The jokes are just begging to be written. That or they just write themselves. Horsey.
Communique
Footie and the Bookish.
Football, through the eyes of various cultures.
When you have a book entitled, “How Soccer Explains the World: An Unlikely Theory of Globalization,” the expectations arising from the title are quite high. A nerd like me will most probably expect a theoretical framework of the game and how it is applied as a lens in which certain cultures and phenomena are analyzed, ultimately unearthing several factors that point to a world that is more integrated as a result of a common love for the game.
Instead, all I found were 10 highly interesting vignettes, which included: supporters of a Serbian football club doubling as paramilitary in support of hyper-nationalism; a look into pre-war Jewish football players; English hooliganism; Scottish football and its roots in the divide among Catholics and Protestants; ownership structures and politics in Brazilian football; the dynamics between Italy’s ruling powers and their football clubs; racism against black players in Ukraine; U.S. soccer and it’s role in perpetuating an American counter-culture; and (ugh) FC Barcelona and the romanticism of football, among others.
Perhaps a more appropriate title would be: “How the World Explains Soccer”.
Don’t get me wrong, Franklin Foer is an incredibly talented writer with a strong voice and a gift for brevity. Each vignette masterfully mixed information with human interest, if not sheer entertainment.
Perhaps that’s where my slight dissatisfaction with the book lies. Each vignette does not transcend to anything more than its story—which is essentially a look at the nuances of certain cultures and the politics behind (and on top of) their football. There is no unifying thread or insight to make the world’s most popular sport a “theory of globalization”.
Perhaps this is merely my nerdy self talking, but I honestly think that the title held a grandiose premise that was most likely not even going to be adequately addressed. If you’re looking to be entertained, have a go at this one. If you’re looking for academic discourse on football, this might be a bit of a downer.
A bad case of cabin fever?
Real Madrid are headed to Moscow, Russia to face CSKA Moskva in the UEFA Champions League Round of 16, to be played on February 21 (midnight or thereabouts of February 22, Manila time). The boys must be currently suffering from cabin fever, given the quality of photos coming from that trip (see below).
Callejon and Casillas—canteranos represent.
Ricky + Ricky, and that is the ugliest photo of Sami Khedira around (not that he looks good anyway)
Sergio Ramos is totally into bondage. How naught.
Iker and Sergio are totally gorgeous, but Alvaro Arbeloa’s foot totally bombs this photo (I think the appropriate word is “kupal”, haha). Plus check out that smug smile on Xabi’s half-face.
Diez!!!
Real Madrid now have a 10-point cushion as La Liga lideres over Barcelona, following a 4-2 win over Levante this morning. Moreover, this win is on the back of a superb performance from Cristiano Ronaldo. Pichichi.
Hasta el final, vamos Real!
Post-match apologetics and in defense of Luis Suarez.
In the lead-up to this particular Manchester United-Liverpool match, much has been said in view of the return of Luis Suarez following a long spell of a match ban stemming from racist allegations by Patrice Evra.
Of course, these two characters had to set the tone of the match, with Suarez refusing to shake Evra’s hand—naturally, Evra and practically the entire Manchester population had to make a big deal out of it and further vilify Suarez. If any of these maggots were thinking, why should Suarez be coerced into doing something that’s for show? I mean, if someone accused you of being a racist and helped effect an extended ban, why should you shake his hand when there are obviously no feelings of reconciliation?
On the flipside, if Evra were sincere with his gesture, he should have just accepted the cold shoulder and composed himself with grace—which clearly was missing when he yanked Suarez’s arm as he shook David de Gea’s hand.
(Of course, if you ask me for a PR perspective, it would probably have done Suarez better to just shake the cunt’s hand and let his performance on the pitch do the talking.)
Now let’s move onto the match. The first half was rather tentative, with the most entertaining moment being Evra and Rio Ferdinand bumping each other, resulting to Ferdinand going all upside-down. Liverpool’s defense kept up with a couple of shots on goal by Manchester United. The second half, however, was a different story. It was marked by two easy goals from Wayne Rooney (who looks like he had the hair plugs fixed to resemble a faux-hawk). Liverpool did not show up for a good portion of the second half, with Manchester United gaining more possession and more shots on goal.
