Chelski and Capitalism

Greetings, gentle readers.
The Rafatollah of Anfield has a little daughter named Claudia, and in her own little-girl way, she politely asked her father why his team was always playing "that team in blue." The learned and sagely Señor Benitez smiled and embraced his daughter, but didn't really offer an answer. Liverpool's manager from the Iberian Peninsula couldn't explain that despite the claims from the Fleet Street hacks, regardless of whatever "big" number they design – "the Big Three", "the Big Four","the Big Π", "the Big √2" or any other mathematic absurdity posed – only two teams in England stand a chance in European competition. Truth be told, since José Mourinho took control of Chelsea a season ago, he has played 67 games in all competitions and only lost 6 of them. Not surprising, considering the enormous outlay of cash on the squad, but previous manager of Chelsea Claudio Ranieri won NOTHING with almost the same core squad of players. In the same period of time, he has played Liverpool six times, and we have grown stronger with every battle. True, they defeated us in the League Cup Final last year, but we trumped that by drawing them at Stamford Bridge in the first leg of the Champions' League Semi-Finals last year, before beating them and knocking them out of the competition when we played in front of the Kop.
Who else beat them? Barçalona did. And in all honesty, they have been demonstrating how ridiculously strong they are of late. Write off a team that can field Ronaldinho, Deco, and Eto'o as well as a manager like Frank Rijkaard at your peril.
Moral of the story: you don't beat Chelsea unless you do something magic to counteract the force of Mourinho's charisma off the field and the likes of Makelele, Terry, Lampard, Robben, Duff, et aliter on it. Or unless the referee is inexplicably myopic. Cut to today's match.
Liverpool are destined to play at least four matches against Chelsea in this coming season. Home and away in the Premiership, home and away in the group stages of the Champions' League. Theoretically, we could also play in the FA Cup, the League Cup, and in the knockout stages of the Champions' League. It's an awful lot of times to keep running into the same team.
The Champions of Europe are almost inexplicable underdogs when facing a Chelsea team that has not only remained unbeaten since Liverpool beat them on 3rd May, but then has also won every single game. Many neutral observers speak about Roman Abramovich's seemingly interminable billions and how that kind of economic inequality must have a corresponding effect on the competitive nature of the Premiership and on the Champions' League. Charlton Athletic, perhaps the best team to try and do a bargain-bin imitation of Chelsea has done remarkably well, losing only one game - erm... to Chelsea. The play of Jerome Thomas and Dennis Rommedahl down the wide flanks have opened up and exposed every other Premiership opponent that they have faced.
Are Charlton that good? Are the tactics that incisive?
The answer lies in the debate between innovation and refinement. Surely it's not that revolutionary to play with wingers. Sir Stanley Matthews would certainly tell someone so. It's not the system, nor even the players employed within that system whiach determines the success, but rather the ability of the opposing team to recognise exactly what it's facing.
For the second time, we try to fast-forward to the Liverpool v. Chelsea match...
Tactically, Liverpool play the game cagey. Didi Hamann, the stalwart Horatio on the bridge that thwarted the Tuscan assaults of AC Milan but a few scant months ago­, returns to his role of spoiling opposition attacks. His performance can leave none with anything to question. Much as the heroic soldier that defended Rome in archaic history... he can hold bridges until those behind him can burn them. And in so doing, he has time and again proved himself one of the most valiant warriors to wear the Red Shirt. Or should I say... tunic? I'm sure that Livy would have much to say about that.
Meanwhile, Djimi Traoré was restored to left-back ahead of Steve Warnock, Steve Finnan was preferred to Josemi on the right, and the familiar pair of Sami Hÿypia and Jamie Carragher started directly in front of 'keeper Pepe Reina. Xabi Alonso and skipper Stevie G provided the forward drive through central midfield, while Luis Garcia, Djibril Cissé, and Peter Crouch played in a very fluid attacking line, with Crouch in the centre as a fulcrum. Describe the tactical style any way you like, but in the old "Wibble/Wobble" lingo (With Ball / With-Out Ball), it's essentially a 4-3-3/4-5-1. As the game wore on, Traoré began to venture forward as a left-sided midfielder, turning a back 4 into a back 3, but... no disrespect to Djimi... he does that sort of thing unbidden anyway. He's like a human tactical anomaly. Sometimes welcome, sometimes not.
