Not much to say, but I notice that, as of this moment, the usual suspects among my friends have said nothing about last night's match (which is not unusual or bad, given that it's about 7 AM Sunday as I type this). I'm sure they'll get around to it, and they'll do better than I, because I've little to say, and even less that's nice.
The game was dull and listless and had nothing to recommend it. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the little itty bitty crowd in a park that was recently enough one of MLS' crown jewels, although a small crowd to watch mediocre football in Texas heat is unsurprising. Maybe it was that neither team is very good, and really, it's quite stunning how little of a fuck Dallas gave at home against a lackluster opponent. Like BFF said last week, four points on this road trip is really quite stunning.
Whether or not Schellas Hyndman could leverage anything against it, our defense was ungood, relying on dire fouls and last-minute heroics by a now-consistently besieged Bull Hamid. Woolard's play was particularly reprehensible, and he could easily have seen two yellows (as could the loathsome Daniel Hernandez). And all credit for the draw, really, goes to some Dallas speed merchant named Chavez who broke through and couldn't put a ball into an essentially open net from 16 or 17 yards in between fits of diving, whining, and inflicting or taking egregious fouls (the referee was hallucinating badly--I think he ate some of the brown acid, despite all the warnings--but not to any particular effect).
Look, I know it was hot, sultry, difficult. Dallas are not pushovers. Our strikers were Tracey Chapman and a guy who's clearly less and less thrilled to be here, the latter subbed out quite early for Fred's last American roadshow appearance. Dallas did a good job of denying DeRosario the ball, Brek Shea is a scary player and will be well nigh unstoppable once he grows into less of a whinging pussy, and while there were guys in 13 and 14 shirts running around on the field, Pontius and Najar were nonexistent. Although the guy in the 13 shirt had to be Pontius, judging from the fact that he glooped into Turnover Junction every time he had an opportunity to shoot.
Lazy and indifferent is a perfectly fine way for me to go through life, but I'm not a professional soccer team.
Update: We have bunnies living in the back yard next door, but they like the food selection better in our yard, since we just let clover and other stuff that's not grass grow without impediment--I suspect the neighbors in our relatively well-manicured neighborhood hate us, but fuck 'em. In a past life and a past neighborhood, I actually had a several-doors-down neighbor who threatened to assault me over dandelions. If your yard is your pride, good on you. If you're worried about agricultural warfare, fuck you, build a wall, poison the Bay, what the fuckever. Anyway...bunnies (the third one is in shade, almost directly behind the bunny on the left--hard to see):