. Scrooge McDuck, among other things, was rich, and we’re talking Roman Abramovich-rich here, and kept a great deal of personal fortune in The Money Bin, a large building of allegedly three cubic acres of trinkets, into which he would ever so often swim, like so:

This is more or less what involvement in the Premiership has boiled down to this summer. Mid-level players on the rosters of poor mid-table teams everywhere suddenly became primed and ready for a long descent into a rockstar-esque drug habit that won’t affect their game, because after the first two weeks they’ll just be spending it all on the bench anyways.

Three of the Big Four cracked into the Money Bin and made it rain. Chelsea doing what we’ve come to expect by now, was actually overshadowed by the Manchester and Liverpool sprees, though they came away with the lightning-fast Florent Malouda and Bolton’s Tal Ben Haim, along with last seasons dark horse hero in Steve Sidwell, and Jose Mourinho will still have a defense full of holes to plug as the injuries strike again. I fully intend to hear him whine at some point this season about how “Chelsea just can’t compete with clubs who spend exorbitant amounts of money to bring in players like United and Liverpool have”, which is just horrifying to think about as an actual comment that could come out of his mouth. With a healthy Joe Cole this year, they’ll be kickin’ it pretty if they can avoid the attrition that killed them last year.

Liverpool, spending money simply to prove that they could, got Fernando Torres at a deal that all but included a handjob for Atletico president Enrique Cerezo, and Dutch winger Ryan Babel in a move that made way too much sense for Rafa Benitez to have instigated it. He’s also claimed that Gerrard will have more opportunities to play in his preferred middle role this season, to which all I can say is, ABOUT FUCKING TIME. I see them being better than last season in terms of style and authority with their wins – they won’t be hanging on much, but I still see Torres as the only standout of a supposedly “four-headed” strike force which includes the two worst strikers from last years Kop and a new transfer past his prime.

There were three little clubs to jump up into the Country Club style of transfers this year, who in keeping with the theme I will affectionately refer to as Huey, Dewey, and Louie.

Newcastle bought everything Big Sam could muster except the full-backs they desperately need, which should entertain me to no end as the season goes on and he gets fatter and angrier. I’m hoping for an eventual explosion a la Violet Beauregard. I don’t actually know what a healthy Michael Owen or Obafemi Martins look like, so I’m leaving them out of this analysis. West Ham got a new Icelandic sugar-daddy in the midst of last seasons tailspin and actually look to be one of the more improved lineups in the league, picking up Bellamy to anchor a strike team and pirating away some excellent pace and leadership in Freddy Ljungberg, who figures to see a revitalization after recovering from some nagging injuries and playing the key role that had slipped away from him at Arsenal, and I think big things will come with Dean Ashton and Scott Parker this season as well – don’t expect another barely-legal last-day escape from them to be necessary.

The Manchesters were not to be left out of the English lack-of-business-sense-bonanza, the newly financed City buying people that don’t matter, and the incumbent champions buying people they don’t need. City is now fueled by the tremendous spending power of a Thai war criminal who recently found himself with the free time to get involved with football due to a military coup that left him no longer prime minister. I can see Rolando Bianchi making some marks for City, because Goddamn does that team need someone who can find the net, but I don’t really see the holistic transformation Erikkson claims is about to happen – they’ll be flirting with the bottom again.

I must be the only one who’s not rushing to get in line for blowing Owen Hargreaves – when Man U started pursuing him, they had a serious gap in the middle to fill following Roy Keane’s departure, but last season I don’t think there is anyone who will say that United lacks a solid and aggressive midfield from Giggs, Scholes and Carrick. I can’t for the life of me understand the need for the Nani/Anderson signings either, other than just scooping people up so that other teams don’t have them – I don’t look at Manchester United as being a team who was improved by leaps and bounds from last year – not that they need to, mind you, but it seems like an awfully silly place to put all that money you could have just as easily set on fire.

And speaking of Roy Keane, he leads the charge of the newcomers to the EPL. I feel like Sunderland’s got the stones to make a mark this year if they play the consistent workman’s football they did in the latter part of the Championship last season, maybe not to the degree we saw Reading do last year, but they should be able to catch a few surprises and finish out of the cellar. I personally am looking forward to them beating Tottenham for the first game of the new EPL season, so, fingers crossed.

