Kirk Cobain Called...

Ok, it wasn't that bad, but really I can only think of 2 sports weeks that were more miserable than what I (and all fellow Skins, Terps, and Liverpool fans) just went though.

1. September 18-19, 2004. This one is easy. Banes hooked me up with tickets to #21 Terps v. #7 Sheepfuckers in Morgantown. I was all kinds of amped up for this game, so much so that I promised myself that I wasn't going to drink on a Friday night and drive up to WVU at the asscrack to make game time. Needless to say, particularly for those of you who knew me Junior year (or know me now... let's be honest) I got hammered drunk that night before and woke up an hour and a half before game time. Drove up averaging roughly 90 mph to make it there just after the 1st quarter.

Getting to my seat and realizing that no familiar faces were anywhere near my seat, and the natives did not appreciate my presence, "I think you're in the wrong section boy...," I knew I was in for a long day. After 5 turnovers, somehow we were still in the game. 16-16. We were headed to Overtime. It was short lived, as we settled for a field goal, and they drove. Future NFLers Chris Henry and Dominque Foxworth battled it out in the endzone. Henry came out on top. My what a difference 4 years makes. Ballgame. 19-16. Miserable 3 hour drive home.

The next day, the Skins faced off against the G-men. Two not too good teams as I recall. The Giants owner, Wellington Mara had just died. After 7 turnovers, the Skins fell like 36-0.

12 turnovers. Losses to major rivals. I was on suicide watch.

2. I don't want to even look up the date on this one, but Maryland lost to Ohio and American back to back last year. You could hear the thud of the program hitting rock bottom in Shanghai.

So, here we were Saturday morning, a little hungover from Halloween. Liverpool v. Tottenham Hotspur. Liverpool alone on the top of the table. Spurs at the very bottom. 90 minutes later, after a dominating performance and two shots off the post... Spurs 2, 'Pool 1.

Ok, no big deal, Huge Skins game on Monday Night. I can look past this. My boys, despite a strong start, were utterly dominated on both sides of the ball (Byron Leftwich... really? My mom moves better in the pocket). On the upside, I sit in the top row of the Club Level and turning around to check the tv screens, I noted Shawne Merriman sitting 3 feet behind me. Dude has a head the size of thanksgiving turkey. Fact. But I choked in the acknowledgement of his presence.

Anyways. Thursday. Terps. The resurgent, I can't believe this team is nationally ranked, lets go to c-stone for rails, then santa fe for $2 22s and watch us fuck up the Hokies, Terps. Despite my better judgement, I let myself get fired up for this game. Went to Bailey's in Ballston, got all drunk and obnoxious in front of the Arlington chapter of the Hokie alumni club. Very miserable loss. How is the only play we have to get a future first round NFL pick the ball a WR screen? That's like settling for a big mac when you have a gift certificate to the Palm. Its acknowledging that we don't have the ability to do anything past the line of scrimmage. Thanks Fridge.

Being a Terps football fan is like driving a car that's just crossed the 150K mile mark. Every time it turns on you feel like magic could happen. Somehow it starts and you can drive it for like 5 days. But when you really need it, at 2 AM trying to drive for a late night booty call... nothin'. It's not even that you never know whether or not it will start. It's just that you know that sooner or later, it's going to let you down, and probably in front of a lot of people that you just told to go fuck themselves.

On the upside. Skins are on a bye, just signed D'Angelo Hall, and are still in great shape for at least the wild card, and are in play for the division. Terps are still tied for the division lead. Liverpool are still tied for first. But much like the state of the economy, after a miserable week like this you start to think, "hmm... is this the bottom, or is it going to get much worse?"

Fortunately, unlike Mr.Cobain, it doesn't rain 300 days every year where I live. Don't be too concerned about any poorly placed shotgun barrels over here.

Get me some wins boys! This shit is terrible!

