The Cup of Life

Having watched football for over a decade now, I was quite confident that I’d watched all kinds of violence in the relatively tame European football. Of course, Joey Barton gave us all kinds of off-field violence, including dousing his lit cigarette in his teammate’s eye. European football is quite tame, protecting players from even raised studs by immediately declaring fouls for such an offence. I’ve even seen the relatively rare studs-up challenges which have resulted in broken legs and broken ankles. Elbowing isn’t seen too often, but it is prevalent.

International football’s most famous incident will always be French and Real Madrid great Zinedine Zidane’s head butt on villainous Italian defender Marco Materazzi. There has been no incident that has been covered in greater detail, no foul which has had a greater impact on football, no stage greater than the finals of the FIFA World Cup, than this straight red card in the France vs. Italy World Cup 2006 final. Eight years have passed, and there is still no clarity on what Materazzi said that caused Zidane to head butt him. Even though this happened in the 110^th minute, just a few minutes before the teams went to a penalty shoot-out, Zidane was the fulcrum of the mental strength of the French side. Without their penalty-taking maestro, the French national team collapsed in the penalty shoot-out with David Trezeguet missing a vital penalty to hand Italy the World Cup. Did exhaustion get the better of Zidane? Did Materazzi really have something “foul” to say to Zidane? We might never know.

Another one of those horrible World Cup matches was termed The Battle of Nuremberg. It was a Round of 16 game between Portugal and The Netherlands at the 2006 FIFA World Cup. This match set a record for the highest number of sending-offs and yellow cards in a single match. There were 4 red cards and an astonishing 16 yellow cards in this ill-tempered match. Deco and Costinha were sent off for Portugal, and Boulahrouz and van Bronckhorst for the Dutch. Even though the Portuguese won the match, the number of players with single yellow cards who would later be suspended for the semi-finals was too huge for them to overcome. The Netherlands were similarly horrible in the final game of the 2010 World Cup where Nigel de Jong only received a free-kick against him for a chest high tackle on Spain’s Xabi Alonso.

This brings me to my real reason for writing this post. The minute I saw Suarez bite Chiellini, I knew that that was the end of the World Cup for the Uruguayan maniac/genius. He had bit far too many people before. Luis Suarez had already been suspended for 10 matches for biting Branislav Ivanovic in an FA Cup game. This time, he has been banned for 9 matches and 4 months. This means that he will miss the rest of Uruguay’s campaign in the World Cup and 10 matches for Liverpool in the PL season as well as Liverpool’s whole group stage at the Champions League. It is a pity why such a brilliant player has to resort to such childish tricks to gain attention. Unfortunately, that same player is going to miss the biggest stages of football due to indiscipline.

 

Shine On Me!

If I’d known about this song back when I was ill, I’d relate to the lyrics of this song. Fortunately, when I see my future, I don’t see a dead man any more. While my academic future lies in tatters, my life, as a whole is enjoyable and fulfilling. Even though I’m in a course in which I don’t see any future for myself, it’s a relatively easy course which enables me to pursue my first love, football.

Football was something I played during my year and a half in engineering and even before that. My love for watching football back then was much greater than it is now, but my love for playing football still persists. After a severely draining illness, I’d wondered if I’d ever play football again.

Fast forward in time to my current predicament. I play football atleast thrice a week, and I need to give credit where it is due. I’d never have been able to play football without the encouragement of everyone around me. The friends I play with are so encouraging and so flexible that I never feel like I’m a shit player. Granted, I was never a good player, but being out of the game for 4 years or so makes you a lot worse and unaware of positioning. With my increased weight (read, I’m a balloon), my stamina has also reduced drastically. But everyone in our Wadi team is so good that they never make me feel worthless. All credit to everyone I play with. Special mention at the end for everyone 😉

It feels good to be getting some form of exercise and it’s also nice to lose weight without dieting. So, I hope to resolve my problems with my ingrown toenail and play for a longer while in the months to come. It feels good to put in a few good tackles and thread a nice through ball atleast once every game.

