Autoglass speaks...

The busy Blues fan, Autoglass, took time out from his hectic gloating schedule to pen this missive from the road...

I’ve been traveling far too much lately. This week I found myself in Tampa when my beloved Chelsea came upon a critical Champions League tie at Anfield. Liverpool in the Champions League has become an April ritual. Those Blue and Red shirts are the crocuses of Spring. After the break, you get Autoglass’ Tampa travelogue.

I lived in New York for ten years. There, a Champions League session was two blocks away. Out and back in a scoot. There are twenty good football pubs in New York. Always one a short hop away. It spoils a guy.

I then moved to California. Still, options. More driving, but I watched John Terry cry not three miles from my office.

But I’m in Tampa this week and Chelsea visit Liverpool for a Champions League Quarter-Final. First, I needed to find a decent pub. That was easy. There is apparently exactly one. MacDinton’s is the clear choice. No disrespect to Tampa, but there is no second or third choice. If you’re in Tampa and any important match is at stake, just go to MacDinton’s.

By some miracle, my Wednesday afternoon was free work-wise. I cleared the time of any incursion, and made tracks for MacDinton’s. But late. I couldn’t get on the road until match time. I called Lingering Bursitis.

". Mate, you need to talk me in! I’m 15 mins from the pub!"

", I’ve got you covered."

We hang up. Not two minutes later, I’m on I-4 in Tampa and the phone rings…

"Fernando Torres, Liverpool’s number 9!" The bastard sings. Fuck. We’re behind and I’m not even there! Fuck! I know this movie. Liverpool rampant. Our season in tatters. Me at a strange footie pub pissing in my Guinness.

I make my way to MacDinton’s. Nice place in Tampa’s SoHo neighborhood (South Howard Avenue. Lame. But then, all such NoMaSoFoMoFu things are lame, even in New York.) They have free valet parking! And two outside bars with plenty of screens, pretty raven-haired Irish barmaids, and Florida sunshine. I settle in.

Outside sports bars. If you’ve been, you know. If you haven’t…it’s better than you are thinking. You really need to move somewhere warm…but you know that already, right?

Anyhoo, I settle into a lovely crowd. Red, Blue and hangers-on for Arsenal, United and, yes, Nottingham Forest... all in Tampa. (Bigus, the Forest dude convinced me that you are going down. I argued gamely for our Canaries. Up the City!)

At first, the lack of bile was unsettling. What is this Chelsea shirt doing chatting up this group of faux Scouse losers? Laughing? Enjoying the sunshine? Without trash talk and the ever-present electric risk of Glasgow kisses? Toto, we’re not in New York anymore.

Then, the match. Chelsea won going away. Rafa’s zonal marking left our Serb reserve fullback utterly unmarked for our equalizer AND our winner. Drogba then put in our third...the THIRD! (A third goal away in a Champions League tie is a heady thing, indeed) At Anfield. Hiddink ran out a 4-3-3 and ran at the Red back line. Liverpool were not up for it.

I wouldn’t have predicted it. Chelsea have been solid, but Liverpool have been the in-form side in Europe. My only hope was that Liverpool would return to Earth in this fixture. Oh, did they. They missed Mascherano massively. Essien utterly took Gerrard out of the match. Chelsea came forward in numbers. Ballack was majestic. Lampard, Kalou and, yes, Malouda were free in space and connecting.

Spring football can be a fickle mistress. Your club fights through the winter and find themselves, still, in 2 or 4 competitions. You’ve had your run and survived, sometimes even romped. But now, everything is running down to the quick. You come upon a bad run or injuries and - boom! - 7 or 10 days can take you out of everything. We’ve all been there. Hell, Arsenal has LIVED there these last five years.

Well, Liverpool woke up before this match right in the thick of the Champions League and in with a shout for the League. In 90 minutes, at home, they about crashed out of the CL and are left looking somehow farther up at United in the League. Devastating.

The best teams in Europe play 60 some-odd fixtures a year, and that’s beside their players’ international duty. Work, work, work, and then bad luck or bad form runs you out of everything in a sneeze. Brutal. Imagine the 2007 Patriots ruining three trophies with losses to three Giants. Ouch. Yet it happens every year in soccer.

MacDinton’s is a fantastic football pub. If you are in Tampa, look it up. Great crowd, velvety Guinness, and sunshine. Oh, and Chelsea won 3-1 at Anfield! Stevie G wandered by at the end looking for his pants! Carefree!!!!

Postscript: My favorite moment was meeting an Arsenal supporter wearing one of those “Kings of London” shirts. I got to say “That’s a really old shirt, isn’t it?” Get in.

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So... Liverpool. F*cked, or Proper F*cked?

Despite this discussion almost kicking off on our Facebook page, I thought it should be brought here.

As there is barely anything constituting news, I look at Liverpool and I wonder: just how screwed are they? The media's been having a lot of fun with it, using Gerrard's untimely hamstring knack to lay into Benitez and the sale of Robbie Keane, and not undeservedly either.

Rafa did bank on the Gerrard/Torres tandem as being able to shoulder the burden of that Irishman's departure, and barely 48 hours later, the proverbial Rome was in ruins.

So now Stevie is out for a minimum of three weeks, and will likely miss the 1st leg of the Real Madrid match. I despair, but I ask all of you for your opinions. At least three weeks in the EPL is an eternity, and we can't afford to be behind in the CL fixture before the captain comes back.

So: predictions? Thoughts? Long-term effects on Rafa's tenure?

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Welcome to Brookside, Robbie

I'm saddened by what's going on in my hometown, but it appears we'll never shed our stereotype of being droll, perm-wearing thieves. The news this morning is that Everton fans have added another scalp to their lucrative LFC burglary scheme, adding new Red Robbie Keane to their list.

While he was on international duty with the Republic of Ireland, thieves managed to crack into his downtown penthouse apartment and escape with an expensive watch, some jewelery, and a smug sense of satisfaction.

