You can also check out Climbing the Ladder, where they assemble a full 23-player squad that could bring the pain to Derby County and remain under the MLS salary cap of $2.3 million.

We’ll line up in a 4-3-3, just to show that the cheapness is inclusive of good style. Not only that, I think these guys would thrive and throw down in a 4-3-3.

Goalie
Brad Guzan: $103,974. (hey, splurge on the goalie; you’ll only need one since he’s the best in MLS. That non-transfer to Aston Villa hurt more than the Worm’s pride!)
Defense
Bornstein Jonathan $77,500.00 (Shutting down Messi in the Copa America never came so cheap.)
Boswell Robert $33,000.0
Craig Waibel $70,008
Michael Harrington $49,600 (If he was at Fulham, he would be tied for top goalscorer.)

Midfield
Juan Toja: $150,000 (Cheapest #10 on the planet! This dude will be moving on to La Liga or Argentina in the next two years. Deco, protect your neck!)
Devon McTavish: $33,000
Stuart Holden: $33,075

Forward
Maykel Galindo: $79,750 (The Cuban makes a perfect right-sided forward, and he doesn’t like Communism!)
Kenny Cooper: $83,000 (Prototypical No. 9)
Chris Rolfe: $86,000 (A poor man’s Ronaldinho, with the same inconsistency but without the Barcelona nightclub bar tabs.)

Total: $798,899

Blue Light Specials
F Jozy Altidore: $128,333 (If Real Madrid knew this…)
M Dane Richards: $33,000
F Chad Barrett $53,773.13
F Hercules Gomez $51,817
F Adam Cristman $33,000
D Jeff Parke $57,487
D Chris Leitch $60,000
D Marvell Wynne $47,500.00
F Soumare Bakary $70,000
M Sainey Nyassi: $17,700
GK Bouna Coundoul: $33,000 (Take your team to the Africa Cup of Nations final, shutting out D. Drogba & Ivory Coast, and this is what you get to come back home to!)

There is but one answer. God the Almighty took them away from us, for the eschaton in which all thing are made right was not yet to come upon earth. There is yet more suffering, more heartbreak, for the faithful to endure so that they may be, through trials and hardships, purified into pure gold.

Juan Roman Riquelme, mark my words, shall slip off our time, but not our hearts, for he has become Icarus, and reached too close to the heavens.

Exiled like Israel from his homeland of the soccer field, left out of every team practice yet cruelly still allowed access to the training facilities, Riquelme awaited redemption. And then it came, in the form of a loan to the club of his heart, Boca Juniors, and (I say as a River Plate believer) a meltingly, staggeringly genius run to the Copa Libertadores championship of all South America with the blue and yellows. Then the clock struck midnight, money became the word on the lips of the heathens and the tribe, and he returned to Villareal, his Babylon, deported to a quaint seaside Spanish siro.

And yet, he was called back for his country, and, given the sword, stabbed into the team of his oppressors, Pelegrini’s Chileans, not once, but again, deeper, deadlier. Shakespearean as it was, nothing else came after. Revenge against the country of your slave master must be savored, because it only lasted for 90 minutes.

Now, the gates have lifted, the captive set free, returning to La Bomberena for the highest transfer fee in Argentine history. I would not buy a ticket for first class on the same flight from Spain to Buenos Aires as him. Nor would I ride in the same limousine, eat at the same cafes, or even use the same shampoo as this “Einstein of the pitch”. For him-who-must-be-named to play for La Boca again would be too perfect. All would be made right before its time.

Juan Roman Riquelme must die. Not by me. By the deep magic of the created universe. The beginning of the Aptura campaign is imminent, and he will play for them, and will them to champions.

How to disappear completely.
That there. That’s not me.
I’m not here.
This isn’t happening.
In a little while, I’ll be gone.
Optimistic
You can try the best you can,
You can try the best you can.
The best you can is never good enough.
Big fish eat the little ones.
In Limbo
You’re living in a fantasy,
I’ve lost my way.

Who’s in bunker, who’s in bunker
I’ve seen too much
I haven’t seen enough
You haven’t seen enough
I’ll laugh until my head comes off
Women and children first.
Ice age coming. Ice age coming.
Swallow until I burst.
I’ve seen too much,
I haven’t seen enough.
Is this really happening?
Take the money and run.

