Greetings, gentle readers.
Sometime in the hopefully not too-distant future, I'll invent a gravitational field generator which will allow me to penetrate the fabric of space-time and allow me to return to the past. Why? If for no other reason, money. Scads and scads of wonga. Filthy lucre. This year saw some of the most incredible underdog, unlikely long-shot, and unbelievable cinderella stories in sports history. Anyone who laid money on the most unheralded possibilities would have made an absolute mint. Anywhere in the world.
In South America, Once Caldas, a relatively unknown team from Colombia, won the Copa Libertadores, wresting it from all the superpower teams in Chilé, Brazil, and Argentina. In North America, the Boston Red Sox broke an 86 year jinx to win the curiously named World Series against the most expensive team in North American professional sports, the New York Yankees. Earlier in the same baseball season, 40 year-old Randy Johnson pitched a perfect game. The Tampa Bay Lightning won the Stanley Cup in ice hockey. Let me repeat that. A Florida expansion team won the most prestigious club cometition in ice hockey history against fellow underdog Calgary Flames, who have one of the lowest payrolls in the NHL. The Toronto Argonauts, rank outsiders at best, won North America's oldest club competition in the CFL Grey Cup. In Europe, FC Porto met fellow long-shots AS Monaco in the Champions' League Final game and won, astounding and baffling huge-spending teams like Arsenal, Chelsea, Réal Madrid, Internazionale, AC Milan, Barcelona, Bayern Munich and Juventus. Argentina won their first-ever Olympic football gold medal. And Greece - the least favoured of all the teams in the entire competition with the possible exception of Latvia - captured the European Championship crown.
A year of upsets, reversals, and statistical anomalies, to be sure. It made for some stomach-churning emotional roller-coasters, but when the Davids toppled the Goliaths over and over again, it brought back some of the romance of the entire concept of sport. That any group of people playing as a team, on any given day, could emerge triumphant against the forces of determinism. Sport is about passion and commitment. It's about the human spirit striving for excellence. And you can't put a price-tag or a probability factor on that. 11 well-trained and organized Greeks, marshalled by an iron-willed German triumphed over the highly touted, and extravagantly paid superstars of the host team of Portugal. Twice. In the same tournament. A group of colleagues whose primary ambition was to make their country proud, and with a blazing desire to play for their teammates overthrew an all-star team containing some of the greatest talent of their age. As with the Boston Red Sox, and with Once Caldas, it wasn't simply a case of grit over technique, it was a case of teams triumphing over individuals.
One might notice that when watching adverts for American professional team sports, television networks and advertisers tend to glorify the indivdual. It's not the Miami Heat vs. the Indiana Pacers, it's SHAQUILLE O'NEAL and his Miami Heat taking on REGGIE MILLER and his Indiana Pacers. The quest for the superstar not only simplifies things for the presumably simple-minded public so they don't have to worry about knowing all those names on the team, but also creates marketing icons that can be used to flog all sorts of overpriced athletic rubbish. That sort of philosophy can be best demonstrated in the contrasting philosophies of two companies - Nike and Adidas. Nike adverts revel in the accomplishment of the single athlete. Their basketball commercials are almost invariably one-one one competitions, including the Michael Jordan ad several years ago where retiring Michael plays himself, fifteen years younger. Purchasing Nike products, they suggest, gives one the power to excel and be the best. Alone. Unfettered by pesky teammates or an annoying supporting cast to steal one's limelight. Adidas adverts, on the other hand, celebrate team achievement. Is this a European vs. North American concept? Odd that a continent which has been so focused on divisiveness for the better part of a millenia should start to grasp the importance of the unifications of Germany and Italy almost 150 years ago now, while the Americans are still floundering around in the concept of nationalism. Relative maturity of civilizations, one might suspect.
In recent news, Liverpool thrashed poor West Bromwich Albion on Boxing Day. If I wasn't so exuberant about the 'Pool winning just their second away match of the season in the Premier Division, I would feel sorry for the poor Baggies who are staring relegation in the face, and looked like Liliputians facing Brobdingnagians against the Merseysiders. If their manager Bryan Robson hadn't spent most of his playing career in crutches, he would have lived up to his title as "Captain Marvel" for England. As it stands, he took control of a team in a downward spiral and has not won a game since. He's driving the team bus and it's going express. Down. Their promotion to the big league now looks to be a rather large fluke, and the communal hesitancy and lack of confidence against the established teams has now turned from speculation to fact.
Lamentably for Albion fans, their team had about as much bite as an earthworm, and their defensive shape collapsed immediately after Cosmin Contra decided that he'd rather play volleyball than football, and was consequently sent off with a red card.
Liverpool could already have been predicted winners because, despite having a number of starters missing, the cobbled-together team had Albion chasing shadows from the get go, with John-Arne Riise the most bloodthirsty of the lot, and Stevie G once more the father of invention from midfield. Once down to ten men, the Baggies were like a bleeding calf to a school of piranha. There are two important things to draw from this result from a Liverpool point of view. From an Albion point of view, the only conclusion to draw is that the opposition in the League Championship (formerly Division 1) should be scouted now, before relegation changes from possibility to fact. In terms of the Reds, two things are important: it's always great to run up the occasional cricket score to bolster the confidence of your forward players and it's always nice to keep a clean sheet while doing so; and two, the win was so comfortable that lads like Steve Finnan, Milan Baros and Stevie G were able to sub off the pitch early and thus not expend all of their energy ahead of the game against Southampton on Tuesday.
This leads nicely into the next segment: Predictions. Liverpool over So'ton. I say 4-1, because James Beattie always poaches one about every second game, and he's overdue. Stevie G has got to be chomping at the proverbial bit, having only scored once on four good attempts against WBA and the Riise is so over-full with confidence that he'll shoot on a clearance from his own end. Everyone wants to jump on the bus, and everyone wants to score. Enthusiasm is infectious.
Next: remember when I said that Barcelona would win La Liga? Who doubted me? Hang your heads. When I said they'd get turfed from the Copa Del Rey, who thought I was mad? Rue your poor judgement, little ones. And as for transfers, it looks as though Madrid will want to hang on to St. Michael, seeing as how he's spared them blushes in at least five games already this season, so I'd plump for Morientes from Madrid if I were on the board at LFC. Morientes and Mellor would be evil, Morientes and Baros might be lethal for any opponents. And with those three to play with until the return of the Djib, the striking positions are safe as houses, particularly with the Pongo doing as well as he's done without Tony the T backing him up in midfield. Those two have a strange psychic connection that I think Pongo is just now starting to extend to others. His last two goals against Olympiakos and West Brom were as the result of split-second timing and inch-perfect passes from Harry Kewell and Riise, respectively. The level of intuition and understanding necessary for such passes indicates that perhaps Flo-Sin-Po is finally learning to play with others besides his childhood friends. He's also turning into a good target man like Mellor, rather than a holder or attacker, like Morientes and Baros. Having two of each would lend Liverpool a nicely balanced strike force in the box. The big problem with Morientes, and I've said it before on this very page, is that he's cup-tied in Europe, and thus cannot play for Liverpool in any Champions' League games. That's getting very important as we head into the elimination round.
So sports in 2004 was a wacky adventure in speculation and bewilderment. Somehow, the realms of political science and entertainment just seem drab and uninteresting by comparison. How many American soldiers died unnecessarily in Afghanistan? Too many. End of story. Who won the elections in Ukraine? Was there a hard-line Communist or a Fascist totalitarian in the race? No. Then who cares? Aside from taking bets on which HIV-AIDS-ravaged and impoverished African country will experience the next round of genocidal civil war, the only thing to do internationally is marvel at the inept blunderings of the American political apparatus as it lumbers around like a drunken schoolyard bully.
Entertainment is even worse. Which fatuous, self-involved celebrity has gotten married/divorced, delivered a payload of life or been sent to rehab this year? The same cast of arrogant morons that made similarly ill-advised and catastrophic life-commitments last year. The only real drama or surprise would come from those multimillionaire miscreants that DIDN'T get hitched, ditched, preggers or busted. And the vast collection of talentless nobodies that oozes forth from that effluent of mediocrity that constitutes reality television are too contemptible for words. So let's all chant the American entertainment industry mantra together: "Lowest Common Denominator."
So happy holidays, a wonderful festive season and a merry non-denominational, politically correct, and culturally/ethnically neutral euphemism to you all. Let's all cross our extremities and hope for a very prosperous new year. Back soon to conclude my 2004 broadcasting year.
Cheers,
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^
26 December 2004
09 December 2004
Frustration and Vindication.
