ON OUT-AND-OUT STRIKERS & SUPER-SUBS

There is something almost 'anti-football' about a true number 9. Whereas the other outfield players must have minds which continually process the events around them, the positioning of 21 other players as well as the movement of the ball, a striker plays with a singularity of thought which functions almost irrespective of events beyond his immediate realm of influence. He need be neither technically superb, nor physically impressive to perform his duties; the above-pictured Gerd Müller was affectionately known as 'kleines, dickes Müller' (short, fat Müller) in his native Germany. He must, however, be different. I would argue that the best pure strikers on earth are so devastating because of their ability to detach themselves from the rhythm of the play, what commentators refer to as "drifting out of a match", while those around them are embroiled in tactical battle. This displacement-of-thought lasts until circumstance, combined with incisiveness of movement and intelligence, provides that crucial moment where instinct and muscle memory dictates that the out-and-out striker ends up with the ball in a position where contemplation becomes obsolete, and he guides the ball into the net...

ZIDANE - A PORTRAIT

(please watch the video)

     He gazes up at the floodlights and catching his breath. Even He must have been awed for a few moments during each game he played in Madrid's Estadio Santiago Bernabeu. He touches his nose, and returns to reality, the reality of a crucial game against a stubborn Villareal side.

     He trots off to a more apt position, glancing meanwhile at his accomplice on his side of the pitch. He may utter a word to Roberto Carlos, he might not. He knows that, at this point in their careers, what needs to be said has already been said countless times over. It's simply understood in the present tense.

     He taps his feet as he walks, a nervous habit developed as a child for sure. Maybe it came from his first pair of boots being too big, or perhaps it's simply done subconsciously. But it happens with such a regularity, such a subtle violence that it cannot be ignored. It is part of his demeanor. It is crucial to his walk...

ON JOE ALLEN, LIVERPOOL, AND SIGNS OF A CHANGING PREMIER LEAGUE

  

       Prior to yesterday's match at Anfield, few Premier League fans would have believed that the following statement would be proven correct - Liverpool's midfield three would outplay Manchester City's. On paper such a proclaimation seems absurd; While Manchester City are able to field De Jong, Yaya Toure, and either Nasri or David Silva in front of these two colossi, Liverpool currently run out an elderly Steven Gerrard, a local boy named Jonjo Shelvey (on for Lucas after five minutes), and a 22 year old waif-like anchor by the name of Joe Allen who just this summer transferred to Merseyside via Swansea City. Again, on paper this match-up is dominated by the men in pale-blue...

AN EARLY LOOK AT THE NEW CHELSEA FC

     Trailing 2-1 in this afternoon's encounter against Reading, Chelsea manager Roberto di Matteo decided to take off John Obi Mikel in favor of the notoriously inconsistant Daniel Sturridge on the 68' minute mark. Upon doing so, Chelsea's attacking six appeared as such; Frank Lampard deployed behind Juan Mata and Oscar, with Fernando Torres flanked by Edin Hazard and the aforementioned Sturridge up front. In few words, a scary offensive force.

     This new-look Chelsea is now top of the Premier League table, and is of particular interest to me granted how brilliant they look going forward, and how inescapably vulnerable they look at the back. Today's fixture against Reading may prove a microcosm of Chelsea's season to come. Looking lively from the off, Chelsea comfortably dealt with Reading's occasional offensive forays with ease, and both Hazard and Mata looked likely to unlock the Royals' defense. This proved to be the case on 18' minutes, when Hazard jinked his way into the penalty area before fainting a cross and drawing a stone-wall penalty, duly dispatched by the otherwise quiet Frank Lampard...

ON VAN PERSIE TO UNITED

     On January 22nd 2002, Manchester United had a 7 million pound bid in the January transfer market accepted for one Diego Forlan. Viewed by scouts as a potential scorer of important goals for United's run-in, Forlán joined the third-placed Reds and was expected to help guide United back to the top of the Premier League table for the clubs fifteenth championship. What happened in the next 5 months for the Uruguayan is still looked back on ponderously by Premier League fans; Forlán made 18 appearances for United before the end of the season, contributing not a single goal. United ended the season still languisihing in third place, and trophyless for the first time since the 97-98 campaign. Furthermore, Diego Forlán would spend three more wretched seasons in Manchester, before being transferred away to Villareal, where he would most certainly play out the rest of his career in relative anonymity...

ON NEYMAR, MILES DAVIS, AND DRIBBLERS

     Let's liken the Brazilian National side to a jazz ensemble, more specifically Miles Davis' famous sextet. On his signature album Kind Of Blue, Davis was accompanied by five of the greatest jazz musicians in history, one of them notably being John Coltrane. Such a star-studded group is easily comparable to Brazil's XI, wherein each and every player currently plies their trade at one of the top club sides on earth, when not busy performing for their home nation. With that connection established as a grounding detail, I'll move on. It should now be noted that much of Davis' Kind Of Blue, like many jazz albums, is played at a laid back, hypnotic pace with the band playing as a cohesive unit. On the opening track "So What," for example, over a minute and a half passes in a lazy, harmonized sort of fashion at the beginning of the tune. Such organized, plodding, gradual progression is also seen in the play of Brazil's current Olympic side. When opposing teams systematically foul the Brazilians to stunt their play (see: New Zealand), or have managed through resolute defending to stifle the South Americans (see: Belarus' first half performance), the Seleçao defenders take the initiative to start knocking the ball around to one another at a slower, more measured tempo. A certain cadence is established in order sort out the frenetic pace of the previously oft-interrupted game; Rafael to Thaigo Silva, then to Juan, back to Silva, over to Marcelo, maybe Sandro gets a touch. Then, and often abruptly, the passing picks up speed...

