For far too long have I been absent from this site, and I extend humble apologies to those who have been expecting greater production of me in my absence. I'm sure that no one is suffering from my irregular dispensation of cornball witticisms and spurious conclusions, but just maybe there are some of you out there who have noticed that the scenery on this page has grown stale and stagnant. And I've only counted down to fifteenth place of my Pulchritudinous Premiership yet. And so, in the grand tradition of such great institutions as The Academy Awards, I'll leave all the really interesting stuff until the end.
In the interim, whilst building tension and suspense, I can blither on a bit about Liverpool FC. The Red Machine is playing at home in Fortress Anfield against a team that, only a few years ago in Portugal, was called "Malfica" because of their perpetual underachievement against the context of a glorious past. Thank heavens that Liverpool has thus far been somewhat exempt from such ignominy. But yes, Sport Lisboa e Benfica is a Lisbon institution. I should know. I've been to the Estadio da Luz. I've walked through the club trophy museum. I even came within inches of being hit by João Pinto as he scorched out of the club parking lot in his flash BMW. Does anyone else remember the pint-sized attacker with the slight frame and the perpetual pleas for fouls from the ref? Didn't think so.
My friend Tony described Benfica as being like the Montréal Canadiens in the NHL. They have all the old records in the Portuguese footy annals, and they're usually near the top or thereabouts. The club that preceded the foundation of the Superliga, and represents the glory of tradition and history. The club where Eusebio made his name en route to becoming the European Player of the Year. The club that tried (and failed) to stand athwart a rampant George Best, Denis Law, and Bobby Charlton as Manchester United became the first English club to become European Champions at Wembley in 1968.
I've got nothing against Benfica. I'd rather support my local Portuguese team, Beira Mar, but that's of little consequence here. What's important is that Benfica will face off against Liverpool on Merseyside in about 12 hours from the time of writing, and it is my most fervent wish that the Eagles from Lisboa be so flattened by the roar of the Kop that they spontaneously moult.
Benfica enters the game with a narrow one-goal advantage gleaned from a rather fortuitous end-of-match play from the first leg of this, the Round of 16 in the European Champions Cup.
Liverpool – the five-time and returning champions of the competition must score at least one goal to stay alive and make it through to the Quarter-Finals, where Barçalona, Juventus, and Villaréal already await, having disposed of Chelski, Werder Bremen, and Glasgow Rangers, respectively.
Quick summary:
—There are now only two English teams left, with the fall of Manchester United to Benfica in the group phase, and now with Chelski/Sibneft FC losing in their big grudge match with Barça. That means that Liverpool have to play to win, and Arsenal can scrape past Réal Madrid with a draw, provided Réal don't score too many away goals. That's half the English teams out, and since no team from London has ever made the final of the European Cup before, I don't think Arsenal will be the first to do so. That means that Anglophiles world-wide should once again rally to the banner of the Red Scouse.
—Last season's champions of Scotland and England are now left floundering in the wake as the UEFA Champions' League steams onward. Although Glasgow have done the best of any Scottish team since the changover from Champions' Cup to Champions' League, the fact remains that being number one domestically is certainly no guarantor of success in Europe.
—Speaking of which, since Liverpool didn't finish in the top four in England last year and were only allowed to defend their trophy by means of three tortuous qualifying rounds to all of the happy backwaters of Europe, Liverpool have now played the most games this season of any of the teams remaining in the Champions' League. Which means that fatigue could yet play a factor.
—So bottom line, Liverpool have been resting a bit, they get to play at home in front of the legendary Kop, their squad is deep and eligible, and there is now a Clough-esque spine to the team of local boys: Jamie Carragher the pillar of strength at the back, Stevie Gerrard the dynamo of industry in midfield, and Robbie Fowler the God of Anfield up front. Three Scousers who have been with the team from the age of 11. Sure, God took a bit of a sabbatical for a bit, but he's back, and the scything blade of our attack is all the sharper for it.
— My call: Liverpool 4 - 0 Benfica. (Fowler 2, Morientes, Gerrard) And of course, the time on one of the goals has to be (Fowler 90') because that would truly welcome him home.
And so on to the actually interesting stuff. After all that maundering, let's get to the brass tacks. Or the Poll Tax. Or something which will cause unrest, at any rate.
Last season, the Number Fourteen Spot was held by this lovely lady:
Wendy Mesley
Whereas a lot of female television personalities are vacuous and anodyne eye candy, Wendy Mesley has always stood out as an example of a fantastic mind that just coincidentally doesn't make you want to use "Cajun-BBQ-Style" Visine on your eyes to clear out any negative after-images. She's forthright, direct, honest, competent and, of course, devastatingly intelligent. Her work on "Marketplace," for CBC is a phenomenal example of integrity, perseverance and professionalism.Her work on "The National," though mostly in a temporary capacity, demonstrated her ability to handle an anchorperson's job capably and with a significant amount of charisma.
Why isn't she still in fourteenth place, I hear the voices cry, she sounds great.
She was even diagnosed with cancer 14 months ago, and has not lost the sparkle in her eye, the mischievous corner of her mouth, or her nimble wit. She's a strong and independent woman with courage and tenacity, and I admire her immensely. As to where she has gone... I suppose that will have to wait for the blog entry that follows the one immediately after this one, chronologically.
Meanwhile, her position in the table has been usurped by none other than:
Miranda Otto
Granted, I never heard of her prior to the " Lord of the Rings" trilogy directed by Peter Jackson, but she did a very lasting impact on me.Since then, I found I did remember something about watching "The Nostradamus Kid," I saw "Flight of the Phoenix," and she still seems to be the most compelling reason to see the most recent remake/re-adaptation of "War of the Worlds."
Odd, actually, that Miranda should still feature this highly on the table, considering the amount of snide scorn and derision I tend to heap upon women folk who swoon at the thought of Orlando Bloom, and who watch the trilogy glassy-eyed whenever Legolas appears on the screen. To me, Miranda's most compelling scene in the film was opposite Brad Dourif as Gríma Wormtongue. The way in which she radiated despair and torment was almost palpable. Her performance was just as compelling as Cate Blanchett's portrayal of Galadriel wasn't. Do I watch the scene repeatedly? No. I'm not that much of a masochist to want to experience that sort of depth of feeling on a regular basis. Perhaps if I was in a mood to take my own life, and was searching for something to give me greater clarity, I might consider setting the DVD player on "repeat." But not now. Point being, that while a lot of women slobber of Orlando Bloom, I'm quite content to appreciate the masterwork of a thespian. I know Picasso was a genius. I don't need to gaze longingly at "The Old Guitarist" interminably to confirm that. Miranda Otto is quite possibly one of the most underappreciated and talented actors/actresses of her generation. She may have abandoned medicine to pursue acting, but I measure that as a small sacrifice to a greater contribution to humanity than merely healing hurts and mending wounds. She gave me an insight into the human condition through Tolkien's familiar window, and I shall neither forget her nor ignore her.
Right. It's been enough of my prattling for the nonce. I'm for bed, and some rest prior to tomorrow's match. Cheerio everyone. Good night, England, and the colonies...
-mARKUS
¥Justice for the 96¥