Greetings, gentle readers.
Hoo-boy. Before I get onto my next exciting installment of the trials and tribulations of human gender interaction, I've got to put down my thoughts on the past couple of day's action in the World of Footy. The Champions' League has finally wrapped up the last round of league play, and we've now entered... THE ELIMINATION PHASE. Of course, the whole damn tournament used to be an elimination phase, but that was in the good old days, before the big money teams like Manchester United could lose 3-0 to Fener-kebab-shoppos and still prance merrily through to the next round.
So, going into the sixth round of the group stage, there were areas of drama and suspense, but a terrific number of instances of scenarios with all the dynamism of a damp squib and all the tension of a runny bowel movement. Juve, for example, clinched qualification for the next round back in the fourth game. After winning all first four games, they were not to be toppled. When they won the fifth game, they clinched first place. That made the sixth game against Bayern Münich a bit of a doddle. So they played out the string and drew one another, since neither Ajax or Maccabi Tel Aviv had a mathematical chance of catching either of them. That group was done after the fifth round. One is reminded of the 1978 World Cup where the Germans and the Austrians had a final game where only a draw would see them both through to the next round. So they passed the ball around for 90 minutes and walked off, each feeling fantastic. Their group opponents, however, were understandably peeved.
Man U and Lyon were also guaranteed shoo-ins for the next round, so they just didn't care, with the previously hapless Turks ripping Manchester apart, despite the fact that not even a cricket score could get them into the next round.
The interesting matches were three-fold. First, already failed challengers Roma faced Réal Madrid. Roma had the potential to play spoilers, since if they won, they would eliminate Réal from contention and dump them into the UEFA Cup. unfortunately, they picked an afternoon when Ronaldo and Luis Figo decided to show up to play, and were promptly kicked to the kerb 3-0. Ronaldo scored the first, then earned a penalty which Figo calmly dispatched, and then Figo gunned in a long range bullet to send the dismal Italians to the bottom of the group and out of European competition for the season in front of an empty stadium, due to the stupidity of Roman fans.
The real group that had everyone reaching for their slide rules, calculators, PDA's, Excel spreadsheets, and Cray supercomputers was Group A. With one match remaining, Olympiakos of Athens had 10 points, Monaco had 9, Liverpool had 7, and Deportivo La Coruña was on 2. So Depor was a non-starter, but could play the role of spoiler. If the Spaniards beat Monaco, Liverpool could leapfrog them and they and the Greeks would both qualify. If Depor and Monaco drew one another, then a Liverpool win would set up a huge computation of goal-differential and then matches for/against one another. It would take several paragraphs to outline the different scenarios, and it would baffle the majority of people not thoroughly immersed in Lobachevskian mathematical treatises.
Bottom line - for Liverpool to have a chance to go through, they would need a win. The actual scoreline would depend on what the French team did. Should Monaco win, Liverpool (having lost 1-0 away to Olympiakos) would either need a clean sheet (no away goals for the Greeks) and at least a 1-0 win, or else they would have to win the game by two clear goals. It was always going to be a tense match-up.
I was home by early afternoon from work, and spent the evening waiting for the game by tidying up the domicile and playing FIFA 2005. Fervently. By the time 2200h rolled around, I was pumped. I had my LFC sweatshirt and scarf on. I was getting chills up and down my spine, though admittedly those might have been from the icy draughts ghosting through the place from the bitter winter wind outside.
So I found myself in front of the telly, eyes grainy from lack of sleep, but brain and blood seething with anticipation. The line-up looked promising, but I picked out a couple of problems right from the get-go. Didi Hamann was out through two-yellow-card suspension, and Luis Garcia was out through injury. Milan Baros was back to spearhead the attack, though this was his first game back after recovering from injury, so his match fitness might not be exactly what it was when he led the scoring during Euro '04 in Portugal. Stevie G was again at the heart of midfield; Kewell, the waltzing midfielder was pushed forward into an inside left channel, while John-Arne Riise took his spot on the left of midfield. Nuñes and Dr. X were operating on the right of midfield while the defence was led by the Hÿypie and the eternally impressive Jamie Carragher in the centre, with Finnan on the right and (shudder) Djimi Traoré on the left. Hey, I like Jimmy, but I've never seen a solid performance out of him anywhere other than on the reserve team.
So my first hesitation was Jimmy. At left back. One of the most critical spots on the pitch. The theory goes like this: if you're out wide and you want to kick a ball and hit a teammate in the 18-yard box, you'll use the foot nearest the touch line, and swing it toward the net. Since most people are right-footed, that means that the most dangerous crosses should come from the offensive right side. Precisely where one finds the defending left-back. Not a place to put a jittery virtual rookie against the likes of Rivaldo and Giovanni, both members of the '98 World Cup-winning team.
Second hesitation: who was going to cover defensive midfield duties? Who was going to shield the back four against balls over the top of midfield? Didi could do it well, Diao could do a half-assed job, but neither of them was in the team. That meant that the team had to push up hard and not leave much room between midfield and the back four. And that means that it would be very difficult to play the offside trap. The only tactic that would work would be "Attack! Attack! Attack, attack, attack!" and press forward so hard with possession that the Greek defense would have to clear the ball far enough that Chris Kirkland could sprint out of net to cover the space left behind the back four.
Third cause of apprehension: Nuñez may have dragged his fragile Iberian butt off the injury roster, but he hasn't proven anything to anyone yet. He's certainly not my first choice ahead of the unavailable Garcia and Hamann. But the squad is a bit thin on the ground, so that's a risk I suppose the gaffer felt he had to take. Personally, I would have played either Mellor or Florent Sinama-Pongolle up front to have a proper striking tandem and pulled Kewell back into central-left midfield, instead of forward.
So, trembling with anticipation and quivering with worry, the match kicked off. One word describes Liverpool's start - electric. With Kewell exchanging passes with Jar-Jar on the left, Liverpool surged forward and began showering the increasingly distressed Nikopolidis in the Olympiakos net. They had three corner kicks in the first 75 seconds. The shelling was symptomatic of the possession and power Liverpool exerted. The coils of the Red Serpent were tightening, and squeezing... squeezing... Shot after shot.
Baros has a goal disallowed for a fictitious foul. The ball crosses the line through the air and is cleared after the fact by a defender, only for the referee to blow his whistle and point to a spot which had been completely devoid of any Liverpool players. A call for a Greek handball is ignored by the ref. A brilliant play involving Stevie G backheeling the ball from the TOP OF THE 18-YARD BOX flashes though the crowds there only to crash against the post with Nikopolidis beaten.
The Greeks had no answers for the questions Liverpool were directing at them. But the nagging doubts remained. Traoré was slipping and stumbling and losing possession on a regular basis, but the Riise-Krispy was covering for his teammate's gaffes. Nuñez was looking a bit lost when Liverpool didn't have the ball, but seemed alright moving forward. And so far, the defence was holding its shape, with Jamie Carragher at his do-or-die, lionhearted best. In fact, it was Carra who spared Jimmy blushes when he darted in out of nowhere to deny Olympiakos the ball on a ball drifted in from that wing.
Suddenly, all of my fears coalesced into one luminescent spheroid. A ball chipped over Nuñez' head hit Rivaldo in the no-man's land where a defensive midfielder would have been. He then drifted past a distraught Jimmy, and lunged for the space between Carragher and Hÿypia. The big Finn tried to nonchalantly hip check the nippy forward, who threw himself to the ground enthusiastically. A dangerous free-kick for the Greeks, and the Brazilian bounced to his feet to take it.
If you've ever had a sibling, you'll know that the best way to get someone off balance is to resist very hard at first when they try and push you, and then suddenly give way. Bend like a reed in the wind, like Kyle McLachlan in "Dune". When a directed force unexpectedly loses the resistance facing it, that force quickly loses its focus. And so it was with the Liverpool defensive wall facing Rivaldo's free-kick. With Carra and Sami forming an imposing duo at the centre of the wall, the far right end of the wall (facing the ball), near the centre "D" of the top of the 18-yard box, was held by Nuñez. Of course, being at the edge of the wall, he had an Olympiakos player shoving him, and he was shoving back to hold his position. Just as Rivaldo was making his run up, Nuñez's marker suddenly dropped off, and Antonio was suddenly shoving empty space. He peeled off the wall, and Rivaldo motored a shot into the gap. Kirkland was frozen and the ball sailed into the back of the net. 1-0 to the group leaders. Completely against the run of play, and a cruel setback.
