Friday, July 28, 2006

Winning At All Co$t

Juventus general manager Luciano Moggi on his way to court, where titles are won or lost in today's sports world.




Today, as we speak (or as I write), Tour de France winner Floyd Landis is giving a press conference in Madrid to defend his innocence in the face of a positive drug test that has already overshadowed his amazing victory and may even lead to the loss of his title, a lengthy suspension, and - combined with his hip problems - the end of his career.

In San Francisco, Giants slugger Barry Bonds has seen his chase for Hank Aaron's home-run record ruined by constant allegations of steroid use, the incarceration of his personal trainer, and a possible indictment of Bonds himself in the coming days and weeks.

Last week in Rome, an appeals committee reduced the punishments handed out to Serie A sides Juventus, AC Milan, Lazio and Fiorentina in the Italian league's much-publicized match-fixing scandal. Juve, the most popular and successful team in Italian soccer, has been relegated to Serie B and penalized 17 points in the coming season. The other three teams will all remain in Serie A, but will also have their own point penalties to overcome this year. Juve's general manager "Lucky" Luciano Moggi was banned from the game for years, as were a number of the referees with whom he and other team administrators were in cahoots. Even the coach of Italy's World Cup-winning side, Marcello Lippi, has been implicated in this controversy and his resignation following the tournament undoubtedly stemmed, at least in part, from the fall-out from this match-fixing investigation.

Testosterone limits, steroid use, indictments, investigations, match-fixing...does this sound like a sports article to you? Well, today, these aren't just excerpts from articles - these are the headlines jumping off the cover pages. In what should be a golden age for sports, what with all the money, media attention, and technological advancements that have made worldwide sports so profitable, plentiful, and accessible via TV and internet, a dark cloud of cheating threatens to tarnish the sports world for the indefinite future. How can this be? How is it possible that these glory days of sports might end up becoming a time to forget?

Unfortunately, it is the newfound riches of modern sports that are the root of the problem itself, as they frequently prove too enticing for others to resist. The sports world began to experience phenomenal growth in the 80s and 90s, as leagues like the NFL, NBA, and English Premiership rose to prominence; meanwhile, international events like the Olympics and the World Cup became worldwide showcases, highlighted by magnetic teams and players such as US basketball's Dream Team and Argentina's Diego Maradona. Sports were booming, fame and fortune was always just one win away and, although this was a positive development in many ways, for some individuals it would prove to be their undoing.

In the early 90s, it was Canadian sprinter Ben Johnson who found the lure of Olympic glory too tempting; a juiced-up Johnson, looking like he was literally about to burst out of his skin, raced to gold in the 100-meter dash before testing positive. In the late 90s, it was Mark McGwire, whose beefy upper-body made Popeye look anorexic, who was unable to resist the fame and fortune that came with being the new home-run champ of baseball; after lasting for 37 years, Roger Maris' record of 61 home runs was suddenly shattered as juiced-up roidheads like McGwire, Bonds, and Sammy Sosa began jacking balls over the fence as if there were honing devices inside them. At the start of the new millenium, it only got worse. Premier cyclists like Jan Ullrich, Richard Virenque, and Marco Pantani were all suspended for drug use; even Lance Armstrong, seven-time Tour winner, continues to be suspected of foul play. Top tennis players like Mariano Puerta and Guillermo Canas were caught for doping. Track star Marion Jones was reported to have taken steroids before the 2000 Olympics in which she won two gold medals. A veritable Hall-of-Fame group of baseball players such as McGwire, Sosa, and Rafael Palmeiro were forced to testify in front of Congress after another steroid-user Jose Canseco wrote a book outlining rampant steroid use in the sport; Yankees slugger Jason Giambi was also implicated in this case. Even at levels of sports where the innocence of it all is the main attraction, Little League baseball stars like Danny Almonte were found to have lied about their age in an attempt to become the best in the world by any means necessary.

As athletes went to new extremes to get an edge on the field, sports administrators were also caught up in a growing web of corruption off the field. In Germany, referee Robert Hoyzer was sentenced to two years in jail for his part in Germany's biggest-ever match-fixing scandal. In the 2002 Olympics, a French judge admitted that she had been part of a plan to award the gold medal in figure skating's pairs competition to Russia in exchange for a return favor from the Russian judges in the ensuing ice dancing competition. In the US, as evidenced by comments by the Dallas Mavericks' Mark Cuban and the Seattle Seahawks' Mike Holmgren, it has become commonplace for owners and coaches to question the honesty and integrity of referees.

In today's sports world, that poisoned apple of fame and fortune is simply too hard to resist for most people. Rather than ushering in a golden age for sports, all of the newfound riches have only caused people to go to new extremes for success. Today, there is just too much at stake, whether it be money or fame or power, for people to resist putting their reputations and careers on the line for a shot at becoming the best in the world. (And in the case of the East German female swimmers of the 80s, even becoming a man was a realistic option) It might not be what anyone wants to hear, but it's becoming awfully hard to enjoy any victories in sports anymore. Nothing is sacred. From baseball's record books to Serie A titles, everything comes with an asterisk. Even the best stories, like Landis' courageous effort in the Tour, seem to come with a grain of salt. For the past month, everyone made a conscious effort to forget about doping in the Tour or match-fixing in Italy to savor the impressive triumphs of Landis and the Azzurri, but now it's back to reality. And, sad but true as it is to say, reality in sports isn't about epic comebacks or inspiring performances anymore. Not today - in today's sports world, cheating is the name of the game.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Lost in the Blogger Wilderness

Due to some website issues, a new post ("Like Yino y Yango") actually appears on the site mixed in with yesterday's two posts, rather than above those older posts and with today's date, where it should be. Got it? No, okay, nevermind.

The point is that, seeing as the soccer muse was working overtime, you are now treated to a mini-history of Real Madrid, Barcelona, and, oh, the entire freakin country of Spain, and I didn't want you to miss it. So just scroll down to it or, if you'd prefer (you lazy bum), click here:

http://worldsoccerblogger.blogspot.com/2006/07/like-yino-y-yango.html

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

And Still More New Unis

Newcastle United: this third jersey, seen here on the left in their Intertoto Cup match, is the early front-runner for best jersey of the season; the sky blue & black combo works for Argentina & now the Geordies have brought it to club football. In fact, I've got to go order those shorts right now.



Juventus: similar to last year's, except with a new collar. Pretty nice - they'll easily be the best dressed team in Serie B.


Liverpool: now sponsored by adidas, the home strip is still classic, the away yellow is hard to miss (although the green sponsor is no good), and the new white third jersey is a throw-back to old Liverpool unis. Well done all around.





Olympique Lyon: few changes from last year's Umbro kit, aside from a new sponsor and the fact that the away red strip looks more like a billboard - seriously, like you'd buy that jersey?

Like Yino y Yango

Beckham congratulates Ronaldinho on his exhibition in the Bernabeu, the latest example of the contrasting fortunes in soccer's greatest rivalry.





There are a lot of great rivalries in world soccer: Celtic-Rangers in Scotland, River-Boca in Argentina, Inter-Milan and Roma-Lazio in Italy, Palmeiras-Corinthians and Flamengo-Vasco in Brazil, Galatasaray-Fenerbahce in Turkey, ManU-Liverpool and Arsenal-Spurs in England, and Marseille-PSG in France all come to mind. What makes these rivalries so special is not always the quality of footie on display, but the passion that they invoke in players, fans, and even impartial spectators alike. Most soccer fans can barely grasp the full depth of the Celtic-Rangers rivalry, but no fan can watch one of their Old Firm battles and not find themselves passionately rooting for one team or the other. And what can set an exceptional rivalry apart from a great one is that the division that it causes can not only be felt within one city, but throughout a country or even the world; the Celtic-Rangers rivalry divides not only Glasgow, but rather permeates all of Scotland, all of Britain, and even other parts of the globe. But as great as all of these rivalries are, there is one 'superclasico' in world soccer that stands out from all the rest: Real Madrid-Barcelona.

Most fans would tell you that what makes Real-Barca so special is the amazing array of talent that is always on display in these Spanish derbies. This past year, the likes of Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Raul, Etoo, Zidane, Deco, Beckham, Xavi, Robinho, Messi, Roberto Carlos, Puyol, Casillas and Larsson all graced the grass of the Bernabeu and Nou Camp. Few rivalries can boast of that much footie firepower, but some can: Juve-Milan and Chelsea-Arsenal can both at least claim to belong in the same conversation, but neither rivalry has half of the national impact, lengthy history, and widespread passion of Real-Barca. For any soccer game to reverberate so strongly in every inch of Spain and other parts of the world, the rivalry must be rooted in something immensely powerful, something that cuts far deeper than anything that takes place on a football pitch - and so it is with Real-Barca.

In Pulp Fiction, Mia is interviewing Vincent before he takes her out to dinner. Wanting to find out what type of person he is before they go out, she says, "My theory is that when it comes to important subjects, there's only two ways a person can answer. For instance, there's two kinds of people in this world, Elvis people and Beatles people. Now Beatles people can like Elvis. And Elvis people can like the Beatles. But nobody likes them both equally. Somewhere you have to make a choice - and that choice tells me who you are." Now Mia might have had some coke issues and an atrocious Fox Force Five joke, but she was right about making choices in life; and the same theory applies to Real-Barca: you have to make a choice - and that choice says a lot about who you are as a person. There might be other rivalries in sports that also carry such weight - Yanks-Red Sox in baseball, for one - but even that doesn't come close to Real-Barca. Take Lakers-Celtics in basketball, add more than a century of history and politics and oppression, spread it out all over the country, and you're still not up to the level of Real-Barca. Like Real-Barca, though, the Lakers-Celtics rivarly involved two of the biggest and most unique cities in the country: you're either an L.A. person or a Boston person, period. You either like the sunny, glitzy, glamourous, laid-back, new-age, clubby, surfer scene of Hollywood or the hard-nosed, working-class, historic, old-fashioned, pub-crawling lifestyle of Beantown. In Spain, the dichotomy of Real-Barca starts there, in the differences between the two cities of Madrid and Barcelona.