Seeing Red

"You know why the Yankees always win?...it's cause the other teams can't stop staring at the pinstripes" - Christopher Walken - Catch Me If You Can

Michigan vs. Ohio State in The Big House. It was 1991. I was seven, watching one of the biggest rivalries in sports, forming the basis of my opinions on sports, and one of the great college players of all time locked me in as a football fanatic for a lifetime. Desmond Howard, on his own 8 yard line, received a punt and scampered down the sideline for what would be the longest punt return in Michigan history. Accentuated by Keith Jackson's always memorable commentary, Howard, a front runner in the Heisman Trophy race, struck a pose in the end zone and marked his place not only in history, but in the ever growing list of sports moments that I saw live and will never forget. "Hellooooo Heisman!!!"

Big players make big plays in big games. This frequently used statement is an acknowledgement that typically with an important game on the line, a team's most talented player steps up to make the difference. However, what this statement fails to capture about competition is that it isn't always necessarily going to be a team's most talented or best physical specimen that makes the game deciding impact.

Desmond Howard happens to be a terrific example of this. Following a phenomenal college career, Howard was drafted by 4th overall by the Washington Redskins. Unfortunately, although he dominated at the college level, lack of true receiver size and strength limited his options for success in the pros, and did not live up to his expectations as a wide receiver. After bouncing around the NFL, Howard once again found himself on a big stage alongside Brett Favre as a Green Bay Packer. With Super Bowl XXXI hanging in the balance following a Patriots TD late in the 3rd quarter, once again distinguished himself as a big game performer. With a Super Bowl record 99-yard kickoff return, Howard was named the Super Bowl MVP.

Howard was hardly the best player on the '96 Packers. Favre is a future Hall of Famer for sure, and Howard could be found near the bottom of the Packer's depth chart at wide receiver, the position he graced with such dominance as a college player. But in one of those funny twists of fate, he was given an opportunity to make an important contribution on the game's biggest stage, and he grabbed it with both hands.

What is it about Desmond Howard that made him such a, as we say in the sports world, gamer? Fortunately, I took a course in Sports Psychology, so I am very qualified to answer this. Although his size basically guaranteed a mediocre career as an NFL wideout, a unique combination of big game experience, practice that included specificity and worked to achieve automaticity (not a word, but bare with me), and being particularly intrinsically motivated put him in a position to respond well when the chips were down.

In other words, you really can't coach the kind of achievement that Desmond Howard brought to the game of football (notably, only 3 other Heisman Trophy Winners, Staubach, Plunkett, and Allen, went on to win the Super Bowl MVP).

What brought this, and the accompanying Christopher Walken quote, on? Saturday morning, Steven Gerrard, Liverpool skipper, found the back of the net for a game winner four minutes into extra time in a game on Saturday against Middlesbrough, a game that should easily have been won. In my efforts to look on the bright side of what has been a fairly discouraging opening to the season despite a winning their first two games, I realized two things of importance.

First, Gerrard, like Howard, not a stranger to late game heroics, was again showing the innate ability to change a game. Yes, he has exceptional ability, but what is most important and most valued is what you can do in the final minutes. By all measures, he had a fairly mediocre game, and by his own admission he is not yet 100% following a preseason injury, but there he was just outside the box with seconds to play. He found the ball on his foot with just enough room, and with ease found the back of the net.

As Gilbert Arenas showed in healthier times, players who compete with a "you can start this, but I'm going to finish it" mentality tend to make a habit of it. Certainly, this is not Gerrard's first rodeo, and after his performance at "70% match fitness" the Reds-faithful must be encouraged that it will not be his last.

Second, and perhaps more important, is the effect that having wins of this nature has on the rest of the league. As Christoper Walken's character pointed out in the beginning of Catch Me If You Can, it wasn't so much that the 60's Yankees had the best players, but going into the House That Ruth Built to play a team that had such a psychological advantage was exceedingly difficult. Although you build your own confidence escaping poor results, which is important, other teams that are unable to put Liverpool away early in the match begin to wait for the other shoe to drop, much as I did in the 90's watching my Orioles battle their pinstriped adversaries in the Boogie Down Bronx.

As Yogi Berra once pointed out, 50% of the game is 90% mental. With that in mind, consistently having the psychological advantage over your opponent is a key to having a successful season. By building confidence in themselves now and sewing the seeds of doubt in the challengers to come, Liverpool can only be said to be positioning themselves to reap the rewards as the season continues.