Thank you, PWFC people. Special mentions include Raj, Sahyad, Vaishak, Illu, Ganu, Shravin, Aakash, Bokya, Galu, Aniket, Sakhare and everyone else who becomes a goalkeeper or switches back when I feel tired running around like a headless chicken.

Also, link to Shine On Me by the best band no one’s ever heard of, Kingston Wall:

 

Screaming For Vengeance

Okay, I was just watching the United-Birmingham game today, and I decided that enough is enough. No, I was not full after stuffing myself with a chocolate brownie. I had had enough of players who are sneaky and deserve to have their balls chopped off. I have also had enough of players who are absolute scumbags. The list, put out henceforth, is opinion-based only, and the players will be categorized accordingly.

The order in which they appear is not necessarily the order in which I hate them, but oh well…

1. Patrice Evra – Balls chopped off

Just looking at that ugly mug makes me want to puke. I’m not saying he’s a terrible player, just that his balls are dispensable. His work-ethic is good, no doubt. But more often than no, he scythes people off the ground. Then he lifts that detestable face up to the officials, and asks, in what he assumes is an innocent face, but is actually a good imitation of an Indian pig, as to what the matter is with his “good” tackle. Can never be forgiven for countless Stamford Bridge fracas, for which he ended up being punished. And good riddance to bad rubbish there.

2. Stephen Hunt – Balls chopped off

Another personal vendetta for Chelsea fans is to boo Hunt till he sinks into the ground, sorry for what he did. Courtesy is definitely not a word in this c*nt’s dictionary, guilty for smashin Cech’s skull in with his knee, yet even failing to acknowledge that he made a mistake and apologising to Cech. The smile with which he ran off afterwards, without so much as a rap on his knuckles from the FA, deserves to be toothless, hopefully from a nice punch some guy’ll give him. Nasty, nasty player.

3. Michael Brown – Balls chopped off

I doubt many people know this guy, but he’s played for Wigan before, and is now warming the bench at Fulham. Easily the player I hate most in the EPL. Sneaky tackler, ugly brawler, no respect for the opposing players, all add up to a terrible footballer and an even worse professional.

4. Paul Scholes – Total scumbag (On the pitch)

A classy player going forward. Defensively, he’s just as terrible. Terrible here doesn’t mean he can’t play. This guy has played in the league for 20 years, yet he has never learned how to tackle. He just raps most players across the knee, and then thinks he’s not committed a foul. Terrible tackles, and even worse attitude. Don’t know how people actually like him.

5. Ashley Cole – Total scumbag (Off the pitch)

Cheats on Cheryl Cole. Money-hungry. Does it get worse?

6. Javier Mascherano – Total scumbag (On the pitch)

Again, sneaky tackler. Maybe he’s a good thing for Liverpool, but I’ve always hated players like him. Dick up your ass, man.

Bluesy Boos?

17th January 2009

One of those rare days. Hope days like these never come again. Faith doubted is faith lost. Or is it? Match-day 21. Chelsea playing Stoke at the Bridge. Half a year ago, 3 points guaranteed. Present state, Chelsea at home? Who the heck are they? From being the side with the greatest mental strength in Europe to a stuttering, faltering side who struggle to beat newly-promoted teams at home. Wait, what was that?

I grab my place in front of the idiot box. Saturdays and Sundays are the days I refuse to hand the remote over to my parents (or sister as is the case currently). The remote follows me over the place a la Mary and her Little Lamb. Not that I’m Mary, but I know you guys aren’t stupid enough for direct comparisons. You don’t look it, that you might be is an altogether different matter. It even accompanies me to the toilet. No kidding.

So, as I said, Me in front of the box. Curse Scolari a few times. Stupid team selection. What the fvck is he doing with a 4-3-3 having 3 strikers out of which only one can score without placing a nude model in front of the goal? Not that I want Diver-boy to play.

Out of the 3, even my grandmother could play better than Malouda. I still wonder why Scolari continues to pick him. Same with Ballack. No doubt he was a brilliant player in his prime, which is now past. Now, he just passes the ball to the other team. Lousy.

