Continuing with the game I showed yesterday, here are the pictionaries which are a tad trickier! At the end, I'll provide the answers to the ones from yesterday!
1.
Showing posts with label Spain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spain. Show all posts
Friday, July 13, 2018
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Film review: LA VOIE LACTÉE [THE MILKY WAY] (Luis Buñuel, 1969)
Luis Buñuel'a irreverent send-up of Christianity sees Pierre (Paul Frankeur) and Jean (Laurent Terzieff) embarking on a religious pilgrimage from France to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Along the way, they come a series of unexpected events, from walking in on a ritual from a secret sect, being asked to moderate a duel, and a chance meeting with the Grim Reaper.
La Voie lactée's surrealist elements and indictment of Catholicism render it classic Luis Buñuel, but neither of these two components were employed terribly effectively. As in Tristana, I found the dream sequences distractingly low-quality, and because the whole file had a trippy vibe, it was difficult to delineate the fantasy sequences from the actual storytelling. The cutaways didn't add anything to the narrative, and, perhaps because I'm treated due to shows like Family Guy, I usually expect my cut-aways to be, you know, funny. Here, they were met with a *tumbleweed*-style reaction.
The Catholic Church offers ample material for mockery, and having their teachings torn apart, something that Pedro Almodóvar does effectively in several of his films. He achieves it by writing characters such as a shady priests into various stories (e.g. La mala educación), and then allowing the plot to unravel as the hypocrisy and corruption of said characters are exposed. That way, the audience sees these people for the monsters they are, whilst recognising their religious background played a formative role in this. We have been shown, rather than told.
But in La Voie lactée, the speeches delivered by characters in this film by preachers and brainwashed kids, written in such an brazen way so as to make the deliverers look stupid, felt like the audience was being spoon-fed to laugh at these characters and ridicule their beliefs. The contradictory things they were spouting were too out there and nonsensical for it to be plausible that the character believed in what they were saying.
The closing titles of the film, which laid out all the problems with religious dogmas, epitomises Buñuel's heavy-handed approach: if the film had done its job properly, the audience should already know this. They wouldn't need it rammed down their throat. This complete lack of nuance meant I was, lamentably, not able to enjoy this film as much as I would have liked to. (I like ridiculing religion as much as the next person!)
However, as with previous Buñuel titles, I was still amused by the film, and scenes which were darkly comic and the audience unsure whether or not to laugh meant we were kept on their toes. One vignette, where a woman lies on the cross and has her hands pinned to it like Jesus Christ, was visually discreet but made an arresting impression. And the benefit of having so many short scenes, pieced together in a sketch-like way, meant that the viewer was at least, never bored.
I wouldn't classify La Voie lactée as Buñuel's best work. But it's a curious entry into his filmography that his aficionados might derive more enjoyment from than I did.
The Catholic Church offers ample material for mockery, and having their teachings torn apart, something that Pedro Almodóvar does effectively in several of his films. He achieves it by writing characters such as a shady priests into various stories (e.g. La mala educación), and then allowing the plot to unravel as the hypocrisy and corruption of said characters are exposed. That way, the audience sees these people for the monsters they are, whilst recognising their religious background played a formative role in this. We have been shown, rather than told.
But in La Voie lactée, the speeches delivered by characters in this film by preachers and brainwashed kids, written in such an brazen way so as to make the deliverers look stupid, felt like the audience was being spoon-fed to laugh at these characters and ridicule their beliefs. The contradictory things they were spouting were too out there and nonsensical for it to be plausible that the character believed in what they were saying.
The closing titles of the film, which laid out all the problems with religious dogmas, epitomises Buñuel's heavy-handed approach: if the film had done its job properly, the audience should already know this. They wouldn't need it rammed down their throat. This complete lack of nuance meant I was, lamentably, not able to enjoy this film as much as I would have liked to. (I like ridiculing religion as much as the next person!)
However, as with previous Buñuel titles, I was still amused by the film, and scenes which were darkly comic and the audience unsure whether or not to laugh meant we were kept on their toes. One vignette, where a woman lies on the cross and has her hands pinned to it like Jesus Christ, was visually discreet but made an arresting impression. And the benefit of having so many short scenes, pieced together in a sketch-like way, meant that the viewer was at least, never bored.
I wouldn't classify La Voie lactée as Buñuel's best work. But it's a curious entry into his filmography that his aficionados might derive more enjoyment from than I did.
Thursday, October 20, 2016
Film review: TRISTANA (Luis Buñuel, 1970)
Tristana (Catherine Deneuve), a recently orphaned God-fearing beauty, is given sanctuary by her new legal guardian Don Lope (Fernando Rey), a crusty old womaniser who hates religion, sympathises with the underbelly of society, and likes to backpat himself for being so anti-establishment. Much like the character Rey played in That Obscure Object of Desire, he develops an infatuation with the female lead, and it’s not long before he’s thrown caution to his wind regarding taking Tristana under his wing, choosing to take her under him instead.
From some of the other Buñuel titles I’ve reviewed, it’s evident that the man has got sex on the mind, but his depiction of Don Lope’s carnal instincts and Tristana’s grudging acquiescence to them in this film are surprisingly PG-rated (although, given the mature themes and disturbing imagery in this film, I thought the MPAA awarding this film a PG-13, made more sense) and visually restrained. The unsettling, Woody Allen-esque relationship is portrayed with a few fleeting shots of Tristana impassively getting undressed, before the scene ends. Surprisingly subtle for Buñuel, but it suits the atonal style of the film, and its messages about the double-standards of religious Spanish society.
