Soccer Withdrawl Just What Do I Do With My Eyes Now?

It was an odd day today and I found I really couldn't figure out what to do with myself. For the first time in twelve days there was no soccer on TV. For the first time in twelve days I wasn't planning my lunch hour around catching at least one half of a game. I walked past the lunchroom this afternoon and, upon hearing a the sound of crowd noise, instinctively entered the room, looked at the TV and asked "what's the score" before my brain could even process the image I was seeing. "Fifteen love", I think someone said. It took me a second to realize I was watching tennis. This was the first time in twelve days I actually finished reading both the Star and the Globe and Mail on my lunch break. (I skim over a lot). I shuffled my potatoes around on my plate till I realized I was setting up France's 4-5-1 formation from yesterday. I wandered through Nathan Phillips Square, saw a few distinctive replica jerseys and felt my mouth dry up. I saw flags flying from car windows and developed itches I couldn't seem to scratch. A drunk, smoking a cigarette and wearing a worn out, dirty T-shirt with Brazil printed on the front asked me for some money and I said only if he can dribble past me like Ronaldiniho. I felt pretty bad about that one. It's like the last time i quit smoking. My mind sits in this cradle of haze and I find it hard to concentrate. Which can be bad, especially when crossing the street or drinking hot, hot coffee. Maybe I should just stay home until Friday. Re-watch the tournament on Rogers On Demand. I know it’s probably akin to licking heroin residue off a spoon but hey, what are you going to do? I am an addict and I am beyond redemption.

If any of my faithful readers based their World Cup pool picks on anything I may have written on my blog I apologize and remind you that by simply reading this sentence you absolve me of any liability in perpetuity throughout all of time and space.
Three of my picks for the quarters are out. Holland, Switzerland and ... well maybe it's only two. As the Swiss players came up to take their kicks I swear I could smell soiled shorts through my television. Though it may have been Missus Sour's left over tuna casserole. I'm kidding. She's a great cook. I don't think she's ever made tuna casserole, actually. Good thing too! I can't seem to stop myself. So on to some more fearless, probably wrong predictions.
I think the Italians will beat the Ukraine. I think England will prevail over the Portuguese for the sole reason they've played such mediocre football so far you'd think eventually they will have to play a decent game. That being said it's results that count. There are no World Cup points for style, unfortunately. Brazil and possibly Spain ( as the game is still going on as I type) should be a cracker but think Spain will finally shrug off years of underachievement and go all the way. To lose to Argentina.

Frickin' Italians (and Portugese) !!

I used to live in Toronto's Little Italy. I love that neighbourhood. I love the character the bars, restaurants and cafes give to that area. I'm now in the Danforth area and though I love the tree lined, quite streets just minutes from downtown, Danforth just doesn't have that neighbourhood feeling like Little Italy. Maybe it's the four lanes of the Danforth that ruins it. The sides of the street seem too far apart for a real neighbourhood feeling.
It was in Little Italy at Sushi Island on College that I broke my sushi cherry. Kalendar brunch was an almost weekly occurrence. Beers at Ted's or South Side Louis or at the patio at the Dip. And Revival and the Mod Club were regular haunts during my clubbing days. And I even loved the hood during the World Cup and European Championships. Except when Italy or Portugal play. (And Brazil. The Portuguese jump on that bandwagon with the ease of a fickle alcoholic) But I'm glad I'm not living there anymore. Last night the streets, I'm sure, where full of people who acted as though the Portuguese won the world cup. And today, after Italy needed a dubious penalty in LAST FRICKIN' MINUTE to beat a resolute, tough tackling Aussie side who deserved better than to go out to the Italian National Diving Team - I mean soccer team. Amazing how easy that slips out. My only consolation, besides the fact I don't live on the west side anymore, is that if Italy keeps playing like they have, they will surely fall to the Swiss (who should beat the Ukraine). And hopefully the English will pull their heads out of their asses and play like they should and beat the Portuguese. Then the west side will get the sleep it deserves and I can eat my sushi in peace.