You need look no further than a map to start to understand the difference between these two, great cities. Madrid is located right smack in the center of Spain; as such, it considers itself the heart of the country. The main plaza in the city, Plaza del Sol, is viewed as the center of the entire nation, the heart of the country, the starting point from which all roads stem. Ever since Phillip I, son of Charles I of Spain, moved the court from Toledo to Madrid in the 16th century, Madrid has been the capital. Simply put, Madrid is the center of all things Spanish: traditional, historic, and conservative. On the other hand, both geographically speaking and otherwise, Barcelona is as far from Madrid as possible, isolated over on the Northeast coast just off the Mediterranean - it is cosmopilitan, liberal, opinionated, and unique. Although Barcelona might appear to be a Spanish city on the map, it's not that simple.

Ever since the Spanish Civil War, which lasted from 1936-1939, Barcelona, capital of the region of Catalonia, has led the fight for Catalonian independence from Spain. During the war, the Nationalists, led by Francisco Franco, made their base in Madrid, while the Loyalists (of the Second Spanish Republic) mostly came from the Republican strongholds of Asturias, the Basque Country, and Catalonia. The two latter regions were the base for a very strong separatist movement, one that would lose to Franco's Nationalist forces, supported by the Fascist nations of Germany and Italy, and would later have to suffer at the hands of Franco the consequences for daring to want to secede from Spain. After his victory, Franco would go on to rule Spain as a dictator for the next 36 years, during which time he centralized power in Madrid, a move which only made the Catalan independence movement grow stronger. Franco, of course, was a fervent supporter of the capital's team, Real Madrid.

During the war, Barcelona's president Josep Sunyol was killed; after it, Franco would give considerable institutional support to Real, helping to usher the club into a period of incredible successes on the pitch - "los Blancos" would win the European Champions League six times and la Liga a whopping 15 times during Franco's reign (and get more than their fair share of refereeing decisions along the way). While Franco was in power, Real was known as the "Regime Team" and, accordingly, Barca suffered - not only was the Catalan language and flag banned, but Barca never once won the Champions League and suffered through one of the worst periods in club history during the 1960s and 70s. Upon Franco's death in 1975, Barca's fortunes improved. Not only could banners reading "Catalonia is not Spain" be seen in the Nou Camp, but the club signed the Dutchman Johan Cruyff, who endeared himself to Barca's fans off the pitch by giving his son a Catalan name (Jordi) and on it by helping Barca win la Liga for the first time since 1960. Cruyff returned to Barca in the late 80s as manager, assembling what would be known as the "Dream Team" and leading the club into a period of immense success. Coincidence? Maybe, but either way a clear pattern had been established: when Real is doing well, Barca isn't. And vice versa.

With a history so dominated by political division and even a war, it is no wonder that the Real-Barca rivalry is felt throughout Spain. Every fan in the country supports one or the other. In most cases, fans support their local club and then one of the two worldpowers; an 'aficionado' in, say, Sevilla might be a fanatical Real Betis supporter, while also rooting passionately for Real Madrid to beat Barca. In most cases, a fan's choice reflects their political leanings: for example, the vast majority of the fans in the Basque Country, allied with Catalonia in the Civil War, support Barca. When I lived in Spain, I lived just down the street from Madrid's Bernabeu stadium, so naturally I became a fan of Real. Later that year, we travelled to Barcelona for the weekend, hoping to catch the superclasico between Real-Barca; on Saturday night, I donned my classic white Real Madrid jersey and we headed off to the Nou Camp. As we pulled up to the stadium's metro stop, a friendly Barca fan turned to me and said "I'd lose that jersey if I were you - trust me"; as he said that, I could hear the growing roar of fans on the street above - point taken. When we got up to the street, we saw the Real team bus pulling up to the stadium - never have I seen such a torrent of objects: the bus was pelted with a veritable grocery list, from eggs to tomatoes, but also more than a few rocks, one of which shattered a window. The police, surely mostly Barca fans, didn't seem to mind, but from the looks of the ghost-white players seen in the bombarded bus, the Real players thought otherwise. Still, as Real would come to find out a few years later, Barca fans have a thing for throwing some, er, interesting objects when their arch-enemy comes to town.

The Real-Barca rivalry reached a fever pitch in 2000. Real was in the midst of a presidential election when one of the candidates, Florentino Perez, claimed that if he were elected, he would sign Barcelona's superstar winger, Luis Figo. At the time, Figo, the fan favorite of Barca and one of the world's best players, was embroiled in a contract dispute with Barca's president, Joan Gaspart; Perez knew that he could capitalize on this strained relationship, but also on the fact that the Spanish system allows players to be bought simply by a club paying that player's fixed transfer fee with the Spanish soccer federation (and not deal directly with that player's previous club, as is the case in other countries such as England and Italy). Perez also knew that no player in the world would entice Real Madrid fans to vote for him more than the face of Barca, Luis Figo. Perez won in a landslide, deposited Figo's $58 million transfer fee with the federation, and presented Figo to Madrid's ecstatic supporters at the Bernabeu. Barca, both the city and club, was irate. When Figo returned to the Nou Camp for the following year's Real-Barca game, everything from whiskey bottles to a pig's head (yes, you read that right) rained down upon Figo every time he went to take a corner kick. Real would win la Liga that year, followed by their record 9th Champions League title the next year, and then la Liga again in 2002-03; Gaspart never recovered, resigning under unrelenting pressure in 2003.

From 1996 to 2004, the president of Spain was Jose Maria Aznar, a huge Real Madrid fan. Barca's fans would consistently complain of refereeing decisions that went against their club; of course it is easy to cry foul when your team is losing, but some of the decisions were more than a bit surprising. In the 2004 elections, Aznar was defeated by Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero, a Barcelona fan; that same year, Angel Maria Villar was re-elected as president of the Spanish soccer federation. Barca, too, had a new president: Joan Laporta. All of a sudden, the refereeing decisions started took a discernible turn in favor of Barca. Again, this coincided with real, tangible, factual developments in the club, but now it was Real Madrid's turn to cry foul. Barcelona was winning everything: Laporta hired Dutchman Frank Rijkaard as coach, signed Brazilian wunderkind Ronaldinho and, in a stunning turn of events, managed to convince Perez to sell him Cameroonian striker Samuel Etoo, a product of the Real Madrid youth system. The signing of Ronaldinho was also intriguing because originally, Laporta had not wanted the Brazilian; in fact, Laporta had made a Perez-like election promise of signing David Beckham. Beckham, though, turned down Laporta's offer and signed with Real Madrid, so Laporta turned to Ronaldinho. This was a fitting development,since both players are perfect for their respective clubs and their traditions: Beckham is a conservative, image-conscious icon, while Ronaldinho is symbolic of all things Catalan: fun-loving, rebellious, and audacious. Ronaldinho and Etoo, combined with other signings like Rafael Marquez and Deco, as well as youth players like Carles Puyol and Lionel Messi, would go on to lead Barcelona to back-to-back Liga titles and only their second Champions League title in their history. A year ago, during Barca's celebrations, Etoo sent the Madrid fans into uproar and the Barca fans into delirium by chanting "Madrid cabron, saluda al campeon!" ("Madrid you motherf***er, salute the champs!"). Later that year, Ronaldinho was awarded FIFA's World Player of the Year award. And what of Real, you ask? Beckham has yet to win a single title in his first three seasons in Madrid, one of the worst title droughts in club history.

As always, this past year Real played Barca twice. Barca romped to a 3-0 win in Madrid's Bernabeu fortress on the strength of a goal by Etoo and two Ronaldinho masterpieces. In a rare show of good sportsmanship between the two rivals, Madrid's fans couldn't resist applauding Ronaldinho's brilliance (or maybe there were just no pig heads at arm's reach). Meanwhile Madrid, Beckham included, was whistled off the pitch. In the rematch in Barcelona's cavernous Nou Camp, the two teams battled to a draw; Real got a goal from Ronaldo, but some dubious refereeing led to a Ronaldinho penalty and Roberto Carlos red card and Barca went on to get the draw they needed to keep them comfortably ahead of Real in the title race - times, it seems, have changed.

Just last week, the paths of Real and Barca crossed once again. Perez is history now and their new president, Ramon Calderon, wanted to please his new coach, Italian Fabio Capello, by signing some players from his former club, newly relegated Juventus. Calderon and Capello particularly had their eyes on some Juve defenders to shore up Real's porous backline: Fabio Cannavaro, Emerson, and Gianluca Zambrotta. Enter Barca and Laporta, who sent his number-two, Txiki Begiristain, over to Turin to steal Zambrotta out of Real's fingertips. Juve, taking advantage of the situation and rivalry, demanded that Barca agree to purchase aging French defender Lilian Thuram, too. Barca agreed. Now, Barca has upgraded an already powerful squad, while Real is left without a leftback to replace the unhappy Roberto Carlos. As always with Real-Barca, it is a question of black and white, night and day, yin and yang.

