“All together, it can be done”

Fine, spare me the outcry for French grammatical imperfections, but damn does that sight and message give me the chills.

Out of favor Chelsea striker Didier Drogba is likely on the move this summer, and his old Marseillais fans want him back. Led by a chap named Matthieu Gomila, a coalition has been formed to try and raise the money necessary for the expected 28€ million transfer fee to bring Drogs back to Olympique de Marseille. Gomila has set up his website for supporters to pledge an amount up to 200€ that they’d be willing to donate to make this happen.

Despite only playing one season at Marseille, Drogba is one of the club’s all-time greats, as he went on to score the most goals in French football that year en route to a UEFA Cup final. He is a dynamic player whose face adorns a mural outside of the Stade Velodrome.

As of writing, Gomila has found just shy of 850,000€ in pledges, far from the anticipated transfer fee. However, such an expression of desire and determination has to at least raise an eyebrow with team owner Robert Louis-Dreyfus. Given Samir Nasri’s defection to Arsenal, reacquiring Drogba would not only save face and appease the fans, but keep you competitive for the near future.

Allez l’OM!

If you blinked you might have missed it. Euro 2008 came and went in surprisingly quiet fashion. There were no fan riots, police attacks, tear-gas incidents, or public outcries. Perhaps this can be attributed to neutral-friendly Switzerland hosting the shindig, but no matter…the tournament was a remarkable success on many fronts. Here’s a look at some key moments and thoughts going into next season:

1. Spain’s Breaking Out
Say what you will about the Spanish style of flair and finesse, but their brand of footie just won-out against the decidedly bulkier and more physical Germans. All credit to Luis Arragones, their 113 year-old coach, who spent his time downing Ensure and master-minding one of the more brilliant strategies in recent history (bringing superstar Cesc Fabregas off the bench, dropping Captain Raul before the tournament).

2. “El Nino”
If you saw it, you’ll not soon forget it. The goal that ultimately won the Tournament for La Furia Roja (The Red Fury) was delivered by Fernando Torres in sublime fashion. Turning on the jets at the last minute, he blitzed past Phillip Lahm (no easy task) and slotted the ball past the outstretched arms of keeper Jens Lehman. After a slow tournament, El Nino found his stride when it counted, and put a cap on a fantastic first season in England.

3. The Almost Man
To Michael Ballack, and his repeated inability to win the big one. Is there anyone else in professional sports that is more tortured than this guy? Lets see, he misses out on World Cup 2002’s final due to suspension, loses in the Champions League final in 2004, loses in the semi-final of World Cup 2006, loses in the Champions League final in 2008, almost misses and ultimately loses in the Final of Euro 2008. Can the Kaiser Chiefs dedicate a song to him on their next album? He could really use a pick-me-up right about now.

4. Changing of the Guard
To France & Italy, who looked a shadow of their former selves. For teams that just went to the World Cup final in 2006, you’d assume they’d bring their best and rival recent form. Not the case, and they were clearly out-classed by hungrier and more determined squads.

5. The Dutch Enigma
Stop me when this sounds familiar. The Netherlands come roaring out the gates, exposing defenses and scoring goals with relative ease. The press jumps on the bandwagon, mispronouncing names like Arjen Robben and Ruud Van Nistelrooy. The suddenly, they face stiff competition in the form of a strong defense. Their weakness, the back-four, let up and its game over for the Oranje. Another disappointing turn for them. They’ll need to address some long-term issues with regards to age and strength, but more importantly, they need a coach that’s willing to take a gamble here and there to salvage points.

6. Those Geezers from Portugal
Ronaldo Ronaldo Ronaldo. That’s all anyone wants to discuss these days. I however, would only like to say the following: he is going to leave; Manchester United need to buck up and accept the fact that he’s too much of an egomaniac to share the limelight with anyone (Fergie), and they might as well cash in on the transfer fee and buy some expensive replacements. Now, can we put this issue to bed once and for all?

(One more note, Joao Moutinho should be getting looks from a number of major clubs this summer, he has the total package and is much better than the suddenly perfect Andrei Arshavin).

7. From Russia, With Love
You have to tip your hat to them. Guus Hiddink did a master-class job of coaching this young and relatively inexperienced troop to unprecedented success. They were one of the more exciting teams to watch, with their relentless attacking and steadying defensive presence. That Akinfeev is going to be an ace of a keeper in the next three years, book it. Also, Arshavin was a revelation to many, but I dare say that Pavleyuchenko is a more complete player. Without his mazy and persistent runs down the flank, these guys would have been watching from home early on.

8. Can We Get Into the EU Now, Please?
To Turkiye, who were this year’s incarnation of Greece, i.e. the team of inexperienced misfits that bands together in the face of adversity to overachieve for three weeks. Like them or not, they faced a hell of a battle every game with the spate of injuries and suspensions. Is it their fault that they picked up so many unnecessary cards in the group stages? Perhaps. But that’s what you love about their brand of football. Unforgiving and passionate. Their come-from-behind wins provided the perfect backdrop to the overly dramatic and ultimately poetic journey they travelled from beginning to end. Can we drop the ruse now and accept them into the damn EU?

9. Fuck You, Steve McClaren
To England and its fans (mysef included) who had the painstaking pleasure of watching this entire process without the Three Lions. While it was nice not to be innundated with heartwarming vignettes about England’s players and the struggles they all faced growing up on the mean streets of Brixton, I missed my fix of Wayne Rooney’s ghastly accent, Big-Bird Crouch, Super-Frankie-Lamps, and Captain Terry barking orders from the back line. Here’s hoping the Don Fabio Era yields better results.

