Smells like a 10

3 Nov

“This team smells like the tenth!”

Do they?  Really?

They certainly smell like something familiar!  Like…like certain lofty expectations?  Whose weight will eventually break their backs?  Thus determining the next year of buy high/sell low economics?  That DOES smell familiar.  Marca and Real Madrid have spilt so much blood around the altar to their 10th Champions League trophy that, at this point, any beating heart is worth the eventual double-digit glory.  The buy high/sell low transfer policy of Real only continues to stoke the furnace of recent failures, and yet…and yet…Marca just can’t help but swoon over every step that leads to the eventual cremation of its beloved.

Just 12 months ago, Pelegrini, Cristiano, Benzema and Kaká were toasting Florentino “Sad clown” Pérez in his ballroom.  Showered with kisses in Eduardo Inda’s Florentino’s Real Madrid’s “Marca”, the team managed a spot in the knockout stages of the Champions League for the Nth straight season.  It was all a blur of French je-ne-sais-quoi last year when the Merengues crashed out of the first knockout round for the 5th straight year.  Thank god the conglomerate has not been fazed.  Some things are constant in this world:

“No, srsly you guys!  *THIS* time!  *THIS* time we can win it ALL!”

Two probable conversations about the Champions League:

(2009-10)

Pellegrini: “The project needs a little more time to gel.”

All RM fans, Marca, Pérez: “WE WILL BUY YOU GEL LATER!  WIN NAO!!!!!”

(2010-11)

RM fan #1: “Let’s hope we can make it to the second round this year lol.”

All other RM fans, Marca, Pérez: “GAHHHH!  MOUGASMO!  We bough so many players (AND A COACH, DIDN’T YOU HEAR?!?!) obviously we will win!!!!!!”

And now AC Milan had to go and tie Real.  Why, AC Milan.  Why.  Why did you let this Mou-sterbation continue.

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The Figurative, Literal

3 Nov

ah, marca. you either make it too easy or impossibly hard. so much fawning over CR7’s underwear ads, or the underwear ads of his supermodel girlfriend, so much masturbatory oo-ing and ah-ing over mou’s “conquests” (their words) of teams and titles…there’s no limit to the material you create with your mash notes. well what am i going to do with all my jokes about marca swooning over mou like he’s a wanly longed-for lover now?

BEATEN TO THE PUNCHLINE.

do i contradict myself? i contain multitudes (the song of cristiano)

28 Oct

egoista: noun. egotistical, selfish.

“i do not care what other people say about me. i am not egoista.”

let me prove to you how not self-centered i am by saying how little i care about the opinions of others!

A look inside Real HQ…

18 Sep

earlier today…

the tv in the kitchen sputtered the beginnings of the daily RM coverage. knowing the day’s big story, flope shifted uncomfortably in his eelskin loafers. he knew he wouldn’t leave–how could he, with the 7 trillion dollar clause in the contract?–but somehow he hadn’t expected the his prized possession to turn against him so quickly. “no, i bought him–he’s mine” flope quietly tried to reassure himself while decorating a torta de chocolate (“mou’s favorite!”, he thought to himself with a smile) in the shape of the champions league trophy, writing the words “your third!!!” in large blue icing letters. he considered briefly adding “our tenth” in smaller letters, perhaps along the bottom where no one would see it, but then thought better of it. “musn’t tempt fate, not with so many callers after my mou!” he reasoned as he put the icing down just as he heard mou ringing his servant bell while shouting that the tv wasn’t going to change the channel all by itself. flope hurriedly picked up the cake, cursing himself for forgetting to ready the tv so mou could watch his press conference as he did every day at 2pm. as he left the kitchen, flope involuntarily winced at the thought of the spankings he would surely receive. it was going to be a long year.

Wanna get away?

17 Sep

Delusions of Real Madrandeur

14 Jul

Mr. David Beckham has had a rough last three years – let’s be honest.  His arrival in the United States for a fairly experimental professional football experience ushered him into a phase of apparent skill-attrition.  From bangers-n-mash to mac-n-cheese, Beckham’s brand crossed the channel into Florentino’s nightmare circus before, after much hype as a “galáctico,” finally landing in the Galaxy of L.A.

It’s no secret that Beckham’s fling with the USA has irked a large number of his American followers, but we have to understand that the L.A.-Milan timeshare made sense.   There are just too many high-quality underwear commercials for him to pose for in Milan, and spending half the year there gets them all taken care of so he can go back to the MLS.

With all this pining for what was or could have been, it’s no wonder Beckham has recently stated that if Florentino Pérez had been in charge of Real Madrid in 2007 instead of deer-in-the-headlights Ramón Calderón, Beckham would have been able to finish his career at the Bernabéu.  Underwear modeling opportunities aside, it seems as if he genuinely believes he belongs in Madrid – next to the Cristianos, the Kakás, the Xabi Alonsos, the Benzemas and the Casillasesesses.  That is, next to the underwhelming divas of fat-cat football (excluding Casillas).

We here at No, Srslr wish nothing more than for David Beckham to once again find his head nestled in Schmiegel-Pérez’s reassuring embrace.  These two obviously belong together.  Of course there was not a MASSIVE paycheck waiting for him in L.A., and he only made the move to help his professional sporting career.  So it only makes sense that Florentino would have barred the door before letting his favorite underwear model skip away to the Cali coast.

Mr. Beckham, of all the delusional underwear  model sports stars, you are the most delusional underwear model sports star.

Peter King’s World Cup Monday Morning Douchebag isn’t that bad.

17 Jun

Look, Peter King is kind of an idiot. That’s been covered extensively already (elsewhere on internet). So when I heard he, who has never professed even a passing interest in soccer, was being sent by SI to cover the world cup this summer, I was more than a little annoyed/crestfallen/angry. Mind, I like the idea of an intelligent, eloquent American sportswriter who only follows American sports going to the world cup. He would have credibility with skeptics back home when he said “Really, everyone, this is something special. Maybe you should watch this.” (We have so many skeptics here!) He would accurately and stirringly describe the scenes he encountered, and confront certain assumptions and American indifference by saying something like “This dwarfs everything American sport can offer. Period. End of story.”

But of my list there, Peter King is only American, sportswriter, and America-centric in his sports following. Little intelligence, poor writing skills. And those are so key to, you know, conveying experience to others. (They are also key to being a journalist, but that has not stopped this man from becoming even sort of famous as a writer. The world’s injustices are unending, and come in varying sizes and shapes.) Further, this guy has built his career on a sort of everyman, “aw shucks” style of writing which I guess is relatable, filling his articles with obvious observations and stating his awe about that. (“Today I heard the water in my toilet actually is connected, through pipes, to my neighbor’s toilet. What a country!” is something he may have already written, or will soon.) Before he left, on his twitter he responded to a question about who he’d be supporting in the world cup by saying he was only there for SI until the group stages, and then he was going home. And then he arrived in S. Africa and filled his Twitter with asinine observations and complaints about the culture there and other comments of the sort you’d expect someone to say who’s never enjoyed soccer before. So I slogged through his first article with a sense of doom and frustration, seeing him clumsily fail to describe what he was seeing in any convincing or inspiring way, making the world’s greatest sporting event sound quotidian and as boring as every American non-soccer fan believes it is. UGH, he’s such a bad writer! SO BAD! He isn’t very good at all! He’s just really terrible at his job! (<– How Peter King's best work would describe Peter King's writing.)

Anyway, all of that to say, today’s column isn’t that bad.

Thanks, Pete!