In Spain, the rivalry between Real Madrid and Barcelona is far more than just a soccer game - it is a rivalry deeply rooted in history and politics, one that spans the course of a nation torn apart by regional differences, a hatred that permeates that entire country. So this October, when you and a million other aficionados tune in to watch los Blancos battle los Blaugrana, remember that you're watching a game that transcends Ronaldo, Etoo, Beckham, Ronaldinho, Robinho, Messi, Raul and Puyol - you're watching a rivalry that includes everything from Phillip I and Francisco Franco to Luis Figo and a pig's head. Real and Barca are still immersed in a timeless dance that neither one can do without, everyone can play, and no one can resist. After she had finished interviewing him, Mia said to Vincent later that night at dinner, "Now I wanna dance, I wanna win, and I want that trophy - so dance good!" In the passionate rivalries of world soccer, Real and Barca can dance better than anyone.

No More Superlatives

As good as it gets: Bergkamp waves goodbye to the Gunners fans for the final time.





This summer, one of the best players of the past two decades hung up his boots for the last time. As a playmaker, he displayed unparalled grace, poise, and vision, coolly holding onto the ball until the defense opened up and allowed him to make a lethal pass to set up a teammate for the easiest of goals. When deployed as a second striker, his composure under pressure, astounding touch on the ball, and awe-inspiring audacity (few, if any, players in the world made better use of the chip) made him a clinical finisher. There was a subtlety to his game, a simplicity that made the most difficult plays look easy, almost unfairly so. Even as he entered the twilight of his career, his game remained as fresh and insightful as if he had only just been called up from the youth team; never having had much use for power and strength, he relied on his technique and finesse to continue dissecting defenses with amazing precision. For anyone who has ever played pick-up basketball, he had become the old, slow, fading star that ran half as much as everyone else, barely moving half the time, but still always being the deadliest, most feared opponent you could imagine, capable of deciding a game without so much as breaking a sweat. Simply put, his game was timeless.

Zinedine Zidane will go down in history as one of the five best players ever, but there was one other player that compiled a comparable body of work in the past decade: Dennis Bergkamp, star of Holland and Ajax and Arsenal, is the only player that can even be mentioned in the same breath as the great Frenchman. The only blight on the Dutchman's career is that, as fearless as he was on the pitch, he was afraid of flying, a fear so strong that he missed the 2002 World Cup in Japan and Korea as well as almost all of Arsenal's Champions League away games (held across the Channel on the continent). It was this fear that may have prevented the Non-Flying Dutchman from achieving the glory on the international stage that could have catapulted him even higher on the pantheon of all-time greats; he was part of the Dutch generation that, after displaying so much promise, never fulfilled its potential by winning international trophies; at Arsenal, his teams had a habit of crashing out of the Champions League - they were even unable to beat Galatasaray to win the UEFA Cup. All the same, Bergkamp's career needs no apologies or asterisks - he was one of the most beautiful players to watch, a true artist in action, a superstar with no shortage of highlights.

It is a testament to Dennis the Menace's skill and longevity that his career managed to span two of the most glorious periods of Arsenal's history. In the late 90s, Bergkamp was the fulcrum of a team that included Ian Wright, Nwanko Kanu, Emmanuel Petit, and his best friend and fellow Dutchman Marc Overmars. In the next millenium, Bergkamp partnered with Thierry Henry, Patrick Vieira, Robert Pires and Freddie Ljungberg to again pack Arsenal's trophy case to the brim. To this day this latter Arsenal squad remains one of the most jaw-dropping teams ever: the verve of their attacking prowess, roared on by the packed rafters of Highbury, was too much for teams to overcome. No matter how many of his oil rubles he spends, Abramovich's Chelski will never match the beauty of these attacking Arsenal sides, relentlessly pushing men forward into attack, playing with movement and speed reminiscent of Barcelona's Dream Team of the 90s, pouring forth in wave after wave as if they were down by three goals in a Cup final. In 2004, they cruised through an entire Premiership campaign without losing a single match. Around this time, Bergkamp scored a goal that will long last in the memory of every footie fan: against Newcastle United, Bergkamp received a cross from the left on the edge of the penalty area and with a defender, Nikos Dabizas, on his back, he dinked the ball with the inside of his left foot to the right of Dabizas, then spun to the left, cutting around Dabizas' back side, collected the ball and calmly placed it in the corner of the net as if the goalie didn't even exist. It was sublime. If a soccer player is only as good as his first touch, then Bergkamp's control against Argentina in a '98 World Cup quarterfinal surely places him among the all-time greats: he collected a long ball played from the back, took it down smoothly, cut back behind Argentina's Ayala, and blasted in the game-winning goal with only seconds left. And he was not just a finisher: his assist in a Champions League match against Juventus is as shocking a pass as you could ever hope to see. Set to the soothing sounds of Queen, you can catch a glimpse of Bergkamp in all his glory in this video.

Ultimately, as a BBC commentator once remarked, with Bergkamp you simply run out of superlatives. He was one of a kind, a reminder of everything that soccer can be, a true ambassador of the beautiful game. Last week, at Arsenal's new Emirates Stadium, two of his former clubs - Arsenal and Ajax, an epic collection of all-time greats including fellow Dutchmen Johan Cruyff, Frank Rijkaard, and Marco Van Basten, and a dozen of his former teammates, gathered for Bergkamp's farewell match. To say that he will be missed is an understatement, but at this point, I've run out of superlatives.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

More New Unis

Chelsea: Big changes for the Blues (Is there a better color for a soccer team these days? The Azzurri, les Bleus...) - No more Umbro, now it's adidas and it looks like a lighter shade of blue than last year. Best uniforms that oil can buy.



AC Milan: 15 points off the pace and it's only June, Maldini must be in his 40s, and their unis aren't as good as last year's. But hey, the shorts are nice and they'll still beat Inter in the derby.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Addicted to Soccer? I'm your Pusherman

When D.A.R.E. doesn't work - some of the most serious addicts are just kids.






Not to get all nostalgic here, but I remember the day I fell in love with soccer. I had just landed in San Jose, Costa Rica, of all places to spend a month learning Spanish (read, go to the beach & get drunk). An old, chain-smoking man, the father of the family with whom I would be staying (until I fled to the beach) met me at the airport and ushered me out to his rickety scooter. Minutes later, I was holding on to the poor guy like a kid on his first day of school, a task made all the more difficult by the luggage that was sandwiched between us. It was mid-afternoon in San Jose and I was looking forward to getting to the house so I could shower and relax after the long trip. Unfortunately, my chaffeur had other plans. After an uncomfortable half-hour drive to Alajuela, we turned on to a side street and tucked the scooter in between rows and rows of parked cars. Once we had secured my luggage to the scooter, we headed off down the road, following what seemed to be a growing crowd. At around this point, I started to get the idea that we might not be headed back to the house, unless the house consisted of a 40,000 seat stadium packed to the rafters with screaming Costa Ricans. We wove our way through a crowd of rabid fans in red & black jerseys (think AC Milan with a more, um, Central American design) and found our seats (by which I mean a spot on the concrete bleachers where we could squeeze in). The scene was sheer chaos: lit flares exploding all around, constant singing, beer everywhere, a deafening symphony of chants (imagine being a bay leaf thrown into a boiling pot of jambalaya...actually, just imagine a soccer game). My first thought was "damn, there is something way bigger going on here than just a soccer game". My second thought was "wait, why is the scoreboard clock counting down from 3 hours 12 minutes?". Sure enough, this was just the start of the pre-game festivities. Later that night, when it was a major feat for most fans to avoid face-planting down on the bleachers, we watched Alajuela defeat Deportivo Saprissa for the league title. It was well past dawn before I finally made it home to my long-awaited shower - countless beers, dozens of songs, too many death-defying drunken scooter rides to count, and one new passion in life later.

At the time, I was already familiar with soccer, having spent the previous summer in Mexico City (I still remember celebrating with my Mexican amigos after the US shocked Argentina 3-0, only to sit there awkwardly biting my lip a few days later when the US eliminated Mexico on penalties). I had also gotten used to my English relatives in Newcastle getting 1000 times more excited about seeing Peter Beardsley on TV than about seeing me for the first time in five years. Still, I had never seen the type of passion, the communal outpouring of emotion, that was so evident that night in Alajuela. In Philadelphia, Eagles fans go berserk eight days a year (and sometimes a blessed nine or ten days if the team makes the playoffs), but that is far from every weekend. Also, a bunch of inebriated bums yelling E-A-G-L-E-S in the bathroom really doesn't hold a candle to 50,000 Liverpool fans belting out another rendition of "You'll Never Walk Alone". Witnessing first-hand a real soccer match was a glorious rite of passage into a world I had never even known existed - I was hooked. In the next few years, I would find myself right alongside my Newcastle relatives screaming bloody murder at the away fans with the audacity to cheer their team on at St. James Park; I would attend Champions League matches at the Santiago Bernabeu stadium to watch Real Madrid march to their record 7th title; and I would pull all-nighters watching grainy footage of Italian matches in my dorm room at college. Basically, I became a freak. Soccer, at its worst, is something that you might not understand. But at its best, soccer is an addiction that won't leave you alone, a drug that you can't get enough of, a taste of the the lifeblood that flows through the rest of the world, a bad habit that you just can't kick...and wouldn't want to anyway (yes, pun intended).

So who cares about all this? Well, today there was an article by ESPN's Bill Simmons in which the author chose an English team to support during the coming season (and no, he didn't have the good taste or the self-loathing to pick Newcastle). The infectious beauty and passion of soccer on display during the World Cup was like a gateway drug - it's simply impossible to quit now, even though the tournament is over. Simmons ought to tread carefully, though - one day you're enjoying Brazil-France at the World Cup, next thing you know you're hunched over a computer screen at 5am reading a live feed of Rangers-Celtic because the extra $200 you spent on the digital cable soccer package didn't go through yet and you don't want to wait five days to watch the replay on RAI TV. Trust me, coming from someone who's been there and done that, a soccer addiction is a bitch. Dragging your girlfriend to games on trips to Europe when there are about a hundred things she'd rather be doing in Florence. Setting the alarm clock for 2am to watch World Cup games from the Far East. Faking sickness to leave work early so you can line up outside a seedy sports bar to get a glimpse of the Champions League match that was bumped from ESPN in favor of figure skating. It's a rough life, we soccer addicts live, but it's the price we pay to enjoy the only sport that unites the world. There's something comforting about knowing that you're sitting in front of a TV set tuning into the same game as everyone from the Ivory Coast to Korea. Maybe it's because you know that, in some inexplicable way, you really are part of something bigger.

