Bloody hell, we made it. We have more posts than God. UF turns 1000 with this one, and it's been a lot of fun. Still a long way to go, but we've clearly found some good, fertile ground on which to settle and spew venom about the beautiful game. I couldn't be happier, well, I could be if perhaps Beckham was dropped from the England set-up.
But I digress, this isn't about him, or any of the ridiculous stories we've covered since December (man, some real history, I know). It's about the birth and progression of a decent little community where we can indulge our soccer fanaticism. Without you all, we'd be nothing. Thanks for your support, readership, comments and quips, and keep 'em coming.
So join us after the jump for some wonderful, self-congratulatory back-patting, courtesy of the UF staff.
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Bigus Dickus:
There comes a time in a football bloggers life when irrelevent stats and midly important milestones become overwhelming. This is the moment you realize that you are no longer cool but just another less-sanitized but coherent (maybe) version of Tommy Smythe.
That doesn't apply to UF'ers... of course I was talking about all of those other football blogs, the boring, safe, sucky ones that make you cringe at their willing acceptance to squeeze out 500 words of utter shite about the importance of the womens game or Landon Donovan's value to U. S soccer (none at all in case you were wondering).
All at UF should be proud of reaching 1000 posts of intelligent and clever musings, drunken live blog extravaganzas, incredible interviews and exclusive features about players mullets. Here's to another 1000 posts of superior orbicular observations.
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The NY Kid:
As a small boy playing footy on the pitches of NY, I often dreamt of becoming a World Cup participant. As a somewhat larger lad playing footy in high school in NY (against a lad who would eventually play in Serie B), I often dreamt of...well, dating older women. As an aging man playing footy on the pitch in Michigan, I often dreamt of...well, dating younger women.
Beginning UF with these geniuses here (and allowing a few other stragglers to jump onboard) has allowed me to achieve...well, none of those goals, actually. But I did manage to interview an Olympic athlete and several notable footy writers, including some ESPN personalities. No, wait, that wasn't me that conducted those interviews - I'm still holding out for Titi. What exactly do I do around here?
Congratulations are warranted for all of my fellow UFers - the first 1000 posts have been filled with wit, charm, vitriol, and anti-Landycakes musings. All of that has succeeded in making this little endeavour the perfect place to call home. Stay tuned for the next 1000 posts, and beyond - it will be well worth it.
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Spectator:
Soc-cer? No, we call it "football."
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Precious Roy:
I never thought I'd see the day where I was part of a blog that made it to the 1000 post mark. That's because for the bulk of my life I had fucking clue what a blog was. Actually for the bulk of my life blogs didn't even exist. Anyway, now that it's happened, it really is as underwhelming as you can imagine. Maybe even less so, or more so. I'm not sure.
But we're glad your jobs are so miserably tedious that you use us as a diversion. If you promise not to give up the tedium and pursue a more rewarding career path, well promise to keep posting. Maybe we'll even try to do it just a little better.
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Moonshine Mike:
It seems like only yesterday when a drunken scouser was chatting me up, and my first impression was that he was attempting to latch onto my whiskey collection. But the idea was long overdue, and obvious when it was mentioned. It works because there is a collection of brains with different ideas, opinions, directions. We entertain ourselves as well as our readers, and for one that's been the lagniappe for me.
In the following nine months, I've banged brains with some engaging minds with a common passion for a wonderful game. My hope is we end the day learning something new, even if it's Robinho forgets who he signed for, or that the editor has a problem with long bus rides.
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Ian:
There comes a time in a man's life where he is forced to leave the comforts of home and strike out for himself in the world. To grow up into a mature, upstanding member of society. 1,000 posts into this blog, and I'm sure some of you readers are concerned that we are too mainstream (actual interviews with actual ESPN writers!), too stale (really? another post on Liverpool?), or just faking it (did you even watch the game you are talking about?).
Well I want you all to rest assured that our juvenile humor isn't going anywhere. Together, we can march forward into a glorious future of soccer coach sex scandals, WAG sex scandals, and gaffer sex scandals.
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The Fan's Attic:
1,000 blog posts? Man...that's a lot of billable hours.
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The Likely Lad:
Well whoop-de-damn-do! A thousand blog posts in 9 1/2 months. The Tudor wives were more fertile than this place. Deadspin had 1,000 posts last Wednesday-- even if 963 of them were about beer bongs and Matt Leinart.
No surprise though, considering the makeup of UF's 73-strong stable of staff bloggers; a bunch of thieving Scousers who spend their nights pawing through the trash for lean cuisine left-overs; a couple-dozen Scummers who spend more time fighting over which of David Hirshey's nuts to suckle at than what to write about (hint: "we" don't shoot enough, "we" need cesc, "we're" so broke, yet so brilliant, etc.); the English Dracula, daydreaming of his castle gimp; some Italian dude who writes once a month about math and other stuff that confuses our dumbass readers; and The Likely Lad -- the idiot Tottenham fan, getting mollywhopped by a windmill every weekend.
Thank the Hebrew God for Joep Smeets. Unprofessional, indeed.