With more goals like this, maybe Red will be the new pinstripe.

PS. Also, Arabic(I'm guessing that's what was going on there) could be the new Spanish for watching soccer in a foreign language. I can't even pretend to know what that guy was saying, but he sounds about as ecstatic as John Bobbitt when he found out he could parlay his misfortunes into a lucrative "acting" career.

Feels like the fiiiirst time... Feels like the very first time.

As I jubilantly jumped in the air, my beer soaked through the shirt I had been wearing for the last 48 hours, and likely everyone packed close to me in the bar's standing room only crowd. "God damn draft beers!"

Did the 'Skins just lock up a playoff berth? Had my beloved Terps knocked off yet another #1 from the State of North Carolina?

Surprisingly, no. I was alone at a pub in Dublin watching huge underdog USA and eventual champs Italy battle it out in World Cup 2006. DaMarcus Beasley had just seemingly scored a go-ahead goal to put my people up 2-1 in a crazy game that had seen 3 red cards and a horrific bloody face. For the briefest of moments, it looked like The Land Of The Free had finally arrived, and, more importantly, the crazy Italian chicks standing right in front of the closest TV weren't going to have so much to sing about. Down a man, with only 9 men on the field (kind of a big deal), somehow we had set the table for a monumental victory. The folks around me would just have to deal with the drops of Guinness pouring down on them from above as if the heavens too had joined in my celebration.

Unfortunately, the goal was disallowed on a bogus offside call (one of the more miserable calls to go against a JMFS supported squad), and my 6 euro beer had been wasted in vain. Although the game ended in a draw and the American's cup run ended in disappointment, this game and this moment became the measuring stick against which all other soccer watching experiences would be measured.

As I jogged to Summer's in Arlington to watch Liverpool's season opener at Sunderland, I allowed myself to believe that perhaps today would be a day as memorable as as that June day in the Motherland.

I entered and quietly found myself a seat at the bar. To my surprise, I found Summer's filled with fans in red jerseys similar to mine, except by filled I meant just enough for a rousing game of sharks and minnows. "No big deal," I thought. Determined to make the best of it, I ordered the largest Guinness available and a burger, which were both delicious.

Seated at the bar next to me were two things I had yet to encounter at a bar while watching soccer. First, the "middle aged American male soccer fan." If you're looking for a good acupuncturist, you're gonna prefer to take the advice from some guy fresh off the boat that greets you with a "Herro" eating General Tso's. If you were looking for your ideal stranger offering soccer insights, ideally you'd find former footballer turned actor Vinnie Jones, near the bottom of the list would be, at first glance, the guy sitting next to me. Hypocritical? Considering that I too will fit this description some day, yes. Although this guy did exceed my expectations for standard soccer chit chat, the experience was not getting off on the right foot.

Second, and more entertaining than the somewhat boring game we were watching, was the "soccer game date." Sitting right next to my aging friend was an American girl and what appeared to be her date, an Englishman sporting a red Liverpool scarf. An otherwise innocuous pair, what sparked my interest was that although he didn't seem to be saying anything that should have interested her ("Actually [Fernando Torres] scored more goals than any player ever has in their first year in the premier league" for example) she ate it up and asked for seconds. Clearly, she was all over the accent. I wondered how absurd his comments could have been without turning her off. "I once was a roadie for Ace of Base!"? "I'm a founding member of Arlington's Jelly of the Month Club. This month is peach!"? It kept me interested during a particularly boring an uneventful game.

Just as I thought my first game as a Liverpool fan would end in a bland scoreless draw, my Reds sprang to life. Alonso slipped a ball through to Torres, who settled the ball and drilled it into the back of the net. All 15 of us jumped to our feet and yelled/clapped. "Hooray!" Fernando's epic shot stood out as the lone highlight in a lame game, and, as opposed to my previous experience, it counted.