So for anyone going through post-World Cup withdrawal, who's out there looking for another hit of some of that sweet futbol, you don't have to wait too long. All of the same elements that make the World Cup such a glorious occasion are on display every weekend (and some weekdays) - you might have to stomach a ginormous cable bill, but it'll be worth it. Just last night, before they could even recover from la Seleccion's exit from the World Cup, Argentinians had to suffer through River Plate's elimination from la Copa Libertadores. And this week, Europeans biggest clubs like Real Madrid, Chelsea, and Bayern Munich all started pre-season training for the coming season. Heck, Newcastle has already kicked off their season, slumping to a draw against a lowly Norwegian side in their quest to qualify for the UEFA Cup (see, that's the self-loathing part). It's a long road that any budding soccer-addict is headed down, one full of highs and lows and everything in between, and one that might take precedent over everything from the Uffizi to a much-needed shower in Central America...but it'll be all be worth it for the best damn buzz of your life. "I'm your doctor, when in need / you know me, I'm your friend / Your main boy, think & thin / I'm your pusherman..."

Monday, July 17, 2006

The Zidane Ruling

July 2001: Zidane signs with Real Madrid. And the soccer world as we knew it would never be the same.





Way back in 1990, when Hypercolor t-shirts were still cool and grunge music was just starting to sweep the nation, for the first time in world history the most important guy on earth was a Belgian. His name was Jean-Marc Bosman, a soccer player for a club team there. Bosman's contract had expired that year and he wanted to move to a new team in France, but he wasn't able to do so because his Belgian club could not agree on a transfer fee with them. Bosman was stuck, so he took his case to the courts and eventually won in what is now known as the Bosman Ruling. Bosman's victory meant that, from that point on, European soccer players were free to move from one club to another as they desired once their previous contract was up.

There are moments in every sport that change the game in ways that no one before had ever imagined. Some of these moments take place on the court or the field or the diamond, like the the zone defense or the blitz. And some of these moments take place in the courts, like the Bosman Ruling. The game of soccer was forever changed in 1990; 11 years later, it would change again.

If in 1990 the system of free agency had taken the sport by storm, in 2001 an even more shocking and drastic change would take place. Real Madrid's president Florentino Perez had revolutionized the sport by instituting a club policy that dictated that each offseason he would sign the best player in the world. Period. It was an amazingly bold and arrogant policy, since it presumed that the best players in the world would want to play for Real Madrid and that the player's club would be unable to stop them. In 2001, the best player was Zinedine Zidane. At an awards banquet in Monaco, Perez was sitting at a table next to the French star and legend has it that Perez slipped him a napkin asking him if he would like to join Real Madrid. Zidane said yes. Of course, at the time Zidane was still a player for Juventus, only the most popular club in Italy and one of the biggest clubs in the world. To make matters more difficult, Zidane was still under contract there - he had a deal that ran until 2005. Case closed, right? Not so fast. Perez encouraged Zidane to speak to Juventus in an effort to get out of his contract and then leaked the news to the press that Zidane wanted to leave Juve and come to Real. Juventus, despite having the best player in the world under contract for another four years, was caught in a disastrous situation. They couldn't keep Zizou if he didn't want to be there, but why would they sell their prized superstar? And if they were to sell him, how could they possibly get a fair deal since they would have zero leverage to help them bargain for a good deal? The Juventus managers stated that Zidane would not leave for Madrid, but as time went on it was clear that there was little they could do to keep an unhappy player. In July of 2001, Zidane was sold to Real for a then-record fee of $65 million.

In soccer history, the Zidane case might even be more revolutionary than Bosman's because, rather than changing the system to give the players more freedom, the Zidane case simply ignored the system altogether. Who cares about free agency or contracts or any of that? All of a sudden, any player could break any deal at any time to move to a new club. Heck, Ronaldo did it the very next year, moving to Real Madrid, too. So today, despite a system that is full of transfer fees and player clauses and contract extensions, there is nothing more powerful than a player's word. Then again, when you look at all the broken contracts, there is nothing less powerful, either.

This month, now that the World Cup is over, the world transfer market will explode once again. The annual flurry of signings and sales and purchases will begin anew. In fact, it's already begun. Before the World Cup, the team that has replaced Real Madrid as the world's wealthiest and most star-studded club, Chelsea, signed two superstars: the first to sign, Michael Ballack, moved on a Bosman transfer - his contract with Bayern Munich expired at the end of last season; the second, Andriy Shevchenko, pulled a Zidane - he told his club AC Milan that he wanted to move to England and there was nothing that they could do to stop him (like Zidane, who said that his Spanish wife wanted to return home, Sheva made up an excuse to avoid any blame, saying that he wanted his kids to grow up learning English, probably because his wife, an American, also wanted to be in a country where she spoke the language).

In today's soccer world, everyone is a free agent. No one is off-limits. If Real Madrid wants to sign Milan's Kaka, all they have to do is get the player to insist that Milan let him leave. If Chelsea wants Roberto Carlos, well, all they need to do is get their owner Roman Abramovich (the new Perez) to convince the player to ditch his club, Real Madrid (see, times have changed). There used to be a time when the Bosman Ruling seemed earth-shattering, a decision that would change the game forever. And for a time, it did. But today, the Bosman Ruling somehow seems insignificant. Ever since Zidane decided that, contract-be-damned, he wasn't going to wait until 2005 to switch clubs, the game as we know it has done a 180. Sixteen years ago, the clubs had all the power; today, it's the players. After all, who cares about a stupid contract? Not the players that sign them, that's for sure.

So this month, anything is possible. Don't be surprised to see Kaka end up at Real, Roberto Carlos at Chelsea, Ronaldo at Man Utd, Riquelme at Inter, and Cristiano Ronaldo at Barcelona, even though all of those players are under contract with their current clubs. In today's game, one that knows no salary caps or luxury taxes, world soccer is a fantasy sport - you want a player, you can get him. Bosman and Zidane might have hung up their boots, but this summer their influence on the game will reverberate around the soccer world like never before. (And in more ways than one - a guy named Materazzi's still got the bruise to prove it...)

Friday, July 14, 2006

Arena Out, Tinkerbell In?

Will American fans be treated to four years of Coach Klinsi doing his Tinkerbell goal fairy dance on the sidelines? Let's hope so.




In a predictable move, the US Soccer Federation and Bruce Arena decided to go their separate ways today. Realistically, even had the Americans done more in the World Cup than get embarassed by the Czechs, bloodied by the Italians, eliminated by Ghana, and screwed by the refs, Arena's tenure would probably have ended - eight years is an eternity as a national team coach. Still, Arena didn't go out as he would have hoped; his team bitched about him, his best players failed to show up, and he looked like a poor sport on the sidelines. If anything, all Arena did in Germany was present a challenge to Phil Mickelson's best man-boobs in sports. For that reason and more important ones, he will be missed.

Like him or not, Arena was the best coach the US national team has ever had. Even in defeat, Arena got it right: after the Cup, he said that the US cannot expect to contend for the World Cup title with players from MLS. It's just not happening. MLS is a good league, a growing one, and it will continue to get better, but there will never be a time in the next 20-30 years when the quality of soccer in MLS will rival anything in Europe, much less the better leagues in Latin America like Brazil's and Argentina's. Now this statement might upset American soccer fans and make Landon Donovan worry about getting homesick, but it's a fact - American players will improve immeasurably more in Europe than in the US. As a growing soccer country, the US has to do figure out how to improve as quickly as possible; the right answer is not to expect a kid playing in Kansas City to show up in Germany and go toe-to-toe with Ronaldinho - it's to get that kid over to Europe, be it to England or Spain or Germany or Holland or wherever, and let him learn to compete with the world's best week in and week out. Look, it might be great that MLS is able to bring world-class players to the league, but who should our best young players be playing with and against - an over-the-hill star like Youri Djorkaeff or an in-his-prime player like Michael Ballack? You can try to make the case that Clint Dempsey (an MLSer) was the Americans' best player in Germany and that Europe-based players like DaMarcus Beasley and Brian McBride failed to impress, but in no way can you say that the competition in MLS can in any way compete with the quality of play in Europe. If the US really wants to continue to improve and grow into a world power, then the country's best players - Donovan, Dempsey, Mastroeni, etc - need to start competing against the world's best players every week, not every four years. If Arena is able to leave a lasting legacy in US soccer, in addition to the accomplishments of 2002, then here's hoping that it's the insistence that US players leave the comfy confines of MLS and go battle it out with the best in Europe.

When it comes to Arena's successor, there are two options: Juergen Klinsmann and everyone else. Like any US soccer fan with half a brain, I'll take the former. Sorry, but coaches who have taken a team to the World Cup semis don't come around every day in the US. If there's any way the US Soccer Federation can get Klinsi, then they have to do it. If not, well, let's not go there right now - I'd rather dream about Coach Klinsi doing his Tinkerbell dance after Adu scores to put the US in the semis of South Africa 2010. Hey, stranger things have happened...

Bella Italia

Materazzi celebrates the World Cup title the Italian way: in a court, pleading his innocence, hoping for leniency. La vita e bella, no?