Not the reason to lose faith in the team now, is there? But having the horrible personnel that it had, even then Chelsea had to beat Stoke City, you would think. But no, might Chelsea had to scrape and sqeak and whimper their way around. No doubt they dominated the match, but the created enough chances to feed a couple of dormice. No life in the game. No passion for the game. No determination to win. Just a few men plodding around in elderly fashion trying to entertain a couple of footballers. First time I ever switched a TV off before a Chelsea match ended.

Not done. Tried to tell my parents how horrible my team was playing. My parents suggested I stop being so emotional about a football team. What else do I be emotional about? They even suggested switching teams. The very blasphemous idea chilled me to the bone. Change teams?! Never in the world.

The result is this post.

Blue Is The Blood!

Going to start a new blog on my favourite football club, Chelsea FC. People interested in contributing please leave comments in this post. That way, I’ll increase the number of comments, plus get valuable contributions from you guys. 😀 Hopefully, I’ll crunch some keys faithfully.

The Humongous Aston Villa Conspiracy Theory

I get pretty boring writing about the same topics don’t I? Football, music, books, etcetera. Well, I continue with my passions and will try to enthuse you with a post on football. Being a pessimistic and negative person, I find faults and conspiracies easily where other people would be hard done by.

I am going to base this post on a certain club in the English Premier League  whose fortunes have improved since the arrival of their not-so-new manager in 2006. Of course, the takeover of the club by an American businessman hasn’t hindered their progress either.

Disclaimer : This so-called conspiracy is only fanciful thinking on my behalf and is not, in any way, possible or feasible. Completely fictional, I assure you.

Now then, I’m talking about Aston Villa Football Club, based in Aston in Birmingham. Aston Villa have had a very eventful half-decade. A change in ownership has seen a takeover which has resulted in a change in the manager. The year was 2006 when Celtic managerial legend Martin O’Neill took over. Of course, Villa were in bad shape then, suffering from poor transfers and a habitual anchorage in the bottom half of the table.

Manager O’Neill took the bull by the horns and made widespread changes in the squad, leading to a hugely successful team high on confidence and talent, and having youth on their side. You might think, where IS the conspiracy in all this?

The conspiracy lies in the squad itself. Now isn’t it pretty suspicious that a Irish manager will go about looking for talented English players, paying highly inflated transfer fees to secure their services? Look at the squad and you will find an abundance of the best English talent. An Irish manager is inclined to buy players he knows better, a la Roy Keane, whose squad requirements either included being an ex-Manchester United player or of Irish origin. The current Aston Villa Squad contains ONLY 9 players of foreign origins out of a total of 29. Of course, I’m counting Scottish, Welsh or Irish as foreign. That, in itself, is not extremely suspicious.

Luke Young

Steve Sidwell

Gabriel Agbonlahor

Ashley Young

James Milner

Marlon Harewood

Curtis Davies

Zat Knight

Wayne Routledge

Nigel Reo-Coker

Nickey Shorey

All these players were bought during O’Neill’s reign. Just before O’Neill signed for Aston Villa, Michel Platini became the President of the UEFA. Soon after becoming President, he had declared that the English game was being destroyed by the surplus foreign talent setting the Premiership alight. He resolved to fix it by introducing limits on the number of foreign players in the starting line-up.

Though the idea hasn’t worked out as yet, there is still a lingering suspicion that, some day, Platini might have his way. This is where O’Neill’s surplus English talent comes in. The EPL has many clubs buying and rearing a lot of foreign talent, notably the Big Four. Arsenal, particularly, has only a few Englishmen in its entire squad, being a French team essentially. 😛 If and when this rule comes into execution, it will mean grossly inflated prices for English footballers. Though Aston Villa are in no way poor, extra cash ne’er harmed anyone, did it? British players will then find pride of place in the transfer market, having being ignored in recent times. If all this does happen, it will lead to a lot of acrimony between clubs, a lot of tapping-up of players (remember the incident involving Cashley?) and a lot of other negative points. The only club revelling in all this will be Aston Villa, holding some of the best English talent on the planet.

Decidedly, if all this buying of English players is unintentional, kudos to Aston Villa for encouraging the country’s best footballers.

And I repeat, all this is only a figment of my imagination.