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ΓΌ75
Late to the party, as usual.
It had been a long time since I had stopped going through the comments on Deadspin. They just weren't good anymore. Everyone was trying to one-up each other with jokes, instead of providing depth for the story. I have no idea why I wandered into this one. Perhaps it was the high of Arsenal beating Chelsea that day. Anyway, I perused the comments, and there was an idiot who put his email address in there announcing that he had a pyramid scheme that I might have interest in as a soccer fan. I replied to him with a nothing message, something like, "I'm not ready to buy just yet, but give me information anyway", and I got sucked in.
That's where it started for me. Lots of posts about bad uniforms, Gretna and the general idiocy of football's life off the pitch later, and here we are. 1000 posts deep. Good on all of us I say. Now let's get back to the dick jokes.
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Autoglass
I'm the new guy. Ever since joining this here shindig, I've been trying to keep my head down and not anger the scousers and gooners who run this damned joint. Likely helps me with this. Bigus keeps it real and makes sure that we have the latest on all things Canary. Lingering got us started.
While I don't know if 1000 posts is a lot or not, I do know that it's crazy that folks out there actually read our rantings. And I do know that Lingering is a great chap and good mate and we all owe this whole party to him. Cheers, ya scurrilous thieving drunken scouse layabout! As to the rest of ya, can we all agree that City is ruining football with all their money? Scandalous!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
UF makes it to 1000 -- UPDATED WITH MORE
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Showdown in Chinatown, Pt. 2: The Red/Green Carpet
I'm not cut out for journalism. I'd love to say that I could do it, but after our experiences Wednesday, I'd say that I simply don't have the tenacity for it. Hours of standing around under any kind of weather, fenced in like farmyard animals, clutching the dictaphone for dear life and waiting in agony for your interview subjects to turn up.
I also suspect I'd fail at a newspaper because I'm filing a report from last Wednesday night today, instead of adhering to the regular standards of filing something three hours after it happened, or four hours later, or some other insanely tight schedule.
So when we left off, we'd moved ourselves across from pitchside to standing outside a SoHo storefront, with no dinner and only a couple of beers in our bellies. The press pass got us into their glamorous iron gate enclosure just after 8pm, and then the waiting began. Oh, the wait.
That part was fantastic, and it helped the concept of time fade into the background as various PR coordinators kept giving us the equivalent of the Seinfeld episode in the Chinese restaurant: the phrase "5 more minutes" echoed in my ears as dusk turned to night, and as youthful exuberance turned to impatience and irritation. I digress: the conversations made it worth it. Considering that we were all in the same boat, it was hard to remain bitter as this was just par for the course. For these guys, they were used to it day in and day out, whereas we were merely imitators for the day, starstruck idiots with paper and pen looking to get our first taste of athlete/average joe interaction. Discussing the truth behind a whole raft of transfer rumours definitely kept the fatigue at bay, thanks to some well-connected folks with good information being whispered in their ears. Were we surprised at the long wait? Of course not. They'd just played 90 minutes of fast-paced soccer in the strong early evening sun. Should they not be allowed an hour or two to sit in an ice-cold shower and relax? And so the night wore on, and eventually, people did arrive. We felt bad for Bradley and Sunil Gulati, who turned up promptly at 9.15 or so and walked unhindered down three city blocks to the event before calmly strolling through to minimal flashbulbs or chorus. However, there are few people who'd pick Brian Barwick out of a lineup, so it's not so terrible. Gulati was polite and cordial, hamming it up with the AP reporter and a couple of other journos before quietly entering the charity event a few minutes later. 90 minutes in, and we've seen exactly one person. However, much to our relief, it was not long until everyone started filing in. The Liverpool lads weren't much in the mood for questions, soured by a reporter at the front of the line who pulled Fowler aside for a quote and then promptly asked: "Who are you, and what do you do?" That was enough meet the press for GOD for Macca, who darted inside fairly quickly after that. A shame, as I was finally working up enough gumption to actually ask a question. (Sidenote: I was told that you can't have any shame when you're a reporter. I've lost most of mine, but I'm still working on shedding the rest.) Claudio was first to arrive of the night's main stars, and by that point, I'd drank enough complimentary glasses of Vitamin Water to ask a few questions. The main point on my mind was his thoughts about the state of soccer in the US. Events like his are fantastic, but will they help soccer gain a more solid ground in the American mainstream? "I don't think there's just one thing that can help boost the status of soccer in the US, it's going to take a big movement. These days, soccer fans get it all over here, they get the EPL, they get Serie A, La Liga on satellite, and it's tough for MLS to compete. We have to keep pushing, and the quality of the league is always improving." I asked him about the impact of having basketball superstars and soccer superstars combining for such an event, and he framed the follow-up simply: "If soccer has a cool image, kids will play." Spectator and I thought on this for a while, as soccer and basketball aren't that far apart. They're games for the people, played on dirt strips and dusty parking lots around the world. They give people hope and a way out of their struggles, and the best players in each sport often appear from the most unlikely places, fulfilling the grand Disney-esque