You will not find a bigger fan of Italian food, wine, people, culture or vacations than yours truly. You will also not find many people (outside of France) more disappointed that the World Cup will reside in Italy for the next four years. There is no country in the world that, despite its wealth of talent and history of successes, has brought the beautiful game into more disrepute than Italy. From its contribution of catenaccio to the recent Materazzi fiasco, Italy has consistently let its considerable talent become overshadowed by negative tactics, foul play, and now, even corruption. Tonight the verdicts came down in the Serie A scandal: Juve demoted to Serie B (that would be the next one after A), docked an astonishing 30 points in next year's campaign, stripped of its last two scudettos, and its directors suspended for 5 years; Fiorentina demoted to B, docked 12 points, and its directors suspended for 4 years; Lazio demoted to B, docked 7 points (nothing like looking at the standings a month before the season starts to see your team sitting in last place at -7), and its directors suspended for 1 year; and AC Milan is allowed to remain in Serie A, but is banned from the Champions League this year, docked 15 points in the coming season, and its directors banned between 1-3 years. Very harsh punishments, but appropriately so. A slew of referees, too, most prominently Massimo De Sanctis, Italy's representative for the World Cup before a last-minute suspension, have been hit with punishments ranging from 3 months to 4 years. In a related story, everyone's favorite instigator Materazzi spent the day in Zurich pleading his innocence in the Zidane case to FIFA's governing body. Ahh, what a way to celebrate the World Cup!

New Uni Photos

ManU: Simple, classy, new V-neck collar, new sponsor, crest now on white background, Paul Scholes is smaller than a hobbit.




Inter Milan: Your next Italian champions (and maybe last year's, too). Hate the white collar on the home strip, but otherwise good.




Liverpool: Reebok gives way to adidas. Pretty standard - same design as France, Spain, Japan, Germany, Real Madrid...



Liverpool: Away strip will make Spanish contingent (Benitez, Alonso, Garcia...) feel right at home.



Arsenal: Nowhere near as good as last year's maroon centenary shirt. Same design that teams like Valencia will be wearing.


Thursday, July 13, 2006

New Video Evidence of Zidane Headbutt

Zidane leaves the pitch in Berlin, sans Jules Rimet's silverware. But what really happened?




Courtesy of The Register in England (and a loyal reader):

www.theregister.co.uk/2006/07/13/zidane_headbutt_outrage/

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Only 1430 days until South Africa 2010!

Raul models the new adidas Real Madrid kit. Shame he stopped scoring goals for them about three years ago.

As I try to make my way through the post-World Cup daze, er, days, and get rid of this brutal Cup-withdrawal (think "Trainspotting" but substitute heroin for soccer - I see little baby Cannavaros crawling all over the walls), here are some more odds & ends that warrant mentioning:

The new Real Madrid kit

See above. adidas has, not surprisingly, used their standard World Cup design, with only a few minor tweaks. On the right side, level with the team crest on the left, there is a new symbol to remind everyone that Real was voted FIFA's Best Team of the 20th Century - when you don't win any trophies three years in a row, I guess you have to impress people any way you can. Could Real be accused of resting on their laurels, living off the past, etc? Of course, but they've been called worse. Let's recap their year: coach fired in December, president resigns in February, team eliminated from Champions League, Copa del Rey, and falls out of contention in la Liga, new president forced out in May, elections called for July, candidates rip each other to shreds for a month, mail-in vote system is ridiculously suspect (candidates simply collect all of the mail-in votes they can and then present them on election day - no neutral third-party, no notary...) and turns out to be rife with fraud and is eventually suspended, outgoing board of directors refuses to acknowledge new elected president leading to suspicions of favoritism but then caves in to pressure, new president sworn in and then immediately charged with tampering by leading clubs in Europe, crappy new uniform unveiled in July. And when the club has turned into a three-ring circus, what other recourse do you have but to fall back on your past success? Well, you do that and then you sell more jersey space to sponsors - hence the "BENQ" and "SIEMENS", whereas last year it was just the latter. Why not just sell some space on the shorts, socks, and maybe even shoelaces? It works for teams in Mexico. But I digress. The road strip is black and the third jersey is navy blue, which is a nice change from last year's hideous gray shirt. Full review coming in August's WSB edition of Uni Watch.

Klinsmann, Lippi step down

No surprise here. It's always nice to go out on top. Zidane tried, but fell 10 minutes short. Plus, it's hard to get fired up about signing a new contract while you're still coming down off the World Cup high and the next one isn't for another four years. You never got the feeling that Klinsmann would want to spend any more time away from California, so it's only natural for him to want to get back to the Left Coast. And I wonder if Klinsi didn't also know that it couldn't get any better than this: his team had overachieved, they had gotten an easy draw, been inspired by the home crowd, squeaked by Argentina on penalties, almost stole a win from Italy, and done more than anyone expected. Everything fell into place. It was like the perfect storm, but now it would all be different. Everything had done a 180. The players would have to be re-focused on the job at hand and humbled a bit before Euro '08. The fans would want trophies. Expectations were now sky-high. Or he could go out on top, head back to Cali, lay on the beach, and not have to worry about the world making fun of him prancing around like Tinkerbell after every goal. As for Lippi, after what he went through before the Cup (people forget that there was a serious campaign to get him to resign, even more so than there was with Klinsmann), it's understandable that he would want to get out while it's still good. This Serie A scandal is going to dominate the headlines once again, so it's a smart move to get out of the job before the proverbial stinky stuff hits the fan. Which brings me to my next point: is anyone happy that Italy won the World Cup? With the Serie A match-fixing scandal, some of Italy's best players and coach all being implicated, De Rossi's elbow, Grosso's dive vs the Aussies, a poor performance in the final, Materazzi's taunts, and the anti-Semitic graffiti during the celebration...there can't be many people outside the boot who think that the World Cup is in good hands.

Zidane/Materazzi part deux

The thot plickens. In an interview on French TV tonight, Zidane refused to say exactly what Materazzi said to provoke him, other than that the Italian insulted his mother (who is ill) and sister repeatedly and used some very strong words. Zidane said that he tried to ignore him, but Materazzi kept repeating the taunts again and again. Zidane apologized for his violent reaction, but said that he doesn't regret it because it was simply a reaction to very harsh words. Zidane also denied that Materazzi had called him a terrorist, an allegation that had been publicized by the French group SOS Racism and then quoted in a post on this website on Monday - an apology is therefore owed to Materazzi, who was accused of being a racist. What these revelations do not change is the fact that the Zidane incident and what Materazzi said to him has clearly overshadowed the game itself and the Italian victory. What is also clear is that while Zidane may have headbutted Materazzi, the former is still regarded as a great player and class act who simply lost his cool, while the latter is a classless punk whose complete lack of FIFA's esteemed "fair play" provoked Zidane into the headbutt. It is easy for people around the world to criticize Zidane's reaction and claim that such an experienced veteran should never allow himself to be provoked at such a critical juncture of the game, but that is precisely what makes such a reaction understandable: with 10 minutes left in a hotly contested final, Materazzi pinched Zidane's nipple & insulted his seriously ill mother and sister - Zidane did what most people would do: he reacted. If he did anything wrong, it was that he should have directed that header at Materazzi's face.

Zidane/Materazzi part trois

Wanna smash your skull into Materazzi's chest, too? Now you can:

http://www.corriere.it/Primo_Piano/Sport/2006/07_Luglio/10/pop_zidane.shtml

Monday, July 10, 2006

Winners & Losers of the World Cup

Winner or loser? Well, that's an easy one, but who let Marco Materazzi's sister get her hands on all that body paint?




Who's the big winner here tonight at the World Cup? Huh? These guys, that's who. They're winners. They're the big winners. And for every winner, there's a loser, so you know what that means:

Winner: Zizou

Now before you ask me to check myself into the nearest rubber-walled facility so I can sip milk from a straw and play ping-pong for the rest of my days, hear me out. Yes, he went postal, head-butted a guy, and got sent off with 10 minutes left in the Cup final. We knew that Zidane would steal the show - we just didn't know he'd do it like that. Was it wrong? Yes. Inexcusable? Absolutely. A complete and utter act of insanity? Maybe so. But when you've played three magical games to lead your seemingly over-the-hill team to wins (and real wins, like beating-a-team-in-90-minutes wins - no extra time, no penalties, nada de eso) against three of the best squads in the world - Spain, Brazil, and Portugal - and cemeted your place as one of the best players of all time, you're a winner in the minds of most fans. Plus, that was easily the best header of the World Cup.

Loser: Materazzi

After Italy beat Germany by playing four strikers in an effort to avoid penalties, I thought that an old dog might have learned some new tricks. Not so fast. In the final, Italy played a good first half, but a negative, defensive second half. In extra time, they were hanging on against an inspired French team. And their big win was overshadowed by the actions of Materazzi, who reacted to almost giving up the winning goal to one of Zidane's headers by taunting the star into directing the next header at his chest. Right now, what Materazzi said remains a mystery, but accusations of racist comments have been made. Would this racism be an isolated incident? Not exactly. Italy's celebrations were marred by swastikas being spraypainted throughout Rome's Jewish Quarter (Paolo Di Canio better have one heck of an alibi). Zidane head-butted a guy, but everyone still likes him. Materazzi won the World Cup, but everyone still thinks he's a trash-talking punk. And maybe a racist one, too.

Winner: Beckenbauer

The chief of the organizing committee helped Germany put on a great tournament, but also reminded everyone that his is one of the sharpest minds in soccer. He correctly criticized the refs for issuing too many cards, leading his incompetent boss (see below) to change FIFA's orders to clamp down on rough play. He also had the guts to say that the games at this tournament hadn't been all that impressive, with too few goals and too much tentative, defensive play. And Beckenbauer would know - he attended all of them.