Who should start?
-Boronstein—-DeMerit—-Conrad—-Wynne-
–Olsen————-Clarke————Feilhaber–
–Mapp————-Johnson————Nguyen–

For the sake of our defense, play a 4-3-3. No, I’ve not gone crazy from looking at html tables programmatically generated in C# all day. Argentina will eat us with their midfield playing high and their forwards darting in and out of our back lines. It’s like a firing squad, except with the addition of ninjas who can also take you out from behind while you’re still dirtying your drawers facing the guns. We have to force Argentina to play on the counterattack, which with J.R. Riquelme playing his usual cat-mouse games, will actually favor the speed of our outside defenders. They can track back quickly, and give us solid numbers to weather the wave. Offensively, the key will be to get the ball to the forwards as quickly as possible. Mapp and Nguyen are our most gifted players, so give them the ball in advanced positions and then Johnson hustles to support their magic. Feilhaber and Clarke have both shown sticky feet and skill at the medium-range pass, and along with Olsen’s bite and hustle should give good defensive acquittal and swift two-way play.

Who Bob Bradley will start:
-Moore—-Calif—-Conrad—-Wynne-
Klijestan–Clarke–Feilhaber–Mapp
———Johnson——-Gomez———-

Bradley likes to gamble within reason, so keeping a more-conservative 4-4-2 while throwing new kids Gomez, Kjlestian, Calif, and Moore will give us a solid base while throwing the Argies for a loop (you don’t seriously think Basile has scouted Drew Moore highlights from FC Dallas, do you? And I don’t think Davies even has highlight tape yet.). Sacha has had a solid year for Chivas USA so far, and show the ability to create. Gomez and Johnson, as long as they avoid the offsides, will give anyone who does not have an Olympic track gold medal fits, with Gomez offering some additional tricks with the ball at his feet.

[Edit: Changed some typos so that it looks like I know what I'm talking about.]

[Edit 2: Least frustrating 4-1 loss ever. To take Argentina 1-1 at the half is a laudable accomplishment. As Ray "Can I get my citizenship now?" Hudson gushed, the 3 Argentina goals in the 2nd half really were top-quality. Yes, they all took advantage of US mistakes, but come on, it's MESSI, CRESPO, RIQUELME, and TEVEZ! This is what they are paid tens of millions of dollars for.

Bornstein was even better, shutting down Messi (almost) completely. Did you catch the one where Messi tries to beat Bornstein on the outside, can't, cuts in and back, interchanges with Riquelme to try to lose Bornstein, doesn't, and then gets stuffed on the shot by, yes, Bornstein? The yellow at the end was just his goodbye pat. Messi subbed out shortly thereafter.

The one criticism I'll credit is Bradley's subs. Given, he hasn't made many mistakes with them yet, and none that have been punished like tonights. But seriously, Gaven in for Benny the Warrior? Beckerman for Clarke? Hardly upgrading. Or even really changing the game.

As a commentator at SBI pointed out, I still wish to see Wynne and Nguyen together on the field so that we can have two players with the same last name. That'll confuse some Paraguayans.]

Jonathan “El Inspector” Spector treated Guardado like he does Cristiano Ronaldo in the Premier League: closing down, standing up, and not letting the ball get to him. I don’t even think this kid can legally take tequila shots in the USA!
Brian Ching started rusty, but by the middle of the second half not only wreaked havoc among the Mexican back line (as he had been doing the entire game), but took full advantage of it (finally!). When will we realize that he is a player who sets up our attacking midfielders better than any other forward we have? Ching to Beasley. Ching to Dempsey. Ching to Donovan. That’s how you play with aloha.

Bob “Crazy Eyes” Bradley won this match. Hugo Sanchez and Bradley talk every Sunday when Sanchez calls back home to his daddy. Just listen to Timmy Howard credit Bradley in his postgame interview. Motivating the team to stay together in the face of a ravenous mexican attack (both teams best show of the tournament by far), gutsy switch with in the first half with Donovan and Dempsey swapping positions, inspired sub at half-time (Ricardo Clark for veteran Pablo Maestroni), and then class play by his team at the end to hold the win.

We are completely inside Mexico’s head! When we score, they can’t deal with it! It’s like a glitch in the Matrix!
The only player who did not crack under the mental torture of the USA play was Nery Castillo. The boy is a mexican-greecian god. I will be cursing this kid for the next 15+ years.

So, while I wait for my virtual machine to properly configure itself and daydream about skipping home to the blessed DVR (and if you missed it, ESPN2 and Classic are rebroadcasting it quite a few times over the next 24 hours), here’s a few questions (and less answers). Call it a Champions League Final post-pre-view.