Blue bastards.



But seriously, was the doorman asleep? Did the robbers give him a comfortable chair to relax in while finishing his shift?

Whatever happened, it's now the 7th (7th?) LFC player to be robbed while playing away from home. No wonder we play like shit away from Anfield: too much worrying about whether their BMWs are going to be there when they get back!

In the spirit of the stereotype, I might as well post this video. Then it's back to Chelsea jokes.

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EPL Previews: Liverpool, aka "Limperpool FC"

You didn't think some non-Scouse was going to write this, did you?



The Liverpool saga this summer has been like every other tidbit of drama I've endured at Anfield since Rafa and the Yanks began their fraught courtship. A protracted mess of he-said, she-said wrangling that always ends up public, and yet it seems like they fight about something new every week. First it was the need for transfer funds, then it was the Klinsmann debacle, then it was funds again, then it was Rafa's job security, then chairman Rick Parry's job security, and now, funds for Gareth Barry.

It is the definition of "soap opera" through and through: a diverse cast of characters constantly bickering and who never retain any knowledge from week-to-week, so much so that you think you're forever watching the same bloody episode.

Sadly, the product on the pitch is just as much a part of the same soap. Flashes of brilliance and melodrama punctuated by long periods of sitting around and waiting for something to happen. My beloved club are in grave danger of becoming the ultimate paper team: one that matches up well with their opponents in theory, yet routinely underwhelms on the pitch.

It's a tough pill to swallow, and every summer, when we bring in one or two big-name players, my excitement levels rises, the teamsheets look formidable, and then, as we witnessed on Wednesday, it doesn't rise to the occasion.

Looking at this year's squad brings the same salivation. Robbie Keane, although a little pricey at 19 million pounds, brings a verve and inventiveness that Torres will surely benefit from up front. Too often, the Spanish whiz was left to his own devices up front, and while he created and scored a lot of goals, having a good wingman can only be a good thing. Right?

Should the pair find their psychic connection, they'll score a lot of goals, and on paper, they're the best strike pairing in the country. (Lest I forget the exciting intangible that is David N'Gog, a young Frenchman who managed to rebuff the charm and smile of Mr. Wenger)

WANT.

The midfield is unchanged, as the courtship of Aston Villa's prized midfielder has amounted to nothing but tension and bruised pride. Xabi Alonso was shopped everywhere from Wenger's treehouse to the exotic gates of Juventus, and nothing happened there. Mascherano's been enjoying himself at the Olympics (I hear the refs are a little off?), and Gerrard, besides building his new gymnasium, has struggled with a couple of groin strains. I am not concerned, although I might need words with his WAG should the nagging injury persist much longer.

Babel, Benayoun, Lucas and Damien Plessis serve as willing, largely-inexperienced understudies, although in this day and age, the concept of depth is so coveted that I'm glad to have the quality we do.

Contrast this with Arsenal, who essentially become a JV team beyond their best 15 players.

The biggest shifts have come at the back, with a whole slew of new, unknown faces and names: Andrea Dossena joins from Udinese, and if his first match is any evidence, I'm scared shitless to have him patrolling left-back in Aurelio's absense. Riise is gone, although Hyppia is still lingering should Carragher, Agger or Skrtel need a breather. Arbeloa, another concern at right-back, will share some time with Finnan and the free Swiss transfer Phillipp Degen, a guy I've barely seen in LFC Red yet.

Itandje has been mercifully shipped off, and Diego Cavalieri will provide Pepe with a rest every month or so.

On paper (fuck, there I go again), it's a servicable squad, one that's undergone a few major changes from last season, and one that should score goals. By pre-season standards, the results of these tinkerings and experiments were far from promising, and we're lucky to be level on aggregate with Standard Liege heading into the 2nd leg of the CL qualifying round. (The joke is that if we struggled with Standard Liege, imagine how badly we'd fare against Exceptional Liege, or Amazing Liege, or Premium Liege.)

Phew.

Although it's not good to handicap the team just one match into the competitive fixture list, I see the same tired hang-dog limp that's plagued us in previous Augusts and that's put us out of the EPL title race by Christmas.

Of course, I drink the Kool Aid willingly, and there's still a dim flicker of hope that I'll wake up tomorrow and Gareth Barry will be a Red. His cup-tied status should lower the price a bit, and given the prevailing joke that Hicks and Gillett have to root under couch cushions these days to come up with transfer fees means that we might still have a chance.

I'm not amused at our desperate haggling over a million pounds and the relative worth of Steve Finnan, but hey, if this were a soap, we're just playing the part of the idiot uncle from out-of-town for a while.

I am thirsty for the season, and ravenous at the prospect of my wonderful paper team. We look good in print, but we also have a tendency to fold like a sheet of A4 on occasions when strength is needed most.

This all adds up to more of the same, in my eyes. I will go above and beyond in saying that I think we can push for third, but it'll take a miracle (and the sudden ability to beat the Wigans and Boltons instead of dropping points) to get us much beyond that.



Third place, and a deep CL run for the lads. I think we have a cup in us, so I'll plump for the FA Cup.

Reading back on that, I'm reminded as to why I love this game so much. All the negatives in the world can't stop me from reaching for the stars, or at least the stars that I think Liverpool are vaguely capable of.

In the end, with no EPL games complete yet, my predictions look wild, absurd, and ultimately, really good on paper.

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EPL Previews: Everton

I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I drew this name out of the hat for our previews series. I hate Everton. To paraphrase an iconic quote from The Big Lebowski, I don't like their jerk-off name, I don't like their jerk-off faces, I don't like their jerk-off behavior, and I don't like them, jerk-offs.

However, I will gamely attempt to handicap and preview their season without liberal use of the word c*nt, and it will be every bit as painful and difficult as I expect it to be.

There is no time like the present, so join me after the jump for plenty of Joleon Lescott pictures!