My Arsenal homerism should be self-explanatory and expected, but even without Titi I’m seeing a good year from a team that’s getting settled into a great rhythm from the end of last season – and watch for the young’ns to pick up where we left off, and Van Persie to explode with a serious threat for the Golden Boot in front of Eduardo and Hleb trickeration in the final third.

Anyway, here’s my call for the season, so in 9 months we can all look back and laugh at me being an idiot:

1. Chelsea

2. Arsenal

3. Manchester Utd.

4. Liverpool

Relegated: Fulham, Derby, Wigan

My sleeper team to qualify for Europe: Aston Villa

It’s cool, we’re bringing it back.

And P.S., your grandmother was racist.

So, its been awhile. Crazy things have been happening on Greene Street, namely, us not living there – but fear not! In the nick of the time, faithful readers, we return to you, and Yeshua and the Shimmy have got some good things cooked up for the new year of football, and the next few days should bring a veritable hurricane of football related slander in these here parts. To borrow a term from the truly excellent Kissing Suzy Kolber of the other football, we’re about to bukakke this bitch.

The last few months have been abuzz with excitement and large sums of poorly spent money, both on the part of us personally, and everyone else affiliated with football in Europe, and they have included such landmarks as me being in Milan for the Champion’s League Final, and yet still being unable to find a bar showing the game in that barren asshole of a “world capital of culture” (don’t worry, I managed to both find beer and make it to the Duomo to see the game projected up in the streets), Yeshua being our worldwide presence in Barcelona and ironically finding himself in Madrid as they won the league, somebody actually caring about what happened in the MLS (it wasn’t me, get that disapproving glare away), and the other resident of our Greene Street pad getting engaged. Needless to say, we neglected the ole’ bloggatron a bit.

But there was sadness too. I discovered that my lovely girlfriend is in fact a soulless being from beyond Hell, her one soccer-related purchase after five months in Italy having been a Luca Toni jersey from Fiorentina. Bayern Munich bought everyone with a foot, including my beloved Bremen’s Miroslav Klose, and the aforementioned Toni, who then promptly blew out his knee, proving himself again another useful member Italian flop house, and the highly-prized Franck Ribeiry out of Marseille. By pure chance, the Hooligans were reunited in my humble home for the tragedy that was Thierry Henry’s farewell to Arsenal. There were tears, there was stunned disbelief. And then there was fury, and since it was Germany, there was enough beer to kill a hippo, culminating in ill-fated attempts to seduce a bartender by threatening to punch her Barcelona-fan boyfriend in the throat. Exactly a month later, our Old Faithful Freddy (who I had been hopefully touting as the man to step up and take charge of the young bucks around Highbury) bid us adieu for worse-smelling and less-talented pastures across the town at West Ham.

But that’s all water under the bridge now, and we’re back in the saddle. Last week with Ligue 1, tonight with the Bundesliga, and in less than twelve hours the English league, plus we’re two weeks away from La Liga and Serie A and the big five are off and running, and GSH will be there wire to wire – stay tuned.

Come On, Stadium Collapse: Champions League Semis Running Blog

I am in a foul mood on account of Wayne Rooney and various math exams this morning, and I want blood in this match. God help me, I’m cheering for Chelsea in a game that doesn’t involve Man U. My reasoning of course, being that Liverpool is a bunch of limp-dicked dirty sailors, and I hope Rafa Benitez gets the clap from his dog. It’s general consensus here at GSH, as repulsive as the thought may be, that it would be preferable for Chelsea to win the quadruple even, than for United to get any sort of silverware that’s not a fork to the scrotum, so I’m grudgingly aligning myself with Milan, and violating my principles to wish that Chelsea move on.

Pre-match: Note to self – name first child Seamus. ESPN’s commentators are retarded (who would have thought I’d be wishing for Derek Rae and Tommy Smyth?), but continually hearing the name Seamus takes some of the sting off.

Commentators keep making excited note of the fact that Chelsea has dogged Liverpool in the Premiership, but that Liverpool got the better of them in the last few knock-out matchups. I make a note that this is boring, and I need to buy more beer.

Correction. Name first born Markus Merk. File Seamus away for second son, or daughter that I don’t like.