The game was tense and taut as a badminton net at first dawn. Both teams man-marked so tightly that no player could have more than a momentary flash of possession before being tackled. Movements and passing plays were fragmentary at best, and scoring chances were scarce and fleeting.
As the game wore on, Liverpool, edged onward by the screaming, cheering and singing of the Kop end, began to make the best of the difference between the two sides. In the first half, Sami Hÿypia found himself bursting down the middle of the 18-yard box, ball at his feet, with Petr Cech looking decidedly beaten. Ricardo Carvalho was flat-footed and out of the picture, and John Terry was a mysterious absentee from the scene. As the huge, tow-headed Finn lunged toward goal, and with Cech rooted to his line, who else but Chelsea striker Didier Drogba should appear? The Côte d'Ivoire striker has practically burst his lungs running back from his striker's position at the far end of the field to defend his own goal area, and by the time he got near the towering Scandanavian poised to strike a lethal first goal, he only had time and energy for one action.
As Sami passed the penalty spot, moving diagonally from his right to his left, and started to cue up his left foot for a shot, he suddenly felt a thumping great contact on his inner left thigh, and found himself on the turf. Drogba had decided to ignore the ball altogether, and fire a stinging roundhouse kick into the immediate vicinity of Sami's junk cellar from behind, clipping him fiercely between the legs, but thankfully, below the level of the reproductive organs.
The referee inexplicably waved for a goal kick as the ball... the FOOTball... rolled into touch. Luis Garcia was aghast at the decision, but shook his head and started running back to his own end.
Liverpool seemed to grow in confidence as the match continued, and by the beginning of the second half, had begun to dominate play.
The problem was Djimi. I suspect that an alien spacecraft hovered nearby and sent a beam into his brain, giving him delusions of being Roberto Carlos because at the slightest provocation, he would hare forward into central midfield (of all places) leaving his designated defensive area completely vulnerable. It was on one of these walkabouts that Drogba received the ball on the Liverpool left. Charging back from being completely out of position, Traore panicks and chops Drogba's legs out from under him inside the 18-yard box. Penalty. No argument. A stupid penalty - given - but a penalty nonetheless.
Lampard whacks the ball from the spot, and Reina jumps the right way only for the ball to wriggle between his elbow and ribcage as he descends. Considering the vast number of Chelski infringements against Liverpool for which they were not penalised, it seems grossly unfair that they should capitalise on the solitary opportunity they are given.
That being said, the powers of goodness and justice and virtue are not asleep. Badly bruised and beaten, surely, but not asleep. A moment's inspiration from one of Liverpool's innumerable crosses as they press provides the equaliser. The ball sails across the box from the left, and none other than the man himself meets it with a vicious right-footed strike that the huge and mighty Petr Cech can touch, but not stop. The ball stings the fingers of the mighty Czechbefore bending them out of the way and flying across the face of goal into the opposite corner. Anfield explodes. Another goal from the top drawer of Steven Gerrard, future Kop legend and leader of the most stupendously successful and simultaneously frustratingly inconsistent sides in Liverpool history.
That frustration manifests itself as Cheski help themselves to three more goals in the second half. Sami Hÿypia is lurching around like a listing Spanish galleon. Traore is never anywhere to be found. Liverpool is still winning the midfield battles, but Cheksea's counterattacks open up holes in the defence again and again. It is later revealed that Sami was puking his guts up from the flu, but wouldn't take himself off. No excuses. Generally good performance for a poor result.
Despite overwhelming possession and pressure on the Chelski net, the counter attacks of the "Royal" Blues made the scoreline, and the consequent storylines and headlines.
So another three points dropped, and once again, it looks like a scrap for Champions' League berths rather than a shot at the title of the Premiership Champions.
So on to a couple weeks of internationals, and in the meantime, I bid you all adieu.
Cheers,