From the time I was born, I have believed Everton to be a plague. A scourge on humanity. A rather gritty and ugly counterpoint to the efforts at cosmopolitan football being played by my lads across Stanley Park (Note: I said efforts. They're rarely successful). They were the Toffee villains, the FA Cup spoilers, and the pox on the city I call home.

They have several villains, for my money: the Scotch brute Duncan Ferguson, Tony Cottee, Graeme Sharp, Neville Southall, Kevin Sheedy, and now, their latest conduit of hate is Tim Cahill, who's easily on my list of least-favourite people ever to have walked the earth.

Everton play dismal, difficult football. Passing is minimal, and the bog that is the turf at Goodison Park is almost criminal, as it creates a languid, awkward style of play that always causes visiting teams trouble (Arsenal fans: I believe your cultural equivalent would be the pitch at the JJB, correct?). It always causes us trouble, in particular, and while we've enjoyed some cracking matches with Everton in the past, I still dread seeing them appear on the fixture list for the weekend.

But this is not about me, nor Everton's eternal struggles with Liverpool. It's about their upcoming season, and for all their working-class glory, they're going to struggle this year.



Why? Because everyone around them has improved while they've stood pat, like the guy in poker who always folds pre-flop unless he has the good cards, by which point the mere hint of his participation in a hand causes everyone to fold immediately. Moyes and Kenwright have done sweet FA this off-season, unless you count the departures of Gravesen and Carsley, two mediocre but effective midfielders.

With a tiny squad to begin with, they've brought in no-one, nary a sighting at the training ground, nary a physical to speak of. They've stood absolutely still. Of course, this is subject to change as their burning desire to buy Sporting Lisbon midfielder Joao Moutinho is dragging on without them being able to meet the asking price.

On paper, their first-choice XI is good, but they're laughably shallow beyond that. They have precisely 6 midfielders on their squad, and none of them are particularly good at controlling the middle of the pitch; Osman, van der Meyde and Arteta are all wingers, Cahill and Pienaar are fond of attacking, and Jack Rodwell is only 17 years old.

Behind them, a formidable back four and Yank in goal, but precious little support should one of them need medical attention. They have a slew of left-backs (Valente, Phil "c*nt" Neville, Leighton Baines), solid center-backs in Lescott, Yobo and Jagielka, and Hibbert is disruptive enough on the right.

Up front, they just offloaded Andy "c*nt" Johnson, and Yakubu is essentially working all alone. While he's dangerous, he has no support (do you get the idea now?) -- fellow Nigerian Anichebe is seemingly allergic to the goal (4 goals in 44), as is James Vaughn (6 in 25) and 19-year-old Polish striker Lukas Jutkiewicz, who scored 5 goals in 39 games for Swindon Town and has yet to actually play for Everton!

So Mr. Moyes, what exactly is he playing at? He's hardly giving himself the tools needed to win in this rough, competitive league. A squad of essentially 19 players is not going to be enough to challenge in the UEFA Cup and in the league, and we can expect them to slip a lot further down into the mid-table morass thanks to the vast improvements made by European hopefuls Spurs, Portsmouth and Aston Villa.

As a Liverpool fan, I like to see them fail, but I at least enjoy the sport of watching them fail when their expectations are sky high. You get the impression that deep down, none of the returning workhorses are especially enamored with the feeble size of their squad (based on their limp travels through the US in pre-season), and that there is some deep-seated fear that this year, they'll be the nerd getting sand kicked in their face.

I predict a 9th or 10th-place finish for them, and despite these revelations, I'll still enjoy every last minute of it.

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Tales of the Lovelorn: What's a Red to Do?

True love is achieved most often among men between that man and his favo[u]rite club. While the Gunners among us are heartbroken at the way our season has turned out, we console ourselves with 2 facts: (1) no one thought we would be any good this year; and (2) we are still a relatively young team. However, the Scousers among us have become quite despondent about their situation. Being mischevious and cruel, I snuck into "someone's" e-mail and found the following letter:


Dear Abby*,

Very recently I experienced extreme pain at the hands of my loved ones. I've never felt this low. I was beaten and abused for 120 minutes straight, unable to move, paralyzed with fear. They teased me with relief and happiness, only to snatch it away and leave me heart-broken.

The focal point of my loved ones, whom I shall call "Rafa", has an unusual sensibility. One moment he is a genius. The next? An abject disappointment. His moods and personalities are so inconsistent that I am often left confused and dissatisfied with the relationship. I mean, what about my needs? What about my happiness?

They give me pleasure one saturday, and misery the next.

Last night, it came to a head. I am a broken man. Tell me, what should I do? Do I continue to see these people, knowing full well that they never fill my heart with pride as much as I want them to?

What am I to do?

Sincerely,

Down-and-out Scouser in Manhattan


This plaintive wailing of an e-mail was met with the following response:

Dear "Down-and-out",

At some point you must decide how long you are willing to stay in an abusive relationship - to be beaten and paralyzed with fear for over 2 hours is an incredibly agonizing experience, and it sounds like this is not the first time this behavior has occurred. The fact that "Rafa" teased you with happiness only to take it away reveals an especially cruel streak, and says quite a bit about your loved ones. If he insists on treating you poorly by toying with your emotions, you must stand up for yourself. Let him know that you find his behavior unacceptable, and that you expect it to change if he wants to keep your support.

Dealing with someone who leaves you dissatisfied and questioning your own happiness, who makes you miserable on occasion, can result in self-desctructive behavior on your part. Do you often find yourself at a bar early on Saturdays, drinking as a way of dealing with "Rafa"? Do you continue to profess your love while "Rafa" turns his attention to others? You said yourself that feel as if "Rafa" will never let your heart fill with pride as much as you want it to - are you willing to live the rest of your life being disappointed? These are all questions that only you can answer.