Kick-off: Bellamy is sporting a debonair Snidely Whiplash sort of goatee/moustache. I’m seriously reconsidering my long-term facial hair planning in light of this (note: I currently look like a hobo, anything short of lipstick would be a step up). No Ballack, Robben for Chelsea, Crouch on the bench for Liverpool in favor of Bellamy/Kuyt up front. Carvalho is playing at the back despite injury concerns, and in what I’m sure will provide me with comic relief, Paulo Ferreira is back there as well.

3rd: There are few people I hate more than Jose Mourinho, and I do not include Hitler in this list. But there are few things I love more than shit-talking, and this has been a banner week for it. Mourinho’s complaints about refereeing and double-standards aside, the “If I had performed like Rafa does, I’d have been sacked by now” and “We’ve scored 60 more points than them in the last 3 seasons” were a nice touch. And Rafa’s comeback to Jose’s “Liverpool is going to target our players with yellows to get them suspended again” was “These things must be on his mind, since that’s what Chelsea did to Xabi Alonso”. There may yet be hope for this tragedy of a Champions’ League season.

7th: God dammit Drogba, stay on your feet. He makes a fantastic run into the area, and then, rather than say, take a shot, or pass to the wide-open Shevchenko on his side, he just goes down like a Zeta looking for crack.

18th: Lampard is a bitch. Sheva collects a cross, taps it up for himself away from the defender, and as he’s turning on it, Fat Frank comes flying in, literally shooting it off the top of Sheva’s foot. It naturally goes wide. I hope someone just takes one for the team and stabs him.

29th: And, there you have it. Drogba does all the heavy lifting, and making my earlier comments look bad, lays it off after a sweet backheel for Joe Cole to slide a nice arc over the bumbling Reina, and Chelsea out in front.

34th: Drogba now attempting to win penalties by diving when he doesn’t have the ball. And at midfield. He remains on the ground in the middle of play, and is largely ignored by referee and players alike.

40th: Commentators note that “it looks like Liverpool players are targeting Drogba for a yellow as Mourinho suggested,” following that gem up with, “Well, given the choice of facing him in the next leg, or not facing him, I know which one I’d pick!” Nice one asshat. Why don’t you just hire goons (and its Liverpool, there are plenty) to beat his knees in with a crowbar, since dirty tactics apparently aren’t an issue here. Fucking commie.

Half-time: 1-0 for the Blues. I have certainly been more entertained in games. Time for a quick clam-bake of the shower in the hopes that this improves dramatically. Still have hope that delicious comedy strikes and everyone in the stadium is buried under tons of flaming rubble.

Reset: According to the commentators, Liverpool has never scored at Stamford Bridge under Rafa Benitez. That is pathetic.

53rd: The formidable penis of Petr Cech never ceases to amaze, robbing Gerrard with an unbelievable save.

54th: Obi-Mikel laid out by a Drogba elbow to the head. In addition to having no sense of balance, he is apparently color-blind as well. Its amazing he’s survived in the wild this long. Suck it Darwin.

68th: Cashley, forgetting which Cole he is, takes a run up the left and slops a god-awful looper into the box, the dutifully gets back in the kitchen to the backfield. Drogba now appears to have been kneed in the ribs, and Shaun Wright-Phillips appears to be milling about on the touchline in a move that I hope indicates more humor to come.

74th: It’s Kalou who in fact comes on, blueballing me by having worn the wrong number on the sideline. Sheva makes way, and I am deprived of making midget jokes.

77th: It’s taken this long for our first booking of the game, and, surprise surprise, it’s the dirty Argentinian! Though I’ll give him points for hacking down Lampard – I always condone such actions.

84th: MUNCHKIN FOOTBALL! Cole off.

88th: Apparently Peter Crouch’s father is a Chelsea season-ticket holder. Makes sense, if my son looked like that, I would avoid associating with him in public too.

FINAL: Closes out with a Chelsea corner from Kalou that Drogba knocks wide, and its 1-0 Chelsea headed to Anfield next Tuesday.

I CHALLENGE YOU MARADONA!