10. Transfer-Palooza
International competitions are always a friendly showcase for emerging talent. This year was no different, with the likes of Andrei Arshavin, Marcos Senna, Joao Moutihno, Luka Modric, and others demonstrating their skills. It also servers as a great opportunity for stalwart aging characters to renew interests in their fading careers. Guys like Xavi, Deco, Van Bronckhorst, and Puyol did enough to tempt bigger clubs to splash the cash their way. We’ll handicap all of the transfers towards the end of the summer.

11. Metrosexual All-Stars
To Fernando Torres, Sergio Ramos, Cristiano Ronaldo, Bastian Schewinsteiger, Ricardo Quaresma, Luka Modric, Luca Toni, Mauro Camoranesi, Zlatan Ibrahimovic, and many more. Thank you for reminding us all of our masculinity. We will pray that the United States doesn’t issue an embargo on hairband exports.

12. Wait, We Have to Play in the Olympics?
To any of the above players that have to lace them up again at the end of the month and compete in the Beijing games. No rest for the weary.

Until next time…

Greetings fellow Tsar-subscribers. It’s your lovable pal Devin, back to give you more reasons to hate Europeans! Well, not really but it’s another one of those soccer posts that you probably skimmed last time.

If you read my previous post, then you know I’m an out-and-out footy fanatic. You must also, by the transitive property, therefore be aware of the fact that I’m full-fledged supporter of the Chelsea Blues. And thanks to ‘The SportsTsar’, we’ve all been informed that said Blues were done-in by the awful yet incredibly talented Manchester United Reds last Wednesday in Moscow.

This, lads, was not simply a match won by the best team. It’s bigger than that. This was without a doubt the best display of European football that the world has seen in years. The match was hyped beyond belief and somehow lived up to every single expectation. The match ended in regular time as a 1-1 draw, survived two ‘extra time’ (overtime) periods, before culminating in the ultimate showdown, the penalty shootout. Needless to say, the Reds prevailed, but not before a few of us bit some fingernails to shreds.

I vividly recall the palate of emotions preceding and following John Terry’s biffed game-winning penalty shot. It got worse when ‘Le Sulk’ Nicolas Anelka stepped up and did his best to gift the title to the Reds by demonstrating that his nickname is not for want of trying. All-told, this was classic English football and all of these players deserve high praise.

But you’ll have to forgive me for being somewhat of a Debbie-Downer these days. Its been a rough week for Blues fans stateside, and obviously its been increasingly worse for those lads on foreign soil. And I should know all about it. Yes, as I type I am sitting in Central London and surrounded by Arab children in Cristiano Ronaldo kits. The whole visual is terribly upsetting and I might have to excuse myself from this Starbucks for a reprieve…..

<15 minutes later…>

I’m back. A quick check of the news reveals that Avram Grant, Chelski’s manager has been fired (no surprise there) in the wake of our recent defeat. It’s also been speculated loudly that there is a mass-exodus of talent brimming for a departure to all points of the Continent. Furthermore, out billionaire oligarch owner has his sights set on the purchase of more superstar talent to thicken what might soon become a depleted squadron. All told, these are not stable days on Fulham Broadway. 

But I’ve lost the plot. I wanted to write today to remind everyone stateside that here, football is a way of life. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve peeked out the window to see children from the ages of 2 to 22 scrambling across the streets with balls at their feet, rain or shine, winter-coats be damned. When I arrived at Heathrow, I took the tube into the city. It’s approximately an hour’s trip, so I had plenty of time for people-watching. At the first stop, a father and his two sons boarded my cart. This triumverate had travelled to Moscow to watch the match in person, and obviously were disappointed with the outcome. While the father quietly sat reading the morning-after Sun newspaper, the two brothers, who were no older than 6 and 8, recited significant statistics, discussed open/closed formations, debated the attacking prowess of assistant coaches, and speculated on summer transfers for the Blues.

I sat there with my mouth agape for good reason. I wish I was one of those kids. Over here, football is a bonding experience between father’s and sons, not dissimilar to Baseball or the NFL. But it seems to run much deeper here, clearly more tangible than supporting the Yankees. In England, soccer is a way of life, and the color you wear is the one you bleed. These children knew very well that they were born into an extended family of supporters and fanatics, and have embraced the essence of the sport to their respective cores. While most American fans of the sport support the upper-crest and highly marketed teams with superstar talent (myself included) the broad majority of denizens here do not.

Generally speaking, the town you’re born in has a team. Now, that team may not participate in the highest and classiest league, but nevertheless, all teams play matches at varying levels of difficulty. Consequently, most people support their local club, no matter how shitty the stadiums or how little fanfare they receive. Its something akin to pride, but again, something far more significant. The fans feel a bond with the players on the pitch, and the players derive an unquestionable amount of strength from the cheering sections. The lower division squads, referred to as ‘pub teams’, will literally head to the local watering hole after matches and down pints with their fans. They’ll most likely buy groceries from the same Tesco you visit, send their children to the same public school, and buy underwear from Marks and Spencer, just like you. This is the accessibility of English football. The players are not demi-gods. They are regular folk like you and me, and it serves as a humbling reminder that any bloke with enough passion and the right amount of intensity could one day take the pitch.

So when I watch fathers and sons debate the merits of Avram’s resume, or whether or not Frank Lampard deserves a new contract (he does), I feel a certain attachment to them. There’s no doubt I could have jumped right into their conversation and been included as a member of their community without disrupting the flow. Sure we aren’t related, and physically we have different DNA, but theoretically we all bleed Blue. That right there is enough to include anyone into your extended family. Football is more than a game, its a way of life that’s bringing families closer together than ever before, and I cannot help but marvel at the footprint its leaving on a new generation of father’s and sons.

Here’s to the game, and its continued growth in the UK and beyond.