Deneuve and Rey, two of Brunel’s favourite collaborators, prosper under his direction. As the eponymous lead, Deneuve alchemizes Tristana’s spirit effortlessly. At the beginning, she is a carefree, wide-eyed young girl who just wishes to honour her mother's love of pray. By the end, and not altogether surprisingly given what she has been through, as her character develops, she is a resolute and cold-hearted, and absolutely God-less.
It’s evident that she’s repulsed by her legal guardian’s grabby hands (not the first time a Guardian's been handsy, amirite?), but she grins and bears it in a disquietingly silent manner. As in Belle de Jour, Deneuve portrays her character taking everything just accepting what comes to her under a façade of equanimity, which only leaves the audience more tantalised about what she’s really thinking.
Fernando Rey portrays a monster with more than a small touch of Humbert Humbert. Tristana is an unusual story because it’s not so much a case of Stockholm Syndrome, as the woman coming back to take revenge – revenge by mistreatment – on the man who so impulsively, selfishly, debased her. And her interpretation of the best kind of justice is to simultaneously be with him (in legal union) and not be with him (in emotion and physically).
The central dynamic between Tristana and Don Lope is fascinating. Despite the fact that he defiled her and she rightly resents him for taking her innocence, this is juxtaposed hatred is with her inherent Christian grace towards him, which consists of gratitude for taking her in when she was destitute, as well as a giddy sense of triumph later when he gets older and more pathetic, and she, more beautiful. These emotions come together to create a cocktail of power that she lauds over him.
Buñuel is known for his surrealist elements, but that was the component I liked least about Tristana - Don Lope’s decapitated head swinging from a bell was off-beat but now looks dated. Tristana also lacks the moments of playful levity that The Diary of a Chambermaid and That Obscure Object of Desire had, rendering it a more straightforward piece of storytelling, although in doing so, it doesn't quite reach the peaks of those two titles. Finally, the fact that the film was shot and set in Toledo, Spain, yet the characters speak French, is a tad jarring.
It’s not the best spin on Lolita in a film I’ve seen - that would be Sam Mendes’ incredible American Beauty, but, like That Obscure Object of Desire, survives the test of time well in its astute dissection of gender politics and the blurred, and often confusing, line between love and hate.
Buñuel for all his seedy voyeursim, understands that sex is just as much about emotional control as it is about physical lust, and his detached, capable direction, Deneuve’s suitably frosty performance (quite literally, given the film's aloof coda) and the compelling story make for a bizarre, but thoroughly watchable experience.
Monday, June 20, 2016
Hottest Footballers in Euro 2016.
According to my more-than-a-little dubious definition of male beauty, of course.
06. Jan Vertonghen (Belgium)
05. Vedran Corluka (Croatia)
04. Hugo Lloris (France)
The finest beard in football since Jamie Redknapp. And I adore his Gallic charm.
03. Eden Hazard (Belgium)
02. Antoine Griezmann (France)
10. Aaron Ramsey (Wales)
I simply can't use a recent picture because that peroxide blonde job doesn't do him any favours. I prefer his hair colour when it's natural.
09. Kyle Lafferty (Northern Ireland)
I don't usually like tats on a chap, but I'll make an exception for Kyle.
08. Matts Hummels (Germany)
hello, sailor
07. Cesc Fàbregas (Spain)
I never admitted to finding him Cescy when he played for Arsenal or Rob Brown's team, funny, that.
06. Jan Vertonghen (Belgium)
In the premier league, he's one of the slyest bellends around. But something about his face resembles that of Nick from Zootropolis. Which I mean as a compliment, of course.
05. Vedran Corluka (Croatia)
I could just get lost in his eyes. And he's willing to play on with a face full of blood, too. Hero.
04. Hugo Lloris (France)
03. Eden Hazard (Belgium)
Belgium's captain has the 100th juiciest bum in the world as ranked by The Guardian. A health hazard, if you will.
02. Antoine Griezmann (France)
Dat face is a freaking work of art. Jean-Pierre Léaud's character in Les 400 coups is now no longer my favourite Antoine.
01. Gary Cahill (England)
Sun's out, gun's out, mofos.
Sunday, May 04, 2014
RESTAURANT REVIEW: Ibérica (Marylebone)
Offering a killer collection of Spanish tapas as well as dinner dishes, Ibérica had been recommended to me by someone actually from Spain, who had been none-too-impressed with the La Tasca-type tapas places that I personally enjoy. So, my logic was, if I liked La Tasca and they wasn’t impressed with it, then Ibérica must be something special to merit applause from them.
The quality of the food is unanimously high, albeit not pandering to people’s common perception of what Spanish food is (olives are starkly omitted from the menu). For starter, I ordered a platter of meats, all rich (and deliciously salty - even the ham impressed me, which is saying something as that’s my least favourite of the red meats) as well as croquettes, which were to die for. I’m all for the easy (read: cheap) option of mozzarella dippers from McDonald’s, but sometimes you just have to treat yourself, and I wolfed down my five croquettes in a matter of seconds. They were that good. For main, I had a bowl of black rice, which tasted much better than it caused me to look (my teeth were all tinted), and steak, which was possibly the weakest of the ensemble. I prefer steak in a big, juicy slab, but this was sliced into many pieces, and as such, looked like an anorexic steak. Not that edible.
The highlight of everything I had in my visit, however, was the dessert, la tarta de la abuela. Packaged in a kooky glass-with-a-lid, it was the most glorious concoction of nuts, chocolate, caramel and biscuit. Heavenly - make sure you get yourself some of that!
