English

What's your deal, English? We're out here just trying to get a handle on the language, but you're evolving, changing, metamorphosing constantly, however you please. Other languages give us accents to guide us along the way, but you just throw words out there and expect us to know how to pronounce them. Are you better than other languages? Are you too cool for an accent here and there?

It's okay though English, because I love you. Your intricacies, the way that most of us don't really know how to use you 100% correctly, and your ever-changing personality make me appreciate you that much more. You're cool, English. We can hang out.

Just Because

For no other reason than pure hilarity. Note the look of pure glee by the woman, the strain of holding an abnormally large wombat, and the expression of terror on said wombat's face.

Enjoi.

Ibrahimovic: Magic or Misfit?

With whispers of Zlatan Ibrahimovic's possible transfer to Barcelona in the summer, the question presents itself: who is Zlatan exactly? Ibrahimovic is just as capable of physics-defying acrobatics (see his flying backheel against Bologna a few months ago) as mind-bending exhibitions of skill and technical ability (see his goal for Ajax against NAC Breda) a few years ago. The giant Swede stands alone with his combination of size, athletic ability and pure technical acumen. Day in and day out in the Serie A, he both bullies and bewilders his opponents with apparent ease.

For all his positives, Ibracadabra (as he is known affectionately to his supporters) seems to suffer from what I call the "Cristiano Ronaldo Effect". A consistent performer day in and day out on the "small" stages of the Serie A and Coppa Italia, Ibra seems to shrink from his responsibilities and disappear on the "big" stages of the UEFA Champions League, and the FIFA World Cup. While Cristiano Ronaldo has arguably shrugged off that underperforming reputation somewhat after scoring a goal and leading his side to a Champions League final victory, Ibrahimovic still has to prove himself under the limelight of international competition.

While it's obvious that Ibra has underperformed in major competitions, his talent is absolutely undeniable. In addition, it is my personal opinion that he has been relied too much upon by his respective club and national teams for their success. When Ibra does not play well, Inter and Sweden often do not play well. This holds true more for Inter than Sweden, but the fact remains that he is the lynchpin for both sides. In a side such as Barcelona, the weight of expectation is perhaps higher, but is also shared by other international superstars such as Leo Messi, Samuel Eto'o, Thierry Henry, Xavi, et al (depending on who remains after Zlatan's prospective transfer). With that weight lifted, Ibra may well be free to perform to the best of his ability on any stage.

Sneaker What?

I don't consider myself a normal sneakerhead. I don't display typical
sneakerhead tendencies such as triple digit footwear count, ability to
spot fake "send help" dunks from across a campus, willingness to camp
out for sneakers, etc. However, I do consider myself a sneaker
aficionado. A "sneaker h" if you will. As such, I find myself perusing
sneaker websites throughout the day and late into the night. I
frequent eBay in search of killer deals, and I pine over the newest
releases, knowing I can't afford them. Why? I love sneakers.

As a sneaker h, the news that Nike is planning to remove the fat tongue from their low top SBs
sent me scrambling to eBay looking for some affordable heat with which
to stock my closet. The notification struck a solid blow to my
sneakerheart, making me cry out in anguish. The main reason I began liking low top SBs was because of the way the oh-so-comfortable fat tongue lends itself to jean-wearing, and for the fresh colorways that poured from Nike's factories. Now I'll have to confine myself to eBay searching and my normal hi-top SBs.

As I said before, I don't consider myself a sneaker head. I feel that's an insult to the real
sneaker heads out there who've devoted their time, energy and money to
copping dope kicks and understanding the game. I respect those people, and as such, I cannot count myself in their number. Sneaker h it is.

Fake!

I decided to take another look at my sneaker collection the other day and noticed a key fact about one of my beloved pairs of kicks. My Jordan 11 Concords (the white and black patent leather shoes on the right side of the picture) have a gold Jumpman logo. Uh oh. Strike one for authenticity. I looked at the number on the back of the shoe and was a bit relieved. The correctly spaced, aligned and colored "23" made my pulse return more to normal. Against my better judgment, I looked at the sole of the shoe.

Fake, painted carbon fiber.

@#&*!!!! I've been wearing fake Jordan's for months!!! Disheartened I looked at some more of my sneakers and noticed that my Dinosaur Jr's aren't nearly as purple as they should be. In fact, they're not purple at all... I've been hornswoggled. Bamboozled. Taken in.

Frantic, I tore through the rest of my sneaker collection to see if I was rocking with any more unauthentic kicks. I found no such evidence, but my heart was still at the bottom of my stomach as I looked at my beloved Jordan's.

Then I realized it doesn't matter. I will continue to wear them. If I get called out on them, I get called out on them. I know they're fake. My readership knows they're fake. I'm not trying to hide anything.

Except for maybe that gold Jumpman and the "carbon fiber" sole.

Heir to the Throne

At the venerable age of 38, the Czech lion Pavel Nedved has finally decided to hang up the boots for good. For months there has been a flurry of speculation surrounding the former Ballon d'Or's successor. Many touted Diego Ribas da Cunha (or just plain Diego) as the one to fill the shaggy-haired dynamo's boots, but the jury is still out on his ability to fit into Claudio Ranieri's solid 4-4-2 system. As Ranieri himself stated, in order to include Diego into his squad, he would have to change his preferred formation to accomodate the fantasista.