Holland Go Home With A Few Souvenir Red Cards

When Holland began their World Cup 2006 campaign my biggest worry was their defense. Young and inexperienced, even with Edwin Van Der Sar in goal, they looked likely to be pried apart by the quick and savvy passing of Argentina, Brazil or Portugal. Turns out it was the offence that showed its immaturity. Robben, who after the first game looked a likely player of the tournament, showed less with every game he played till he disappeared almost completely against Portugal. Dirk Kuyt, who some describe as a hardworking, English style striker (6’7” and half useless) had the hard working part down. It’s the other part of that equation he was missing. The important part. The midfield lacked creativity. Raphael van Der Vaart has never really lived up to his early billing as the new Van Basten, a tag a-fixed to him at Ajax before poor form saw him move to Hamburg. Wesley Sneijder didn’t have much to offer either. Mark Van Bommell seemed only interested in shooting from distance and fouling whoever got near him. Although he did display a remarkable ability to coax a head butt out of Luis Figo.
And then there was the officiating. Sources tell me that the refs have entered into an odd game of one-upmanship where they try to out suck each other on the pitch. Jorge Larrionda went first, turning the USA v. Italy game into display of shinny new yellow and red cards. Graham Poll then decided to disregard the rules entirely and be creative in his use of yellow cards. Three yellows for the same player? Beat that. It’s genius, in its own way. But Valentin Ivanov outdid them all. Four reds! He actually had to order more red cards as he wore out the ones he had. And apparently Ivanov doesn’t believe karate kicking a player n the chest as he goes for the ball in the box is a punishable offense. You gotta love a ref who thinks solely outside the box. But in the end it all comes down to one thing. Portugal finished their chances, Holland did not.

Gimme a sec ... to catch ... my breath ... OW! A CRAMP!

Those of us who toil weeknights and/or on weekends on the dusty, ankle twisting, knee shredding pitched of Toronto, trying, fleetingly, to catch but a taste of the honey of stardom that drips sparring on us but falls like rain from the brows of our dreams, now have a new hero. Ronaldo. That's right, tubby scored. Twice! If he can do it, why can't we? Hey, I come to the pitch 20 pounds overweight too. I too sometimes suffer from dizzy spells ... after a few drinks or a few runs along the wing. Well run. Then a few minutes in the sidelines to catch my breath. Then there's that cramp to work out. Ouch. Then back on the field and OH NO my knee, my knee ... Just like ronaldo!

Holland Hold Argentina, England Try To Win The World Cup Without Any Strikers

It wasn’t exactly brilliant oranje but defense held. Holland’s game was like a 14 year-old on his first date: lots of possession but little penetration. Without Robben, Holland lacked the speed to get behind the Argentine defense. But with both teams already through to the next round what this game lacked most was urgency. Van Persie and Van Nistelrooy got a run in. A number of youngens were given a run out. Jaliens and De Cler impressed at full back with their overlapping runs. Cocu’s veteran presence in midfield steadied the Dutch ship. Van der Vaart and Sneijder, both of whom impressed this past season with Hamburg and Ajax respectively, struggled against a tough, disciplined Argentinean midfield run by Cambiasso and Riquelme. The blue and white defense kept its shape throughout the game and was rarely breeched. All in all, not the classic of 1998 World Cup, or 1978 for that matter, but a solid performance from both sides. As Holland coach Marco Van Basten said after the game: "We weren't fast enough to switch into the attack and then it is hard to find the gaps. Only towards the end did we create some half chances."
Holland now faces the Portuguese on Sunday. Arjen Robben said before the Argentina game that Holland owed the Portuguese one after they knocked Holland out of the Euro 2004 semi finals. If Holland does get past the Portuguese, they will probably face the English. Or will they?
Some commentators are calling Michael Owens’s injury a blessing in disguise. Play five in midfield, free up Gerrard and Lampard to attack by playing Hargreaves as the holding midfielder, and let Rooney run riot in the final third of the field. So what about Walcott? Just why is he in Germany? The England manager’s decision to take Walcott, which at first seemed liked a gleefully inspired risk now seems like the last season of Lost – poorly thought out and made up on the fly.

"Anyone else want to see my fancy new red cards?"