Whilst I would definitely recommend Ibérica from a gastronomical point of view, the prices were a little inflated for what they were. Spacing wasn’t ideal either - they squash you in in the most constricted of spaces, so that if you move even an inch, you affect the table next to you. Lastly, the waiters weren’t the cleverest. A shame, really, because the food was intelligently planned, joyfully cooked.
Grade: B+
The quality of the food is unanimously high, albeit not pandering to people’s common perception of what Spanish food is (olives are starkly omitted from the menu). For starter, I ordered a platter of meats, all rich (and deliciously salty - even the ham impressed me, which is saying something as that’s my least favourite of the red meats) as well as croquettes, which were to die for. I’m all for the easy (read: cheap) option of mozzarella dippers from McDonald’s, but sometimes you just have to treat yourself, and I wolfed down my five croquettes in a matter of seconds. They were that good. For main, I had a bowl of black rice, which tasted much better than it caused me to look (my teeth were all tinted), and steak, which was possibly the weakest of the ensemble. I prefer steak in a big, juicy slab, but this was sliced into many pieces, and as such, looked like an anorexic steak. Not that edible.
The highlight of everything I had in my visit, however, was the dessert, la tarta de la abuela. Packaged in a kooky glass-with-a-lid, it was the most glorious concoction of nuts, chocolate, caramel and biscuit. Heavenly - make sure you get yourself some of that!
Whilst I would definitely recommend Ibérica from a gastronomical point of view, the prices were a little inflated for what they were. Spacing wasn’t ideal either - they squash you in in the most constricted of spaces, so that if you move even an inch, you affect the table next to you. Lastly, the waiters weren’t the cleverest. A shame, really, because the food was intelligently planned, joyfully cooked.
Grade: B+
Sunday, September 09, 2012
Chelsea players captaining their country on international duty this weekend.
Frank Lampard, Moldova vs England (in the second half when Gerrard was subbed off)
Petr Cech, Denmark vs Czech Republic.
David Luiz, Brazil vs South Africa.
Branislav Ivanovic, Scotland vs Serbia.
Fernando Torres, Spain vs Saudi Arabia.
Thursday, July 05, 2012
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
10 Players I'm Looking Forward to Watching in the Euros.
01. Petr Cech (Czech Republic, Chelsea)
Cech’s start to the season for Chelsea was rocky under the clueless tutelage of Andre Village-Idiot and the Portuguese’s fondness for the high line, which left Cech hopelessly exposed. Lo and behold, AVB was sacked and Chelsea re-found their swagger, and one of those who’s performances contrasted most (Tony) starkly with that of their earlier ones is Petr Cech, who finished the season on the highest high possible, making three fabulous penalty saves in the Champions League final. An intelligent, measured man (easily the smartest of the Chelsea squad no matter what Lampard likes to think :p), Petr Cech is one of the few of the Chelsea team who actually keeps himself out of trouble. However, in times of diversity this season, Cech has showed a lion-hearted gutsiness one wouldn’t have expected from a man so soft-spoken that has cemented himself in fans’ hearts, he has captained the team eight times (mainly due to injuries to Terry and AVB’s continual feud with Lampard) and his flawless performance in the CL final is a redemptive example of good things coming to those who wait.
02. Juan Mata (Spain, Chelsea)
Unlike his Chelsea teammate Cech, Mata did not cover himself in glory in the penalty shoot-out in the CL final, being the only Chelsea player who missed his. That he went first purely heaped pressure onto his teammates. But fortunately, that saved penalty did not mata. Juan Mata did not deserve that kind of anguish, for his has been Chelsea’s shining light this season; often when our performances have sucked (and there have been plenty of those), Juan Mata still conjured moments of magic to make our performances seem passable. The diminutive Spaniard has settled into the Chelsea set-up fabulously, being the only one who can coax semi-decent turns from his compatriot Torres, and it makes me mouth water to contemplate how he and Chelsea new boy Eden Hazard will link up when the premier league starts again.
03. Ashley Cole (England, Chelsea)
The player that football fans love to hate, it has been suggested that hecklers simply spur Ashley Cole on to train harder, and play better. A stupendous performance in the CL final that was only blighted by his momentarily lapse of concentration to allow Muller to score (though an argument could be made that he did so because he had half an eye on babysitting David Luiz, who was nursing a hamstring injury throughout), Ashley Cole was the epitome of concentration, agility and skill. He made tackles and interceptions with considerable ease and in the absence of John Terry, had the dual task of marshalling a Chelsea defence that included both centrebacks recovering from long-term spells out injured. He did all these jobs – and more – scoring a crucial penalty that bought the scores level to 3-3, meaning that whilst the haters wept, Cole merely smirked smugly and strutted around on the pitch with his CL medal. As Jamie Foxx and Justin Timberlake might say, you lookin’ at a winner.