BELATED EURO 2012 RECAP; BEST XI

Having had more than ample time to review the glorious tournament that was EURO 2012, I feel more than capable of having an educated say as to who ought to be included in the Team Of The Tournament. UEFA has, of course, already had its say; their 23 man 'short-list' is (predictably) scattered with Spaniards and Italians, and correctly so they have Andres Iniesta labeled as the best player of the whole affair. However, I am of the opinion that a true T.O.T.T. should be just that; a team of the eleven players who played best during their respective fixtures, regardless of how many there may have been...

ON ENGLAND AT EURO 2012

Welcome back Joga-ers. I'm finally back on the blog having graduating college, moved into a new apartment, and watched some of the best international play I have seen since, well, the last Euro. A couple summers ago, I found myself struggling to make the best of what was, ultimately, a dissapointing World Cup 2010. Now with two long years having passed, I am revelling in the brilliance of Euro 2012. Having arranged my (pathetic) work schedule to allow me the freedom of viewing almost every single game, I must say that I have been thoroughly delighted by this summer's grand spectacle. Rather than devote this post to covering the tournament at large, though, this write-up will instead focus on one of the more striking stories that has emerged in these past few weeks; that being England's (laborous) conquering of Group D, and subsequent demise against the Italians.

THOUGHTS ON EL CLASICO

     As I sat down on my rotten, dilapidated couch to watch La Liga's season defining El Clasico, I did not expect much. To be quite honest, I thought it would transpire as many of the most recent few have; I thought it would be a game riddled by fouls, ruined by diving, and that the game would end in Barcelona's favor 3-1, or 2-1. I sat down expecting to be let down. Instead, I was treated to an absolutely riveting, attention demanding match between perhaps the world's best two sides. When the final whistle blew, I was not simply happy to have devoted two hours of my day to watching the match, but rather I was thoroughly appreciative that I had the pleasure to view such an affair.

WHAT MAKES THEM MEMORABLE

      The game is running out of characters. I've spent the better part of the last two days listening to the Football Ramble's brilliant player profiles, each one a reminder that the beautiful game was once played by men of significance and verve rather than marketed, pampered prima donnas. The profile that my mind keeps returning to is Zizou's. The man who I consider the best to ever play, he was a character of such dynamism and depth that he makes the modern day footballer seem like a pathetic charicature of what they should be; a man of heart, of passion and dignity...

AN INTERNAL DISCUSSION; OR, A MID-VACATION RANT

Wayne Rooney is the greatest footballer of all time. 

Lately, soccernet.com has devoted countless pages to interviews of current and ex-players gushing fervently about Lionel Messi as the greatest player not only of the current era, but of all time. 

They are wrong. Here is why...

MEN AGAINST BOYS

     Arsenal simply do not pass the Eye Test. A friend of mine asked me earlier today what I thought the result of today's Milan v Arsenal Champions League match would be, to which I prophetically stated, "Milan, in a blowout". Low and behold Arsenal were absolutely battered at the San Siro, and find themselves once again (essentially) knocked out of Europe before Spring. What I meant in this blog's opening clause was that if you didn't know anything about the players on show today, and simply compared the teams in a physical sense, logic would tell you that Milan would overpower Arsenal's spritely players. Zlatan and Boateng are physically imposing and brutish; Theo Walcott and Aaron Ramsey are almost waifish in comparison. Abbiati, Milan's criminally underrated keeper, is massive and commanding; Szczesny is tall but lanky, and young to boot. AC Milan took the field today looking to not only beat Arsenal, but to overwhelm and dominate them with pace and power. Their plan worked to such an extent that some Gunners looked vaguely relieved that they could escape to the dressing room once the final whistle blew...

"I MISS THE GAMES"

     I miss the games. Having dedicated almost the entirety of my time on earth trying to become the best soccer player I could become, I currently find myself completed with my college career, without knowledge of when my next game might be. I imagine the sadness that creeps into my mind every single day due to my competitive career being over is the same sadness that every proper player since the creation of the game has felt as age and circumstance rob them of their talents. Regardless of whether this moment occurs at 21, or 30, or if you're lucky 40, there comes a time where the elements conspire against a footballer to make him abandon his craft, at least at the level they once could play at...

HOW GARETH BALE AND ANTONIO VALENCIA ARE SAVING THE MODERN GAME

     For the past two months, Antonio Valencia and Gareth Bale have been simply unplayable. Today's fixtures in the Barclay's Premier League played host to two more marvelous performances from these men; Valencia's was against Stoke City, and led to two (converted) penalties for Manchester United as well as one woefully spurned chance by Dimitar Berbatov as the game died out. Gareth Bale put in a fantastic shift for Tottenham, scoring two fine goals against a hapless Wigan side. For the past 12 months, the Welshman in particular has been hailed as the one of the world's most devastating players; a man who, on his day, cannot be contained by even the best outside-backs the Premiership has to offer. Recently, however, there have been suggestions that Valencia, rather than Bale, may be the best out-and-out winger in England when on his favored right flank. In any case, what strikes me about both of these men is how similarly they play when in full flight, and how different their shared approach to the game is from the increasingly numerous, modern-day pseudo-wingers currently playing for top-flight sides (i.e. City's Adam Johnson). This increasingly popular type of outside midfielder embraces playing on the side of the field opposite their strong foot, and attacking towards the center of the pitch with the ball on their dominant side. Such play suffocates open space on the pitch and furthermore eliminates room for creativity. Valencia and Bale, however, embrace the notion that the field is indeed 75 yards in width, and they are willing to use every inch of it to their benefit...