By this point, news was trickling in from La Coruña. Monaco was opening the hapless Spaniards up like crawdads at a Louisiana all-you-can-eat party. One-nil. Then two. As Monaco was roaring up the table, it became obvious that the only place left for Liverpool to fight for was second. Not only did they need to win the game, but they had to edge Olympiakos in goal differential. That meant that they needed to win the game by two goals, and that meant that Liverpool suddenly had sixty minutes to conjure up at least three goals against a team that had given up only one solitary goal in their last FIFTEEN games. No man in red let his head drop, but there were some bleak looks as Finnan and Nuñez passed each other.
The Kop wouldn't let their team lie down, though. The songs rang out, drowning the exuberant cheers of the sizable away support. As the first half began to wind down, Liverpool had won seven corners to Olympiakos' one. The chants of "Attack! Attack! Attack-Attack-Attack!" echoed in the evening air. Incisive passing, dominating possession, and viciously powerful shooting had come to naught, and suddenly, there was only 45 minutes left to score three goals.
As the lads made it down the tunnel to the dressing room, a quick glance into the corner scoreboard revealed that Monaco were putting on an exhibition. Three-nil over the Spaniards.
Fifteen minutes later, a very grim Jamie Carragher and the rest of the lads jogged back out of the tunnel to rapturous applause, and a thunderous chorus of "You'll Never Walk Alone". Stevie G paused and looked at the upraised scarves and replica jerseys all around him and gritted his teeth.
The gaffer had made a change. The hesitant and unimpressive Djimi Traore was out. In was the Pongo. Florent Sinama-Pongolle had come on as a second striker, and, rather than do as I would have done and shuffle Riise into left-back and move Kewell out to the wing, the boss decided to go with only three at the back, five in midfield, and two men forward. A dangerous risk, considering that mobility is not Hÿypia's strong point, and suddenly, there is a lot of space behind the midfield front line. The wide midfielders - Riise and Nuñez - dropped a little, ready to rush back and help out if the Greeks ever tried a route-one ball over the top. They needn't have bothered. Stevie G had come to play. Cometh the hour, cometh the man. And he had arrived.
From the kick-off, the ball was his. He stroked it about masterfully, distributing it with class and holding it up stolidly against many fierce and reckless challenges. Within two minutes of the kick-off, one of his inch-perfect balls found Kewell streaking outside wide left. The Australian, having been such a disappointment so often this season, suddenly flashed a moment of genius and eluded his marker, deftly nipping toward goal along the line. He spiked a ball laterally, right across Nikopolidis and hit... Florent Sinama-Pongolle. The deftest of arial taps, and the ball nestled in the back of the net. Practically the young French talent's first touch, and Liverpool were back in the game. The Liverpool fans went ecstatic. The Olympiakos end suddenly began to fret and frown a little. One nil was a perfect score for them. It meant qualification at the top of the group, and Liverpool's elimination. One-all meant qualification, but behind Monaco who were now thrashing Deportivo four-nil. And Liverpool had finally made all of their dashing and adventurous forays culminate into a goal. That meant more confidence, and more attacking panache, and that meant a wilting Olympiakos defence.
Stevie G wasn't done, though. Dashing and darting everywhere, he led a snarling charge through the heart of the entire Olympiakos team, beating several players before being called back for a foul and yellow card. As he leapt and capered, one of his boots had hit the thigh of a stunned Olympiakos midfielder. That meant that he would be ineligible for the next game, but if he wasn't going to throw all that he had into the game, there wouldn't be a next game in the Champions' League.
Meanwhile, Milan Baros up front had begun to show signs that his lack of form had caught up to him. He began to get caught offside, and was visibly shaken after runs. The gaffer took him off for the youthful and inexperienced, yet Arsenal-slaying Neil Mellor to make his European debut. Within seconds, a Gerrard cross hit Nuñez, whose stinging header was miraculously palmed away by the split-second reflexes of Nikopolidis. Palmed away... straight to the streaking Mellor who emphatically powered a volley into the net with his first touch of the game. Two to one and now Liverpool were brimming with confidence, and Olympiakos were reeling.
Stevie G was everywhere - running back to collect the ball from defence, stroking passes from midfield, and thundering forward in innumerable assaults on the increasingly panicked Greek defence. The rest of the Red Machine took their cue from the captain, and the pressure on Nikolpolidis and his defenders began to take its toll as yellow cards became increasingly common. Their goalscorer Rivaldo now looked a broken man, his every touch on the ball seeming to drift over the sidelines for a Riise or Carragher throw-in.
It was from a throw-in on the far side of the pitch, with Stevie G (no exaggeration) jumping up and down and waving his arms like some sort of demented jumping jack, that Neil Mellor nodded the ball toward the top of the 18-yard box where it was met by a charging, snorting Stevie G, who volleyed it on the one-touch from more than twenty yards away with such venom and power that Nikopolidis had barely moved a half-meter when the back of the net bulged... and kept bulging as the ball strained to reach the screaming and jubilant kop beyond the mesh.
The away-end gasped and gaped as they struggled to comprehend what they'd just seen. With five minutes left in the game and Monaco now cruising at five to nil, they had gone from triumph to a tragedy worthy of Sophocles and Euripedes. When the referee's assistant signalled that there was four minutes of time to be added on, fingernails were chewed, scarves were clutched and clenched, tears welled in eyesockets and hands were wrung by the Olympiakos faithful. The Kop cheered, waiting for the magical moment when they could again burst into song, singing the anthem of Anfield and signal one of the truly great victories of an already storied and gilded club.
The game won, the qualification for the final sixteen now secured, Liverpool moved the ball around comfortably in a confident and assured manner until the final whistle went, barely audible over the lusty sound of 40,000 voices belting out as one: "When you walk through a storm... hold your head up high... and don't be afraid of the dark. At the end of a storm... there's a golden sky... and the sweet, silver song of a lark. Walk on. Walk on. With hope in your heart... and you'll never walk alone! You'll ne-ver walk a-a-alone!"
I had tears of relief in my eyes and sang to the television in my darkened living room. Stevie G, hands clapping over his head, strode the field like a colossus amidst the confused and disoriented Olympiakos players who were still trying to piece together the magnitude of what had just over-whelmed them. From champs to chumps. From masters to disasters. From front-runners to also-rans. An historic match and one that will leave an indelible impression on the rest of the competition - try and force Steven Gerrard into a situation where he will disappoint his thronging Red supporters at your peril. Doubts as to whether he is one of, if not the best midfielder in the game today were thoroughly discredited, and Chelsea and Réal Madrid must be shaking their heads at their failures to lure Gerrard away from the city and the fans he loves, because he'll turn his predatory eye toward their goals next.
And so, on to the round of sixteen, where the teams have yet to be drawn against one another. But on this form, Liverpool need fear no-one. Let the other teams quail and draught contigency plans. The Red Machine is back in Europe, and they're not leaving without a trail of broken opposition supporters and dispirited and devalued opponents.
Next stop: Goodison Park for the cross-town derby on Saturday. The tremendously fortuitous run that the Toffees have had is not only in jeopardy, it's looking like a watermelon being targeted by grapeshot cannon. We'll see on the day how rested the lads are from this emotional rollercoaster of a match, and then we'll see how the likes of Unsworth and Ferguson deal with the imperious Captain Courageous and his brave team of footy shock-troopers.
As an aside, Liverpool are still in all competitions, and look as though they might be able to better their five-trophy year in 2001. Getting a fifth Champions' Cup would be sweet enough, but who wants to limit their ambition? We want it all. And we have the team to take it.
Forza Liverpool!
Cheers,
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^
Hoo-boy. Before I get onto my next exciting installment of the trials and tribulations of human gender interaction, I've got to put down my thoughts on the past couple of day's action in the World of Footy. The Champions' League has finally wrapped up the last round of league play, and we've now entered... THE ELIMINATION PHASE. Of course, the whole damn tournament used to be an elimination phase, but that was in the good old days, before the big money teams like Manchester United could lose 3-0 to Fener-kebab-shoppos and still prance merrily through to the next round.
So, going into the sixth round of the group stage, there were areas of drama and suspense, but a terrific number of instances of scenarios with all the dynamism of a damp squib and all the tension of a runny bowel movement. Juve, for example, clinched qualification for the next round back in the fourth game. After winning all first four games, they were not to be toppled. When they won the fifth game, they clinched first place. That made the sixth game against Bayern Münich a bit of a doddle. So they played out the string and drew one another, since neither Ajax or Maccabi Tel Aviv had a mathematical chance of catching either of them. That group was done after the fifth round. One is reminded of the 1978 World Cup where the Germans and the Austrians had a final game where only a draw would see them both through to the next round. So they passed the ball around for 90 minutes and walked off, each feeling fantastic. Their group opponents, however, were understandably peeved.