04. Luka Modric (Croatia, Tottenham)
05. Joe Hart (England, Man City)
06. Shay Given (Ireland, Aston Villa)
07. David Silva (Spain, Man City)
08. Andriy Shevchenko (Ukraine, Dynamo Kyiv)
09. Scott Parker (England, Tottenham)
10. Richard Dunne (Ireland, Aston Villa)
And 5 players who will sorely be missed :
01. Peter Crouch (England, Stoke) Hodgson didn’t pick him #Hodgsonout
02. Frank Lampard (England, Chelsea) injured himself in training :(
03. Gary Cahill (England, Chelsea) Injured in a collision with Joe Hart after being pushed by Dries Mertens. URGH
04. Marko Marin (Germany, Chelsea) Not selected. Hmmm.
05. Adam Johnson & Micah Richards (England, Man City) Hodgson didn’t pick them. #hmmmm
02. Juan Mata (Spain, Chelsea)
03. Ashley Cole (England, Chelsea)
04. Luka Modric (Croatia, Tottenham)
05. Joe Hart (England, Man City)
06. Shay Given (Ireland, Aston Villa)
07. David Silva (Spain, Man City)
08. Andriy Shevchenko (Ukraine, Dynamo Kyiv)
09. Scott Parker (England, Tottenham)
10. Richard Dunne (Ireland, Aston Villa)
And 5 players who will sorely be missed :
01. Peter Crouch (England, Stoke) Hodgson didn’t pick him #Hodgsonout
02. Frank Lampard (England, Chelsea) injured himself in training :(
03. Gary Cahill (England, Chelsea) Injured in a collision with Joe Hart after being pushed by Dries Mertens. URGH
04. Marko Marin (Germany, Chelsea) Not selected. Hmmm.
05. Adam Johnson & Micah Richards (England, Man City) Hodgson didn’t pick them. #hmmmm
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
The night Peter Crouch-ed and Bern-ed.
Unfortunately, the big occasion got to the big man. In eight minutes, Peter Crouch made two rash tackles. The first, on Sergio Ramos, was misplaced and mis-timed. The second on Marcelo, when he was already on a yellow, was downright stupid. Even as – what I consider to be – the biggest Crouchie fan in the world, there is no justifying his two idiotic tackles. He rightful sending was essentially the catalyst for Tottenham’s implosion at the Bernabéu. At that point they were 1-0 down, but with almost three hours ahead of them, had everything to play for. The match ended 4-0 with the return leg at White Hart Lane next Wednesday (of which my younger brother will be attending as his 13th birthday "present"), looking like nothing more than a formality. In the space of eight minutes, Peter Crouch went from hero to zero.Even with the best will in the world, I cannot find any ways to justify Peter Crouch’s two awful tackles. All I can do is examine them and attempt to delve into the black hole that is a footballer’s mind – and try to explain them. The first element, I think, is the psychological. Before the game, Peter Crouch had been talked up, down and all around by various members of the English and Spanish media, not to mention Real Madrid players themselves. Former Arsenal player Emmanuel Adebayor said of his fellow lanky striker, “When I was playing in England I always loved a lot of Tottenham players, especially Peter Crouch”. The much-maligned Togo striker completed an acrimonious move north of London to Manchester to play for Man City, and was in the side that lost to Spurs on the 5th May 2010 in what was dubbed as the “Fourth Place Showdown”, in which Crouch gave his counterpart Adebayor a masterclass in how to maintain possession, pass to teammates, and above all, score. Yet, yesterday, Adebayor hit the net twice, and played majestically, whereas Crouch walked after 15 minutes, so there is no question who came out the winner this time round.
With Tottenham staring at the bleak pit of Champions League exit and facing an uphill battle with Chelsea and Manchester City for the two remaining Champions League places in the premier league, the only way Peter Crouch can go from here is up. That’s the thing about football, it goes hand in hand with failure, with wrath, with moments of madness. But it is also ten-a-penny with redemption. As Stuart Pearce demonstrated with his penalty for England in Euro 96, the road to personal atonement lies in football. I began with a quote from one of my favourite shows, Glee, so I’ll end with another quote from another one of my favourite shows, Sex and the City. Our protagonist, Carrie, has just embarrassed herself hugely in tripping up on a catwalk, in front of hundreds of people. She has a choice, run away and hide, or get up, and proudly get on with it. She does the latter. Why? Because, as she reasons, “When real people fall down in life, they get right back up and keep walking.” In 1990, Stuart Pearce fell down. In 1996, he pulled himself back up. Now it is up to Peter Crouch, and Peter Crouch alone, to do the same.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Joan Capdevila scores a racist own goal.
say no to racism? Not according to Capdevila's twitter.
The Spanish left-back and Euro 2008 and World Cup winner Joan Capdevila of Villareal recently joined twitter. This in itself is nothing special; many, many footballers have taken to the 140-charactered-social network, from Jack Wilshere tweeting about his penchant for gossip girl, to Kaka wishing good vibes from god to his supporters and fans. Furthermore, footballers and free speech is an obvious accident waiting to happen, and already there have been controversies aplenty surrounding footballers and their tweets, whether it be Ryan Babel’s Howard Webb twitter picture suggesting the referee to be a Manchester United fan, or Arsenal’s talented-but-not-altogether-PR-savvy goalkeeper Wojciech Szczesny tweeting his delight at Chelsea’s Ashley Cole’s penalty miss, a few days later incurring the ultimate hubris himself when he himself was involved in a mix-up with Koscielny that led to Arsenal losing the Carling Cup final. In the big bad world of the world wide web, a little diplomacy goes a long, long way. This point has been forgotten frequently by footballers in the past, but none more so than by Capdevila on Saturday. He tweeted this:
Which translates to “I love the jokes you send me! By the way, today I asked myself: If a Chinese woman has a 'clio', what does she have? A car or a child?"
(the joke is essentially a play on the age-old stereotype that Chinese people cannot differentiate between their “l”s and “r”s.)
I am horrified at this, not only as a Chinaman, but even more greatly, as a football fan. Footballers are role models. Capdevila should have known a lot, lot better than this. The tweet was discussed on a football community I frequent, ontd_football, and amongst the discussions, shit went down. For every excellent, intelligent point made was an equally stupid, bigoted comment trying to justify the joke, saying that it was “in the nature” of Spaniards to jest at ethnic minorities, it’s not “proper racism” and by reprimanding them for it, we were stifling their voices.