In my opinion, while Diego is not a player I would be unwilling to welcome to the Bianconeri fold, he doesn't necessarily fit the job description needed. While Nedved is not an old-fashioned winger in his own right, he is not the type of player to ignore tactical instructions in order to play in his own style. While Diego has shown tactical discipline in the past, I don't feel he has the mindset to play on the wing in Ranieri's 4-4-2. If Ranieri is to be manager of Juve, I feel he should play the formation he prefers, and not be forced to incorporate an ill-fitting puzzle piece. As such, I don't feel Diego is the man for the job.

In my opinion, the solution for the impending vacancy plies his trade in Spain for Valencia. Spanish international David Silva is a player very much suited for Juventus' style of play, and he absolutely has the required talent level. Like Nedved, Silva is equally comfortable operating through the centre of attacking midfield or out on the left wing. In addition, Silva can be used as a second striker or on the right wing. With Valencia's current economic troubles, he is an increasingly viable option for La Vecchia Signora. While French international Franck Ribery would be another excellent choice, his high price tag, and the interest of financial powerhouses like Manchester United, Inter Milan and Barcelona make him more of a reach.

The race to sign Nedved's replacement is nearing it's end, and as a staunch Juve supporter, I pray that the club doesn't veer off track and sign a sure flop such as Middlesborough's Stewart Downing, Florent Malouda or another who lacks the required quality.

House of Noise

I have a headache. But I'm happy. I just returned from the barbershop, where being loud doesn't make you right, but it definitely helps your case. The barbershop, as everyone knows by now (thanks to Cedric the Entertainer, Ice Cube, Eve, et al) is a cultural centre for black people. Ideas are exchanged, good-natured insults are traded, and more than anything, men engage in the ancient art of debate. At high volume. Very high volume. The sound waves traveling through the barbershop could level a small building if channeled properly.

Conversation topics change in the blink of an eye. One minute a hapless barber is set upon by five patrons for the poor state of Duke basketball, and the next, Julius Peppers is said to be most certainly doing steroids. Sports are usually the main theme of the day, but nothing is taboo in the barbershop. Barbers must strike the delicate balance between perfecting a difficult fade haircut and winning a heated argument about the efficacy of LeBron James' fadeaway.

And did I mention it's loud? It's really, really loud. But we love it.

The Other Friend (Social Media Site)

Good afternoon twitterverse! Oh crap... this is Blogger isn't it? This is a bit awkward. I thought I was on Twitter... A bit like calling a close friend with some exciting news to tell but dialing the wrong number and reaching a friend you don't talk to nearly as much. You can't really hang up and go, "sorry cuz, wrong number!" and you can't really be as excited about your news because you haven't talked to that person in so long. Anyway, how's uh, how's it going Blogger? Oh, you got a new job? That was two months ago? Yeah man, I've been real busy these past couple months with other social media-- I mean, work and soccer. You heard I got a new job? You say you had to see it on Facebook? Well I mean I meant to call you, but-- Wait, let me finish. No, I'm not purposefully ignoring you, I just-- Alright fine, I'll call you tomorrow and we'll hang out. Alright?? Peace

Teachability

Over the last few years I've been slowly working on my ability to impart knowledge to others. Some people call that teaching, but semantics aren't important at this juncture in time. I realized that I'm simply not a very good teacher. Ok, I'm a decent teacher. But nowhere near the standard to which I normally hold myself. I've always been scared to teach children because I realize just how much sway a teacher holds in a child's life, and frankly I didn't really trust myself with that power. Over the past few months, I've really worked at being able to explain how I can do things to other people. I get easily frustrated when kids don't pick up on concepts quickly, and I realized it's because I get frustrated with myself when I do the same.

Yesterday I had a struggle with a 10-year-old who just didn't seem to grasp what I was telling him, no matter how I explained it. I realized that sometimes vocabulary can be a stumbling-block when attempting to simplify meanings. A kid that doesn't understand one polysyllabic word isn't necessarily going to understand it when one explains it using another polysyllabic word. It definitely didn't help that the boy wasn't really listening to my explanations. I was finally able to help him out by slowly walking him through each precept, but my frustration level was way above where it should have been. It was a great learning experience, and it's one I can definitely use going forward, but it's not something I want to have to repeat. Hopefully I can continue to hone my teaching skills while continuing to learn.

It's Not Whether You Win or Lose... It's How You Play The Game

HA!

As a sore loser, I normally take extreme offense to that statement. Tonight I had the utter misfortune to be on the wrong side of an 8-7 indoor soccer semi-final loss in overtime. Anyone who knows me relatively well knows that I don't deal favorably with losing. To put it bluntly, I have the temper of a 6-year-old whose TV privileges have been revoked for a week. I've been trying to work on it, but by nature I am a terrible loser. However, tonight I reached a turning point of sorts. We lost. I was angry. But I appreciate the journey for what it was. The essence of the quotation that headlines this post means that while it is summarily important to win in a competition, it is not necessarily the end-all be-all.

As deep (or shallow) as that obvious realization may be, the truth is that losing SUCKS. While it's some consolation that I played rather well and scored one of my best goals this year, the fact remains that I was on the losing side. But as the Russians say: c'est la vie. Wait... I meant: такова жизнь

On a completely unrelated note, I have been absolutely dominating life in FIFA 09. For something that has no value in the real world, I am doing incredibly well. If only FIFA wins translated into real-life dollars... Ah well, for the love of the game.

In other news, follow me on Twitter (AWestJuve) or rabid chinchilla/chihuahua hybrids will carry away your unborn children to raise them for their own. While you pause and wrap your brains around the utter absurdity of that statement, I'll be quietly stealing all the loose change from your sofas and car seats. That is all.