Man U and Lyon were also guaranteed shoo-ins for the next round, so they just didn't care, with the previously hapless Turks ripping Manchester apart, despite the fact that not even a cricket score could get them into the next round.
The interesting matches were three-fold. First, already failed challengers Roma faced Réal Madrid. Roma had the potential to play spoilers, since if they won, they would eliminate Réal from contention and dump them into the UEFA Cup. unfortunately, they picked an afternoon when Ronaldo and Luis Figo decided to show up to play, and were promptly kicked to the kerb 3-0. Ronaldo scored the first, then earned a penalty which Figo calmly dispatched, and then Figo gunned in a long range bullet to send the dismal Italians to the bottom of the group and out of European competition for the season in front of an empty stadium, due to the stupidity of Roman fans.
The real group that had everyone reaching for their slide rules, calculators, PDA's, Excel spreadsheets, and Cray supercomputers was Group A. With one match remaining, Olympiakos of Athens had 10 points, Monaco had 9, Liverpool had 7, and Deportivo La Coruña was on 2. So Depor was a non-starter, but could play the role of spoiler. If the Spaniards beat Monaco, Liverpool could leapfrog them and they and the Greeks would both qualify. If Depor and Monaco drew one another, then a Liverpool win would set up a huge computation of goal-differential and then matches for/against one another. It would take several paragraphs to outline the different scenarios, and it would baffle the majority of people not thoroughly immersed in Lobachevskian mathematical treatises.
Bottom line - for Liverpool to have a chance to go through, they would need a win. The actual scoreline would depend on what the French team did. Should Monaco win, Liverpool (having lost 1-0 away to Olympiakos) would either need a clean sheet (no away goals for the Greeks) and at least a 1-0 win, or else they would have to win the game by two clear goals. It was always going to be a tense match-up.
I was home by early afternoon from work, and spent the evening waiting for the game by tidying up the domicile and playing FIFA 2005. Fervently. By the time 2200h rolled around, I was pumped. I had my LFC sweatshirt and scarf on. I was getting chills up and down my spine, though admittedly those might have been from the icy draughts ghosting through the place from the bitter winter wind outside.
So I found myself in front of the telly, eyes grainy from lack of sleep, but brain and blood seething with anticipation. The line-up looked promising, but I picked out a couple of problems right from the get-go. Didi Hamann was out through two-yellow-card suspension, and Luis Garcia was out through injury. Milan Baros was back to spearhead the attack, though this was his first game back after recovering from injury, so his match fitness might not be exactly what it was when he led the scoring during Euro '04 in Portugal. Stevie G was again at the heart of midfield; Kewell, the waltzing midfielder was pushed forward into an inside left channel, while John-Arne Riise took his spot on the left of midfield. Nuñes and Dr. X were operating on the right of midfield while the defence was led by the Hÿypie and the eternally impressive Jamie Carragher in the centre, with Finnan on the right and (shudder) Djimi Traoré on the left. Hey, I like Jimmy, but I've never seen a solid performance out of him anywhere other than on the reserve team.
So my first hesitation was Jimmy. At left back. One of the most critical spots on the pitch. The theory goes like this: if you're out wide and you want to kick a ball and hit a teammate in the 18-yard box, you'll use the foot nearest the touch line, and swing it toward the net. Since most people are right-footed, that means that the most dangerous crosses should come from the offensive right side. Precisely where one finds the defending left-back. Not a place to put a jittery virtual rookie against the likes of Rivaldo and Giovanni, both members of the '98 World Cup-winning team.
Second hesitation: who was going to cover defensive midfield duties? Who was going to shield the back four against balls over the top of midfield? Didi could do it well, Diao could do a half-assed job, but neither of them was in the team. That meant that the team had to push up hard and not leave much room between midfield and the back four. And that means that it would be very difficult to play the offside trap. The only tactic that would work would be "Attack! Attack! Attack, attack, attack!" and press forward so hard with possession that the Greek defense would have to clear the ball far enough that Chris Kirkland could sprint out of net to cover the space left behind the back four.
Third cause of apprehension: Nuñez may have dragged his fragile Iberian butt off the injury roster, but he hasn't proven anything to anyone yet. He's certainly not my first choice ahead of the unavailable Garcia and Hamann. But the squad is a bit thin on the ground, so that's a risk I suppose the gaffer felt he had to take. Personally, I would have played either Mellor or Florent Sinama-Pongolle up front to have a proper striking tandem and pulled Kewell back into central-left midfield, instead of forward.
So, trembling with anticipation and quivering with worry, the match kicked off. One word describes Liverpool's start - electric. With Kewell exchanging passes with Jar-Jar on the left, Liverpool surged forward and began showering the increasingly distressed Nikopolidis in the Olympiakos net. They had three corner kicks in the first 75 seconds. The shelling was symptomatic of the possession and power Liverpool exerted. The coils of the Red Serpent were tightening, and squeezing... squeezing... Shot after shot.
Baros has a goal disallowed for a fictitious foul. The ball crosses the line through the air and is cleared after the fact by a defender, only for the referee to blow his whistle and point to a spot which had been completely devoid of any Liverpool players. A call for a Greek handball is ignored by the ref. A brilliant play involving Stevie G backheeling the ball from the TOP OF THE 18-YARD BOX flashes though the crowds there only to crash against the post with Nikopolidis beaten.
The Greeks had no answers for the questions Liverpool were directing at them. But the nagging doubts remained. Traoré was slipping and stumbling and losing possession on a regular basis, but the Riise-Krispy was covering for his teammate's gaffes. Nuñez was looking a bit lost when Liverpool didn't have the ball, but seemed alright moving forward. And so far, the defence was holding its shape, with Jamie Carragher at his do-or-die, lionhearted best. In fact, it was Carra who spared Jimmy blushes when he darted in out of nowhere to deny Olympiakos the ball on a ball drifted in from that wing.
Suddenly, all of my fears coalesced into one luminescent spheroid. A ball chipped over Nuñez' head hit Rivaldo in the no-man's land where a defensive midfielder would have been. He then drifted past a distraught Jimmy, and lunged for the space between Carragher and Hÿypia. The big Finn tried to nonchalantly hip check the nippy forward, who threw himself to the ground enthusiastically. A dangerous free-kick for the Greeks, and the Brazilian bounced to his feet to take it.
If you've ever had a sibling, you'll know that the best way to get someone off balance is to resist very hard at first when they try and push you, and then suddenly give way. Bend like a reed in the wind, like Kyle McLachlan in "Dune". When a directed force unexpectedly loses the resistance facing it, that force quickly loses its focus. And so it was with the Liverpool defensive wall facing Rivaldo's free-kick. With Carra and Sami forming an imposing duo at the centre of the wall, the far right end of the wall (facing the ball), near the centre "D" of the top of the 18-yard box, was held by Nuñez. Of course, being at the edge of the wall, he had an Olympiakos player shoving him, and he was shoving back to hold his position. Just as Rivaldo was making his run up, Nuñez's marker suddenly dropped off, and Antonio was suddenly shoving empty space. He peeled off the wall, and Rivaldo motored a shot into the gap. Kirkland was frozen and the ball sailed into the back of the net. 1-0 to the group leaders. Completely against the run of play, and a cruel setback.
By this point, news was trickling in from La Coruña. Monaco was opening the hapless Spaniards up like crawdads at a Louisiana all-you-can-eat party. One-nil. Then two. As Monaco was roaring up the table, it became obvious that the only place left for Liverpool to fight for was second. Not only did they need to win the game, but they had to edge Olympiakos in goal differential. That meant that they needed to win the game by two goals, and that meant that Liverpool suddenly had sixty minutes to conjure up at least three goals against a team that had given up only one solitary goal in their last FIFTEEN games. No man in red let his head drop, but there were some bleak looks as Finnan and Nuñez passed each other.
The Kop wouldn't let their team lie down, though. The songs rang out, drowning the exuberant cheers of the sizable away support. As the first half began to wind down, Liverpool had won seven corners to Olympiakos' one. The chants of "Attack! Attack! Attack-Attack-Attack!" echoed in the evening air. Incisive passing, dominating possession, and viciously powerful shooting had come to naught, and suddenly, there was only 45 minutes left to score three goals.