Loser: Blatter

He had the right idea in trying to make the games more offensive and entertaining by telling the refs to issue more yellow cards, but then the minute one of the refs (Ivanov) took it too far (issuing 16 cards in the Holland-Portugal game), he caved. From that point on, the refereeing improved dramatically; plus, Marcelo Balboa shut up about the refs for more than 10 seconds. Hopefully FIFA would realize that maybe a week before their showcase tournament isn't the best time to tell refs to start doing things differently than they've done it for the previous four years. Just an idea.

Winner: Argentina

They went down swinging (literally) to ze Germans in the quarters, but they were one of the most enjoyable teams to watch this month. All of their fans were nervous about whether or not they'd even make it out of the Group of Death and avoid another disaster like the one four years ago, a tension that only increased when their coach left veterans like Javier Zanetti & Walter Samuel off the squad; but the team went out and beat a tough Ivory Coast team before putting on the show of the tourney against the hapless Serbs, running out 6-0 winners and scoring the goal of the tourney, a 24-pass exhibition culminated by Cambiasso's powerful drive off of Crespo's back-heel. Stunning. And then, Maxi Rodriguez ripped in another glorious goal to give the Albiceleste the win over Mexico. Even when they lost, they won - any impartial observer would have to be impressed that Argentina outplayed Germany in front of 65,000 rabid Deutschlanders in Berlin. And their passion, as many of their players left the pitch in tears, was indicative of just what a wonderful tourney the World Cup is. One negative: they need to work on their fisticuffs - Maxi looked like a drunk sorority girl shot out of a cannon throwing bitch-slap-esque haymakers against ze Germans. No es bueno.

Loser: Brazil

Everyone thought they'd be winners. As they say in Portuguese, "no". They left Germany looking like a team full of individualistic prima-donnas, not only not playing their patented "jogo bonito" but not even showing as much fighting spirit as a team of kids playing in gym class. Roberto Carlos summed it up by standing still as a statue while Thierry Henry smashed in the winning goal, either not having a clue what to do or not having the requisite determination to do it. When your team plays its best footie in a Nike commercial, well, that's not a good sign. Ronaldinho might be able to juggle forever or pass the ball all over the locker room, but he sure didn't show up in Germany.

Winner: Big Phil Scolari

If you've got one person to coach your country in a World Cup, can there be any doubt that this is the guy? Maybe you could make a case for Guus Hiddink, which reminds me - how much does he regret signing on to become Russia's coach after the World Cup? After what he did with Australia, the guy would have to be first-choice for who-knows-how-many countries, but instead he's stuck in Moscow coaching the likes of, er, Alexei Smertin? Let's go ahead & set the over-under on "Bottles of Vodka Consumed by Hiddink in the Next Month" at 290, okay?

Loser: Sir Alex Ferguson

His star striker stomps on an opponent's cojones and becomes the national villain. His other star striker has a terrible tournament, gets called out by his national team coach, and then benched, reducing his transfer fee by millions. Another striker manages to pick up an automatic-suspension yellow card, ruling him out of the World Cup final. His star winger has a fantastic tournament, but says he wants to go play in Spain - oh, and he's public enemy number one in all of England. And rumors are flying that the World Cup-winning coach of Italy will be taking over as coach of ManU in the near future. Yep, I'd say it was a good month for ManUtd and dear ole Sir Alex.

Winner: UEFA

Europe had four teams make the semifinals. If my math is correct, that's a lot of teams.

Loser: CONCACAF

Three of their teams lost in the first round. Mexico lost in the second round. The US lost to Ghana, Trinidad and Tobago lost to Paraguay, Costa Rica lost to Poland, and Mexico drew with Angola. Yikes.

Winner: Defenders

There were a veritable plethora of big-name attackers that came to Germany ready to strut their stuff, only to be completely stifled by no-name defenders. Defensive mids were the story of the tournament: Frings, Ze Roberto, Mascherano, Alonso, Vieira, Makelele, Gattuso, and Maniche were all excellent. And the centerbacks, like Cannavaro, Terry, Thuram, Gallas, Ayala, Puyol, and Lucio, put on one exhibition after another. Heck, most people outside of his own family hadn't even heard of Fabio Grosso and he had a better World Cup than anyone. No wonder there were so many boring, low-scoring games in the knock-out round.

Loser: Attackers

Where do I start? Ronaldinho, Adriano, Van Nistelrooy, Raul, Messi, Rooney, Pauleta, Trezeguet, Saha, Inzaghi, Gilardino, Drogba, Totti, Ibrahimovic....need I continue? The list of strikers who had a month to forget goes on & on. On the plus side, they all earn more money combined than the GNP of a quarter of the countries in the world.

Winner: Univision

Their ratings must be off the charts after a month when every American with even rudimentary Spanish had to switch over and watch the games on that channel because...

Loser: Anyone not able to watch Univision

I don't know who decided to make Dave O'Brien and Marcelo Balboa the number one commentary team, but I'd like to play darts on his face. What's wrong with Tommy Smyth? The guy has the enthusiasm of Dick Vitale but acutally has a brain to go with it, plus a wicked strong accent. Or Rob Stone, who actually knows the sport of soccer and commentates on it regularly? If it's at all possible for four people to ruin the World Cup for an entire country, then Dave O'Brien, Marcelo Balboa, Markus Merk and Landon Donovan took their best shot at it.

Winner: adidas

Even though all of their uniforms for the Cup basically sucked (save Argentina's), they had two teams make the semis, their "+10" campaign was excellent, and people even stopped bitching about the Teamgeist ball after a while. Somewhere on a dirt pitch in Latin America, Jose is smiling.

Loser: Nike

Their uniforms might be much better than their archrivals (Holland, US, Portugal, Mexico...), but none of their teams made the final, they had to put the brakes on their Brazil ad campaign after the team imploded in the quarters (and start showing commercials with of a basketball-playing rapist juggling with Ronaldinho), and the Cup was held in the home nation of adidas. Word has it that the suits over at Nike are currently plotting ways to arrange Oregon 2022. In the meantime, Nike might even be falling behind another World Cup winner, Puma, who outfitted champions Italy and a slew of other national teams.

Winner: Spain

Like Argentina, Spain played some wonderful soccer before bowing out too soon, per usual. So what's new? Well, for the first time in a long time, la Seleccion managed to acheive what every team in the Cup hopes to do: unite their country behind them, inspire people with their style of play, and bring joy to an entire nation. Spain didn't win this Cup, but - at the risk of sounding like a 2nd-grade gym teacher, they didn't lose, either. Spain is a fragmented nation, one desperately trying to unite its various regions, that historically falls short at big tournaments because the player's regional biases tend to get the better of them (Real Madrid players not getting along with Barcelona's, etc). In Germany, Spain's players locked arms and belted out the national anthem, played an attacking, possession-based style of soccer, and dazzled the worldwide audience with their array of young talent and offensive artistry. 32 teams played in Germany. 31 lost. But some of those 31, like Spain, were victorious in ways that can't be measured by wins and losses.

Loser: England

England advanced just as far as Spain. So why are they losers, you ask? Because England, as opposed to Germany and Portugal, did less with more. No more than two other nations in the world have more talent at their disposal than England, but the Three Lions never looked impressive. Not even once. They disappointed in the group phase, against Ecuador, and against Portugal. The talent didn't gel, the coach couldn't even the manage the egos on an under-10 team, and their young stud left Germany in shame. Even in defeat, Spain won. Even in victory, England lost.

Winner: Cristiano Ronaldo

He dives. He always holds the ball too long & doesn't score nearly enough. He's got hair straight out of an '80's glam-rock band. He always looks like he's about to start bawling. So why is he here? Because he's one of the most exciting players in the world to watch. Other than Zidane and Ronaldinho, who's got better ball-skills than Ronaldo? Exactly. Now if he can only learn to actually put in the back of the net...

Loser: Rooney

You stomp on someone's nuts & you're going down. Loser. Loo-hoo-ser.

Winner: Soccer fans

World Soccer Blogger has burst into your life like a gorgeous lover in a desperate moment of need. Don't deny it - you know you love it.

Loser: Me (insert joke here)

World Cup withdrawal is a bitch. I can't stop twitching, these cold sweats won't stop, I just puked in a trashcan, and I keep having flashbacks of Maxi's goal against Mexico. While I check myself into a soccer-rehab facility, World Soccer Blogger will be taking a few days off to recharge the old battery, but we'll be back with all the info on the European transfer market, a preview of the domestic leagues of England, Italy, and Spain, another comprehensive Uni Watch article, and all the low-down during the upcoming season. It should be a dandy - well, provided we don't have to watch guys get their nuts crushed while Dave O'Brien does commentary...

Cara y Cruz: From "God" to a "dirty terrorist"


Only human after all - Zidane goes out with a bang.


According to the anti-racism group SOS Racism, Italy's Marco Materazzi (alternately called "Maserati" by our esteemed announcers) called France's Zinedine Zidane (alternately called "God" by teammate Thierry Henry) a "dirty terrorist", a taunt that caused Zidane to head-butt the Italian defender and thereby earn a red-card in yesterday's World Cup final, won by the Italians on penalties. Materazzi, predictably, has denied that he ever said that. Zidane has not said anything, but he is expected to speak about the incident in the coming days. There has been no confirmation of the exact comments and there might never be, but there are two certainties: 1) Materazzi must have said something shocking to cause Zidane to react so drastically; 2) An independent, non-partisan group has reliable sources that claim that Materazzi insulted Zidane with a racist slur.