storyline of diamonds in the rough coming from outside the game to transform it at its very core. More events like this would definitely help the comparison! The most telling part of his press line procession were his remarks about the Red Bulls giving him the all-clear to participate in the event despite his recovery from injury, and that they were fully aware of what was going on. He even quipped about having injections in his back recently, and this news didn't go over too well around the blogosphere. The Red Bulls fans are somewhat justified in their anger, but honestly, it's a charity event. Is this really grounds for condemnation and vitriol? Nash was next in, and he was too coy for soundbites, preferring to keep his investment plans for the MLS and the new Women's Professional Soccer League under wraps. Well, that and my ability to write at the speed of sound was decidedly less than impressive. After those two, we began the wait for Thierry Henry, the last person of interest for the bulk of those reporters still standing. By this point, it was close to 11pm, and we'd received word that Titi was not far away from the press line. Baron Davis did roll in shortly before, and I had to ask him about the yellow card he got for handball: "It's how I play, man! Rough and tough!" Hilarious guy, although he didn't have an on-the-record comment when I asked if he thought the ref was more biased than some in the NBA. Just a laugh, a smile, a few pictures of his own, and off into the event. Finally, Titi rolled in. It wasn't as pronounced as the rest; he left his black SUV car service well up the street, and strolled down casually, uninterrupted. He was relaxed and calm and looked happy to be there, with the event as much of a novelty for him as it was for the masses who'd lined the park some hours before to witness the action. No entourage, no hangers-on, no protectorate guarding his every movement. Just a footballing legend in a Reebok t-shirt and jeans walking down the street. Just to our right, a guy who looked like a young Steve Nicol (as Ives Galarcep had quipped earlier, much to our amusement) had been waiting just as long for a chance to see Thierry up close, and he got what he came for: a handshake, a greeting, and a chance to hear him speak. We did too; the NY Times reporter, a big jolly man in a grey suit, hogged the attention, mispronouncing Barca and breaking my heart just a little bit. The MSM did have a presence, albeit not a very inspiring one. The subject of MLS popped up, and he was reflective, almost coy in his response: "Why not? I love America. I love it here. And whenever I come here, I feel free. Hopefully, one day. You never know what's going to happen. But at the moment, I'm still over there." While a lot of outlets took that as a sign of his imminent arrival, I read it the other way. He feels free here; why would he destroy that for a few dollars more in his pocket and a PR campaign that would surely see him and Beckham standing side-by-side in their crisp, clean Galaxy shirts, visions of spellbinding brilliance and the brand name partnership that ESPN has been craving for years? Moving to play here would ruin that completely. He mentioned Los Angeles and Miami as other places he loves to go, but playing MLS would definitely dent into that freedom. In the US, he can walk around anonymous for the most part, except for the odd well-wisher here and there, but with the grinding gears of corporate synergy and promotion just looking for the next Beckham to sink their energy into, America would become just another place around the world where he has to hire bodyguards. I'm highly skeptical of him coming here, but then again, I've made a blogging career out of being categorically wrong on things in the past. All in all, we left after 3+ hours in the pen, one of the last to depart. It was a wonderful experience despite the agonizing waits, but then again, we must suffer to get what we want. Oh, and I did get to meet Thierry Henry. As much as I begrudge the bastard for so many wonderful goals against Liverpool and in the EPL at large, it was still a pleasure. Yeah, and another reason I could never be a journalist: I can't find a neat way to wrap up this already-too-long post, so this will have to do.
Spectator and I dug in amid the real journalists, waiting for things to happen. Standing in such company wasn't so painful, considering the various ESPN Soccernet writers and fellow soccer bloggers we met with whom to debate transfer rumors and wax lyrical about Euro '08.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Scottish football team celebrates big promotion.... with soda
Champagne: not allowed in East Stirlingshire
Over the weekend, Scottish Third Division team East Fife won yet again, a 3-0 victory at East Stirlingshire that moved them to an unassailable 24-point lead at the top of the table.
Congratulations, East Fife! You're the champions, you're getting promoted, and it's time to celebrate, right?
Wrong.
The police confiscated all their champagne.
The police warned them several times to keep their booze on ice, forcing them to wait until they made it back to the safety and comfort of their local pub to toast their successes. Said Chief Inspector Audrey McLeod, from Central Scotland Police: I wish I had more of a joke here, but the story's hilarious enough. I'm just glad that the fine police of Central Scotland are doing their job and taking care of the real crimes in their jurisdiction. The thugs of East Fife FC must be stopped!
Directors of the club were warned that alcohol in glass containers was illegal in football grounds, and that the police would have reason to arrest and confiscate the bubbly should it be brought out. Fucking killjoys."During the subsequent celebrations the bottles were produced and champagne was sprayed over the fans who were gathered on the pitch.
Police 1, Common Sense 0.
Officers again spoke to club officials, explaining the legislation again and highlighting the potential for glass bottles to present a health and safety issue, particularly with a number of families with children in the vicinity.
Following a brief discussion, the bottles were again removed."
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