Liverpool only began to fight in the last 10 minutes of the match, with Luis Suarez scoring at the 81st minute, to make the final score 2-1. Honestly, it didn’t feel like Liverpool was hungry enough for the match. No one else was there to make an impact.
What was more infuriating was how Evra was celebrating after the match. I wouldn’t say anything further about it, but just that he displayed sheer lack of class. At the end of the day, Suarez is still the bigger man than Evra.
Despite all the crap, you’ll never walk alone, Luis.
Feliz Cumpleaños, Calleti!
Such a studmuffin. Really, he personifies the Madridista Swag.
Guess who scored against Getafe?
Real Madrid held on to win 1-0 over Getafe following an early goal from my future ex-boyfriend Sergio Ramos off a Mesut Özil corner. Los Blancos maintain the seven-point cushion they’re enjoying over Barcelona.
And yes, it’s always all too special when The Ramos scores. 
The Opening Credits of ‘The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’
There should be a new awards category—best opening sequence in a film. This one truly deserves it. Also, fantastic work by Trent Reznor, Atticus Ross, and Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on their cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song”. (I liked the U.S. version—gave more meat from the book, plus a hotter Mikael Blomkvist in Daniel Craig and Rooney Mara as Lisbeth Salander is growing on me.)
P.S. I want my own “Fuck You You Fucking Fuck” shirt as well.
P.P.S. I can never listen to Enya the same way again.
RIP Wislawa Szymborska
I love the poetry of Wislawa Szymborska because her words are direct and earthly—as if she shoots straight into the core of one’s emotions, one’s being. Known as the Mozart of Poetry, the woman had been a genius in understatements, yet saying it as it is—sans the fluff.
She may have passed away at age 88, but her words will live on. Let me share two of my favorite Wislawa Szymborska poems.
The Joy of Writing
Why does this written doe bound through these written woods?
For a drink of written water from a spring
whose surface will xerox her soft muzzle?
Why does she lift her head; does she hear something?
Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth,
she pricks up her ears beneath my fingertips.
Silence – this word also rustles across the page
and parts the boughs
that have sprouted from the word “woods.”
Lying in wait, set to pounce on the blank page,
are letters up to no good,
clutches of clauses so subordinate
they’ll never let her get away.
Each drop of ink contains a fair supply
of hunters, equipped with squinting eyes behind their sights,
prepared to swarm the sloping pen at any moment,
surround the doe, and slowly aim their guns.
They forget that what’s here isn’t life.
Other laws, black on white, obtain.
The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,
and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,
full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.
Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.
Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,
not a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof’s full stop.
Is there then a world
where I rule absolutely on fate?
A time I bind with chains of signs?
An existence become endless at my bidding?
The joy of writing.
The power of preserving.
Revenge of a mortal hand.
True Love
True love. Is it normal
is it serious, is it practical?
What does the world get from two people
who exist in a world of their own?
Placed on the same pedestal for no good reason,
drawn randomly from millions but convinced
it had to happen this way – in reward for what?
For nothing.
The light descends from nowhere.
Why on these two and not on others?
Doesn’t this outrage justice? Yes it does.
Doesn’t it disrupt our painstakingly erected principles,
and cast the moral from the peak? Yes on both accounts.
Look at the happy couple.
Couldn’t they at least try to hide it,
fake a little depression for their friends’ sake?
Listen to them laughing – its an insult.
The language they use – deceptively clear.
And their little celebrations, rituals,
the elaborate mutual routines -
it’s obviously a plot behind the human race’s back!
It’s hard even to guess how far things might go
if people start to follow their example.
What could religion and poetry count on?
What would be remembered? What renounced?
Who’d want to stay within bounds?
True love. Is it really necessary?
Tact and common sense tell us to pass over it in silence,
like a scandal in Life’s highest circles.
Perfectly good children are born without its help.
It couldn’t populate the planet in a million years,
it comes along so rarely.
Let the people who never find true love
keep saying that there’s no such thing.
Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.
