Lives of Legend

United's 2-1 victory over the Chicago Diving Pussies Fire last night in US Open Cup competition was, as this guy (happy 20th anniversary to bDr and Earthgirl, by the way) opined, about as satisfying as it gets. DCU didn't control the match, but they certainly controlled the outcome despite the Pussies' persistent infringement and the match referee's (Shane Moody) persistent insistence that nothing was going on, culminating in Marc Burch's (and these folks') outstandingly successful baiting of Cuahatemoc Blanco, to the tune of a red card for the Aztec Whinge-Flop.

Burchie and Blanco, at the Plex.

After Zap Wells' abject failure to contain a breakout by a Pussies' rookie defender, allowing a chip-shot over his ridiculous head and into the net, things looked pretty grim. The defense wasn't totally out of its element, but bad things were happening on counterattacks, and it was revealed pretty conclusively that Brian Carroll's little brother Pat is utterly ineffective on the wing, in both attack and defense, at least against quality opposition.

Shaka, when the walls fell.

By the way, Zap Wells must die. Zap Wells must die. Zap Wells must die. Zap Wells must die.

Zinda, his face black, his eyes red. Temarc! The river, Temarc.

Things got going when John X. Francis Doe scored off of The Beloved One's cross in an 18-box scramble in about the 76th minute, and the late bedtime we all feared and anticipated and wanted came to be. Piece of Shit John Thorrington ("Doucheington," one of my 300 new best friends reminded me) decided the time was right for a red-card tackle on The Beloved One, and the world exploded in noise and light and hate. From that point on, there was going to be either a DCU victory or a bus-tipping. While I preferred the victory, the bus-tipping wouldn't have bothered me all that much.

Mirab, his sails unfurled.

At the interval before extra time, Supreme Collective Total Bitchboy Diving Pussy of the Universe Blanco started warming up.

Kiazi's children, their faces wet.

After some general pussy-assed falling and chirping,

Kiazi's children, their faces wet.

and a matter-of-fact winning goal by Brian Namoff,

Namoff, his arms cry triumph!

things got entertaining. The Pussies tried a quick restart as Fred was being issued a yellow card--nice try, Pussies--and as the crowd continued its 20-minute serenade of "Maricon Blanco", the Aztec went totally Rambo on Simms.

Uzani, his army at Lashmir.

While Burch's two goals against Rochester last week were nice, his reaction last night sealed his place in the lore. Let's let Burchie and the Post tell it:

"He thinks he can do whatever he wants. I went over and I pushed him. I didn't hit him, I didn't go after him, I just pushed him down. He's not going to do that to my teammate. He stood up and tried to poke Clyde in the eye and cut his eye open. I don't like him, I don't think he's a good person. He's a great player but when he's out there he's doing stuff that you shouldn't be able to get away with."

Burchie and Blanco, at the Plex.

Stay down, bitch. Just stay down. It's really unfortunate that Burchie's right foot is a noodle, and that he's as slow as anyone else United can stick on the back line (or any line--another of the guy's virtues is that he can play very nearly competently anywhere on the field, as long as it's the left side). But this? Masterpiece. Legend. Lore. Tell your fucking grandkids.

Burchie and Blanco, at the Plex.

Go Burchie. Go Terps.

Burchie and Blanco, at the Plex.