These past couple of weeks have been something else in the world of football news. First we’ve got this happenin to those Czech’s. But what a sec? What kind of a late party? Do professional footballers stay up late playing truth or dare, Family Guy drinking games or fuckin circle of death (also known as King’s Cup to some)? Thats not exactly an adequate use of Prague’s finest hotel (which should run you about 6 dollars a night). No, there were hookers involved (who like the hotel, couldn’t have costed more than 6 dollars a night). And also, there was John Arne Riise’s broke ass. You play for Liverpool. the guy standing behind you in the welfare check line sucks dick for crack (see: Diego Maradona). Sprout yourself like 3 brain cells, and invest the money yourself or hire someone who WILL NOT ROB YOU! You gotta love it when people get taken advantage of by people smarter than them. It gives me hope for the future, knowing that all I have to do is find 1 person richer and less intelligent than me, and I’ll be set.

Then we also have Maradona. The fattest national hero that Argentina ever has had. This is the man you revere? The man would be broke right now, if he actually ever had to pay for anything. You know what, I take back what I said about him earlier in this post. He doesn’t even have to suck dick to get drugs in Argentina. He gets a blow job from any coke dealer he wants and then gets his free 12 kilos (what the hell… lets make it a baker’s dozen). And these Argentinos are so devoted to their hero that they stay at his hospital. How about if you guys love him, you tell him maybe to knock that needle out of his vein? Maybe tell him that 2 Zimas a night is enough for him. You know what, fuck him. He was admitted into a hospital due to “alcohol reasons”. Well this blogger turned 21 on Sunday and had himself 10 beers and 6 shots from midnight to 230am and leadin up to midnight had himself an Irish Car Bomb (a staple in the house of the hooligans, except we don’t use this half shot bullshit) along with plenty of crunktitude occurring beforehand now, according to the tally marks on my hand (arm and elbow) which started at midnight and stopped at 130, I took down 9 of those drinks/shots at the bar along with the car bomb (so about 11 1/2). According to this site (a 160-170 pound lad such as myself), I was within the possibility of death. Did that stop me from the continued drinking? Hell no! I don’t drink like a bitch! I hereby challenge this Diego Maradonna to a drinking contest. I don’t give a shit if you’re big enough to fuckin eat me. I will destroy you and your bitch liver.

THE HAND OF GOD WILL NOT SAVE YOU FROM BEING MY BITCH!

And of course, not to be outdone by the funny football news that occurred in the days leading up to April, Keith Richards had this to say about his dad’s ashes. For those of you who don’t know who Keith Richards is, here is Robin Williams’ take on him.

I would also like to mention that unlike another hooligan, I did not need to postdate this entry before I published it. Bitch

Just on the right side of the cusp

TIME FOR A SOUTH AFRICAN MVELA GOLDEN LEAGUE UPDATE!!!

In a game that could quite very well determine the shape of South African Football, Bay United earned a crucial and convincing 4-goal win over fellow relegation candidates PJ Stars. In the struggle to stay afloat in one of the two top flight leagues in all of South Africa, Bay United saw two goals from Siyabulela Songwiqi taking his earth shattering total to 3 goals on the season from a 1st minute strike from a corner kick to start the goal fiesta of the day. Following the break, Peter Kirsten broke open his account for his new squad with a strike just two minutes into the second half. After some less than fine play from Isaac Matladi and Siyabulela Songwiqi, both teams saw themselves playing down a man each after the 67th minute. This would not stop a determined Peter Kirsten from doubling his goal tally with Bay United just 3 minutes later.

Bay United made it back to their old selves indeed.

In other news, this happened. Come on Romario. Thats like me claiming my penis is 1 inch away from 6 miles. Which is also true.

The English National side gets this week’s Limp Dick of the Week award after they failed to rise to the occasion to snag more than a point from an Israeli side determined to play to new levels of mediocrity as well.

Fuck Josh and His “Rules”

This is an analogy:

So I get yelled at the other day, angry IM’s and e-mails and what-have-yous, about how I haven’t posted on here in forever.

“We need more posts,” he says. “You haven’t done jack-shit in like two weeks,” he says. “We aren’t going to be able to convince anyone to read this journalistic abortion if we don’t put new stuff up once in a while.”