I would like you to know that your e-mail moved me so deeply, that I feel compelled to sign off with my real name so that you may contact me personally if you wish to speak further. And please remember that the color red is an angry color, and may contribute to the passion (both good and bad) in your relationship. Perhaps you should find someone who looks good in blue?



Sincerely,
D. Moyes

*Not Abby Clancy, apparently.

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Tom Hicks is a giant, gaping c*nt

At this point, even as a die-hard LFC supporter, I'm extremely fucking tired with the boardroom drama. All the stories and tension are just flat-out boring. I've seen episodes of Degrassi Junior High with more excitement and emotion than this one. Well, not "seen" episodes, more like heard of. Yeah, a friend told me about them. I'll go with that.

However, if there's one way to fire me right back up, it's to threaten to take our Torres away.

From the Times [I'm crying as I cut-and-paste this]:

"The Times has learnt that Liverpool borrowed the money to sign Torres, the Spain forward who has scored 30 goals this season and has already become a firm favourite on the Kop, from Atlético Madrid last summer. The club then refinanced that debt on January 25, at the same time as they secured a £350 million refinancing package.

Liverpool entered into an 18-month loan agreement with interest of 9 per cent — £2.8 million a year — with a letter of credit to pay back the £31.5 million at the end of the period.

Should Liverpool be unable to pay back or refinance the loan, banks could force the sale of Torres and Babel, who was also included in the smaller refinancing package.

It is unusual for Barclays Premier League clubs to buy players in this way. Deals are normally funded using television income. Liverpool have to pay £30 million a year in interest payments on the £350 million loan, the terms of which end in July 2009. There was no official comment from the club last night."

I mean, for fuck's sake. What will happen next? Anfield was built on a Roman burial ground?

All sensationalism aside, this is absolutely fucking unacceptable. If ever we needed further proof of the cowboy wheelin' and dealin' ways of our obese Texan overlord, here it is! He swans into Anfield 18 months ago, wide-faced and bright-eyed, promising us the world with his talk. And now, in-between stories of him trying to push his detractors out of the giant, life-sized pram he lives in, we get revelations like this.

I mean honestly. Our best striker since the young Michael Owen, and we might lose him because Hicks had to fucking borrow money to pay for him??????!?!?!? How much money did that cunt invest in the first place? Oh, that's right. He borrowed almost all of it.

While the MLB is an entirely different beast, Bud "Inept" Selig is on to something when he puts prospective owners through a series of rigorous tests and checks before letting the existing owners vote and decide as to whether to approve the sale.

By contrast, the EPL [suck it, Barclays] is a lawless frontier town by comparison, with conglomerate, Russian oil merchants and feckless idiots lining up for miles around to get them a juicy piece of the global soccer pie.

Hicks is one of these feckless idiots.

If I find out he took out a mortgage or something on our stadium to fund his son's Ivy League college bills, I swear to fucking Christ, I'm gonna gut the bastard.*

And so, Tom Hicks, I will close this delightful post with a soft message to you, the architect of so many of our recent troubles [scratch that, ALL of our recent troubles]:

Tom, if you're out there, please, fuck the fuck off. Go back to Houston and diddle yourself with ballpark franks. Please stop running a much-beloved team into the ground because your own insecurity dictates that you have to act like a petulant 14-year-old. Buy Noggin. Buy some shares in Google. Whatever you choose to do with your money, I don't care. Construct a scale model of an aircraft using lunch meat. Buy the Harlem Globetrotters. Go out and get the world's most expensive handjob. I don't care. Just stop ruining something I really, really, really, really, really care about.

* Not really. Please don't come looking for me, FBI. This is tongue-in-cheek. I'm not threatening anyone's life.

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Stephane Henchoz: Genius

Since leaving Anfield, Stephane Henchoz has become a smart man. I'd almost call him a guru, but he is Swiss, and they're not good for much these days.

While sitting on the sidelines at Blackburn with a nasty knee injury, he's gained a remarkable amount of wisdom, and demonstrated his intellect today in the press.

According to ol' Stephane, Liverpool will never win while they're so reliant on their stars.

Fucking brilliant.

He of course refers to the Gerrard/Torres partnership that's been the only bright spot in an otherwise dingy season. The pair have linked up extremely well for Fernando's first season in England, accounting for 46 goals this season, 30 in the EPL. Not only that, but that's Torres' best scoring record in his career for a single season.

And yet, by and large, the rest of the team stinks. What good is a Torres when you have a Pennant or a Kewell responsible for getting him the fucking ball?

Henchoz goes on, in his best Professor X voice:

"If Gerrard and Torres are not playing at their best, you hardly see where the goals are coming from. They probably need two or three very good players if they want to compete."

And, referring to Rafa's rotation:

"The rotation system sometimes in the league was not the best. They drew too many times and if they kept their best XI, they would have won a few more games."

It's no secret that Henchoz and Benitez never got on well while together at Liverpool, but Stephane, for all his piss and vinegar, does have a point. A very obvious one.

I am made nauseous every week by Rafa's scheming and tinkering with the lineup, not to mention the fact that as goes Gerrard/Torres, so goes the rest of the team. Who else is going to score? Babel's the only other possibility I can drum up.

And so, on a slow news day, Henchoz gets his gob in the press, and for all the piss-taking, I couldn't agree more. The EPL is not a league built for one-man teams, or even two- or three-man ones. That's why we're fourth. Fuck.

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Keeping quiet

I'm going to keep my mouth shut today, mainly because of new work obligations, but also because I think Mascherano said it all yesterday.

It was ugly.

Video after the jump.

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It's Oh So Quiet Around Here

Not sure if you've noticed, but we've entered into a pattern here at UF where everybody disappears on the weekends. It is safe to assume that we are all watching football, attending weddings, doing laundry and maybe even buying new drapes with the missus (not really on that last one) [I forgot to add "...and drinking."].

So, to keep you entertained until we reconvene on Monday, here's a few quick hits.