As the lads made it down the tunnel to the dressing room, a quick glance into the corner scoreboard revealed that Monaco were putting on an exhibition. Three-nil over the Spaniards.
Fifteen minutes later, a very grim Jamie Carragher and the rest of the lads jogged back out of the tunnel to rapturous applause, and a thunderous chorus of "You'll Never Walk Alone". Stevie G paused and looked at the upraised scarves and replica jerseys all around him and gritted his teeth.
The gaffer had made a change. The hesitant and unimpressive Djimi Traore was out. In was the Pongo. Florent Sinama-Pongolle had come on as a second striker, and, rather than do as I would have done and shuffle Riise into left-back and move Kewell out to the wing, the boss decided to go with only three at the back, five in midfield, and two men forward. A dangerous risk, considering that mobility is not Hÿypia's strong point, and suddenly, there is a lot of space behind the midfield front line. The wide midfielders - Riise and Nuñez - dropped a little, ready to rush back and help out if the Greeks ever tried a route-one ball over the top. They needn't have bothered. Stevie G had come to play. Cometh the hour, cometh the man. And he had arrived.
From the kick-off, the ball was his. He stroked it about masterfully, distributing it with class and holding it up stolidly against many fierce and reckless challenges. Within two minutes of the kick-off, one of his inch-perfect balls found Kewell streaking outside wide left. The Australian, having been such a disappointment so often this season, suddenly flashed a moment of genius and eluded his marker, deftly nipping toward goal along the line. He spiked a ball laterally, right across Nikopolidis and hit... Florent Sinama-Pongolle. The deftest of arial taps, and the ball nestled in the back of the net. Practically the young French talent's first touch, and Liverpool were back in the game. The Liverpool fans went ecstatic. The Olympiakos end suddenly began to fret and frown a little. One nil was a perfect score for them. It meant qualification at the top of the group, and Liverpool's elimination. One-all meant qualification, but behind Monaco who were now thrashing Deportivo four-nil. And Liverpool had finally made all of their dashing and adventurous forays culminate into a goal. That meant more confidence, and more attacking panache, and that meant a wilting Olympiakos defence.
Stevie G wasn't done, though. Dashing and darting everywhere, he led a snarling charge through the heart of the entire Olympiakos team, beating several players before being called back for a foul and yellow card. As he leapt and capered, one of his boots had hit the thigh of a stunned Olympiakos midfielder. That meant that he would be ineligible for the next game, but if he wasn't going to throw all that he had into the game, there wouldn't be a next game in the Champions' League.
Meanwhile, Milan Baros up front had begun to show signs that his lack of form had caught up to him. He began to get caught offside, and was visibly shaken after runs. The gaffer took him off for the youthful and inexperienced, yet Arsenal-slaying Neil Mellor to make his European debut. Within seconds, a Gerrard cross hit Nuñez, whose stinging header was miraculously palmed away by the split-second reflexes of Nikopolidis. Palmed away... straight to the streaking Mellor who emphatically powered a volley into the net with his first touch of the game. Two to one and now Liverpool were brimming with confidence, and Olympiakos were reeling.
Stevie G was everywhere - running back to collect the ball from defence, stroking passes from midfield, and thundering forward in innumerable assaults on the increasingly panicked Greek defence. The rest of the Red Machine took their cue from the captain, and the pressure on Nikolpolidis and his defenders began to take its toll as yellow cards became increasingly common. Their goalscorer Rivaldo now looked a broken man, his every touch on the ball seeming to drift over the sidelines for a Riise or Carragher throw-in.
It was from a throw-in on the far side of the pitch, with Stevie G (no exaggeration) jumping up and down and waving his arms like some sort of demented jumping jack, that Neil Mellor nodded the ball toward the top of the 18-yard box where it was met by a charging, snorting Stevie G, who volleyed it on the one-touch from more than twenty yards away with such venom and power that Nikopolidis had barely moved a half-meter when the back of the net bulged... and kept bulging as the ball strained to reach the screaming and jubilant kop beyond the mesh.
The away-end gasped and gaped as they struggled to comprehend what they'd just seen. With five minutes left in the game and Monaco now cruising at five to nil, they had gone from triumph to a tragedy worthy of Sophocles and Euripedes. When the referee's assistant signalled that there was four minutes of time to be added on, fingernails were chewed, scarves were clutched and clenched, tears welled in eyesockets and hands were wrung by the Olympiakos faithful. The Kop cheered, waiting for the magical moment when they could again burst into song, singing the anthem of Anfield and signal one of the truly great victories of an already storied and gilded club.
The game won, the qualification for the final sixteen now secured, Liverpool moved the ball around comfortably in a confident and assured manner until the final whistle went, barely audible over the lusty sound of 40,000 voices belting out as one: "When you walk through a storm... hold your head up high... and don't be afraid of the dark. At the end of a storm... there's a golden sky... and the sweet, silver song of a lark. Walk on. Walk on. With hope in your heart... and you'll never walk alone! You'll ne-ver walk a-a-alone!"
I had tears of relief in my eyes and sang to the television in my darkened living room. Stevie G, hands clapping over his head, strode the field like a colossus amidst the confused and disoriented Olympiakos players who were still trying to piece together the magnitude of what had just over-whelmed them. From champs to chumps. From masters to disasters. From front-runners to also-rans. An historic match and one that will leave an indelible impression on the rest of the competition - try and force Steven Gerrard into a situation where he will disappoint his thronging Red supporters at your peril. Doubts as to whether he is one of, if not the best midfielder in the game today were thoroughly discredited, and Chelsea and Réal Madrid must be shaking their heads at their failures to lure Gerrard away from the city and the fans he loves, because he'll turn his predatory eye toward their goals next.
And so, on to the round of sixteen, where the teams have yet to be drawn against one another. But on this form, Liverpool need fear no-one. Let the other teams quail and draught contigency plans. The Red Machine is back in Europe, and they're not leaving without a trail of broken opposition supporters and dispirited and devalued opponents.
Next stop: Goodison Park for the cross-town derby on Saturday. The tremendously fortuitous run that the Toffees have had is not only in jeopardy, it's looking like a watermelon being targeted by grapeshot cannon. We'll see on the day how rested the lads are from this emotional rollercoaster of a match, and then we'll see how the likes of Unsworth and Ferguson deal with the imperious Captain Courageous and his brave team of footy shock-troopers.
As an aside, Liverpool are still in all competitions, and look as though they might be able to better their five-trophy year in 2001. Getting a fifth Champions' Cup would be sweet enough, but who wants to limit their ambition? We want it all. And we have the team to take it.
Forza Liverpool!
Cheers,
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^
07 December 2004
It's a coffee-table book...
Greetings everyone.
I recently had a conversation with a friend wherein she actually asked "It must be really tough for nice guys, huh?" before stating that "I know lots of girls who won't date a guy because he's too nice." Despite the inherently depressing nature of those comments, I tried to forge ahead in the exchange. Eventually, she asked what guys want in a girl. By way of response, I've got my top 20 list of women-folk that I find attractive. I may want to shuffle the order about a bit, since I've just sort of conceptualized it, and my rankings may be a tad off in terms of prioritizing or valuating. Anyway, my dream woman would be some sort of genetic mutant made up of the following individuals.
20. Hillary Rodham Clinton
I once wrote that elegance is sexy, but competence is sexier. Hillary may come off as a little cold at times, but she's a fine lawyer, a solid United States Senator, in addition to being a former first lady and mother of a successful college student. She hasn't put a foot wrong since she's come to the attention of the public eye, and her drive for health care reform in the United States should give her an amazing status - if Tommy Douglas has been voted The Greatest Canadian, and his major contribution was in the field of health care, it's possible that Hillary might just become one of the greatest American women of all time.
19. Jennifer Love Hewitt
Not the best actress in Hollywood by any stretch of the imagination, nor the best songwriter or singer. The point is: she does this stuff and is successful at it. I haven't gotten a role in any Jackie Chan films, haven't had any albums released, or even recorded. I haven't even had any music published. She's got diverse aestethic talents and interests, as well as an energetic optimism that's infectious. It doesn't hurt her case that she's pretty and has a body that looks like it was put together by a pubescent pervert with too many plush toys.
18. Kara Lang
Kara's a bit young. I confess. I was almost in junior high when she was born. But she's got several things going in her favour to get her included on the list. She's Canadian, and that's never a bad thing. That encapsulates a number of inherent characteristics, including modesty, a sense of fair play, kindness and generosity. Plus, she plays The Beautiful Game. And she's really, really good at it. She plays with a Steve McManaman-esque galloping, dribbling game down the flanks, occasionally drifting inside to lash a shot on goal. She's from British Columbia, but I don't really see that as too much of a negative characteristic.