To which I say, mierda. Capdevila’s tweet, whilst not overtly calling Chinese people any racist names, was nonetheless, fundamentally racist. There’s several types of racism, explicit racism, which is easier to detect and call out the perpetrator for being a bigoted idiot, and there’s this sort – the more ~jokey type, which, if criticized for, many would just try to defend as being “banter~~~”. But it isn’t, not one bit. If anything, it's more harmful that explicit racism, because the former is obviously wrong, whereas casual racism like Capdevila's, with all its sinister undertones, can be tried to brush under the carpet with the guise of "oh, you too sensitive, he was just kidding! Sit down!"
I’m not trying to pin all of the world’s racism on Joan Capdevila’s tweet, far from it. In fact, I feel that that tweet – and the fact that he felt he could so casually publish it (it was then re-tweeted by over 100 people, more’s the pity) shows a sad fact; that for all the talking of a unified, globalized, more diverse community, racism is still hugely present in the world today. A few years ago, on Celebrity Big Brother, when Danielle Lloyd said of Shilpa Shetty “I think she should just fuck off home”, that was racist. As is the ~lad’s humour~ of Top Gear, with their persistent racial comments about Mexico like it's no big. These sort of things, some people might perceive as harmless and inoffensive, but they’re anything but, let me tell you.
Now, it is my opinion that Capdevila really needs to be called out for this tweet, and punished for it. It would set a precedent, and show that this kind of offensive humour is not ok, not one bit. Thankfully the majority of other footballers, for all their inanities, haven’t tweeted anything else like this, but even the fact that there’s still one football tweeting racist jokes and getting away with it, when such a big fuss is made out of obliterating racism out of football, well, FIFA, talk about mixed signals.
Racism, kick it out? If footballers continue to mindlessly tweet “jokes” like this, kicking and screaming its way back in, more like.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Because I'm a Girl. And because I can.
Now, it sort of goes without saying that I have atrocious taste in men, so take this supposed "hottest players in the World Cup" list with the smallest pinch of salt possible. I fancy Gareth Southgate, after all.
10-6: Mesut Özil (Germany), Cesc Fabregas (Spain), Robin Van Persie (Netherlands), Salomon Kalou (Ivory Coast) and Paulo Ferreira (Portugal)
05. Xavi Hernandez and Andres Iniesta (Spain)
I know, I know. Iniesta is balding and Xavi looks like a hobbit. But, when all is said and done, talent is very, very sexy, and both of these footballers had that in spades. Both were likely contenders for the accolade of Golden Ball (which went, in the end, deservedly to Diego Forlan), and have been consistent and the models of professionalism throughout the tournament. Plus the Iberian look is just hot, okay.
04. Iker Casillas (Spain)
My taste in men, as you'll have noted from the other names on the list, is questionable to say the least. But such is Iker's universal appeal, that despite him actually being handsome, he still made his way onto my list, which is otherwise choc-a-bloc full of players who normal people might call munts. But I just had to bung him on. After all, as Lady Gaga might say, I got lost in his brown eyes.
03. Gonzalo Higuan (Argentina)
I won't lie, such is the premier-ccentricness of the football I watch that I didn't even know who this dude was prior to the tournament. But he caught my eye in his head-turning, hat-trick scoring perofrmance against South Korea, and his penchant for stripping faster than I can say "Argie Bargie" is very well received. That he established himself when fighting for a place against the likes of Messi, Tevez and Milito is one thing. That he is only 22 and has his best years still ahead of him is another. A very, very hot prospect, in more ways than one.
02. Frank Lampard (England)
Yet another disappointing World Cup for Mr. Lampard, but at least he didn't miss a penalty this time! Whey! Anyway, it's pretty much my duty to promote Lampard whenever I can, and that I do: I had my desktop background as a picture of him in an attempt to spread the Frank Lampard love. Instead, I got tonnes of stick for it, and in the end, gave up on what I saw was a lost cause. You could argue that Lamps (who at 32 is still smokin') felt exactly the same way about England.
01. Peter Crouch (England)
Yeah, I know. He played in this tournament for a grand total of about 40 seconds, but in my arrogant opinion, it should have been a lot, lot more. I'm of the belief that had Capello shown a little bit of faith in him, as Harry Redknapp did for Man City v Tottenham, Crouch would have reward him - and us England fans - handsomely. Instead we had Shrek leading our line, and once again, the overrated ogre underperformed for his country. I continually hear idiots whine about how Crouchie "only scores against crap teams". Well, well, well. Our so-called messiah Rooney didn't even do that. End of the day, Crouchie should've played, and we might have gone far. Instead, Rooney played, and we didn't. Sad.
10-6: Mesut Özil (Germany), Cesc Fabregas (Spain), Robin Van Persie (Netherlands), Salomon Kalou (Ivory Coast) and Paulo Ferreira (Portugal)
05. Xavi Hernandez and Andres Iniesta (Spain)
I know, I know. Iniesta is balding and Xavi looks like a hobbit. But, when all is said and done, talent is very, very sexy, and both of these footballers had that in spades. Both were likely contenders for the accolade of Golden Ball (which went, in the end, deservedly to Diego Forlan), and have been consistent and the models of professionalism throughout the tournament. Plus the Iberian look is just hot, okay.