As pointed out by Gunnerblog, karma is a bitch. Aston Villa away supporters sing sick chants about Eduardo's injury, only to see Curtis Davis lost for the rest of the season with a ruptured tendon. No one is wishing harm on any player, but Villa supporters brought that one on themselves. To his credit, the always classy Martin O'Neill called the chants "disappointing."

Man U, Chelsea and Man City are rumored to be interested in Jozy Altidore. I've said I wouldn't mind if he sticks around with the Red Bulls for another season to give us something to go watch when we cover the MLS this summer (blech), but it's only a matter of time until Jozy departs for Europe as a nation turns its lonely eyes to him.

It appears that today Liverpool was in fourth place for all of 50 seconds. I would imagine there will be more on this one later. [noon-ish: Right on cue, lucky Pompey equalize, but Everton are still in fourth -- for now!] [2:30pm: Everton win 3-1 and manage to put more pressure on Liverpool.]

Okaybyethanksforreading!

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Carragher arrested and cautioned, but not for bad defending

Unfortunately, telling Carragher to "calm down" didn't work this time

Today's big news once again concerns Liverpool, although it has nothing to do with annoying American owners, whiny Spanish managers, or losing to Barnsley.

No, today's tidbit is about our mild-mannered milquetoast defender from Bootle, the man whose face is bright red during every match.

It's about Jamie Carragher, the training ground, and common assault. So what did Jamie do exactly?

He was arrested and cautioned for assault.

As he was on his way to the training ground this morning, it appears that Carragher got into an argument near his home in Crosby. From the article in this morning's Times:

The assault was reported to Merseyside Police by a witness who saw the former England player arguing with the man near a busy road. Later that day the apparent victim contacted officers who arranged an appointment to interview Carragher, who accepted his caution.

"We can confirm that a 30-year-old man from the Blundellsands area received a police caution for common assault in relation to an incident on Liverpool Road, Crosby, on Tuesday February 26," a Merseyside Police spokesman said."

Common assault is not a big deal: it covers anything from spitting to just shoving a man. Accepting the caution is an admission of guilt in the eyes of the English law, and while this story will disappear soon, it just amplifies the already obvious truth that LFC is in big trouble.

Bickering with fans and people in the street shows that the tension is running high, and it's yet another thing to add to the long list of distractions currently plaguing the club.

Will Hicks and Gillett sell? Will our new owners be a bunch of despots from Dubai? Will Rafa be fired? Who could replace him? Is Gerrard going to stay? Can we find someone to splash out 6 million for Dirk "I'm shit" Kuyt?

I can only hope we find out exactly what words were exchanged during this little morning tussle. I bet it was an Everton fan doing all the shit-talking, and if it were, I'm amazed that Carragher didn't do more than shove him.

According to English law, common assault is the lowest form of assault. It's also the sincerest form of flattery.

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Hicks and Gillett start packing quietly

Fuck off, you smug c*nt.

A quiet drink in a Liverpool pub over the weekend turned sour for Tom Hicks Jnr, and now, it's looking like the sour taste is spilling over into the boardroom.

The news this morning is that the ownership team of Hicks and Gillett is going to grant the Dubai International Capital [DIC] permission to examine the club's accounts, the first step towards making an official takeover bid.

Oops.

This isn't going to be good.

The Americans' reign in the EPL has not been very calm, with several highly-publicized fights in the media with Rafa Benitez, as well the uproar over their shaky financial standing and loan re-financing. It's been rough, but they did manage to bring world-class striker Fernando Torres to town, along with some other unpolished gems, and yet, it's time to sell up.

At this point, it's so hard to know what's prompted all of this. They pledged just four weeks ago that they were committed to the long-term prosperity and heart of the club, and now they're suddenly eager to maximize their profits after 12 months in charge.

Gillett will apparently be the first to sell up, although he's been more and more of a ghost over the winter, having little to do with the club and leaving his son to do most of his heavy lifting.

Hicks, meanwhile, has been vocal and outspoken at every turn, and it's highly likely that the incident over the weekend was the straw that broke the camel's back. He knows they're not wanted, but it will be some time before we, the fans, realize that DIC is no bed of roses either.

Of course, the Yanks know how to stretch a dollar, and the likelihood is that they're going to over-value the club in order to bleed more from DIC. The initial takeover in 2007 was valued at 218.9 million pounds, but Hicks & Gillett now put the club's worth in excess of 400 million. They do need to get their 350 million pound loan swallowed back up, but considering the way they went about funding their purchase, that seems a little cheeky to me.

DIC will likely be relucant to meet that estimate considering that it's not a guarantee that LFC will make the Champions League next season, but as a life-long fan, I have to trust in that happening.

Will we ever see this get realized?

This is a fascinating time to be a Liverpool fan, or a fan of soccer in general. This is the first time we as a club have dealt with these issues, and the sudden shift of power in both management and ownership will surely affect the product on the pitch.

Fact of the matter is, this is football now. This is what we have to accept. Clubs are becoming less tied to their localities and more tied to their mythical brands and their long reach over the rest of the world. Identity converted into commerce, history translated into future profits.

Wrapping up fourth place [or even third, ha] in the league, and a long run in the Champions League would certainly remove a lot of this bitter taste. But whatever happens in the boardroom, I have to trust that the club won't fall too far from its grace.

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TWAG: More Lies I Believe

I have witnesses.

Okay, witness. But before the ball was even kicked I said to Tuffy—yes, the Tuffy of Deadspin commenter pseudo-fame—"I have a bad feeling about this."

I should qualify, my bad feeling was more of a "It's 2-1 late and United gets a goal against the run of play to salt it away 3-1" kind of bad feeling. I really wasn't prepared for the absolute emasculation of Arsenal at the hands, or more accurately, the feet of the Mancs.

If my feeling had been that bad, I never would have bothered to get out of bed. Instead Tuffy and I were seated in the back room at Ginger's in Chicago with fear, loathing. and sweaters.