How amazing are the respective midfields ? If God put together a best XI, He would certainly be tempted to just scoop up one of these units whole. Gattuso-Pirlo-Seedorf-Kaka vs. Zenden-Xabi-Mascherano-Gerrard. It’s all there baby. Xabi’s urbane yin to Gerrard’s heart-on-sleeve yang. The Pitbull Gattuso to the panther Kaka. The player that doesn’t even need to cross the half-line to set up amazing plays (Pirlo) vs the smoothest, hungriest holding midfielder from the dirty dirty of Argentina (Mascherano). For defensive-offensive marking, Monster Mascher handles Kaka and Gattuso stalks Gerrard. I think I just got a little light-headed thinking about how glorious those matchups are.

Any team is only as good as it’s spine, and these dudes are the zebrafish of soccer. Liverpeople’s vertebrae are Agger-Carragher-Xabi-Gerrard-Bellamy-Kuyt for a nice Danish-English-Spanish-Liverpuddlian-Dutch treat, while the fashionistas of Athletic Club walk the runway supported by Nesta-Maldini-Pirlo-Kaka-Inzaghi.

Multiple choice: If you had to be hit by a 30-yard shot in the, er, Gudjohnson (if you know what I mean), who would you rather it come from?

1. Jon Arne Riise
2. Andre Pirlo
3. Steven Gerrard
4. Massiomo Oddo
5. Paolo Maldini
6. Craig Bellamy shooting with a golf club

I’d pick #5. Riise would result in utter destruction. Pirlo would be exquisite torture. Gerrard might take off your head just as well. Oddo, well, anyone named Massiomo Oddo does not get near my equipment. Bellamy has already taken out one or two people with his club, so fool me twice… No, Maldini, despite his 39 years of age, would certainly give you something to remember, but then he would take you aside and, in the best Grecian Socratic tradition, use the bruising as a learning opportunity to instill some of his wisdom. You would become a castrate, but a wise one.

How is it that these two teams have no forwards to speak of? On the one hand you have Mr. Top-Flite himself, Bellamy (or Dirk “Dutch Diggler” Kuyt) paired with GTFABM (Good Touch for a Big Man) Crouchinho, on the other hand you have Pippo “He can’t play soccer. He just scores” Inzaghi paired with…his invisible friend Pipi? Probably the worst set of forwards to play in a CL Final in the last ten years. But hey, when you have Kaka and Gerrard around, who needs forwards? Bring on the 4-6-0!

With a midfield so good and forwards so bad, however, this game could easily devolve into a frustrating mire of middle-pitch pinging. So here’s to class and skill winning the day.

[Uhoh-date] The mean median, always presiding over the anticipated events of my life, dictated that the game was neither as stunning nor as soporific per expectation. Benitez bows to his ever-cautious instinct and plays, though with two genuine wingers, an over-crowded and under-delivering five in the middle. How much of a difference Crouch could have made from the very first whistle! Milan deserved the win, with Kaka’s Zidane-turn past Gerrard and Mascherano the highlight of the day. Well, that and watching Gattuso randomly wander in and out of the celebrations. The man’s a party wherever he goes. How terrible a soccer player is Inzaghi? I bow to him, the ultimate antinomy: completely laughable when playing, utterly devastating in scoring. As God, so Inzaghi. Save us.

Don’t bother reading that last sentence again. Just watch this man. This beguiling Brasilian and his charming accent has won my, and mine house’s, heart. Luciano Emilio, you will be a superstar. Even if you keep introducing yourself as “Bob Bossswell“. The fashion-forward moustache. His 1,000 peso thighs. The way he lulls the ball to sleep with his silky touch, and then whispers it into the goal with the force that most men must shout to use.

Superstar, I’m telling you now. Huge.

Landon Donovan is the new Clint Mathis. I’m going to retreat to a small, dark hole now. Come get me up when Spain wins.

Klinsi for 2010!

For the those facing imminent world cup widowhood, my wife and I worked up another cheat sheet just for you.