04. Iker Casillas (Spain)
My taste in men, as you'll have noted from the other names on the list, is questionable to say the least. But such is Iker's universal appeal, that despite him actually being handsome, he still made his way onto my list, which is otherwise choc-a-bloc full of players who normal people might call munts. But I just had to bung him on. After all, as Lady Gaga might say, I got lost in his brown eyes.
03. Gonzalo Higuan (Argentina)
I won't lie, such is the premier-ccentricness of the football I watch that I didn't even know who this dude was prior to the tournament. But he caught my eye in his head-turning, hat-trick scoring perofrmance against South Korea, and his penchant for stripping faster than I can say "Argie Bargie" is very well received. That he established himself when fighting for a place against the likes of Messi, Tevez and Milito is one thing. That he is only 22 and has his best years still ahead of him is another. A very, very hot prospect, in more ways than one.
02. Frank Lampard (England)
Yet another disappointing World Cup for Mr. Lampard, but at least he didn't miss a penalty this time! Whey! Anyway, it's pretty much my duty to promote Lampard whenever I can, and that I do: I had my desktop background as a picture of him in an attempt to spread the Frank Lampard love. Instead, I got tonnes of stick for it, and in the end, gave up on what I saw was a lost cause. You could argue that Lamps (who at 32 is still smokin') felt exactly the same way about England.
01. Peter Crouch (England)
Yeah, I know. He played in this tournament for a grand total of about 40 seconds, but in my arrogant opinion, it should have been a lot, lot more. I'm of the belief that had Capello shown a little bit of faith in him, as Harry Redknapp did for Man City v Tottenham, Crouch would have reward him - and us England fans - handsomely. Instead we had Shrek leading our line, and once again, the overrated ogre underperformed for his country. I continually hear idiots whine about how Crouchie "only scores against crap teams". Well, well, well. Our so-called messiah Rooney didn't even do that. End of the day, Crouchie should've played, and we might have gone far. Instead, Rooney played, and we didn't. Sad.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
South Africa: a jungle where dreams are made of.
So, the World Cup arrives tomorrow, and I would be lying if I were to say the anticipation wasn't making me a little light-headed. For the past few weeks, since the premiership season ended, nay, before the premiership ended, I've been thinking about precious little else other than how the Drogbas of the world will fare, who will dazzle in South Africa and who will flop, and whether or not England will, once again, crash out on penalties. As a fan of football living in England, I'm lucky in that I can actually attend matches, not to mention watch them on Sky Sports, where the attention and time put on our country's biggest sport is nothing if not meticulous. But there is something even tastier about the World Cup. Partly due, perhaps, to the fact that it only comes once every four years, or maybe that the sweltering heat in the long hot Summer (for some, not Brits, lamentably) brings out a feistier side to us all. The High School Musical factor also plays a part, ie - we all feel "united" in the mutual supporting of our country, whether we're fans of Tottenham or Tranmere Rovers. It's a combination of all these things, and many more, that makes me feel very, very happy, that starting from tomorrow, I shall be treated to a month of non-stop football.
I was out shopping a couple of weeks ago, in New Look, when I spotted these bikinis with the England flag drapped across where the tit would be. The whole thing looked horribly cheap and tacky. Similarly, England flags have infiltrated our roads via car windows and windshields, our clothes via socks, pants and god knows what else, and just about anything you can name: it's been sold with an England flag draped across it. It's embarrassingly crass, but at the same time, I wouldn't have it any other way; the anticipation and influx of marketing is what makes the World Cup what is is. Whilst the hope us England fans have in our National Team can border on delusion, it's also a credit to our passion for the game that England fans love their NT so much despite coming face to face with disappointment so much in the past. This year, there's been a noticeably more subded edge to our predictions; the majority of England fans have ditched the crowing (our below par performances in the previous World Cup and not even being able to qualify for Euro 2008 has put us in our place at long last) and decided, instead, to hope, rather than expect.
The multi-national quality of the World Cup also means that, whether intentionally or inadvertantly, I always come out of it a little more educated about the World and current affairs. I've found out more about the state of the government in North Korea this week alone than I had previously in my sad 20 years of existence. It just completes the experience of the game, I feel, to learn a little more about the players' upbringings and backgrounds. In the same vein, I generally escape the World Cup with a whole new arsenal of foreign words. I did Spanish up to AS-level and got an A, and my decision to drop it for the more Sciencey subjects still jars, even three years on. Xavi, Iker Casillas and Cesc Fabregas will have to refresh my memory with their post-match interviews, which I'm sure will be fine (in more ways than one.)
If experience has taught Bung anything, it is that she is a shit football predictor. After all, my pessimism this season led me to thinking that my beloved Chelseabung would finish third (though I was never so happy to be proved wrong.) The only thing I've ever been remotely good at predicting were the Oscars, and that's because pre-cursors were there to guide me. Nonetheless, I shall try my hand at predicting how this year's tournament will go (of course, now that I've written it out, none of this will happen):
Golden Boot: David Villa
Best Player: XaviMost Bookings: Wayne Rooney or John Terry (heh)
From the musical montages set to Duran Duran songs that I know the BBC will put together, to the prospect of seeing players from the same teams come ~head to head~ when representing their countries, to the naff punditry (Gareth Southgate talks football as well as he takes penalties, yet I still find him so utterly hot and would be his Loleeeeeetah any day of the week) and puns galore (The Sun writers, now's your time)... I simply cannot wait for the World Cup.