"Or how about my shinny new whistle. It's so cool I think I'll just keep blowing and blowing it..." And so that is how Jorge Larrionda, fresh from his shopping trip at the FIFA referee shop, began his workday Saturday. And he blew and blew and flashed red card after red card like a 12 year-old boy showing off his first pubic hair. Until about 15 minutes before the end when Larrionda seemed to have broken his whistle. At least I don't remember hearing it again. Well at least until he ended Italy's inept attempts to break down a nine-man US team dead on its feet.
All this came one day after I lamented the lack of a Cinderella team. Not only does Italy fail to beat a highly overrated US team, Ghana outplays the Czechs, defeating them 2-0 and providing a glimmer of the light of the round of sixteen to an African team. Now the US team did play out of its skin but they are not the fifth best team in the world. And what to make of the African teams? Are their results due to the lack of the traditional African powerhouses not being present? Perhaps Nigeria or Cameron may have done better but Ivory Coast would have qualified had they played in n easier group. And Ghana, should they defeat the US and the Italy v Czech result goes their way, could face a so far lack luster Brazil in the second round.
The first four groups look as though they will finish much as predicted. (Although as I write Mexico trail Portugal and Angola lead Iran 1-0)
One could argue the results of this Cup so far have shown 2002 to be a bit of a fluke. Except for France, who (insert lame French surrender joke here - I just couldn't think of one and I also tried to fit in the Maginot Line as well - they're efforts, like the Maginot Line, don't extend far enough?) under the tutelage of Domenech seemed determined to fail? Henry, a player I thought would light up the tournament, if only to disprove his critics that he can't play on the international stage, has been starved of quality support in both games. Which brings me to my last thought in this rambling passage: Brave managers. Domenech is not brave enough to sit Zidane, Bartez, Thuram and the rest of the holdovers from the 1998-2000 team. Even though France boast a young and talented bench. Many of those kids are coveted by top European teams. Now compare Domenech to Arragones, the crazy, old bastard in charge of Spain. (Who called Henry a "black shit" in an attempt to inspire a young Jose Antonito Reyes, Spanish winger and teammate of Henry's at Arsenal)? He sat national hero and Real Madrid mainstay - no matter his form - and chose instead a strike partner ship of the young and talented Torres and David Villa. Add to that midfield sub Fabregas- whose form makes Zidane look like me in the midfield- and you can make your case for youth over experience in this tournament. Argentina and Holland both jettisoned many of their veteran players for youth. Almost all of Holland’s back line plays in the Dutch league although it's yet to be seen if they can hold up for the entire tournamnet. Youth as won out over those whose laurels look well rested upon.

Waiting For Cinderella: Will The Glass Shoes Fit?

Leave it to Disney to afflict generation after generation with unrealistic hopes of rescue by knights on white horses and ugly ducklings going to the ball and slipping into what must be uncomfortably fitting glass pumps.
In World Cups past we've always had at least one team that exceeded expectations and captures our imagination. Senegal's victory over France in 2002 was just the latest result in a long line of over achievers being fit for very breakable and non-sensible shoes. But Germany 2006 has gone pretty much according to plan. Even Group C, 2006 GROUP OF DEATH, will finish pretty much as everyone thought.
So with a Group stages almost half over, where will 2006 get it's Cinderella story from?
Well, Ivory Coast should win the runner -up award. Though 0-2 many people believe they deserved at least a point from their first two games. They made both Argentina and Holland work hard for their victories and only a lack of class in the final touch kept from making some headway in the tournament. The attacked without fear and pass the ball with freedom and spirit.
As I type this Angola are holding Mexico scoreless and nearly made a complacent and flat looking Portuguese side the embarrassment of the group stage. Ecuador have played with flair and passion and it's ashame their final group meeting with Germany will lack the edge it might have had had Poland not hit two posts in the last 5 minutes during their first group game, thereby tying the game and making the final group game much more meaningful. As it is they might both try and throw the game so they can meet a lackluster England in the group stage.
Croatia nearly played spoiler against Brazil but one can't help but wonder if Brazilian minds weren't still on the training pitch. Perhaps Spain, a talented and till now chronic under achieving team, will light up the tournament after their best-team-of-the-tournament performance against Ukraine.
As it stands it's looks like the Prince Charming looking for his Cinderella team may be going home empty handed from the ball.

Great Games or Great Halves?
Is it just me or does it seem like there have been a lot of great halves as opposed to great games? To take nothing away from the tournament so far but have we really seen any great games from beginning to end or simple great 45 minute performances.

Ghost of Berlin

The field at Berlin's Olympiastadion resembled the Elysium Fields of Greek mythology as a once mighty god drifted like a near- invisible shadow of his former greatness.
When Ronaldo snapped a quick shot over the Croatian bar about 50 or so minutes into the game I startled by a sudden realization: Ronaldo was on the field. Actually, a somewhat fatter shade of the once great player knows as Ronaldo. And the speedy, incisive running of his replacement, Robinho, threaten to chase away the incorporeal shadows of his predecessor and any lingering memory of that guy who started up front for Brazil with Ronaldinho and Adriano.
Brazil seemed to treat the game almost as a training session, though the Croats often flattered to remind them that this was in fact an actual group game with points to be one. But whenever the Croatians found the ball at their feet with space to shoot, they conspired to shoot the ball into Dida's waiting arms. The Brazilians could have been had, but knowing this was their hardest game in a group with Japan and Australia, a tie would probably have suited them.
That being said Ronaldo was nowhere to be seen. Kaka and Ronaldinho traded playful flicks with one another. Adriano powered his was into the box. Roberto "thunder thighs" Carlos and Cafu made forged documents of their birth certificates as they flew down the wings like 18 year-olds. Emerson practiced his black arts of the subtle foul in midfield. Amidst all that wandered this ghost of figure who appeared to have enjoyed too many slushies at the heavenly Dairy Queen.
Homer wrote of the plains of the Greek afterlife:

"... life is easiest for men. No snow is there, nor heavy storm, nor ever rain, but ever does Ocean send up blasts of the shrill-blowing West Wind that they may give cooling to men ..." [Homer, Odyssey 4.561ff.)