You know what I say? Fuck that noise. I’m not the only one around here capable of writing comical gold laced with wit and whimsy. What’s that? It’s the reason I’m here? Fuck that. Make someone else do it. In fact, maybe its your fault I haven’t been making great posts lately. You ever think of that? Nobody is giving me material. Why don’t you bitch at them? I’m gonna throw some shit, what are you gonna do next? It’s like working for fucking Stalin in this bitch. What sorts of slave labor am I going to be expected to do next, run my shit through a spell-checker? Check my stories for facts? Actually pay attention to football news? Yeah, nice try, Kim, this is a free country, and I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. Oh, by the way, you owe me a hell of a check for half-assing this post.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go fuck an ugly girl with a misspelled name. (Just kidding. I can only take this allegory so far without losing all of my self-respect.)

a successful failure

Well in the good spirit of things, I continue to attempt to jinx Arsenal by providing a running commentary to the Arsenal-Everton match, much like if my name were Derek Rae or Tommy Smyth. Expect to see a few more boob jokes tho. That being said, only the second half of commentary will follow as I was in hangover self defense mode by gorging my face with all the fattiest foods I could muster up. I’m gonna give you a better perspective on this match, unless your name is Gary and you’re seeing it live.

Half – Running thru some highlights now, and of course it would not be complete without a Cesc brick. He continues to show how it is possible to feature in just about every game this season, score himself a brace in the very first one and not find net in billions of matches afterwards.

One of those commercials just came up on the FSC with those two toolbags wearing a Chelsea shirt and a Liverpool shirt. Why the fuck do they do a show together? I hope no one watches it and their families spurn them. Cock gobblers.

GAME ON

46 – Some convincing play as Arsenal put some pressure on. No shot, but it looked pretty. Like the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated. Looks nice, but no shot.

47 – Gallas down but not out. Theres no way that wasn’t a dive.

48 – It’s a freakin game of pinball here. Boy I bet Gary’s enjoyin himself.

50 – Well, one half of the Eastern European wrecking machine is running around like a maniac. Tomas is ripping this up. He looked very Ljungberg-like, but no goals yet.

52 – Soooooo close. Aliadiere was all but sprung and lecott made a goal saving interception from Baptista. Just the tip, that’s all we need.

55 – something strikes me as being very very odd about Abou’s ears. For some reason when I look at him I picture Flava Flav. Someone give that man a gigantic clock.

 

58 – This is why I don’t take back all the bad things about Aliadiere. Some fantastic work from the Czech mark and abou goes to waste, other than that defender being terribly embarrassed after finding the ball behind him by passage of his legs.

60 – There goes Toure dribbling at someone like his jersey says Walcott on the back of it. Ran fast, lost the ball even faster..

62 – Abou is chumpin bitches left and right. Disgusting. Andy Johnson just showed why he yoyos between being on Lions and not by breaking thru with incredibly pace then taking a horrible fuckin angle and having the mental capacity to make the terrible decision to shoot.

64 – Almost a fight between Leon Osman and Jens Lehmann. I wonder who would win that one….

65 – More of the same. Abou embarrasses another Toffee, but his play is spoiled by a poor touch from Aliadiere. The other half of the Eastern European wrecking crew is up and geared to go.

68 – Baptista looks like he wants to eat a person. I think he’s trying to decide between Yobo and Lescott right now. Off comes the Czech mark, on comes the Belabruiser

70 – HOYTE! Fighting off the advances of those men in the showers has paid off! He almost gets tackled but quickly balances himself before the soap hits the ground!

71 – Uh oh… he just turned 18 and he’s running about. Make way Aliadiere… I hope

73 – Be still my throbbing heart. Osman hits the woodwork on what was very sloppy play all around. If that resulted in a goal, there is no God.

74 – If this game were played in a dense fog, Andy Johnson would be invisible. You would only notice a parting of the clouds as he ran thru. Aliadiere off, Theo on.

77 – I do like seeing Cesc take shots. Sort of.

77 still – The Belabruiser attempts to spring…. Gallas?

78 – wow, Toure turned AJ at his own will. Threw him to the ground in the process too. Quite manly.

81 – Vaughan apparently upset. He went against the “no hard checking of players instead of going for the ball” rule.

84 – It looks like the average age of the players is about to take another nosedive with Denilson now coming on for the beast. He looks famished, he should go eat a baby.

86 – Vaughan kinda looks like a douche. If I saw him at a party, I would avoid talking to people near him.

87 – Theo hits the deck gripping his shoulder. This is why that is bad.