17. Ali Landry
Okay, so this American model and actress is very physically beautiful. She's like a visual exclamation mark. But anyone who has seen "Repli-Kate" will know that she's also a very cool person. Her interviews and performances are congruent with a person who is approachable, fun-loving, humourous and cleverly flippant. First seen by mass audiences in a famous Doritos advert where she sets off the sprinkler system in a library, she doesn't take herself too seriously, and would be a fun person with whom to kick back with a beer and watch a football game.
16. (Tie) Jennifer Dale / Cynthia Dale
OK. I'm not going to choose one sister over the other. That just leads to much unhappiness. What makes these two desirable? Well, they're Canadian (see above), and they've been demonstrating fantastic acting ability for years and years, making daytime CBC movie specials tolerable, and promoting the Canadian Film Industry. They're also not Hollywood "names", which could mean that their talents have gone unrecognized south of the border, but it can also mean that they are women of integrity who haven't sold out.
15. Anna Faris
Star of the "Scary Movie" trilogy, and a deeply under-rated talent. To spend an entire film open-mouthed, wide-eyed, and breathless with simulated terror, and then to pull off some positively brilliant slapstick or deadpan delivery shows versatility and character. Full of enthusiasm, humour, and fun. And cute as a button.
14. Wendy Mesley
Another Canadian, and a woman I've been goggle-eyed over for decades. She has a kind of austere beauty, and her intelligence flashes through it like an electrical current. The smile that perpetually tugs at the corner of her mouth and the way her eyebrows bunch when she gets really intense made me want to watch the National on CBC every week. Blindingly intelligent, incisive, hard-working, committed, knowledgeable and eloquent... she's great. Oh, and for those who don't know, she's a news anchor/reporter.
13. Miranda Otto
J.R.R. Tolkien wasn't very good at writing female characters. Something about the Oxford academic atmosphere, I think, that precludes any delving into a lot of professors' feminine sides. When Peter Jackson did what seems to be the definitive film version of "The Lord of the Rings", he did a bit of shuffling to give the girls a bit more of a run out. One role that benefitted in particular was that of Eowyn, niece to Theodred. Miranda did amazingly well to bring the role to life. As I watched the scene where she is confronted by Gríma Wormtongue (played chillingly by Brad Dourif), I expereienced the same feeling that one gets when just starting to fall asleep - that light-headed, falling sensation. I have the suspicion that I could stare into her deep and expressive eyes for a thousand years. Mesmerizing.
12. Hazel Irvine
For those of you that don't know, Hazel is a television sports presenter in the U.K. She covers the Embassy World Snooker Championships, as well as some of the alpine events during Winter Olympics and other such competitions. Not only can she intelligently discuss sports, but she's erudite, quick-witted, and disarmingly charming. It's not easy trying to coax an entertaining interview from Stephen Hendry or Ronnie O'Sullivan when they're feeling glum and taciturn after losing a 19 rack match. And she makes a Scottish accent sound sexy. Hazel is to men as Sean Connery is to women. And lovely teeth, to match.
11. Natalie Portman
A precocious acting talent that first tugged heart-strings as a waif in "Léon", released in North America as "The Professional", she has also completed her Harvard degree. Intelligent, thoughtful, focused, and diligent, she has a force of character which is hard to avoid noticing. She has her own personality - independent and forceful, and it gives her an undeniable presence.
10. Linda Bresonik
Another decidedly young entry whom I first noticed at the Under-19 Women's World Cup in 2002. She was the standout performer for the champion German team, scoring goals, and playing in every position on the park except goalkeeper - she played sweeper, back, midfield and striker as the Germans strode confidently to an eventual Final win over Brazil on penalties. A thoroughly competent, versatile, athletic leader who plays The Beautiful Game with poise and elegance.
9. Janeane Garofalo
I haven't seen "The Truth About Cats and Dogs", but I was astonished to learn that the "little & large", "pretty & dumpy" dichotomy pal-flick formula was being applied to Uma Thurman and Janeane. She's charmed my socks off in every interview I've ever seen, and her performances always seems authentic and real. She has a wonderful self-deprecatory sense of humour which I find warm and infectious. She's funny, honest, open and unpretentious. In a word: great.
8. Mira Sorvino
Graduated summa cum laude from Harvard in Chinese Studies, and a very well-spoken and personable actress who's not afraid to take the mickey out of herself, as she did in the ditz-fest "Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion." She's done action, horror, comedy and whatever genre Woody Allen films fall into. She's an Oscar-winner who doesn't stand on her achievements, but pushes the envelope further.
7. Joanne Guest
A English model who is not only stunningly good looking, but has lectured the Oxford Debating Society. A little dirty and a very blunt and candid speaker in interviews, she's forthright and open, down-to-earth and keenly aware of the opinions and perceptions of others. A confident and ambitious woman who is also laddish to the extent that she would be a person with whom it would be great to meet down the pub and sink a few pints. A complex personality equally capable of demure diffidence and brash vulgarity.
6. Jennifer Hedger
An anchorwoman on TSN who is witty, funny, and not afraid to take on male colleagues intellectually or professionally. She's also really tall. It was once written of her that she could walk across Lake Winnipeg without getting her ankles wet. She digs on sports, has strong opinions and a strong will, and would be a great person with whom to have an argument. She's got a sparkling conversational sense and doesn't let any challenge go unanswered.
5. Laura Harring
The co-star of David Lynch's "Mulholland Drive" graduated from Switzerland's Aiglon College with academic honours, worked as a social worker in India. She can do the Argentine tango, perform any of the roles in a Commedia Dell'Arte production, was born in Mexico and grew up in Texas. A true cosmopolite, this is a truly interesting woman with stories to tell, and who shares my interest in the investigation of people and cultures globally. I find her fascinating and would really love to sit down with a bottle of Mateus, a baguette, and an assortment of cheeses to discuss geography and human interaction.
4. Sadie Frost
Her oftimes understated demeanour belies a keen mind and a seething sexuality. Most people will remember her as Lucy from "Bram Stoker's Dracula", playing the bad girl to Winona Ryder's good-girl Mina. I still think of her as the best part of Eric Idle's film "Splitting Heirs." A talented English actress with much more to offer the cinematic community, I would really love to gain an insight into her mind and her thinking. A consummate professional who has never put a figurative foot wrong and, like some of the other actresses listed here, hasn't sold out to Hollywood by choosing her roles rather than just cranking out brainless potboilers for the sake of feeding the ravenous film industry's need for more revenue. No pointless sequels or insipid summer blockbuster action films on her resumé.
3. Lisa Loeb
My music library, mysteriously, has very few female lead singers. Carole King, Edie Brickell and Christine Lavin are probably the only ones with anything near the volume of music I have of Lisa's stuff. She's bright, clever, creative, and not at all self aggrandizing. And she's got the kind of character needed to wear glasses - most people chicken out and wear contacts, but not our Ms. Loeb. She's got the personality of Nanci Griffith, she's prettier than Sarah McLachlan, and writes better songs than both of them. Someone with whom I would very much like to jam and collaborate. And I'd like to ask her whether she's a big J.D. Salinger afficionado, as I suspect.
2. Emily Mortimer
Yes, another actress. I was going to spring for Dr. Linda Woodbridge in this spot, but how many people know the English Literature professor teaching at Pennsylvania State University? Not many, though I'm sure a google search would probably turn up something. She was the professor that changed my academic career irrevocably. Instead, I'm going with Emily Mortimer. She studied English Literature and Russian at Oxford, is a remarkably versatile actress with a talent I deeply admire - being able to emulate English dialects. I've been trying all my life to study, memorize and perform impressions of different dialects, but Emily is the real deal. Her American is great Californian and her Scouse accent is great, although very South Mersey. She's also worked as a newspaper columnist and a playwright, and her commitment to language is perfectly congruent with my University career and personal interests. She starred in one of my all-time favourite films, "Formula 51", a.k.a. "The 51st State," and thus I have seen her often enough to memorize the story of her face and the song of her voice. I'm gonna stop before I start waxing maudlin, if I haven't already.
1. Melanie Chisholm
No, I don't own a single Spice Girls album, single, or song. Why then is Sporty Spice number one on the list? Well, for one, her solo stuff is much better than any of the Spice Girls rubbish, but that's not saying much. She's also from Liverpool, which is worth a lot of consideration. Plus she's fun, spunky, energetic, and a strong personality. Really, whom would you rather your pre-teen daughter idolize? A singing, dancing martial artist like Mel C., or some egregious tramp like Britney Spears? Who is a better role model for girls? I like Mel because she doesn't use sex to sell her music, she's an unabashed Northerner, and she follows the correct football team. Another great woman to meet down the pub and sink a few pints with.