It's become my default viewing locale. It's not a chain and it's close. And the waitresses have started to recognize me enough to call me "Sweetie." What's not to love?

This: there was a $10 cover. Not the bar's fault I know, but, the staff originally had told early arriving patrons—otherwise know as masochists Liverpool fans—that the United v. Arsenal match was only going to be on in the two back rooms (the bar is laid out almost like three separate rooms). This makes some sense as anyone can walk in to the front of the bar, so to have the game on there, Ginger's would have had to charge cover to anyone who came in. Not that there is any clientele walking into the place at 11 am on a Saturday who isn't there to watch fütbol.

So Tuffy and I had given up our prime seats at the bar and ended up in the back corner of the back room.

This was bad for two reasons:

1) The ambient temperature in the back room is about 20 degrees over the outside temperature. It was single digits on Saturday morning.

2) All of the good TVs are in the front room. It's almost all flatscreens up front. The back two rooms? Well they would have been kickin' in about 1985.

Of course not long after uprooting from maybe the two best seats in the bar, staff or management realized their grave error of their strategic ways and made the whole bar United v. Arsenal friendly.

I'd say things were starting off bad, but, like I said at least twice now already, I had a bad feeling before I even walked into the bar. So I saw it coming. Kind of.

What I didn't see coming that morning was the Liverpool loss to Barnsley. Worse I barely saw it at all. For some reason all but one of the maybe 6 small TVs in the back room was turned to the SPL. There is also a projection TV back there, but it's fuzzy and the color is washed out. It's like watching TV through a screen door.

Underwater.

So, the entire back room is focused on the one little TV.

We're cold. We're out $10. And we're all squinting at stoppage time at Anfield on this one small TV that has the bottom left corner of the screen washed out.

This was actually the high point of the morning.

I think the Mancs were mainlining Adderall in the locker room right before kick (you know while their grounds crew was watering the pitch... wtf?). At the same time, the Gunners were getting their pre-game pep talk from Franz Mesmer.

From first touch almost it was clear Arsenal was toast. And from a viewing perspective, there were two things that made this not the worst morning of my Newish Year.

1) It was over after United's second goal in, what, the 17th minute. This totally took the winds of taunt from the Red Devils' supporters sails. Really, who has the energy to laugh for 73 minutes?

2) As bad as I felt, every time I went to the bathroom I felt better.

Let me explain. I ordered coffee and had about 7 cups of it by half. That'll start to run through you after about cup number 3. So I had to go pee at least three times in the second stanza, but it wasn't the peeing that made me feel better, no.

There were two poor bastards sunk into a booth in the middle room. Every time I went to the loo, I looked straight at the two saddest of sacks ever seen since Phyllis Diller's boobs shuffled off this mortal coil along with the rest of her body presumably.

This isn't about another shot at the UF Scousers. It really looked as if the lifeforce had been sucked out of these two gentlemen, like someone hooked them up to that machine in the Princess Bride. They were lifeless, with only cheap pleather seats to help them fight gravity. As bad as my morning was, there was no way it was within 7 orders of shit magnitude of theirs.

For my beloved Gunners. It was bad. Really bad. Not losing to Barnsley bad. But still, really bad. At least I can delude myself with 10 solid rationalizations:

1) Sagna would not have had his wallet, girlfriend and pride all stolen by Nani the way Hoyte did. In fact if Barcary had played, I'm pretty sure that two of the crosses from which United scored wouldn't have even made it into the box.
2) That's the worst Gallas has ever played in an Arsenal jersey. He can't possibly ever play that poorly again.
3) Eboue and Toure weren't back mentally from the Cup of Nations where defense is totally an optional skill to employ.
4) The Eboue-on-Evra red card doesn't get flashed at any stadium named Trafford, new or old.
5) Lehmann played keeper. He sucks.
6) Rooney was well-rested after his suspension. This isn't likely to be the case when the two sides meet in April as United has more fixtures than the Gunners to play between now and then.
7-10) Some other things that I barely believe, but I believe enough to say that Arsenal wins the rubber match (the draw in October felt like a win) 2-1.

It's sheer coincidence that it's the same score that Barnsley beat Liverpool by.

Swear. To. God.

My brining it up one more time just for havin' a laugh, less of a coincidence.

But still, mark it down. I want there to be witnesses.

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What the fuck just happened?

It only took an eight-hour shift propped up at the Kinsale bar for me to seriously question my team. I've been a Liverpool fan from birth [which seems like an eternity ago now, some 26 years on], and Saturday was difficult, on the verge of becoming a habit.

We've had bad runs before, many of them happening in the Premier League against our biggest rivals, but Saturday? Saturday was a different story.

[Apologies, but I took too many hyperbole pills this morning... let the exaggerations continue]

A home game in the FA Cup, against a team some 36 places below us in the domestic standings: Barnsley, a team with only one away win in 16 attempts this year.

And in front of 42,499 fans, we lost.

Despite an avalanche of opportunities, the lads couldn't get it done, even once Captain Wonderful was summoned from the bench 20 minutes from time out of sheer desperation, a move akin to throwing up the Batman signal or invoking the Nuclear option. Ryan Babel, our most enterprising player, was pulled in favour of perhaps the least enterprising player on our squad, the dour Harry Kewell.

Crouch and Kuyt wasted several opportunities, and as a team, we hit the crossbar twice, had five attempts cleared off the line, and were bested at every junction by a third-string Barnsley goalkeeper who was brought in on loan from West Brom just two days before the game. And then, after an obvious penalty shout was waved away, their captain wins the ball back inside the Liverpool half and scores the winner from the edge of the box.

Disney couldn't have written a more syrupy story if they tried.

So where does this leave us? Where does this leave my team?