And while it's far too early in the tournament to draw too many conclusions, Ronaldo's waltz through the short grass today made him look like he could use a cool breeze off the ocean. He appeared to wipe his brow as he came off which made me wonder if perhaps the jog to the sideline had winded him. At one point in the first half he looked like he didn't have the energy to run back onside when Brazil regained possession. His performance today didn't make me cast my mind forward in hope of a future, head shaking, how-the-hell-did-he-do-that display of Brazilian trickery but backward, and wonder: "Hey, that guy looks a lot like Ronaldo."

How to Avoid the Scores 101

The sad fact is that it's never the same time here as it is in Germany. With most of the World Cup games airing here in Toronto in the morning and early afternoon, those of us who work during the day have little choice but tot record the games or watch the replays without hearing the score on our way home. That means that unless you have a months worth of vacation days to use, it's nearly impossible to watch every World Cup game. Sure, you could fake some type of cancer that miraculously cures it's self on July 10th, but your boss doesn't need to be a doctor to realize you should probably be fired. Below are a few helpful hints to get you from the office to your livingroom in blissful ignorance.
1) The two senses. Sight and hearing are you enemy during the World Cup. Yes, they come in awfully handy during any other time of year, during the next 30 days or so you'll be tempted to stick sharpened pencils in either you eyes or ears. Once you need the office you need to immediately put on your walkman/Ipod/earplugs. Ignore any and all horns, whistles and shouts. Though this leaves susceptible to being hit my a car or being warn about being hit by a car, nothing in life comes without sacrifice. The other sense you need to worry about is your vision. When you see that huge crowd blocking the streetcar you're on, quickly hide your head in a newspaper, boom or magazine. But not a soccer magazine. Which leads me to:
2) Leave Your jersey at Home: Wearing your jersey or anything even remotely suggests you have an interest in soccer leaves you open to entreaties from strangers to comment on the games. Probably the one you're trying to get home to watch. Wait till after the game to don your jersey, novelty foam hand, flag.
3)Avoid the internet. Don't even look at your emails. You never know who might be emailing you with results and commentary.
4) Secure the work environment: Coworkers who wouldn't know a soccerball from a disco ball will suddenly come down with World Cup fever. They'll join the office pool and talk about Henry and Robben like they actually know what they're talking about. But unlike you, most of these people probably never watch a game from beginning to end but they'll want to talk about them. And tell you the scores at ever opportunity. Be forceful without being rude. Tell them you plan to enjoy the games in their entirety after work and thank them for their interest.If they persist, simple put office materials in their bags/purse and inform security.
5) practice your sick voice: Hard as you try to be a good employee, there are some games you just can't miss. Unfortunately, everyone at work will know what you're up to. My advice is to keep it simple. Don't have your grandmother passing away every other day. Testicular Cancer does not clear up in a day. Everyone gets colds. Allergy season is upon us. Keep it simple and believable.
Follow thwese tips and you will be able to make it through a crowd like the one pictured above and remain completely oblivious.

Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been a bit distracted ... But my computer has returned from the shop and the story of the customer service hell Missus Sour and I went through is fodder for another blog for another time.
So stay tuned as there will soon be a flurry of posts. While you're waiting, please feel free to share in the exuberance of this young fan who should have probably invested in a top with a little more support. Or not.

Mr. Bitter takes on the World Cup

When I discovered the World Cup wasn't a huge, testicle-encasing safety device to protect my enormous gonads I was distraught. Then I shook off my suicidal pallor and embraced this international festival of beauty, skill and excuse to drink in the morning.
Over the coming days (provided my new computer, L'il Whitey, isn't in the shop for too long), weeks and a month and a bit I will be your guide for this veritable feast of enormous thighs (I'm looking at you, Roberto Carlos). I'll be commenting on anything and everything I god-damned please.
But first, some news on a newly discovered breed of soccer-feline. As pictured above, this new creature, closely related to the puppet lions of the Plains of Kids TV Shows Prop Rooms, has advanced ball-handling skills, advanced T-shirt wearing abilities and can kill a man at ten paces with one finely aimed swipe of its razor sharp claws. Its favourite food? Ten-year-old soccer fans. So those of you traveling to Germany with small children, be warned. This is a heartless, efficient killing machine in keeping with German tradition.