Just once, just once I'd like to get a DCU post up on the tubes before that dogma-N person. Just oncet.
DCU came home last night, looking for their first win of the season. They didn't get it, although a win against the cruel Ning the Merciless, even at home, is a venti order for a team in freefall.
bDr and I differed, until last night, on the topic of the coach-scalp; when they flashed Tom Soehn's face on the screen of the Ocho last night, I began screaming for him to be hung from the Whitney Young bridge. This is mostly because I am a mean and petty son of a bitch, not because I know anything about anything.
But even then, the gods conspired to mock me, because ESPN finally got over its Ning-love just enough to tell me that Soehn was finally abandoning the once fashionable, but plague-stupid 3-5-2 and settling into the far more sensible (sensible, that is, for a team that prefers the other team not to score goals) 4-4-2 formation. Then, ESPN set aside its impulses to felch Taylor Fucking Twellman just long enough to note that 105-year-old striker (end Fiver) and true American Football Hero Jaime Moreno was sitting on the bench, glaring intently past his bleached bangs at the action unfolding on the field.
I was forced to revise my opinion of Mr. Soehn long enough to stop screaming at him and start screaming at the putrescence that is MLS referee Terry Vaughn. Fortunately? This worked, and Vaughn's ineptitude swung well into DCU's favor by the end of the game, although his booking of Emilio for diving after appallingly punkass bitch James Riley shoved Emilio down in the penalty box was a classic Vaughn moment of getting a thing exactly as wrong as it could be gotten.
On the other hand, thanks for sending off dickhead Shalrie Joseph on a brutal assfucking of an improper red card, Terry. Too bad DCU couldn't capitalize.
Note to Loud Side: Sing louder. We couldn't quite make out the lyrics of the Taylor Twellman song on the Ocho, not least because The Worst Announcer in Futbol and Eric Wynalda wouldn't STFU.
The Ocho completely fucked the game up. For starters, the Ninglove was overpowering--on those occasions when a bad call went against the Ning, Wynalda couldn't stop himself from loving Taylor and the Revettes, but on perfectly reasonable calls--and yes, Virginia, Moreno earned that PK--Eric needed an extra saucer of milk. For another, Wynalda was so pissed off at DCU that he couldn't stop the bile. Do you know why they wouldn't play off of the wing after Joseph went down and the Ning clogged the middle, Eric? Because they don't have any fucking wingmen, you metrosexual toad!
To give due credit, Wynalda's at his best when he's a bitter little queen; his performance in the booth during the last USMNT friendly, when he couldn't stop peppering The Traitor Bruce Arena with thinly veiled attacks over his mishandling of the last World Cup, was precious, just MasterCard priceless. And he's right far more often than he's wrong (contrast: Tommy "Poonch It In The Oonion Baag" Smyth, the third man in the booth last night). But when he gets a bug up his ass, he clenches down on that fucker and wanks away until he's ready to shit the fucking Hope Diamond.
Fun: Guy Kpene. Nicholas Addlery (but ineffective, unfortunately). The Incomparable Fred, who's a damn sight more entertaining than pussyboy Freddy Adu on his worst day and Freddy's best. Fecundo Erpen, but only because he's a fucking dolt.
Die: Taylor Fucking Twellman, you diving fucking pussy bitchboy. Die die die die die, not least of all for making me discommendate a Terrapin. The Ocho, for sperming its excitement all over the undeserving geezer Pat Noonan. Matt Reis, for being Matt Reis and for singlehandedly staving off DCU's last rush (which turned out to be its best chance to go ahead). Khano Smith, for being a dick. James Riley, for being a super mayamaya DICK. Steve Nichol, just because. Jay Heap, for obvious reasons and because it took ESPN to make me remember that you're a Dookie cocksucker.
And lookee there. We're up ahead of his Dogfullness. But only because we're shallow and vapid, and he's the soul of thoughty. Go read him.
The Accounting Beyond the Account
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