As Torres, Gerrard, and all the rest of the gang celebrated on the pitch, it was the Liverpool fans that made me realize I made the right choice. All of a sudden the bar came to life, I ordered another beer, and the cameraman scanned the crowd as the away fans erupted at the sudden turn of fortune. As expected, they sang songs for their hero. Much to my new friends' appreciation, this time they stayed dry and my celebratory beer successfully found it's way into my stomach.

Champions League Qualifying! LIVE From the OBX

2:40 ET - Good Afternoon! It's a miserable day here in Corolla, North Carolina. So, in my boredum, I've opted to blog as I watch some Champions League Qualifying. To add insult to a cloudy rainy day, ESPN2 has chosen to show Arsenal start their run for European glory instead of Liverpool. I'll leave some comments about both games over the next couple hours as I slam beers and watch soccer. Kickoff - 3:05 ET

2:43 ET - Kickoff from the Netherlands! Just opened my first bottle of beer. It's gonna be an interesting one folks. Twente comes out firing here, but in true power hour fashion, they can't possibly keep this up. I'm pulling for them though as I'd love to see Arsenal, in horrible bright yellow jerseys today, go down.

3:00 ET - Arsenal, coming out fairly rusty, have won their first corner. Ends in a handball. Woooo! In other news, how bout that Michael Phelps huh? (I swear the beers will kick in soon. It's hard to type, drink, and make sure my 8 month old nephew doesn't injure himself.)

3:06 ET - Uh oh... Twente nearly draws first blood with a smart ball finding a runner down the left side. The Gunners keeper was beat, but Twente couldn't convert. The Dutch are fired up here, mark my words, they will score first. "Arsenal certainly has their work cut out for them," comments Derek Rae. First yellow card of the day to a Twente midfielder.

3:09 - Should be 1-0 Twente. A Dutch striker slipped through the defense like a loose stool, and, unmarked, knocks one well over the cross bar. He is embarrassed.

3:21 - And here's our first injury (there's some blood so he maintains his masculinity) which gives the home fans their first opportunity to stop jumping up and down. Gotta be some sore knees out there (insert first pornstar audition comment here). Twente just had a 1 v 1 with the keeper. He blew it (insert gay pornstar audition comment here). Arsenal is really coming out soft here folks. Hey Amber! We're gonna need a fluffer out here! Couldn't pass that one up.

3:31 - We're nearing halftime here, and there hasn't been much if any excitement. Apparently, the North Londoners have left most of their first team at home. Thanks. Liverpool also has yet to score, but they did have a scare as Standard Liege won a PK, but failed to convert. Could have been trouble. And there's the whistle. I'm most impressed by the fans here. Apparently nobody told them they are huge underdogs. Good for them.

3:44 - In other news, we've been joined by 3 year old guest commentator Charlie. "That's funny, Uncle John!" Apparently, he feels that Arsenal's play has been laughable thus far too. "That is not soccer!" Wow... harsh criticism from the outspoken toddler. Look out Andy Grey.

3:58 - Welp, if I was a betting man, I'd say Twente has missed their best opportunity to find their way to the group stage. Arsenal seems to have collected themselves, the Dutch attack has lost much of its tenacity, and certainly a full Arsenal squad awaits them in the second leg. Shit or get off the pot time... and I'd say they are likely to do the latter.

4:04 - 1-0 Arsenal. Free Kick. Gallas bumps it in off his calf. Twente's keeper was caught flat footed and watched it roll into the net. Arsenal is playing a bit more like the strong confident team they are, and just over an hour in, I'd say that's all she wrote.

4:12 - This one is getting ugly folks. We've had a standard "my team is better than yours" shove in the back from Van Persie of Arsenal resulting in a yellow, a handful of miserable challenges, and next to no possession, particularly from the home team. Somebody is shaving points here. I'm sure of it.

4:18 - With my obligatory NFL comment, John Lynch visited the Pats today. When is some old, lame, Canseco-esque player going to sell out the Patriots for a book deal detailing how Rodney Harrison was the tip of the iceberg with the Pats steriods saga. Tedy Bruschi has a stroke, Tom Brady shows flashes of roid rage over each false start penalty, and for some reason, the Pats front office continues to take flyers on old past their prime players, ideal candidates for performance enhancers. We're 5 years away from this.