Conclusion:
So what is it that I find attractive in women? What are the common factors of these twenty women? Well, they're approachable, ambitious, energetic, with great character and a sense of humour. They're different shapes, sizes, ages, but I suppose that the overall commonality is that they're good conversationalists with interesting opinions and personality quirks. They're people that I would like to know and hang out with. I guess that's the bottom line: if I can't have a solid debate with them, or at least a heated discussion, it's just not worth it.
Back later.
Cheers, all.
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^
I recently had a conversation with a friend wherein she actually asked "It must be really tough for nice guys, huh?" before stating that "I know lots of girls who won't date a guy because he's too nice." Despite the inherently depressing nature of those comments, I tried to forge ahead in the exchange. Eventually, she asked what guys want in a girl. By way of response, I've got my top 20 list of women-folk that I find attractive. I may want to shuffle the order about a bit, since I've just sort of conceptualized it, and my rankings may be a tad off in terms of prioritizing or valuating. Anyway, my dream woman would be some sort of genetic mutant made up of the following individuals.
20. Hillary Rodham Clinton
I once wrote that elegance is sexy, but competence is sexier. Hillary may come off as a little cold at times, but she's a fine lawyer, a solid United States Senator, in addition to being a former first lady and mother of a successful college student. She hasn't put a foot wrong since she's come to the attention of the public eye, and her drive for health care reform in the United States should give her an amazing status - if Tommy Douglas has been voted The Greatest Canadian, and his major contribution was in the field of health care, it's possible that Hillary might just become one of the greatest American women of all time.
19. Jennifer Love Hewitt
Not the best actress in Hollywood by any stretch of the imagination, nor the best songwriter or singer. The point is: she does this stuff and is successful at it. I haven't gotten a role in any Jackie Chan films, haven't had any albums released, or even recorded. I haven't even had any music published. She's got diverse aestethic talents and interests, as well as an energetic optimism that's infectious. It doesn't hurt her case that she's pretty and has a body that looks like it was put together by a pubescent pervert with too many plush toys.
18. Kara Lang
Kara's a bit young. I confess. I was almost in junior high when she was born. But she's got several things going in her favour to get her included on the list. She's Canadian, and that's never a bad thing. That encapsulates a number of inherent characteristics, including modesty, a sense of fair play, kindness and generosity. Plus, she plays The Beautiful Game. And she's really, really good at it. She plays with a Steve McManaman-esque galloping, dribbling game down the flanks, occasionally drifting inside to lash a shot on goal. She's from British Columbia, but I don't really see that as too much of a negative characteristic.
17. Ali Landry
Okay, so this American model and actress is very physically beautiful. She's like a visual exclamation mark. But anyone who has seen "Repli-Kate" will know that she's also a very cool person. Her interviews and performances are congruent with a person who is approachable, fun-loving, humourous and cleverly flippant. First seen by mass audiences in a famous Doritos advert where she sets off the sprinkler system in a library, she doesn't take herself too seriously, and would be a fun person with whom to kick back with a beer and watch a football game.
16. (Tie) Jennifer Dale / Cynthia Dale
OK. I'm not going to choose one sister over the other. That just leads to much unhappiness. What makes these two desirable? Well, they're Canadian (see above), and they've been demonstrating fantastic acting ability for years and years, making daytime CBC movie specials tolerable, and promoting the Canadian Film Industry. They're also not Hollywood "names", which could mean that their talents have gone unrecognized south of the border, but it can also mean that they are women of integrity who haven't sold out.
15. Anna Faris
Star of the "Scary Movie" trilogy, and a deeply under-rated talent. To spend an entire film open-mouthed, wide-eyed, and breathless with simulated terror, and then to pull off some positively brilliant slapstick or deadpan delivery shows versatility and character. Full of enthusiasm, humour, and fun. And cute as a button.
14. Wendy Mesley
Another Canadian, and a woman I've been goggle-eyed over for decades. She has a kind of austere beauty, and her intelligence flashes through it like an electrical current. The smile that perpetually tugs at the corner of her mouth and the way her eyebrows bunch when she gets really intense made me want to watch the National on CBC every week. Blindingly intelligent, incisive, hard-working, committed, knowledgeable and eloquent... she's great. Oh, and for those who don't know, she's a news anchor/reporter.
13. Miranda Otto
J.R.R. Tolkien wasn't very good at writing female characters. Something about the Oxford academic atmosphere, I think, that precludes any delving into a lot of professors' feminine sides. When Peter Jackson did what seems to be the definitive film version of "The Lord of the Rings", he did a bit of shuffling to give the girls a bit more of a run out. One role that benefitted in particular was that of Eowyn, niece to Theodred. Miranda did amazingly well to bring the role to life. As I watched the scene where she is confronted by Gríma Wormtongue (played chillingly by Brad Dourif), I expereienced the same feeling that one gets when just starting to fall asleep - that light-headed, falling sensation. I have the suspicion that I could stare into her deep and expressive eyes for a thousand years. Mesmerizing.
12. Hazel Irvine
For those of you that don't know, Hazel is a television sports presenter in the U.K. She covers the Embassy World Snooker Championships, as well as some of the alpine events during Winter Olympics and other such competitions. Not only can she intelligently discuss sports, but she's erudite, quick-witted, and disarmingly charming. It's not easy trying to coax an entertaining interview from Stephen Hendry or Ronnie O'Sullivan when they're feeling glum and taciturn after losing a 19 rack match. And she makes a Scottish accent sound sexy. Hazel is to men as Sean Connery is to women. And lovely teeth, to match.
11. Natalie Portman
A precocious acting talent that first tugged heart-strings as a waif in "Léon", released in North America as "The Professional", she has also completed her Harvard degree. Intelligent, thoughtful, focused, and diligent, she has a force of character which is hard to avoid noticing. She has her own personality - independent and forceful, and it gives her an undeniable presence.
10. Linda Bresonik
Another decidedly young entry whom I first noticed at the Under-19 Women's World Cup in 2002. She was the standout performer for the champion German team, scoring goals, and playing in every position on the park except goalkeeper - she played sweeper, back, midfield and striker as the Germans strode confidently to an eventual Final win over Brazil on penalties. A thoroughly competent, versatile, athletic leader who plays The Beautiful Game with poise and elegance.
9. Janeane Garofalo
I haven't seen "The Truth About Cats and Dogs", but I was astonished to learn that the "little & large", "pretty & dumpy" dichotomy pal-flick formula was being applied to Uma Thurman and Janeane. She's charmed my socks off in every interview I've ever seen, and her performances always seems authentic and real. She has a wonderful self-deprecatory sense of humour which I find warm and infectious. She's funny, honest, open and unpretentious. In a word: great.
8. Mira Sorvino
Graduated summa cum laude from Harvard in Chinese Studies, and a very well-spoken and personable actress who's not afraid to take the mickey out of herself, as she did in the ditz-fest "Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion." She's done action, horror, comedy and whatever genre Woody Allen films fall into. She's an Oscar-winner who doesn't stand on her achievements, but pushes the envelope further.
7. Joanne Guest
A English model who is not only stunningly good looking, but has lectured the Oxford Debating Society. A little dirty and a very blunt and candid speaker in interviews, she's forthright and open, down-to-earth and keenly aware of the opinions and perceptions of others. A confident and ambitious woman who is also laddish to the extent that she would be a person with whom it would be great to meet down the pub and sink a few pints. A complex personality equally capable of demure diffidence and brash vulgarity.
6. Jennifer Hedger
An anchorwoman on TSN who is witty, funny, and not afraid to take on male colleagues intellectually or professionally. She's also really tall. It was once written of her that she could walk across Lake Winnipeg without getting her ankles wet. She digs on sports, has strong opinions and a strong will, and would be a great person with whom to have an argument. She's got a sparkling conversational sense and doesn't let any challenge go unanswered.
5. Laura Harring
The co-star of David Lynch's "Mulholland Drive" graduated from Switzerland's Aiglon College with academic honours, worked as a social worker in India. She can do the Argentine tango, perform any of the roles in a Commedia Dell'Arte production, was born in Mexico and grew up in Texas. A true cosmopolite, this is a truly interesting woman with stories to tell, and who shares my interest in the investigation of people and cultures globally. I find her fascinating and would really love to sit down with a bottle of Mateus, a baguette, and an assortment of cheeses to discuss geography and human interaction.