This is certainly the worst run I've seen from them since my childhood. I don't remember a more lackluster side since mid-90s, the days of Roy Evans and his "Bootroom Boys". We had the young local nucleus of McManaman, Fowler, Owen and Jamie Redknapp, but they were surrounded by the likes of Mark Wright, Rigobert Song, Phil Babb and Oyvind Leonhardsen. That's when we became the "Nearly Men", winning only a Carling Cup in 4 years of competing, and it's a tag that's become heavy around our necks.

We have enjoyed European success since our last EPL trophy, but if we're being honest, we ARE the Nearly Men. That is our burden, our name, our unshakeable identity. A lifetime of finishing 4th or 5th is what we have to look forward to, and when trophies are already difficult to come by, losing to scrappy minnows like Barnsley doesn't help matters. In this year's FA Cup, we struggled and strained to beat Luton Town, Havant & Waterlooville, and now this.

Never forget, gentlemen. February 16th, the beginning of the end for Rafa Benitez. That's the only way I can objectively look at what happened, to embrace the Buddhist principles of living in the moment and karma, and thinking that some good will come from this unspeakable bad. Rafa Benitez' rotational algorithms and astral projections will prove his downfall, although his unflinching stubbornness and failure to learn from past mistakes are going to contribute.

Even the Yanks are smart enough to see that losing at home to Barnsley isn't a good thing.

Our players are worried, the experts are worried, and I can only hope that any retributions or executions that happen over the next few weeks are swift, bloodless, and decisive.

And we have Inter tomorrow? We have to win that if Rafa has any chance of saving himself, but really: FUCK. Don't wake me until June.

The Stats from Saturday:
Corners... Liverpool 15, Barnsley 3
Goal Attempts... Liverpool 33, Barnsley 11
Shots on Target... Liverpool 20, Barnsley 7
Goals... Liverpool 1, Barnsley 2

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Won't Someone Please Think of the Children?

Did you know? During month's National Soccer Coaches Association of America convention in Baltimore (all in the game yo, all in the game), coaching rejects Steve McClaren and Gerard Houllier were somehow allowed to train our very impressionable college soccer players.

Sheesh, of all the people to give pointers. In McClaren, you have a gaffer who couldn't strategize his way up a buffet line, and in Ged, you have a guy who would draw up tactics to work his way up a buffet line and come away satisfied with a bowl of rice.*

What can I say, kids? If soccer's your career choice, then don't stay in school. Such is the dearth of coaching minds in college soccer that men like McClaren and Houllier are sought for wisdom. Seriously, get out while you can! If you can't cut it in MLS, learn Norwegian and get on the next plane to Europe. Anywhere but NCAA soccer!

*In fairness to Houllier, he's actually a very good tactician and his time at Liverpool was more positive than not. It's just that his conservative tactics made the inability to meet unreasonable expectations even more depressing. But once you get past his well-publicized and expensive busts like Diouf, his transfer record's certainly no worse than Rafa's - after all, he bought the players who would form the backbone of the 2001 treble team and the 2005 Champions Cup winners, not to mention nurturing Gerrard and selling Fowler for 11 million pounds.

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I Don't Know How These Guys Are Laying Off These Pitches

I feel like Harry Doyle.

"One hit? We only got one goddamn hit?"

The future came to us last week with a message. "Lots of scoring." It was wrong. Maybe it meant I was supposed to get laid a lot last week, in which case it was still wrong.

Thirty-four goals. That's what was in the cards for match day 24. Instead the total scoring was on par with the average daily temperature I've endured for the last week. Count 'em up. I got 14. That's a solid 20 shy and it's also fucking cold.

One right, we got one goddamn game right: 2-0.

That's the score. It's either Man U v. Portsmouth or Sunderland at Birmingham. Everything else was off. Way off. Not even hand grenades close. We had lots of 3's and 4' and it reality it was lots of 1's and 0's.

So I'm not going to bother with the other 8 fixtures.

Instead I'm going to bitch that the Gunners have to go to Manchester to play Citeh (where I believe they are still undefeated) 48 hours after they pick up a competent striker in Benjani.

Meanwhile, without even looking at the fixtures, I'm going to guess that Chelsea is playing at Stamford Bridge against a club that just sold it's biggest offensive threat to foreign league for a bag of magic sand.

This weeks predictions are chasing last weeks scores. And there won't be much scoring. Hopefully, it is again wrong about my romantic prospects for the week.

0-0
1-1
2-1
1-0
0-1
1-1
2-2
0-1
3-1
0-2

We'll check back in on Monday. Not so much to see if these predictions are any good, but more to count the remaining live bodies left around these parts if that last item on the list is for the Liverpool v. Sunderland match.

[Update: Arsenal kicks at what time? Fuck.]

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Setting the bar lower each and every time

Havant & Waterlooville 1, self-respect 0
[Photo credit: BBC/Getty Images]


There are dreams, and then there are nightmares. Rafa Benitez understands this concept very well, although the brand of sleepy-time entertainment he prefers to peddle certainly falls into the "fever and terror" category.

Today, Rafa's understrength side [although "understrength" doesn't come into it when we play a fucking pub team] laboured through a first half that saw us trail twice to the part-timers of Havant & Waterlooville. A hat-trick from Yossi Benayoun and some spirited saves by backup Charles Itandje were needed before we could finally relax, but the 5-2 result is flattering. Simply put, the minnows deserved better.

I sat through most of that game, glued to the sopcast on my laptop instead of doing something more productive, and I sometimes wonder why I do this to myself.

I've been a Liverpool fan since before I could walk [although with the amount of alcohol you have to consume sometimes when we play like this, it's a miracle I can still walk], and while the last of averages dictates that your team will invariably play like shit from time-to-time, it doesn't matter. It still hurts.

This one, despite the eventual win, will hurt for a while, not just because I am good friends with several fans of the other Big 4 clubs, but because it's personal pride.

I'm going to need a lot of booze today to wash this one down. I look forward to all the colourful photoshops and opinions over the next week. We deserve them all.