-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^

Number Fifteen

Greetings, gentle readers.
Many apologies are due at this point. First and foremost amongst these should be my apology for delay and procrastination. An article of this fiddling magnitude should be dashed off at a moment's notice, not a subject of meditation and consternation.
That should segué nicely into my next apology: this article will not contain any enormous world-truths. As much as I enjoy deconstructing zeitgeists and cultural themes, today I am neither Jacques Derrida nor Hamlet. In the future perhaps. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
Apology the third: I need to ramble on a bit about football. Sure, everyone wants to see the pretty pictures of lovely women, but I have to preclude that by opening my big yap about Liverpool. Liverpool have not lost yet in the Premiership this season, but finally conceded the first goals. To Birmingham City of all teams. After ninety minutes of domination, the most we could drag from a powerful and forceful display of energy and verve was a draw. Disappointment would ordinarily be the main item on offer at the cafeteria of emotions, but there are a number of reasons for optimism. In the first four Premiership matches, Liverpool managed one goal. We scored double that entire amount in one game on Saturday. The result of the game should be disbelief that we conceded two goals on two freak mis-hit balls, and burgeoning confidence that we can smash sack-loads of balls past opposing keepers, evern away from home.
Meanwhile, injury-riddled Manchester United lost to Blackburn. A ridiculously easy result to predict, but after the horrid run of injuries Liverpool had last season, it's very difficult to crow in triumph after pointing out another's shortcomings in personnel. So I won't even try.
And Arséne Wenger has responded to the swelling throng of media-folk who have clamoured for the Premiership to become more entertaining. The Arsenal manager mentioned that perhaps teams could get an extra point if they thrash their opponents by three goals or more. I don't disagree. If my team are playing Hungover XI or whatever, I want to see a cricket score, not some safe 1-0 scoreline. What's the fun in that? Can Liverpool get a goal past a dippy team desperately fighting promotion? Probably. Can they get three or four? It's worth watching to find out... Meanwhile, idiot teams like Everton could try and stop folding altogether when talented teams start kicking them all over the park. If anyone wants to do the research, have a look at what Everton did when they travelled to Highbury to play Arsenal last season. On the one hand, I'm ashamed to say that the team comes from Merseyside, but on the other, I'm ecstatic that no team in red would grab their ankles and say "AHHH" quite as enthusiastically. Then again, at least Toffees love their team, which is more than can be said for the fickle and glory-hounding bandwagon-jumpers of other teams which shall for the moment remain unnamed. If people are concerned about attendances and stadium-capacity crowds, they ought first to look at their fan base. If there's an empty seat in Anfield, I would gladly trade one of my senses to fill it : curiosity, balance, outrage - you name it.
Next, I feel an obligation to apologise to Janeane Garofalo . Some person pasted one of my articles onto a mondo Janeane Garofalo site, and of course, it had to be the article which detailed the slipping of the comedienne from 9th spot to 20th. Those who have read the posting about twentieth place will no doubt have realised that I dashed off a fairly flippant cursory analysis in which I off-handedly dismissed some of Janeane's political activism as some sort of flaky, trendy, west-coast, left-wing, tree-hugging hippie-weirdo excrement. I realise now, considering the "Impeach Bush" campaign and other indicators of awareness, that my dismissive attitude was disrespectful and the product of a profound lack of knowledge. So in addition to having the lovely Ms. Garofalo plummet eleven places in the table, I managed to add insult to that injury. My apologies are freely proffered. My mortification knows no bounds. If it did, it would certainly invite them round for crisps and tea.