World Cup background: ESPN & National Geographic

The International Herald Tribune, and in particular the best soccer writer on the planet, Rob Hughes . (feed) (exemplary article)

The Guardian spots up perhaps the best Anglo-centric analysis and opinion. (feed) (exemplary article)

American soccer coverage sucks. It’s getting better, but still. Thank goodness for bloggers who run down every single soccer story written or involving Americans. Well, okay, thank just one: du Nord. (feed) (exemplary post)

For your doses of snark and sniping, only one word suffices: Deadspin. (feed) (exemplary post)

Any peanut gallery commentator knows that the bite is best backed with stats. Climbing the Ladder obliges. (feed) (exemplary post)

First rule of telling a story? Keep it personal, like This is American Soccer. (feed) (exemplary post)

Keep track of what I find interesting with my soccer bookmarks.

As a final note, for those of you who hate on the American game, check out this highlight reel of goals from last week’s MLS fixtures. Nice. Still think it’s a keeper’s league and not a scorer’s league? Now keep in mind these are scored without the benefit of the baker’s dozen or so world-class players competing in the World Cup who normally also contribute to this action.

“The spectator is set at an absolute distance, a distance that precludes practical or goal-oriented participation. But this distance is aesthetic distance in a true sense, for it signifies the distance necessary for seeing, and thus makes possible a genuine and comprehensive participation in what is presented before us. A spectator’s ecstatic self-forgetfulness corresponds to his continuity with himself. Precisely that in which one loses oneself as a spectator demands that one grasp the continuity of meaning. For it is the truth of our own world—the religious and moral world in which we live—that is presented before us and in which we recognize ourselves…What rends him from himself at the same time gives him back the whole of his being.”

–Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, p. 128.

I write for therapy. Eagerly anticipated this game, sat first row, 25 yard line, wore me scarf (thanks, wife), sunk my head in shame at defeat.

As a team, our World Cup squad just wasn’t there. No runs, no diagonals. O’Brien and Convey’s through balls were laughably wasted because no one bothered to make the run to be there for them. We started with a new formation for Arena’s Nats, 4-3-3, and then switched to a 3-5-2 for the last 20 minutes to press for the first goal. Our back was solid until the switch to 3-5-2 (a 3 without Gooch and with Cherondolo and Gibbs??? Bruce, eat more bananas. We need defense, not offense, in the back 3). This was a shame, because the crowd was peppy with chants and colors. Largest soccer crowd ever in Tennessee, yo. Far from the moribund concrete structure that was the Birmingham stadium last year. After the last four minutes of stoppage, I was like a kid, not wanting my, ahem, hopeful heros to stop playing. 90 minutes too short.

• Items of interest:
• don’t panic
• The Times
• Pluses and minuses
• post-game quotes
• player ratings
• Personal notes from personal observations:
  • Upside: Schooled. Gumby was fast and pernicious, especially providing some harassing defense in the midfield. Mastroni looked sharp, defending and distributing. He looked ready for Serie A, not like a Rapid. Convey sparked our only sustained offensive attacks. Imagine: running at the midfield, beating a guy, and passing it through the defense to a forward! Is that what the English teach you? Gooch = Daddy.
  • Downside: hotel trouble. Landycakes had already checked out of his hotel in Nashville, and never bothered with the game. It was especially galling to see him sauntering around the middle of the pitch as Morocco did touch-passes through the middle two yards in front of him. Gibbs’ positioning was scary like a 15th floor balcony with no rail. McBride was…where was Brian again? Did Conrad lock in his hotel room? Jimmy!.. Wolff’s gameplan: run really fast, trap like an elephant, pass like a brick, run really fast and make it all up. Unfortunately, like most soccer players, he can kick the ball faster than he can run and catch up with it. Deuce, Ching, EJ: call your mommy, you forgot your game back at home. Keller was still eating the complimentary breakfast he snuck out, and didn’t come out for that loose ball that ended up in his net in the 89th.

Goalie
GK Reis, Matt $100,000 (hey, splurge on the goalie. you’ll only need one)
Defense
D Serioux, Adrian $90,000
D Dunivant, Todd $95,000
D Parkhurst, Michael $63,250
D Wynne, Marvell $47,500
Midfield
M Mapp, Justin $95,000
M Martino, Kyle $81,675
M Nunez, Ramon $75,000
M Dempsey, Clint $75,863
Forward
F Rolfe, Chris $50,000
F Cooper, Kenny $55,000
F Gomez, Hercules $47,000 (just for fun, a twelfth man, Mr. Assist himself)

Grand Total
$875,288

Ye gods! By Hercules, we’ve assembled a band of fleet-footed mighty men, and still have moolah left for the kit & caboodle that these boys might demand. Red Bull and Twinkies for all! I dare you to find another league in the world with these kinds of deals.

