Tom Soehn, Ralph Friedgen, What's the Difference?

Heads. Stakes. Public places.

Say what you will about Jair Maruffo, reputedly one of the best officials in the league, hating DC United (he does), or being unable to tell time (he can't), or having some deep, abiding love of Shalrie Joseph's cock that prevents him from sending off Joseph for the most egregious of fouls (I'd submit that a Maruffo threesome with that fuckface Joseph and punkass bitch John Thorrington Wells Thompson is not out of the range of plausibility). That didn't cost United a chance at three points tonight. No sirree. Seriously for reals.

What more compelling evidence do we need that Tom Soehn needs to be run out of town on a rail? The fucker* started bunkering at halftime of a 0-0 draw, subbing out Clyde Simms (who was, it appears, hurt, so no foul--and in any event, replacement Andrew Jacobsen played pretty well) and the apparently uninjured Marc Burch at halftime of a game in which Christian Gomez, Jaime Moreno, and Ben Olsen (combined actual age: 99; combined Futbol age: approaching 600) were still playing.

Two defensive halftime subs, one unnecessary, in a 0-0 draw. Defensive subs. On a night when Chris Pontius, on the right, could do nothing but lay back and shoot at the sky (money quote from this guy: "I don't like Pontius anymore."), and when Emilio, up front, could do little but yell at teammates, and the entire motive power of the attack to that point was provided by a 600-year-old hydra.

Go on, poofy technicality person, argue with me that inserting Quaranta and dropping back Wallace is an attacking move. Bullshit. Dropping Rodney Wallace back to replace Burch--who sucked no worse than usual--is in no way anything but bunkering the fuck up.

Chickens started returning to roosts a little while in to the second, when Gomez, frustrated by two consecutive Pontius skyballs, suddenly turned up lame. Looked suspiciously like a high vagina sprain to me. Soehn inserted Fred, and moved the still unforgiven** Quaranta to the middle. Minutes later, Moreno turns up lame (he appeared to take a knock, unlike Gomez, who had most recently, before his exit, been seen screaming at Pontius). Gesticulating wildly at the sideline with the "sub me" motion, Moreno showed that he was so unaware of his surroundings that he didn't realize that he was on the field with three guys who weren't there when he started. Niiiice.

There's a talent shortfall on this team, and I'm beginning to doubt the heart of an awful lot of players not named Benny. And I'm damn sure doubting the testes of any coaches named Tom. Even if I'm not thrilled with the effort of...oh, crap--a whole lot of United players from South America--the heart that's there deserves better management than a guy who thinks bunkering is acceptable any time before the 75th minute. And really: how many different ways can Soehn find to retreat?***

I'm done. Head. Stake. West Front of the Capitol. Now.

*Substitute palliative phrasing in case this guy honors me with an attendance certificate for showing up here so soon after a game: "simpering sissy bitch."

**But no longer discommodated. This can, of course, turn on a dime.

***With apologies to, again, this guy, the word I'm looking for is "pussy."