4:21 - Twente squanders another chance. They look very tired. Either their bench is filled with Verne Troyers, or their subs got caught in traffic in Amsterdam. Really could use a sub here.

4:24 - And just like that... Arsenal 2-0. Actually a legitimate offering at goal resulting from some great passing. Despite some boring play, the Gunners put together something great there for Abedayor. In Belgium, Liverpool continues to struggle. Ugh. Show me something here...

4:35 - With 3 minutes of extra time, the first Twente sub comes on. Clearly too little too late. Liverpool continues to struggle according to a friendly live blog. Ahh well. Sounds about time for a dip in the pool, and some BBQ. The upside to a miserable day of soccer... I'm still at the beach. That's all I've got. I'm going to go eat several hamburgers. Don't worry, I'll wait at least an hour before I go swimming. It's been fun. Be sure to tip your servers.

The First Day of the Rest of My Life

"I know you see me on the video, (True) I know you heard me on the radio, (True) but you still don't pay me no attention, listenin' to what your girlfriends mention, 'he's a slut, he's a ho, he's a freak, got a different girl everyday of the week.' It's cool, not tryin' to put a rush on you. I had to let you know that I've got a crush on you." -Notorious B.I.G.

The Premiership. I endured its courtship for quite some time, but as we've all learned from Superbad, even the hot chicks go for weird dudes with enough determination. Unfortunately even while my hormones raged, as can be the case with many potentially successful relationships that never get off the ground, the timing just wasn't right. Most notably, soccer's regrettable homosexual stigma(not that there's anything wrong with that) was preventing me from really opening up to the "World's Game." For much of my pre-adult life, I ate lots of bananas (I really don't get enough potassium in my diet), I could frequently be caught listening to Craig David CDs by myself, and one of my guy friends insisted on being called Kiki (sorry Cope, the truth is out). My man points weren't quite high enough to publicly pick up a sport noted for its lack of manliness on this side of the pond.

Over the past year something happened that finally gave me the opportunity to give in and declare my support for a British soccer club. First, DC had one of its better sports seasons. The Skins made the playoffs in an epic, emotional run. The Wiz made the playoffs... again. The Caps made an improbable late season run to win the Southeast Division. I've never had so many beers spilled on my head in celebration and been happy about it. In reality, I've never poured so many beers on my head, period, but I digress. It was terrific watching my teams finally all make things interesting in the post-season.

While this was happening, my official soccer team, Celtic, was in the midst of an epic run of their own. Celtic came from behind against their rival in the Scottish Premier League to win their 40th League Title. Sadly, Scottish soccer games get 0 coverage anywhere but Scotland, so while history was being made, I was left to sit around in my green and white striped jersey and read game recaps.

I wish I had the life experience to explain how frustrating that is to my mother when I was 12 watching sports past my bed time with her yelling "who cares? Just read it in the newspaper in the morning!" Having to hear secondhand, or watch on Sportscenter, about how your favorite team is getting huge win after huge win is a little like having your significant other slip you a roofie, and use and abuse you in ways only appropriate for the maturest of audiences while you're catching some Zs.

You: Whoa... I'm naked. What happened here?
Fellow Cheek Bumper: I did some unreal stuff to you last night. It was AWESOME. Sorry you were blacked out.

You: Are you kidding me??

FCB: Oh don't worry, I taped it.

As in this analogy, clearly this is not a habit to be tolerated, unless you're the one that's awake, in which case... Get It!!! But back to our friends on the wrong side of that sexual escapade, and myself as a fan of a non-televised sports team. Similar to the realization made as you wake up with a few used condoms on the bedside table next to you with no legitimate explanation to how they got there, it was time try to make some memories.

After a month long period of deliberation, I decided upon Liverpool. The Reds. Anfield. 18 League Titles. 5 Champions League Titles. Feels like a good fit. Between this decision, and Jason Taylor, this could be the best sports year since 91-92. Your year will come Philly. Wait, probably not.