Blue Light Specials
GK Guzan, Brad $47,250
D Ihemelu, Ugo $50,000
M O’Rourke, Danny $34,125
M Davis, Brad $77,500
M-F Storey, Marcus $11,700
F Kamara, Kei $30,000

Fashion and the footballer, for those who appreciate both the alliteration and the Anglicism, live together in a rather dysfunctional manner. Not quite at the level of Olympic figure skating, but a strange pair nonetheless. There’s something about those powerful thighs, toned calves, full bootys, and bizzare hair that causes both sides to verily leap ‘pon ‘nother. Natural attraction, if you will.

But the starry eyes of love are only used by those intimately involved. For the rest of us, encountering the discarded evidence of the affair, a range from bemusement to shock to repulsion registers. This happens in both the domestic and foreign leagues.

As an MLS fan, I can sympathize with the desire of the league and its stars to promote the sport here in America. Perhaps any publicity is beneficial publicity. But when you view the fashion shoot from four years ago that appeared in the New York Times spring trend supplement, you do question the viability of such principles. And the viability of such tight pants ever functioning in the non-New York world.

Not that professionals in the rest of the world fare any better. On the one hand, you have David Beckham. Yes, those are indeed leather pants. On the other hand, you have Brazil. I’ve previously referred to Mr. Ed, aka Ronaldinho. And then there’s the referees. Yep, that’s pink he’s wearing.

Thanks to ‘lissa, this post was simply a narrative put to the gut-busting twenty minutes of video-and-picture-watching we spent the other night.

We first caught up with the last US Men’s international friendly versus Guatemala. We were 2-0-1 against Canada, Norway, and Japan going in, and only expected to win. Once again the quality play showed that a team composed of MLS players can compete on a world-class level; classic American grit and spit mixed with the simple yet deadly play that distinguishes the best soccer form. 4-0 against a opponent that was clearly outmatched.

Next, we watched the second half of the first leg of the European Champion’s League semifinal between Real Madrid and Arsenal. Spike Lee’s team, outspent in talent and star quality, staggered the Old World by beating the Galaticos at home, the first English team to ever accomplish that feat. Thierry Henry, in a game full of superstars, was the only one backed up the hype by putting the ball into the net.

We then got to the finale match of the night, the second consecutive year that my boys in Barcelona have drawn the infamous English darlings of Russian oil billionaires everywhere, Chelsea. Last year’s home-and-away series was absolutely the best soccer I’ve ever seen. This year Chelsea manager Jose “The Special One” Mourinho’s mouth has been running in a non-stop fashion all the way to kickoff. Barca have been on top of their league from the beginning game of the season, as have Chelsea. This was a match between the best two teams in the world. Barcelona, going down 0-1 off of an excusable own goal, created a come-from-behind victory at Chelsea off the golden-headed dome of Samuel Eto’o. Many gorgeous moments in the match, but the two that remain today are of incoherent rage at Chelsea’s Del Horno for a flying, chest-first tackle of the Lionel “Little Mouse” Messi (I was ready to storm the pitch and punch him myself, hours afterward and thousands of miles away), and fist-pumping joy at the beautiful play which produced the game-winner for the Catalans. Ronaldinho “Horsey” Gaucho, the best player in the world but silent most of the night, swept in a curving cross that Eto’o rammed down into the net with such power that I’m pretty sure Chuck Norris cried.

The best part is, next week we get to feast again. Barcelona plays Chelsea at home, Arsenal play Real at home, and the US MNT play Poland.

For the other side of things, check out the threads in Soccer y Futbol, Du Nord, and the Houston local forums, among others.

I don’t often call this type of thing out, but it does seem apparent that New York acts a bit, oh, jealous, of Houston.

Why am I defending this team as my own? History, again. In 1836 Sam Houston and the other Tennessee Volunteers (Samuel Austin, Davey Crockett, etc) answered the call of the Tejanos and other freedom-loving Texans to form the new Texas national government and army (after they wrote their Declaration of Independence, which was in Spanish btw).

Finally, My boys on 2C might want to peruse this amazing bio of one of their namesake legends, Seguin.

Background: Houston has a new-to-them Major League Soccer team, newly dubbed Houston 1836 after the year of the city’s founding.

If only I could cast down to the depths of true human emotion displayed here…or able to harness the deep, trembling power displayed by these men, drawn upon my will’s demand.
Best. Picture. Ever. Elissa and I have been lauding the richness of this captured moment all week…Defeated In Pink .
Found via footballjapan.