Not Real Football

I did write last time about what I enjoyed about the World Cup. However, the soccer world was left in a scandal after what happened with France's star player, Zinadine Zidane. This, of course, was played numerous times on ESPN and all sports broadcasts, whether they gave a damn about the sport or not. Most likely you saw it, Zidane headbutting an Italian defender in the closing minutes of the game.

I wondered how a class player, who has played in numerous tournaments, won championships and had been showered with accolades, could lose his cool. It's been reported that the Italian player was constantly insulting Zidane and his family, with rumors saying he called Zidane's family terrorists. Whichever reason it is, it is still puzzling why he chose the retaliatory method of a headbutt, and to the sternum nonetheless.

There had to have been other methods that could have worked. Maybe something more discreet.

(Yes, that's actor Vinnie Jones.)

Or maybe Zidane could have retaliated in some way that resembled him playing the game.



Either way, Zidane might have been caught, carded, and sent off. Maybe if he kept his cool, he could have truly gotten the Italians back (who in my opinion did not deserve to win) by drilling a much needed penalty shot to the back of the net.

If that would have been the case, though, France might have won a much deserved championship (especially since they knocked off Brazil convincingly), and I wouldn't have been given this great piece of entertainment.

Real Football

I thoroughly enjoyed the World Cup this time around, especially since the airtimes were better than 2002's, when I could barely roll out of bed at 4 A.M. to catch a game. This time, I watched as many as I could, and at the end of a day's worth of watching, I still had time to run errands, go to the beach, and contemplate writing on my blog.

Football (by football, I mean soccer, since more feet touch the ball than anything else) was my favorite sport growing up, all the way until I played my last organized game in high school.

Watching these nations' teams compete got intense. I found myself rooting for the underdogs, cheering on Ghana and Australia and anyone that played Brazil. The myriad of fans from all nations watching each game goes to show that this is more than a sport to them. Countries' with old rivalries come out in support (see Poland versus Germany). The tournament also has such an impact that countries aren't functioning the same. Mexico's presidential campaigns, where the election came right after the World Cup, were slowed to an almost halt, as the nation watched Mexico move into the Round of 16 and pressure to get into the quarters. Côte d'Ivoire's civil war was put on hold, a cease fire in place, as their citizens watched their team play in a tough group, taking on the likes of Argentina and the Dutch. Unfortunately, the team couldn't move out of group play, which I guess means it's Game On back in the Ivory Coast. But my point is football created peace, if only for a little while.

I curse all the Americans who curse the sport for the lack of usage of hands. It can't be anymore silly than armored warriors knocking each other up and down a field of lines and dashes or grown men bouncing an orange ball on polished wood paneling. But there is so much skill that people don't see in the world's game. Even if it's not a disc of vulcanized rubber coming at you at 90 miles per hour, let's see you stop a ball sailing at your head or chest and drop it to your feet. Let's see you put a bend on a ball, letting it sail to the top corner of a goal. Let's see you run, walk, sprint, and jog for an almost uninterrupted 90 minutes, then, if there's overtime, continue on for another half hour. That's right—no commercial breaks, no time-outs.

Each goal is a celebration. Sure the scoring isn't as high as basketball, but anytime there is a goal in football, it's a monumental achievement, unlike the cheers for a slam dunk which is equal to a jump shot from the key. Each goal I figure is worth a touchdown and a field goal, and imagine if you get two in one game (that happened only a couple of times this World Cup).

It's not perfect, mind you (see the results of this year's tournament). If there were two things I could change in the world's sport, it'd be the diving that occurs out there as players exagerrate as they are tripped and fouled. The other is that there is too much power given to referees who can change the outcome of a game with one blow of the whistle (see Australia versus Italy). But it has a lot more to offer than other sports. There's a cultural presence when it comes to the World Cup, backed by nations' pride. If only the U.S. could start taking it more seriously, maybe when we go out and lose to other countries, they'll forgive us just a bit for the "President" we have.

An Inspiration Gone

A founding member of one of my top 5 bands died this past week. He was a star for only so long, a short period of time in the '60s.

Back then, Pink Floyd was a budding psychedelic band, with Syd Barrett at the helm, writing and singing away. His creativity was growing before fame took hold of him, and when it did, he started fading away.

It started with a hit single, "See Emily Play," a song with trippy fills from harpsichords and organs between verses. I love the first full album that followed, "The Piper at the Gates of Dawn." When comparing it to the band's heavily played, more popular, conceptual latter albums, you are surprised, wondering from where the mellow, progressive sound came. But the creative thought was there in its members, and it started with Syd Barrett at this step into psychedelia, willing to venture into places that many others had yet to go. The album showed signs of the band's willingness to experiment with soundscapes weaving between melodies and a dependence on keyboards as a primary instrument. My personal favorite is the last track, "Bike," playful in its lyrics, instrumentation, and time signatures.

Without Syd Barrett, Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" album would be incomplete, filled with gaping holes. The title track, a guitar driven ballad sent out to Barrett from the remaining members, would be missing, and "Shine on You Crazy Diamond," would not exist. Barrett's and bandmate Roger Waters' real life experiences helped Pink Floyd conceptualize "The Wall," the band's epic work.

Syd, even as people listen to "Atom Heart Mother," "Dark Side...", "Animals," and the band's other albums, they will hear your inspiration. Thank you for helping change music. Shine on.

Flojo

That's what I've become. I've felt I'm in a state of lethargy. I haven't written anything new on this blog for weeks, almost a month. I can't allow myself to be lazy like this—waking at 6 to watch World Cup matches, going for a run and the gym before the noon World Cup matches, reading articles on hockey, then watching films with which USC says I should be familiar. (Like hell I'm watching Clueless).

Yes, I've been running and working out. And despite running 4-5 miles each time I run, despite bench presses, curls, and crunches, I am slothful.

I am lazy because I'm not writing, because I'm not challenging my brain. Hell, I could go be a triathlete if I set my body to it. I could devote hours upon hours to my muscles and tendons. But my brain's most important. I need my mind to continue to grow and strengthen. If my thinking doesn't flourish then I'm as simple as those that feel they must spend 5 hours a day at 24 Hour Fitness moving from dumbbells to leg presses. The strength of my mind is my esteem.

Even something as simple as writing the two words below this paragraph gets my mind working. I wonder how those words will be viewed. Will readers catch their irony? Am I being sincere. How much do I believe that's what I am at all? Is anyone going to read this or am I purely writing this pair of words for me? I need to keep writing I know. Otherwise, I know what I'll become.

Lazy ass.

Positive Attributes

Recently, the Counselor and I were discussing the school year, comparing it to last year's when I worked at her high school. I brought up an aide that worked in my classroom, Ms. Cerda. She was the best aide I had in my years of education, always helping, taking the initiative to assist students with assignments, never sitting around and waiting for me to give her instructions. She also helped me greatly by translating instructions to my ESL students.

The Counselor disagreed, saying that Ms. Cerda started the year that way, but ended it by slacking off on her duties.

I gave specific examples of the aforementioned praise and I threw in how cute Ms. Cerda is.

The Counselor rolled her eyes in contention. "She has too many freckles."

"Aren't freckles supposed to be cute?" I said, knowing my trusted friend Mica would back me up on that.

The Counselor thought for a moment, shrugged, and admitted that Ms. Cerda had her positive attributes.

Something I adore about the Counselor is that we can talk about another woman's attractiveness freely; also she makes frequent acute observations. More than anything, though, I am grateful to her, for now I can use, with impunity and thus without hesitation, the term "bodacious set of tatas."