Archive by Author

A Voice in the Wilderness: Sid Lowe

24 Aug

Madrid and Barcelona, whose stranglehold on the league and other clubs is absolute, have no intention of redistributing talent, wealth or opportunity. There is no concept of the league as the product; the LFP is a loose, disparate collection of clubs with wildly different interests, each looking out for their own in which two clubs beat the rest every time.

Perennial State-of-La-Liga mourner Sid Lowe reaches the saddest realization of his career, which is the ominous curtain that we at nosrslr have never dared pull back: the LFP does not market La Liga; it markets the Big Two. How else to explain the constant catering to the Big Two when it comes to TV scheduling – not to mention the week-in/week-out suddenness of schedule finalizing? Let the lesser clubs squeal and starve all the day: Mother LFP only has two teets.


Neymar and the Night

6 Aug

In some small way, flirting (coqueteo) extends the self into a space where all potential outcomes are entertained.  Even the impossible may be suspended there between lock-eyed strangers.  Neymar and Real Madrid have been ordering each other one Old Fashioned after another from opposite ends of the bar all night, but it seems like the Brazilian has been playing them for fools in the Bernabeú, or at least that’s how Marca is taking the very notion of Barça catching the eye of the Brazilian starlet.

Whimsical as a fairy, Mr. Mohawk is only just getting settled in his newly run bath water, and Maybe, Just Maybe he thinks he’d like to soak in his position of international drool elicitor for an evening.  Real must be quite naive to think he’s going to drop his early twenties on a longterm relationship with the world’s premier practitioner of the “Love-em-and-leave-em” strategy of signing big names.  Rather than sack up with Mr. He Likes Me, Neymar has set his eyes on the new set of pectorals that has entered the club.  It’s the overtly muscle-shirted Real Madrid versus the subtle Gin and Tonic-ness of Barça.

Real Muscle is immediately uncomfortable and watches their boy-turned-siren’s eyes flash a hello across the room.  He must have forgotten who bought his last drink.  The possibilities entertained fall as dreams waking to day for Real, but realizing his own muscle-shirted-ness may one day heal him.  Barça sidesteps passed the crowd, eyes narrowing.  He stands now before The Boy, buttressed by ex-girlfriends or never-quite-second-basers, and lets his presence alone do the talking.  “I am Barcelona,” he needs not voice.

In the bathroom later, the girls will warn him: he’s way too into himself.  You don’t want that kind of man.

It’s last call and The Boy cringes when he sees Lil’ Santos, still underage, peer through the blinds of the front window.  What to choose?  Nineteen years and a whole soul yet to lose.  Soon, all that’s left is the salvage title.


31 Jul

Is it a suffix? Is it a prefix? These are the life-changing questions that continue to pester Eduardo Inda Óscar Campillo and the Marca staff. They’ve stretched the limits with OrgasMou covers before. We’ve shed tears over their deplorable feats of pronunciation engineering with the Mounager cover. In fact, here at No, Srslr we’ve mocked this brand of Mousterbation with the intense loathing the Special One would only reserve for UEFA appeal hearings.

But Marca have gone to new lengths this morning in their suffix/prefix Mounipulation of Sr. Entrenador’s name, this time splicing into El Gato’s once reviled family name to declare, once and for all (until he hits a dry spell and suddenly isn’t worth €41mil), that Karim Benzema is the Mouster’s preferred striker option. “BenzeMou,” blushes the front page, knowing full well that three months from now it will read “BenzeBoo,” but such is life at the hands of the pun masters at Mouca.

At some point you just have to stand up and applaud: no publication could be more vapid.

Marca, Mou Mouly Mou Mouet Mourself Moupart.

The Saddest There Ever Was: Sergio Ramos

27 Apr

It’s been six years since little 19 year-old Sergio Ramos left his hometown team of Sevilla for the brighter lights of Real Madrid’s Bernabéu.  In six years he’s won two league titles with Los Merengues and a King’s Cup.  With the Spanish national side, he’s reached the highest of conceivable highs: 2008 Euro Champs and 2010 World Champs.

Nonetheless, it appears that if Real Madrid and the Spanish national side (more particularly) have one glaring weakness, it is found in the right back-ing ways of the Sevillano.  We at nosrslsr must admit our bias and outright disdain for the guy, who owns the rights to the world “chulo.”  “Chulo” can be several things to the Spanish, but for our purposes it translates roughly as “douche” (and, as follows, “chulería” comes out “douchiness” or “douchery,” if you will).  It’s the kind of word applied to a certain style of machoism, where one’s boyish looks and long locks make one’s chest protrude ever-so-slightly, while lips purse in self-satisfaction and confidence knowing no one can touch your all-world splendor.  It’s flabbergasting that, given his incessant chulo-parading, he’s claimed to be one of the humbler Real players…and then posed nude to prove it…?

Who could possibly win in a humble-off with this guy?

Unfortunately for Sergio, he often falls short of his self image.  Earlier this year, after going down several goals to Barcelona, Sergio’s dented chulería lashed out at the ankles of the Diminutive One, Leo Messi.  Here’s how to try it at home!  See if you can look your chulo-self in the mirror afterwards, we dare you!  Step one:

Hack ankles!! Chulo blood rages!!

Step two:

Seeing red (card)!! RED CHULO BLOOD BOILS!!

Step three:

Total Chulo Meltdown!! RAWRGGAHHRRR!!

For a different ending, take this evening’s clip-clopping back and forth after that little rodent Leo Messi, who plowed furrows around poor Sergio in the Bernabéu, leaving behind the seeds from which plenty of Ramos’s failings (let’s call them RamosFracasos®) grew.

Ramos's sad face after Messi's goal

Chulería Meltdown Alert

New TV Show: "Chulo Boiling Points"

Ramos comes up short on Messi's second :(

In an incident from two summers ago, Ramos’s self-assurance cost his team a chance at a comeback against the mighty USA FC.  One of the deepest bruisings of the most muscly chulería.  Not Safe for Prides:

Sergio Ramos, we :( you.  Sorry :(.