Saturday, June 05, 2010
10 Players I'm Really Looking Forward to Watching in the 2010 World Cup.
Under a week until the World Cup, and I can literally not take the excitement. In the pre-World Cup build-up we've already had heartbreak and disappointment, what with some key players getting injured in the friendlies and warm ups, whilst others have failed to been selected by their country's managers. Of the players that are going, here are the 10 that I'm most excited about seeing in action.
10. Salomon Kalou (Ivory Coast, Chelsea)
Now that Drogba's out of the World Cup (weep), Salomon Kalou could well find himself acting as the key striker for the Ivory Coast. This will be a slight change from his role at Chelsea, where, although he has been deployed as a forward, he has had more experience playing on the wing. Furthermore, whilst the Ivory Coast does still feature some premiership names (Arsenal's Eboue, and Man City's Kolo Toure, their captain in the abscence of Drogba), Kalou is one of the IC's more prominent players, unlike at Chelsea, and it will be interesting to see how he copes with this higher level of responsibility. Many Chelsea fans frequently find themselves banging their heads against the wall when watching Kalou; for all his pace and troubling defenders, some of his crosses leave a lot to be desired, and his finishing fluctuant. But I bloody love him. As you'll discover (to a point ad nauseum), I love footballers who try, and Kalou does just that. Plus I find it totally adorable and refreshing how in this day and age, when many players utter a couple of expletetives when they miss the goal, Kalou just grins sheepishly, and carrys on. It's that kind of cute, angel-faced school prefect behaviour that makes me just want to mother him.
09. Tim Cahill (Australia, Everton)
Arguably one of the best premier league players not playing for a top four side, Tim Cahill has been on the English football scene for 12 years now, six of those with Millwall and six with Everton. On more than one occasion he has been the saviour for Australia in internationals, as he has done with Everton - witness the way he skipped merrily around Man City's defenders in the match this season as if they simply weren't there. The pacey, energetic way at which he bounds around the pitch is, in itself, not dissimilar to that of a kangaroos. It will be exciting to see how he runs circles around Germany, Ghana and Serbia in the so-called "group of death" (vol1). There's a vol 2 later. :p
08. Park Ji-Sung (South Korea, Manchester United)
I find Park Ji-Sung massively underrated. Whilst I know his erratic performances in front of goal have led to many Manchester United fans to want to punch him, I personally love him for his work ethic and energy. I'm a huge softie for football players who, although not the best, always give 110%, and nobody exemplifies that better than Park. As captain of South Korea, he is the one in the squad with the most experience of football at its highest level (the only other premiership player in the squad is Bolton's Lee Chung-Yong), and the big-game mentality that he has acquired from representing Manchester United in Europe shall surely come in handy when South Korea find themselves face to face with Argentina in the group stages. Also, he's Asian, as am I, so automatic brownie points for that.
07. Ashley Cole (England, Chelsea)
You've got to hand it to Ashley Cole. Quite possibly the most reviled man in England, every football ground he visits is met with animosity at his every touch of the ball, and banter in the form of his ex-wife's song lyrics (Stoke fans sang "We've got to file file file file file for divorce" to him as Chelsea rogered Stoke 7-0 at Stamford Bridge). But with his philandering and being detested, Ashley Cole has also acquired a mighty thick skin. In a season where he started so promisingly, Ashley Cole picked up an ankle injury at Everton in February, around the time when Chelsea needed him the most. He returned towards the end of the season and his four great performances in the remaining matches helped win the league and the FA Cup - but there was a faint trace of regret interwoven with my pride when Chelsea paraded those two trophies around West London. What if, I wondered, Ashley Cole had been fit for those two integral games against Inter in the CL? Could, perhaps, it have been the treble we'd been sporting - and finally have the CL trophy to Chelseabung's name. Anyway, thinking over scenarios that never happened is just a waste of time. Ashley Cole hadn't been fit, and we didn't beat Inter. But, for all his questionble morals "as a person", Ashley Cole is a dynamite of a left-back; both at attacking and defending. Whilst England's right-back, Glen Johnson, has a tendency to dose off - something Aaron Lennon must atone for in midfield if it happens, Ashley Cole barely has that problem. Alert, agile (even at 29) and consistently a threat, it will be terrific fun to see him dancing with the ball with Chelsea team-mate Joe Cole down the left. England don't need a parachute, if we've got him.
06. Wesley Sneijder (Netherlands, Inter Milan)
Sold to Inter from Real for around 15million euros with the money Inter got for their "Ibrahimovic sale", Sneijder made a splash straight away, adapting to Italian football brilliantly and greatly enjoying the role Jose Mourinho gave him as a trequartista behind Eto'o and Milito. It is this attacking trio, along with goals from all over the pitch and Jose Mourinho's machiavellian know-how that guided Inter Milan to the treble, and after all that, one could hardly blame Sneijder for feeling a little... fatigued. But no, the 25-year-old, balding, thrice-divorced Dutchie is having none of that. Having gotten his hands on three major trophies already, he's got his eye on a fourth.
05. Kaká (Brazil, Real Madrid)
It would not be unfair to say that on the whole, Ricky Kaká has had a bit of an underwhelming season for Real Madrid. A lot of this is not the poor boy's fault; unlike at Brazil and AC Milan, where the team was built around him, Kaká found himself having to adapt to a different style of play in Spain, and he has struggled with form-dipping injury throughout the season. Plus, with the hefty price tag burdered on him, anyone would feel a bit nervous. Nonetheless, he will not feel content with how the past season has gone - especially when compared to Cristiano Ronaldo, Real Madrid's other multi-million Euro signing - and will take it upon himself to find redemption in South Africa. Interestingly enough, Kaká and Ronaldo will find themselves face to face in the Group Stages, as Portugal, Brazil, Ivory Coast and North Korea form Group G, the "Group of Death" (vol2). If things don't go as planned, Kaká may find himself talking to god on more than one occasion...