89 – Jens keeps us goalless with a saving fall

90 – Andy Johnson makes the breakthrough and throws himself into a mob of the home fans. Very sloppy looking, but well earned and well struck.

That’s the match, and I finally succeeded in jinxing arsenal. Now, it’s time to go home and sabotage my bracket. Well, to be fair, my bracket was sabotaged from the moment I picked Winthrop into the elite eight over Wisconsin.

An experiment on jinxing a team

Well with very little to gain from this season (at least very little within reasonable grasp), I decided to see if I could curse Arsenal for a match against Aston Villa. That’s right, I made a running blog. Now I got there late, and had to leave at halftime for my class today. This of course will NOT stop me from giving you a running commentary on that time anyways.

Pregame and warm up – As I walk out of our house I come across two ladies claiming to be spending the week in our house. My instincts told me to hand them my keys and hope that I got them back after I woke up the next morning.

Kick-off – I’m on the metro to Chinatown and some black dude is yelling at a black woman who apparently wanted just a little bit of respect. Arsenal are probably fielding a high school aged squad, with Denilson and Fabregas in the middle of the pitch and Gilberto Silva pushed into his emergency centerback position like his name is Michael Essien.

2ish minutes – By about now, Freddie Ljungberg has probably made his first bruising run down the left side (assuming thats where he’s playing) and Theo has taken on at least 4 players and gotten stuffed by them all.

4 minutes – I’ve arrived in the pub and discovered what appears to be the home team keeping the ball in their attacking half but not really taking their chances. This is a usual sight at the Emirates, but I certainly welcome other teams sharing in the Arsenal woes. I also pray these misfortunes to fall upon all English teams currently left in the Champions League.

8 minutes and 30 seconds – ABOU? Incredible. He rips a run down the left side of the field passes it off to Baptista who passes it right back. Abou takes an incredibly awful first touch to control that somehow ends up in the back of the net behind a helpless Sorensen who can only watch with split legs as the ball rolls into that forgotten corner of the net. Whoops.

11 – The Arsenal attack breaks down leading to a quick Villa counter, only to be spoiled by a Gallas clear. It was unimpressive, and does not even deserve the space I have given it here.

13 - Some pretty typical Arsenal build up here, but it amounts to nothing and Gallas has to battle Carew in our defensive third. That foul call was garbage and gives Villa a free kick which they waste. Bitches.

15 – Freddie is running around like a fuckin maniac. He’s fuckin everywhere, just not on the scorers sheet right now. Oh no… I just recognized the less than intimidating figure of Aliadiere… he just shanked one at 16 minutes between just himself and the keeper, out for a corner.

16 – Good God man, now that is a defensive clear that never leaves the box! McCann knocks the ineffective corner right back to Denilson for another. The beast is not looking beastly. He kinda blows right now.

17 – Freddie just faked out a defender from 20 feet away. I guess he didn’t want to get his eye poked or something.

19 - I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I wish that was Aliadiere instead of Baptista. God he’s fuckin slow as hell.

20 – That counter of Villa’s had it all but the tip. Just the tip, that’s all Villa needed to pull even.

22 – Why!?!?!?! Aliadiere why!?!?!

22 – Replay confirms that Aliadiere fucked that shit up himself by back-heeling the ball while on the break allowing Sorensen to collect what he wants.

23 – Mr Carew takes a dive after Djourou attempts to step on his shoelace, but contact occurred just outside the box, so no pk for you sir. One hell of a chance tho.

24 – And that 19 year old (the Brazilian one) takes a bullet to the ass cheeks and sends the ball out of play! Incoming corner is knocked on by the Arsenal defense and out of play for a throw.

26 – Martin O’Neill does his best impersonation of a Kop fan and throws his water bottle onto the pitch. It was a great impression as his weak arm manages to get it just about a foot onto the field.

28 – Almost half an hour into this match, it is quickly becoming an offside fiesta. Pretty soon these AR’s will be as tired from raising their arms as…. Analogy to come later.

30 – When did Arsenal get good at clearing corners… and when did Fabregas take lessons from Lampard on how to fuck up a searching pass?

31 – No offside flag this time and Jens runs out to tackle mr carew. Perhaps they should put the bitching and moaning on hold until they prove they can take advantage of an opportunity like 30 feet of green between them and the keeper.