4. Sadie Frost
Her oftimes understated demeanour belies a keen mind and a seething sexuality. Most people will remember her as Lucy from "Bram Stoker's Dracula", playing the bad girl to Winona Ryder's good-girl Mina. I still think of her as the best part of Eric Idle's film "Splitting Heirs." A talented English actress with much more to offer the cinematic community, I would really love to gain an insight into her mind and her thinking. A consummate professional who has never put a figurative foot wrong and, like some of the other actresses listed here, hasn't sold out to Hollywood by choosing her roles rather than just cranking out brainless potboilers for the sake of feeding the ravenous film industry's need for more revenue. No pointless sequels or insipid summer blockbuster action films on her resumé.
3. Lisa Loeb
My music library, mysteriously, has very few female lead singers. Carole King, Edie Brickell and Christine Lavin are probably the only ones with anything near the volume of music I have of Lisa's stuff. She's bright, clever, creative, and not at all self aggrandizing. And she's got the kind of character needed to wear glasses - most people chicken out and wear contacts, but not our Ms. Loeb. She's got the personality of Nanci Griffith, she's prettier than Sarah McLachlan, and writes better songs than both of them. Someone with whom I would very much like to jam and collaborate. And I'd like to ask her whether she's a big J.D. Salinger afficionado, as I suspect.
2. Emily Mortimer
Yes, another actress. I was going to spring for Dr. Linda Woodbridge in this spot, but how many people know the English Literature professor teaching at Pennsylvania State University? Not many, though I'm sure a google search would probably turn up something. She was the professor that changed my academic career irrevocably. Instead, I'm going with Emily Mortimer. She studied English Literature and Russian at Oxford, is a remarkably versatile actress with a talent I deeply admire - being able to emulate English dialects. I've been trying all my life to study, memorize and perform impressions of different dialects, but Emily is the real deal. Her American is great Californian and her Scouse accent is great, although very South Mersey. She's also worked as a newspaper columnist and a playwright, and her commitment to language is perfectly congruent with my University career and personal interests. She starred in one of my all-time favourite films, "Formula 51", a.k.a. "The 51st State," and thus I have seen her often enough to memorize the story of her face and the song of her voice. I'm gonna stop before I start waxing maudlin, if I haven't already.
1. Melanie Chisholm
No, I don't own a single Spice Girls album, single, or song. Why then is Sporty Spice number one on the list? Well, for one, her solo stuff is much better than any of the Spice Girls rubbish, but that's not saying much. She's also from Liverpool, which is worth a lot of consideration. Plus she's fun, spunky, energetic, and a strong personality. Really, whom would you rather your pre-teen daughter idolize? A singing, dancing martial artist like Mel C., or some egregious tramp like Britney Spears? Who is a better role model for girls? I like Mel because she doesn't use sex to sell her music, she's an unabashed Northerner, and she follows the correct football team. Another great woman to meet down the pub and sink a few pints with.
Conclusion:
So what is it that I find attractive in women? What are the common factors of these twenty women? Well, they're approachable, ambitious, energetic, with great character and a sense of humour. They're different shapes, sizes, ages, but I suppose that the overall commonality is that they're good conversationalists with interesting opinions and personality quirks. They're people that I would like to know and hang out with. I guess that's the bottom line: if I can't have a solid debate with them, or at least a heated discussion, it's just not worth it.
Back later.
Cheers, all.
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^
02 December 2004
Emotional Stability
Greetings, gentle readers.
Oh, there are so many things on the plate for us to examine and consider the delicacy thereof. Liverpool defeated Arsenal. As Friar Lawrence would say, "in that art thou happy!" Of course, I'm also riding the roller-coaster of being the most liked guy at work to being the worst performer in the eyes of the managers. My co-workers are great, but the only messages I get from managers and supervisors is that of incompetence and inadherence to company policy. The fragility of my ego does not let me perform anything with competence under those circumstances. I tried to quit, but we'll see how that works out...
Next up: platonic relationships.
My friend Trevor called it "the Riot Act." The moment it was directly or indirectly connoted that a woman "just wants to be your friend" or "loves you like a brother".
Yes. Those of you who have been afflicted with this horrid sequence of events not only have our greatest pity and understanding, but only because I am the master of this situation. Of course, by master, I mean that I have done it the most times, and will continue doing it until I die loveless and alone. I love my friends. I will take bullets for them. I will willingly lie down on freight train tracks for them. I will cover my face in luncheon meat and stick my face in a cage of rats for my friends. But somehow, every woman that wants to be my friend immediately excludes carnal knowledge. I will cross every bridge, ford every crossing and climb any mountain for the first woman who says, "Do you want a drink?" but there is no access to love in the nether-world in which I exist.
I am like Brainy Smurf in the Smurfs. He was the most concerned about everything, even getting to the point of running around to all the wildlife and trying to educate them on the uses of handkerchiefs. Of course, no one ever retuned his affection, and he was the least appreciated of all the smurfs but, being a smurf he diligently kept on at his futile task all of his Belgian-inspired life. Welcome to the 21th century wage-slave philosophy where all identity will begin to disintegrate.
So I'm Brainy-smurf. Love is this nebulous thing that exists on Europe, but not in North America for me. I would say that I'll contribute the next time I get the slightest feeling of appreciation or affection, but aside from Mike, I don't think that anyone cares enough to really review this nonsense.
All that remains is to keep giving and to keep caring until either I expire from exhaustion or someone starts to care in return.
As Peter and Gordon famously sang (although the lyrics and music were written by Paul McCartney) "I don't care what they say, I won't stay in a world without love", I can't stay in job where I am unappreciated, in a city where I am unloved, in a country that considers me a source of income tax, and a continent where women find me so repulsive that none have found me worthy of a single date in over 18 months.
But enough about me. In a few days, I should be able to post an academic paper which should shed some light on China's "one-child policy" and the resultant atrocities. Until then, good night England, and the colonies. Cheers,
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^
Oh, there are so many things on the plate for us to examine and consider the delicacy thereof. Liverpool defeated Arsenal. As Friar Lawrence would say, "in that art thou happy!" Of course, I'm also riding the roller-coaster of being the most liked guy at work to being the worst performer in the eyes of the managers. My co-workers are great, but the only messages I get from managers and supervisors is that of incompetence and inadherence to company policy. The fragility of my ego does not let me perform anything with competence under those circumstances. I tried to quit, but we'll see how that works out...
Next up: platonic relationships.
My friend Trevor called it "the Riot Act." The moment it was directly or indirectly connoted that a woman "just wants to be your friend" or "loves you like a brother".
Yes. Those of you who have been afflicted with this horrid sequence of events not only have our greatest pity and understanding, but only because I am the master of this situation. Of course, by master, I mean that I have done it the most times, and will continue doing it until I die loveless and alone. I love my friends. I will take bullets for them. I will willingly lie down on freight train tracks for them. I will cover my face in luncheon meat and stick my face in a cage of rats for my friends. But somehow, every woman that wants to be my friend immediately excludes carnal knowledge. I will cross every bridge, ford every crossing and climb any mountain for the first woman who says, "Do you want a drink?" but there is no access to love in the nether-world in which I exist.
I am like Brainy Smurf in the Smurfs. He was the most concerned about everything, even getting to the point of running around to all the wildlife and trying to educate them on the uses of handkerchiefs. Of course, no one ever retuned his affection, and he was the least appreciated of all the smurfs but, being a smurf he diligently kept on at his futile task all of his Belgian-inspired life. Welcome to the 21th century wage-slave philosophy where all identity will begin to disintegrate.
So I'm Brainy-smurf. Love is this nebulous thing that exists on Europe, but not in North America for me. I would say that I'll contribute the next time I get the slightest feeling of appreciation or affection, but aside from Mike, I don't think that anyone cares enough to really review this nonsense.
All that remains is to keep giving and to keep caring until either I expire from exhaustion or someone starts to care in return.
As Peter and Gordon famously sang (although the lyrics and music were written by Paul McCartney) "I don't care what they say, I won't stay in a world without love", I can't stay in job where I am unappreciated, in a city where I am unloved, in a country that considers me a source of income tax, and a continent where women find me so repulsive that none have found me worthy of a single date in over 18 months.
But enough about me. In a few days, I should be able to post an academic paper which should shed some light on China's "one-child policy" and the resultant atrocities. Until then, good night England, and the colonies. Cheers,
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