04. Philipp Lahm (Germany, Bayern München)
When Chelsea's Michael Ballack was ruled out of the World Cup with an ankle injury, it added to Germany's already growing injury list of first-team players, what with their first choice goalie Rene Adler nursing a rib injury. Speculation also arose as to who would wear the captain's armband. The smart money was on Stuttgart's Sami Khedira, though Klose, Bastian Schweinsteiger and Lukas Podolski also in for a shout. But in the end, Germany manager Joachim Löw gave the position to pint-sized Philipp Lahm, one of the most baby faced players in the World Cup. A right-footed left-back, he was doing the "playing inside out" thing long before Ashley Young, Craig Bellamy and Damien Duff cottoned onto it, and whilst his minute height occasionally leads to gaps in his defensive game, he usually takes it upon himself to compensate - it was Lahm who scored the equaliser for Germany in their 3-1 friendly victory over Bosnia when he was at fault for the one goal Bosnia conceded. A key stalwart for Germany in their past few tournaments, it will be interesting to see how he fares in South Africa, carrying the weight of representing his country, defending and now captaining on his 5'7" shoulders.
03. Xavi (Spain, Barcelona)
In May, reports broke out that Cesc Fàbregas, the 23-year-old captain of Arsenal, wanted to re-join Barcelona, the club he started at. Whilst his desire to do so is partially justified; as a Spaniard, who can fault him for wanting to go back to his homeland, and season upon season of disappointment with Arsenal can only push him so far, the best argument for Cesc not going to Barca and staying exactly where he is is in the form of Xavi Hernandez, Spain team-mate. They play in similar roles for their teams and with Xavi still at the peak of his powers, I feel that were Fàbregas to be Cataluña-bound, he would be forever playing second fiddle to the man seven years his senior. At 30, Xavi is at the age when footballers are supposed to be declining in physical fitness, but the past season he has had with Barcelona completely counters that. Arguably the best playmaker in the world, his passing is second to none, his link-up play with Barca and Spain team-mate Andrés Iniesta is borderline telepathic, and, for all the plaudits Lionel Messi has won for his many match-winning goals, there is a monster in midfield behind him, quietly doing the integral cogwork.
02. Frank Lampard (England, Chelsea)
Lampard has just had a sensational season with Chelseabung, wherein he has topped his own scoring record with 21 league goals and more assists than any other player. That his reputation as a World class footballer is in refute is just a joke. But anyway. For those of us with eyes and can see how immense Mr. Lampard is, the desire to see him play for England is also intermingled with trepidation for how Capello will handle the Lampard/Gerrard conundrum, something he still hasn't sorted. I have my own ideas but I'm no football manager, so I shall hold my own counsel over the matter (for once). But I do hope Lampard isn't the casualty, because he is an absolute diamond of a footballer. Two years ago, his mother passed away, and six days on from the tragedy he chose to go back to his job as a 'player and play in the crucial CL tie between Chelsea and Liverpool at Stamford Bridge. With the game tied at 1-1, 2-2 on aggregate, a penalty was awarded to Chelsea. Many people could barely watch as Lampard prised the ball away from team-mate Ballack to take the spot-kick. His heart and head must have been all over the place and had he missed, it would have hurt a lot more than any other penalty. But the way he scored the penalty - essentially securing a victory for Chelsea, was transcendent in that, in its own way, also represented a victory for life over death. Tears streaming down his face as he looked upwards to the sky, Lampard won, the haters lost and for me, he is King.
01. Peter Crouch (England, Tottenham Hotspur)
No surprise, really. Peter Crouch turned my head in the 2006 World Cup and worringly, 4 years on, the obsession still hasn't desisted. Between those four years, he has played for three different teams, had good spells and bad but never failed to entertain me. Whilst not the most fashionable of footballers, Crouchie nonetheless epitomizes everything I love about the beautiful game: determination, team spirit and a simple thirst to play football. Some may argue that he's a flat-track bully at international level, but this argument is circular; Crouchie is hardly ever selected to play against the more "difficult" nations and when he does, it is for 4 minutes as a substitute- hardly a reasonable length of time to score in. When given the chance to shine, oh, how he soars; back in 2007 he scored a hattrick against Arsenal (the only other player to achieve such a feat in recent years is Leo Messi), and what a hattrick it was, scored with his left foot, right foot and head. Capello would do well to start Crouch alongside Rooney; Crouchie has a knack of getting himself in the right place at exactly the right time (Manchester City conceding the goal from him that put Spurs in the CL at their expense will attest to that) and his international goal-scoring rate (21 in 38 games) speaks for itself. As an England fan, I'm always wary of over-optimism, but I can't help thinking that with Crouchie as our #9, there could just be a few treats in store for England this Summer.
And players who will be sorely missed...
From top left then clockwise: Didier Drogba, Ivory Coast and Petr Cech, Czech Republic (both Chelsea, Drogba due to injury and Cech due to failing to qualify), Michael Ballack, Germany and Michael Essien, Ghana (both Chelsea, both got injured), Adam Johnson, England (Man City, was selected for the privisional 30-man squad but failed to make it into the 23), Luka Modric and Niko Kranjcar, both Croatia (Tottenham, Croatia failed to qualify) and Shay Given and Richard Dunne, both R.O.I (Man City, Aston Villa, Ireland missed quliaification by an arm)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)