Today I was planning on writing the usual match recap, detailing the highlights of a final game that involved two former champions, countless superstars, and one of the best players ever to lace up a pair of boots in the past few decades. Even as a physical, scrappy match dragged on into extra time knotted at one, I still looked forward to writing about the action: an unbelievably ballsy penalty kick by Zizou, done "a la Panenka", after the Czech player who famously chipped in a penalty kick to beat West Germany in the final of the 1976 European Championships; a quick equalizer by the Azzurri, Materazzi heading in another beautiful Pirlo corner (more importantly, this ruined my prediction of France's 1-0 victory on a goal by Zidane, a pick that proved to be correct for, oh, 17 minutes...); a controversially disallowed goal by Italy's Toni, followed by a non-call on another French penalty claim by les Bleus' Malouda; and in all, a tense, hard-fought battle for the Jules Rimet trophy. It wasn't a match that would make anyone's "Best Ever" list, with the quality of play as much an indictment of the team's nerves as a testament to how evenly matched they were - Italy clearly had the better of the first half, but France responded by controlling the game in the second half and extra time. When a header by the great Zizou was sensationally denied by Buffon deep into the first part of overtime, I was already imagining what I could write about such an intriguing, dramatic World Cup final: Zizou's impressive grand finale, Buffon's game-saving play, Malouda's inspired attacking, Cannavaro's take-no-prisoners defending, Vieira's deflating injury, Materazzi's vital goal...there were storylines galore.

There is an expression in Spanish: "cara y cruz", that refers to the face and the cross, or to the two sides of a coin, the contrast of the good and the bad. In soccer, it tends to refer to the two fortunes of a team or a player or a coach - you can experience both "la cara" y "la cruz" in quick succession, a fact illustrated during this World Cup. Consider Argentina's Maxi Rodriguez, who went from scoring a stunning game-winning goal against Mexico to being suspended for two games for throwing a ridiculous leaping punch at Germany's players after his team's quarterfinal loss. Or England's Wayne Rooney, who went from being his nation's savior to its sinner - miraculously returning from injury to inspire the Three Lions with his direct, tenacious attacks and all-around passion to earning an appalling red card for stomping on an opponent's privates (although most of England has tried to make Cristiano Ronaldo the scapegoat, something tells me that Ricardo Carvalho's nuts would beg to differ). On Sunday, we all began the game with lofty expectations for Zidane's final performance: after dazzling the world with his play over the past fortnight, what could he do for an encore? Seven minutes in, when he showed amazing composure in chipping in a penalty in a World Cup final, it seemed that Zizou could in fact do no wrong. Upon his return to the French national team, Henry famously said that "God lives, and he has just returned to play for France"; maybe Henry wasn't kidding, maybe we were watching a living deity, maybe Zizou was attaining some sort of soccer immortality. But just over an hour later, even the great Zidane was subjected to the cruel duality of "cara" y "cruz". After exchanging words with Materazzi, Zizou stopped in his tracks, turned around, and launched his head into Materazzi's chest. The Argentine ref had no choice: Zidane saw red.

Italy would go on to win the Cup on penalty kicks, finally breaking their penalty curse and once again showing how atrocious, unfair, and anticlimactic it is to decide a winner on penalty kicks, but it was instantly clear that the day's headlines would not be about the Azzurri, Lippi, Buffon, or Cannavaro - the story was Zidane. What happened? Why did he lose his cool at such a pivotal moment? What did Materazzi, a notoriously dirty player, do to provoke him? No one said anything after the match, not Zizou or Materazzi or any of their teammates. It was a mystery, only adding to the intrigue. But then, almost 24 hours later, the truth started to leak out: Materazzi had called Zidane, who hails from the North African nation of Algeria, a "dirty terrorist".

In the weeks leading up to the start of the World Cup, one of the main concerns was whether or not the tournament would be tarnished by the racism that has reared its ugly head in the soccer world in recent years. Germany has obviously been a country that has been the site of so much racism over the course of history, but racism in sports has an extensive background in Germany, too, from Jesse Owens' victory in the 1936 Olympics to the Israeli hostage situation during the 1972 Olympics - the last thing that the Germans wanted was a repeat performance, but there were plenty of incidents in Europe this year to give them cause for concern. Fans in Spain, Italy, and Germany had yelled racist chants, making monkey noises when black players had the ball and throwing banana peels on the pitch; the chants in Zaragoza were so hard to ignore that Barcelona's Samuel Etoo started to walk off the pitch, only to be persuaded to keep on playing. In Italy, Lazio's Paolo Di Canio was suspended for making the Nazi salute to his team's far-right fans. Spain's coach, Luis Aragones, was reprimanded for using a racist insult about France's Henry to encourage his player Jose Antonio Reyes to play better and "show that black s*** that you're better than him" (Reyes and Henry are teammates at Arsenal). France's team was further subjected to racist tension when their country's right-wing politician Le Pen claimed that the French team could not be successful because there were too many black players on the squad, meaning that the team did not reflect the true ethnic make-up of the country. There was no greater nightmare for FIFA, save a terrorist attack, than the fear that their signature tournament would be marred by racism. Henry had joined with other soccer players to lead the fight against racism in soccer and, for all but the last 15 minutes of the tournament, the World Cup had been devoid of any ugly incidents involving racism. Marco Materazzi changed that. And sadly, Zizou could not control his notorious temper (he was sent off in the '98 finals and served a one-game suspension in these finals for accumulated yellow cards). Worse still, Italy's triumph will undoubtedly be overshadowed by their player's racist taunts. But even worse, a World Cup that had put "the beautiful game" on display for one glorious month in Germany will not be remembered for any of its highlights, but rather for a racist punk who ruined it for the rest of us.

And by "us", I mean over a billion soccer fans who watched the game around the world. And that is what's scary. In response to Zidane's head-butt, numerous French journalists wondered on Monday morning what his action would mean to the millions of youngsters who idolized the great star; they asked aloud, "What will we tell the kids? How will we explain what Zidane has done?". But the hard part will not be explaining why Zizou lost his cool - not everyone can calmly walk off the pitch like Etoo or have the composure to stay calm and lead an anti-racism campaign like Henry - the hard part will be explaining how racism is not something that we read about it history books, but something that is everywhere in the world, even on the soccer pitch.

On Sunday, Spain's daily sports newspaper Marca showed a photo of Zidane with a soccer ball beneath the headline "Even she's gonna miss you". And it's true. Not only are there millions of fans who have cherished every chance to watch him play, but the ball will miss Zidane's magic skills. But what we'll all really miss from this tournament is not the great skill of soccer's shining star or a month full of great players and dramatic games, but we'll miss the innocence of it. Soccer is the world's greatest sport not because of the magic that happens on the field, but the beauty of everything that surrounds it: the passion of the fans, the worldwide bonds that it forges, and the emotions that it inspires. Soccer is beautiful because for a moment a war in the Ivory Coast ended so its people could enjoy the team's participation in the World Cup. Soccer is beautiful because a nation like Spain, with players from all its different regions, lock arms and sing their national anthem with a patriotism rarely seen in that country. Soccer is beautiful because England's fans take over a stadium with their deafening renditions of "You'll Never Walk Alone". Soccer is beautiful because Argentina's superstars are reduced to floods of tears after losing to Germany, barely able to walk off the field. Soccer is beautiful for a million reasons, but yesterday, an indelible black mark overshadowed the beauty of the world's game - and it wasn't a headbutt. Racism has the power to black out all of the beauty in soccer. It can't be erased. It can't be explained. And today, when the world should be talking about everything else, it will dominate the headlines.

Today, Zidane was awarded the Golden Ball for the best player of this World Cup. Tonight, Italy's team returned to millions of ecstatic fans in Rome to celebrate their World Cup title. And I won't write about it. And fans won't talk about it. And people won't care about it. Racism is the story of the day.

Friday, July 07, 2006

World Cup Final Preview

Whoever lifts the Jules Rimet trophy on Sunday night, he'll be doing it wearing a hideous jersey. If only it were Holland-USA instead...




And so here we are, finally at the end of a month-long march that saw some fantastic footie, mixed in with the requisite bad refereeing, shocking upsets, and intriguing controversies. So it is only fitting that the two teams that will meet on Sunday in Berlin have been part of it all themselves: France was the victim of two terrible refereeing decisions in the first round and then sprung two consecutive upsets, first over Spain and then the big one against Brazil, in the knock-out phase; Italy was embroiled in controversy even before the tournament started because of the Serie A scandal, but they only added to it with De Rossi's elbow against the US and Grosso's penalty flop against Australia. Therefore it is France and Italy, rather than any of the other powerful teams that have passed through Germany, that will play for the title this weekend because they, more so than anyone else, have known how to navigate the treachurous road to the Final. Consider that eight of the players on these teams (Buffon, Cannavaro, Zambrotta, Camoranesi, Del Piero, Thuram, Vieira, Trezeguet) play for Italy's Juventus, the central figure in the scandal and a club that will be relegated to Serie B at best, but possibly even Serie C (so why the hell did they need to pay off the refs?) - so most, if not all, of these Juve players don't even know where they'll be suiting up next year, but they've all managed to put the distrations aside and lead their teams to the Final. So, aside from the fact that it'll be like watching a Juve scrimmage, how will it play out on Sunday? With two teams so full of great players, it's a tough one to call. So here's a breakdown for you, position by position, in an effort to find out which captain will be raising the Jules Rimet trophy on Sunday night:

Goalie: Advantage ITALY

And it's not even close. Buffon is the best in the world, Barthez is a liability. It was Barthez's fumble against Portugal that gave Luis Figo a point-blank header to tie the game. In the other semi, Buffon made crucial saves against Lukas Podolksi (our favorite "Sound of Music" character) to keep the Azzurri in the game.