And now, I move on to my final apology. Fifteenth spot on my Pulchritudinous Premiership has not changed. Last season to this one, considering the upheaval and turmoil, one would assume there would be a shuffling of things, and well there has been. Three people relegated, three promoted - the odds of someone retaining a position are pretty remote. That being said, four women have kept their exact same numerical position whilst all about them have been shuffling theirs. Jennifer Love Hewitt has already been demonstrated to have been one at number 19. Those of you able to research through the archives will by now already know the occupant of this spot on the table, but without any further ado - 15th place continues to be held by...
Anna Faris
This lass has never received the recognition that she deserves. Of course, she's been struggling mightily to divest her thespian portfolio from the "Scary Movie" franchise, so her endeavours are entirely understandable.
She's funny, she's versatile, she has this strange sense of humour that makes me quirk my mouth in a smile whenever she hitches her eyebrows, and she doesn't take herself too seriously. This may be fast becoming a theme on this page, but anyone who rather staidly decides that they are a responsible cultural icon and needs to behave accordingly is a prat. Anna is amazing because she can retain a very solid sense of perspective, and apply it to her every action. Symptomatic of an existential thinker, and a brilliant actress.
Of course, the picture to the left doesn't really do her justice. She's trying to be too serious, and it looks as though someone has just hosed her down with an industrial-sized can of non-stick baking pan fluid. That's almost as bad as a serial-hyphenation spree. Gah!
In any event, the same comments I made in praise of Miss Faris during last season are still applicable. I'm a sucker for deadpan comedic delivery, and Anna is phenomenal at taking the mickey out of the stereotypical shrieking hysterical female victim/heroine. In an era of political correctness wherein women have to simultaneously portray towers of emotional strength in order to satisfy feminist interest groups and panicked, screaming, horrified pawns in order to satisfy whatever bizarre demographic enjoys that sort of things in horror films, it's tough to find a balance. Anna manages to pull it off, however, and my respect is virtually boundless. Her career is destined to burgeon further, and I look forward to seeing more evidence of her diverse talents as she moves forward. Watch this space. This is a woman with an ascendant star. Incidentally, the picture on the right makes Anna look remarkably like Tina Fey, who is jockeying for promotion in the coming season, so that should create at least a tiny modicum of drama and tension for the 2006-2007 season. Or maybe not. I might be the only heterosexual who finds Tina Fey enormously attractive. Who knows?
In the meanwhile, Liverpool are now facing off against Chelski in a two-match double-header (there are the hyphens again...) and there is a wonderful article on my hero Jamie Carragher at http://www.liverpoolfc.tv/mediawatch/drilldown/MW8994050925-1119.htm. I was hoping to delve into a deep analysis on footie tactics, but I can see that I don't have enough time or energy for such things. I've been babbling about holding midfielders and wide, five-man midfields for far too long without committing myself down in text. What I want to do is be ahead of the next revolution. When people begin to understand that you need a holding midfielder to balance a man in the hole or a supporting striker, the game will change again. Chelski are ravaging everyone because their opponents are either so busy trembling with fear to bother with tactics, or they are unable to deal with Chelsea's wide men and Makelele.
As soon as I reckon out the next wave of tactical innovation, I'll let you know.
Cheers,