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Tips from the West Ham training ground: FA Cup edition

This weekend is the fourth round of the FA Cup. The drama, the passion, the true soul of English football, plus wild bets on lower division sides I know nothing about!


Last week I went 1 for 3, correctly picking the draw at Newcastle, but got fucked over by West Ham and Liverpool. Wankers. Anyways, here's who I like in the fourth round of the FA Cup.

Liverpool vs. Havant & Waterlooville H&W 80 to 1 to win

So, the chaos at Anfield continues, with Hicks and Gillett larding additional debt onto their already teetering LBO of Liverpool. Meanwhile.....ok, who am I kidding? If Rafa loses this one, he had better be on the first flight back to Spain before Hicks calls up his ole buddy G.W. asking for a favor that involves airstrikes on the casa de Benitez. Liverpool are going to win this one five-nil.

Arsenal vs. Newcastle Gunners 4/11 to win

After the black day against Spurs in midweek, expect Arsenal to bounce back to make quick work of Newcastle's shaky backline. Its going to be like a gay porn shoot out there with all the balls flying around. In a quirk of scheduling, these two play each other again in London on Tuesday. Lets see the Gunners go for at least ten over the two legged Kevin Keegan beatdown.

Derby vs. Preston North End 11/5 to draw

Derby, as we all know, are terrible, while Preston North End are stinking up the joint in the Colaship. So I'm betting on a dire 0-0 or 1-1 game that leaves no one satisfied.

Mansfield vs. Middlesbrough 'Boro 2/5 to win

Don't worry, I still think Gareth Southgate is a shit manager. But Mansfield are starting relegation from League 2 square in the face, sitting one from bottom. Despite the homefield advantage, I'm going with the Premiership class to shine through. Yeah, I just used class and 'Boro in the same sentence. Lets just move on.

Bonus long shot pick: Wigan vs. Chelsea Lattics 11/2 to win

So Steve Bruce was on the FA Cup preview show last night and sounded confident about his side's chances. One look into his doughy face and I'm convinced he means it when he says Wigan can pull off the upset. Actually, Wigan usually play Chelsea pretty tough, before giving up a backbreaker in the last 20 minutes or so (excepting that 2-0 loss they took in November to Roman's boys).

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Fuck shit fuck

Look kids, a smiling douchebag!
[Photo Credit: Liverpool Echo]

Fellow Scousers, our nightmare is about to come true.

Hicks & Gillett are close to securing their 350 million pound loan refinancing, which will keep them firmly where they are in the owners' box for the foreseeable future.

The Yank wheeler-dealers borrowed 185 million pounds for the purchase of Liverpool last February, which was augmented by another 113 million from the Royal Bank of Scotland. Somehow, despite Monday's stock market issues, they've managed to assure both RBS and Wachovia that a 350 million pound refinanced loan is a smart idea.

How did they do it? By upping their personal guarantees from 30 to 55 million, and in doing so, breaking the hearts of fans and players alike.

I'm sick of these two. Dubai is still in the picture, but they're adamant that they won't give a huge profit to the Duo if any buyout was agreed upon.

The refinanced loan does keep stadium plans on the table, but it remains to be seen what will happen with the squad and with Rafa Benitez.

Gerrard spoke out the other day about the distraction, and now with this new loan deal, there's seemingly no end in sight.

The Guardian blog has a couple of good articles about this mess, each of which dives into the numbers and percentages points better than I certainly could.

The one thing I do know is that the continued ownership of Hicks & Gillett is bad for the club. The longer they're there, the bleaker things might get, as it won't take much in an already-unstable financial market for the bottoms to collapse out of their heady gambling.

---
Fuck. This takes the sheen off last night's Goon shellacking. I'll still find a way to enjoy it later though.

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Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

See that? That's Satan.

Sometime about 21:30 GMT on May 25, 2005, Liverpool walked into their Ataturk Stadium locker room in Istanbul to see that guy lounging in the corner casually smoking a Nat Sherman.

Basically, our friend the Dark Lord here said that he could assure the Reds a victory with what remained of their match against Milan, and it wouldn't even cost them anything that day. All compensation would be taken out of future earnings.

Great. The Scousers all signed up. And, holy shit, the Miracle of Istanbul was miraclized.

So fast forward two years to Olympic Stadium in Athens, and Liverpool had to feel that they got a fair deal when Milan won a far less exciting rematch by a 2-1 tally. "Okay, so we entered a pact with Satan, and we ended up batting .500 in a couple of Champions League finals. We'll take that any day and twice on Sundays." That was the collective wisdom of everyone in a Liverpool kit.

But, oh. How wrong. The '07 final wasn't payback. Mephistopheles was an uninterested observer that day. Nope, Satan is now extracting payment on the '05 deal week by week, point by point, and is slowly raping the collective lifeforce at Anfield.

There is no other explanation.

Liverpool held about 2/3 of the possession, outshot Villa about what looked like 31-2, yet they still needed a strike by Peter Crouch 2 minutes from time today JUST TO EQUALIZE! And Liverpool is, for the moment, out a of Champions League spot. Insult meet injury. Crosstown rival Everton currently hold the fourth spot in the Prem.

Satan is kind of a dick. So this might not be ending anytime soon.

He also might be fucking with UF as its majority shareholders are Scousers (present company excluded) and we had our worst week prognosticating, or whatever it is that we are doing pulling numbers out of a hat.

Crytal Soccer Balls

Man City 1-1 West Ham
Wigan 1-2 Everton
Birmingham City 0-1 Chelsea
Tottenham 2-0 Sunderland

Close

Portsmouth 4-1 Derby (3-1)
Fulham 1-3 Arsenal (0-3)

Close But Not Really

Newcastle 1-0 Bolton (0-0)

This Would Have Made More Sense

Liverpool 2-1 Villa (2-2)
Blackburn 2-1 Boro (1-1)

If I Could Make a Deal with Satan

Reading 4-2 Man U (0-2)


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