33 – Oh fantastic. Abou Diaby hits the ground like he got a cleat to the face (see John Terry). Fuckin peer pressure. All the kids at Arsenal are getting injured, so it MUST be cool (oh oh oh! I wanna be like Henry and and the Perse too!)

34 – Well he’s back up after a few minutes with the physio and still on the pitch. Good. Last thing the Gunners need is another injured player.

36 – Well on his way to player of the match honors at half time, Diaby lays off a shittacular pass for Freddie that goes so far behind him he cant even corral it with his gigantic wang. It’s a shame too, because he was taking off on one of his trademarked diagonal runs to the goal.

38 – I retract my previous statement about Fabregas fuckin up searching balls. He’s fuckin them all up

38 – just a bit later Aston villa has 2 clear cut opportunities that are spoiled by Jens and Willie G. Such glorious back play, coupled with atrocious finishing.

39 – Jens hits the ground and we have a breather for some work from the physio. He sprays some of that spray stuff on him (wtf is that shit?) and hes back up

40 – wtf? That isn’t Manuel Almunia warming up… is that Mart Poom? Is this a good thing? Do I want this?

42 – Aliadiere does it again. This time from a marvelous Freddie cross. He heads the ball straight down… straight fuckin down and it bounces once before it reaches the goal, then it sails over the goal. Seriously man, and he even looked like a retard doin it too, jumping up and crunching his body up as if he were trying to squeeze one out.

44 – 5 bucks says Carew and Aliadiere are related. Carew is thru for a one on one with Jens again and sends it well wide.

45+ – I WANT THE PERSE! Our corners are atrocious!

45+ – Djourou better calm the fuck down or hes gonna get his second yellow.

45+ – Look at Aliadiere chase back. He may lack that thing we call “skill” or “goodness” and may have an overabundance of “sucking ass”, but he hustles. I take back some of the bad things I said about him, except all the true ones.

Half – Apparently that’s the half. A chance for Baptista to find out where he put his testicles and a chance for everyone aside from Jens, Willie G, Denilson and Abou to borrow one of Freddie’s nuts. This is also a chance for Carew to kill himself and for the assistant referees to ice up those arms. God I hope the stretched, they could pull something.

As I leave the bar I see a scoreline that implies that Chelsea is better than a very poorly managed team.

Well that ends the part of the game I watched. While sitting in my class i predicted that Djourou would score an own goal, Freddie would get a broken leg and push it back into place himself. Then he would circumcise himself and use his enormous foreskin to hold his broken leg in place before getting a the winning stoppage time goal from a William Gallas assist after he fights off the entire Aston Villa defense before owning Mellberg letting Mr. Ljungberg score a goal from midfield.

Take that Xabi Alonso!

Player of the first half honors go to William Gallas for sick nasty play in the back.

I’m Better Than You Are

Yes, you. And you. And certainly you, Stephen McFallingOverManus. When I said it, I meant “all of you”. Put together. You’re going to need more than three assclowns and a backup Polish keeper to slow me down. Pits full of snakes hidden across the box might work, but then again, I don’t need to get that close to beat your keeper like a red-headed stepchild. Or maybe a goal that you have filled entirely with bricks, though you’d better not give me any shots early, or I’ll chip myself a window out and still score. But you have plenty of time to think about it now, because you’re going home.

Seriously though. Do you watch football much? Did you really not see this one coming? Don’t you know who I am? Fuck the Juggernaught, we’re talking about the white Pélé here. Ask Fenerbahçe, I did the exact same thing to those dirty Turks a year ago. Except, twice. You should have listened – Volkan Demirel was screaming in flashback at the TV from underneath some titties in his palace in Istanbul. Even the coked-out harem chicks are smart enough to fear and respect me.

Don’t feel too bad though. You are far from being the only ones I’ve fucked like a Dutch stripper on speed. Figuratively speaking of course, I love my wife. On second thought…maybe you should feel a little bad about it, I did dog you. Badly.

Enjoy the early end to the European season. You know, kick back, drink a few beers, listen to the idiot commentators on ESPN, while you watch some teams that are better for you (primarily me) play football for fame and glory. I’m almost jealous of you. It’s quite the burden, being the fucking tits all the time.