-mARKUS

^+Justice for the 96+^

Number Sixteen.

Greetings, gentle readers.
Although I'm sure that very few people in existence are waiting in breathless anticipation of my personal estimation of publicly recognisable female figures, I thought that I should try and keep a schedule that would allow me to finish this season's tables before the next one begins. So without too much ado, here is what has happened in sixteenth spot in the pulchritudinous premiership...
Last season, this spot was held jointly by
Jennifer and Cynthia Dale.
These two Canadian sisters, originally of the family name Ciurluini, are inspiring and talented actresses and performers. Last season, I copped out in judgement by including both of them, since choosing once sister over another is generally a poor decision in general. Parents out there know that to which I refer. Jennifer, pictured to the right, is probably best known cinematically for such critically acclaimed films as "Whale Music", and "The Adjuster", though admittedly neither of them is renowned for spectacular box office success. She has done a metaphorical ton of television work, however, most notably in terms of popular culture in "John Woo's Once A Thief." American readers might recognise her from her performance as Jacqueline Bouvier-Kennedy-Onassis-Etc. in the TV special "Hoover vs. The Kennedys : The Second Civil War."
Cynthia, Jennifer's younger sister, may be slightly more recognisable to those of us not intimately acquainted with the Canadian film industry. She appeared in such films as "My Bloody Valentine" and "Moonstruck" in the 1980's before landing a role on the television series "Street Legal."
Both sisters are immensely talented, possessed of a startling degree of altruism and integrity, and display equally impressive intelligence, composure and eloquence.
That being said, they are no longer sixteenth in the tables. I'm probably just demonstrating my not inconsiderable predilections towards cowardice and sloth.
In other words, it doesn't seem fair to the other nineteen spots on the list, doesn't seem æsthetically consistent, plus I loathe any kind of confrontation, even within my own mind that this might cause, and finally - it's more work for me if they're both on the list. More writing, more visuals... Easier for all concerned if the reform of the table tended toward a more uniform structure. Another cop-out answer, to be sure. Be that as it may, you may recognise the lass who now occupies this spot. It's...
Ali Landry
The brave lady from Breaux Bridge, Louisiana who recently made some headlines in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. She was previously seventeenth in the table and has managed to climb one place because of her giving, outgoing and open personality as well as the astonishing alacrity with which she threw herself into efforts to seek relief for those in the Gulf of Mexico affected by the recent meteorological unhappiness.
Plus of course, all of the earlier characteristics which I earlier described, and which got her into the tables in the first place last season, as being desirable and attractive still hold true. She's funny, doesn't take herself too seriously, has a very understanding and communicative nature, and enjoys professional sports.
Plus, she was also born during the same year that I was, so that removes any sort of stigma of age-discrimination. This Premiership table doesn't exclusively desire to cradle-rob or to hang about leering into zimmer-frame shops. It's about quality and merit, not the number of 25th of Decembers a woman has seen. So her inclusion allows me the opportunity to make that distinction clear and remove it from the forum of debate.
Well, that exhausts me capacity to remain upright. Back soon with more football commentary and poetic analysis or whatever dubious authenticity either one might have. Cheerio, and spare a thought for Sir Spike Milligan, Sir Harry Secombe, Peter Sellers and Michael Bentine. All sorely missed. Good night, England and the colonies...

-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^

The Nature of Things

Greetings, gentle readers.
No disrespect to Dr. David Suzuki (with whom I've spoken and respect deeply) but it seems apropos to mention at this point how intensely depressing this entire blogpage is. Does the fact that life is fleeting and essentially unfulfilling colour the way I express things?
Am I alone in feeling that the world is a bleaker place for lack of Sir Harry Secombe, Douglas Adams, John Lennon, and Bill Shankly? Every time I mention "England and the colonies", I think of Sir Harry and the goons. Every vaguely self-derisory comment echoes Douglas Adams. Every expression of inauthentic bombast sounds like John. And from whence would my love of football come, if not from the Messiah of Glenbuck?
Everyone's life ends the same way, although I always thought it amusing to consider that I could go out the same way I came into this world - naked, screaming, and in a pool of blood.
Happy thoughts aside, I considered that before I post my next entry of my pulchritudinous premiership that I should inject a sense of gravitas into the proceedings. At least I haven't spouted off some weary chestnuts like "everyone dies, but not everyone truly lives." Oh. Damn, I just did.
Right-o. Looking forward to the Liverpool v. Manchester United match tomorrow morning, although that will mean being horizontal a long time before and after.
"How are the Reds doing?" I hear you ask. Well, we're not quite as spectacularly well off as teams like Chelski who thus far have won every single league match without conceding a single goal. We're apparently not even as successful as Hearts of Midlothian, who have taken the Scottish Premier League by storm, winning all of their seven matches thus far with striker Rudi Skacel scoring in every match. That being said, we're not losing. And the defence of the European Champions' Cup has begun in earnest, with the Red Machine travelling to Seville to defeat Réal Betis 2-1. Things are proceeding apace, and the future somehow manages to look simultaneously bright and daunting. Bright, because the team is playing better with every match and soon the last batch of international qualifiers for the 2006 World Cup will be out of the way. Daunting because the fixture congestion of League, European Champions' League, FA Cup, League Cup and World Club Cup will mean that there will be more games than that at which one could comfortably shake a stick.
So, as always, I advise courage and fortitude while falling far short of displaying either attribute in my personal life. I knew a huge, burly Afrikaaner while I was living in Malawi, and whenever we played Blackjack together, he had this habit of bellowing "COURAGE!" before pounding the table and hitting a 12 or a 13. So unless you want to upset 250 lbs. of gruff Boer, I suggest that we all listen to what he had to say. Or he'll probably rip off some of our limbs and beat us with the bloody stumps.
I'm off to lie down again. Until next time, cheerio.