Defense: Advantage ITALY

Again, Italy has the best defense in the world. Cannavaro and Zambrotta are the best in the world at their respective positions, the Azzurri would be watching the Final from back home had it not been for Fabio Grosso, and Marco Materazzi and even Andrea Barzagli have deputized capably for the injured Alessandro Nesta. The fact that the Azzurri have only allowed one goal in six games in the tournament - and it was an own goal, no less - says it all. France, though, is no slouch themselves. In Thuram and Gallas, les Bleus have two of the best ten centerbacks in the world. It has been their flawless defending that has made it almost as hard to score against France as it is against Italy - les Bleus have only allowed two goals all tournament, one a fluke goal against South Korea and the other a penalty kick against Spain. On the wings, Sagnol and Abidal have been solid, if unspectacular, and they complete a formidable backline for France.

Midfield: Advantage FRANCE

Zidane, Vieira, Makelele...say no more. Any time you can line up three of the best midfielders EVER, you have the advantage. Zidane is one of the five greatest players in the history of the sport and he will be even more inspired than ever before in his last game ever. Vieira has arguably been the best player in the tournament; and Makelele, subtle as ever, has been vital in breaking down the opponent's attacks. Of course, the Azzurri have a world-class ball-winner of their own in Gennaro Gattuso. It is Gattuso who helps free Andrea Pirlo to direct Italy's attacks. Both Italy and France play a 4-4-1-1 (just as easily described as a 4-5-1 or a 4-2-3-1) and both have wingers who frequently slide into the center when defending and then move out wide to get overlapped by the defensive wingbacks when attacking. This means that you will see Camoranesi, Perrotta, Ribery and Malouda get forward almost less than Zambrotta, Grosso, Sagnol and Abidal. Of the four midfielders, Camoranesi and Ribery get forward the most on the right, while left-backs Grosso and Abidal love to bomb forward ahead of Perrotta and Malouda. These are two very similar teams that play very similar formations - the midfield battle will be very hotly contested on Sunday.

Attack: Advantage FRANCE

It is hard to know how to judge the attacks of these two teams, since in a 4-4-1-1 formation there is clearly one forward, with a player just behind him that can just as easily be called an attacking midfielder as a reserved striker. That role is filled by Zidane and Totti for their respective teams, but we are lumping them in with the midfield; one interesting difference between the teams is that Totti is much more of a striker than Zidane. While the Frenchman is clearly a midfield playmaker, Totti has been fielded as a forward most of his career. But I digress. So up front, Thierry Henry and Luca Toni will be leading the line for France and Italy. Henry is a monster for Arsenal, but has yet to duplicate that form for France. Meanwhile, Toni has put in only great game so far, the 3-0 win over the Ukraine; the big man is a factor whether he scores or not, but Henry is simply deadly up front. If there is one man who can break past Cannavaro and Buffon, it is Henry.

Bench: Advantage ITALY

And it is a clear advantage. France has David Trezeguet on the bench, but Raymond Domenech appears determined not to give the striker any time at all - so far, Govou and Wiltord have had their numbers called ahead of Trezegol. Plus, Louis Saha managed to pick up a silly yellow card in his 10-minute appearance against Portugal, ruling him out of the final. On the other side, Marcello Lippi has a wealth of options, especially attacking ones, at his disposal. Del Piero, Gilardino, and Inzaghi would find their way into the starting lineups for most teams, but not for the Azzurri. In midfield, Lippi can also call on De Rossi if he needs anyone to give Totti a free face lift. All in all, the Azzurri has much more firepower on the bench than les Bleus.

Coach: Advantage ITALY

Another clear advantage. Domenech might look like a college professor, but I still don't think that he's half as smart as one. You get the feeling that the French veterans are just working this out by themselves, doing the coaching on their own. Meanwhile, Lippi has done one of the best, if not the best, coaching jobs in the whole Cup. He has kept his players focused despite the Serie A scandal back home and the suicide attempt of their former teammate Gianluca Pessotto. On the sidelines, he has made all the right moves, especially his ballsy decision to play four strikers at the end of the Germany match, which led to the winning Italy goals and prevented ze Germans from winning on illegitimate penalty kicks yet again. Lippi's performance has been so good that rumor has it that he has been tapped to take over for Sir Alex Ferguson at ManUtd.

Intangibles: PUSH

And this is really what makes these two teams so remarkable: the way that they have both sheltered themselves from all of the controversies, bunkered down, and taken on an "us-against-the-world" attitude for this tournament. Italy's controversies have been well documented, as they have had more obstacles to overcome than any other team in the Cup, and they have more mental strength than anyone. On the other hand, France has dealt with inner strife, outside criticism, and a nation that seemingly gave up on them while they were still in the tournament. Les Bleus came into the Cup off an unimpressive qualifying campaign, during which they were unable to beat the likes of Israel, and most people believed that the team was too old to do anything in Germany. This pessimism was only increased after a selection fiasco - Barcelona's Ludovic Giuly exploding after not being named to the squad (just a few days ago, he claimed Domenech didn't have the cojones to explain why he had been left off the team) - and a training camp blow-up that erupted when goalie Gregory Coupet was told that he would not be starting - Coupet even left the team and had to be talked back into returning for the squad for the Cup. To make matters worse, striker Djibril Cisse broke his leg in the last friendly before the Cup and had to be replaced. All signs pointed to a France debacle and, after two disappointing draws in the first-round, there was no reason to think otherwise. Even the French fans were booing their team. The detestable politician Le Pen went so far as to claim that the French team wasn't winning because they had too many black players in the squad and didn't truly represent the predominantly-white nation of France. And so it was for all of these reasons that yesterday Zidane said that the final is only for the French fans that have supported them all the way, not the many bandwagon jumpers who have latched themselves to the team with each passing victory. There are no two teams in the world with greater unity or mental strength than these two, so it should be no coincidence that one of them will be raising the World Cup trophy on Sunday night.

(Okay, enough, where's the pick? Who's winning this damn thing? Wait, wait for it - this only comes around once every four years...I'm not done just yet...)

Why Italy will win it:

1. Barthez is a liability. No one trusts him in goal. Heck, I don't even think that Barthez trusts himself. Did you see him after Ronaldo's blast and Figo's miss? He looked like he had just woken up. When you're just hoping that your goalie stays awake and doesn't screw up, that's never a good sign.

2. It is impossible to score on Italy - and if you don't score on a team, then the only way to win is on penalties after a scoreless tie. Then again, that is a realistic possibility.

3. France is old, tired, and worn out after a long, hard road to the Final. Les Bleus have played Spain, Brazil, and Portugal to get here, while the Azzurri have only had to beat Australia, the Ukraine, and Germany. So really Italy only has to win two hard games (Germany, France) to win the Cup, while France has to win their fourth really tough game in a row. And if you look at their performances, Italy is playing better and better, culminating in their Germany win, while France seems to have peaked against Brazil - their win over Portugal was far from impressive and France will need to be at their best if they are to win on Sunday.

4. Lippi can outcoach Domenech if he's drugged, blindfolded, handcuffed, and jailed in a Turkish prison. I'm telling you, this French team has gotten here in spite of Domenech. After the Cup, one of the veterans is going to come right out and say that it has been Zidane, Thuram, Vieira, and Makelele that have been leading this team. Mark my words.

5. France's uniforms are hideous. They might have gone on nice little win streak in their away white jersey, but the shirt still looks like it's from the early 90's. I don't know if that spray-paintish fade across the front is meant to be some new take on the French flag, but I don't like it and I can't see them raising the Cup in it.

Why France will win it:

1. I don't trust Marco Materazzi. He performed admirably against ze Germans, but he is nowhere near as good as the injured Nesta and he is a constant risk to get sent off, as he did against Australia. He is a dirty defender, the refs know it, and don't be surprised if Materazzi doesn't see the final whistle from the field on Sunday. Plus, his sideburns are ridiculous.

2. France might not have to score to win it. Everyone's talking about how impregnable the Azzurri defense is, but France can keep the bulge out of de ole onion bag, too. A nil-nil tie is a very distinct possibility. And if this goes to penalties, France is money: Italy has never won at penalties in World Cup history.

3. These two teams met in Euro 2000. Italy led 1-0 most of the game, but in second half injury time, Sylvain Wiltord scored to send it into extra time. With Zidane leading the charge, David Trezeguet scored the golden goal winner. It was one of the most heartbreaking defeats in the history of international tournaments and we all know what happens with history - it repeats itself.

4. Zidane is God. In baseball, people always ask, "If you could have one pitcher to start Game 7 of the World Series, who would it be?" Well, in soccer, it might be "If you could have one player to captain your team in the World Cup Final, who would it be?" My answer would be Zidane. He is one of the best ever, he is clutch, and he is playing some breathtaking footie right now. With him on the pitch, anything is possible.

5. Italy's uniforms are hideous. In fact, they were rated the worst in the tourney by yours truly way back when this whole shindig got started last month. The gold numbers are bad, the all-blue looks like crap, and the dark blue armpits make it look like all these guys haveforgot to put on deoderant. I refuse to even contemplate the possibility that the Azzurri will raise the trophy wearing such a revolting shirt.

(Ahhh, enough already! Who's winning this damn thing?)

Even though most people (66% according to most online polls) have been picking the Azzurri, I think that this one will be far closer than people expect. I have a hard time imagining that Domenech might be able to coach any team, no matter how stocked with talent, to a World Cup title, but they'll win it in spite of him. And after all the breakdowns and all the analysis, you can throw it all in the trash because the fact is that, after what we've seen over the past couple weeks, it all comes down to one simple fact: I can't pick against Zidane. Period.

The pick: France 1-0, goal by Zidane.