-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^

What is poetry?

Greetings, gentle readers.
Sure, I've got some not inconsiderable editing abilty. That being said, I'm no poet laureate, and would like to think that I haven't pretended to be. Thus, when asked to make critical comments about poems, I chose the coward's way out, and wrote my own, in the hopes that people could draw their own conclusions, and I wouldn't be forced to explain things directly. So here we go.

indian summer

do you remember

warmth

in heavy smothered

breath

perfumed and soft

as a whispered farewell

the pipes that sang in your dreams

left only echoes

hollow and brittle

the river carries the leaves of autumn away

never to return

the north wind sighs

with thoughts of sorrow

and i

breathe your name

in misty opposition

but the frost

does not care

- mARKUS

What's the point? Summer turns to autumn and it makes us all sad, I suppose. The point I wanted to illustrate is that I don't editorialise. I try not to tell my readers to feel lonely or isolated or discriminated against. To be perfectly honest, I think this poem is rather rubbish, since it still wanders away from pure imagery, and uses very nebulous terms like dreams and thoughts. The work - the conjecturing and creation - should be done in the reader's head, not on the page. As Norman Mailer wrote, poems should be like pins stuck by sadists. They should prompt and provoke, but not explain or illustrate. Prose is for delineation and diversification. Poetry is supposed to be a distillation. It should be quick. Almost silent. It should be the least amount of words needed to express a concept. Ezra Pound said that poets should remove any word from a poem which does not do work. I agree. I'll even volunteer to wield the blade when it comes time for the cull.
So there's my lecture on poetry. I would carry on further, but I don't have the energy. Someday, when I have a solid foundation of physical and mental health, I'll hold forth at greater length. Oh, and if someone could remind me to laugh sarcastically at people who specialise in archæology and try and use that knowledge to draw conclusions about the future of mankind, I would be immensely appreciative.
Good night England and the colonies.

-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^

Number Seventeen

Greetings, gentle readers.
So Canada's ladies faced off against the World Champions in the only sport that matters - twice. And lost both times. But that's not surprising. The Germans are very, very good. And they've never dropped a game against the Canuck females. That being said, Kara Lang scored in both games, showing that there is some fiesty competitive spirit amongst the fairer sex in the True North Strong and Free. No disrespect to Charmaine Hooper, Canada's most capped athlete, but Kara is the future of Canadian Women's Footie. More about Ms. Lang later...
For now, let's look at who was in seventeenth place last season, and we'll see who currently holds that position. So for the season 2004-2005, 17th place was held by...
Ali Landry
The former Miss Louisiana has done admirably well for her state, following the distastrous visit of Hurricane Katrina.
In the aftermath of New Orleans nearly being wiped from the face of the globe, Ali heroically spearheaded a number of relief efforts and celebrity fund-raisers to help bring food, medical assistance, and shelter to thousands of damp Cajuns. Makes me want to settle down with some jambalaya and crawdad pie.
Rest assured that being no longer being ranked 17th has not diminished Ali's status in any way. She's dodged relegation. However, the place in the table that she held last season has now been taken by someone else. Last season, this lass held 11th place, but has dropped somewhat in the rankings. The holder of the last place safely above the relegation zone is...
Natalie Portman
Yes, Darth Vader's girlfriend is still kicking in the tables. We'll see how she fares as she has gone on to film "V for Vendetta" as Evey Hammond. Depending on the faithfulness of the depiction and the overall quality of the production, her status is still very volatile. Thus far, no Alan Moore graphic novel has survived a translation to the cinematic screen, and there are some very disturbing reports of the producers of this latest effort losing the plot somewhat. Oh well.
At the very least, Natalie has left behind some very positive performances in "The Professional", "Beautiful Girls" and... erm... "Mars Attacks!" She's also a dedicated student and a charming personality. So hats off to Miss Hershlag.
I've been trying to post this for over three days now, and I just don't have the stamina to crank out more lines of text. Hopefully, I can try and dedicate more time in the future to try and do more justice to the subjects I'm depicting in this little space. Incidentally, Rosamund Pike and Tina Fey were strong candidates for promotion, but hey - not everyone can be a winner. Back soon, and hopefully feeling a tad more hale and/or hearty.
Cheers,
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^

Number Eighteen

Greetings, gentle readers.
Those of you with delicate sensitivities are no doubt approaching this page with the same trepidation normally reserved for handling radioactive isotopes near one's reproductive organs or juggling eggshell-thin flasks of volatile chemicals. Have no fear. Failing that, have less fear than you would ordinarily express. Gone now are the gory photographs and the tales of shrieking unhappiness. Let us banish such thoughts to the æsthetic wilderness wherein they are incongruous. Instead, let us turn our thoughts to the fairer sex, and see what has happened to eighteenth place in the Premiership, shall we? Last season, that place was held by...
Kara Lang
She's a number of things, primarily amongst them — young. Youngest human being to score in a full international footie match, youngest player ever to get a full cap for Canada, and certainly the youngest female athlete to have earned the appellation "Clubber".
Born in Calgary, Alberta and raised in Oakville, Ontario, Kara has surpassed all expectations. A superb athlete, a phenomenal international competitor, and an exemplary role-model. I suppose that I've run out of comparative adjectives. She's Canadian, athletic, and doesn't just play football, but does so in the true spirit. The great Bill Shankly would be proud to have such a team-spirited player pass and move on the pitch in his colours. I know of few greater compliments. I've even got a photo of her wearing red. Rafa? First female in the English Premiership, perhaps? She's got to be comparable to Mark Gonzales, certainly, and her transfer fee would be a snip compared to any other right-sided midfielder.
So who currently occupies the position of 18th in my Premiership? Answer:
Claire Danes
Another promotion, and not an undeserved one.
Any hesitations about her unidimensional acting abilities are easily dismissed by pointing out the range of emotions she displayed during the run of "My So-Called Life". Sure, her performance in "Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines" was rubbish, but then, so was the whole film. She did a phenomenal job in Baz Luhrmann's "Romeo + Juliet", which couldn't have been easy, considering that she had to play opposite Leonardo DiCaprio, who is renowned for being more wooden than several major deciduous forests.
In short, she's expressive, hard-working, decisive, and professional. A couple of those adjectives work both for and against her in my mind, but if you look into her eyes, she has the ability to convince you that she is telling the absolute truth. In other words, you may love her or hate her, but she wields power. I'd much rather have her on my side than marshalling forces against me.
And now, if you'll forgive me, I need to collapse somewhere and faint. Too much æsthetics gives me a bit of a headache. Good night England and the colonies.
Cheers,
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^