This piece felt like half cave painting, half totem pole.
But when I did a quick look-up of totem poles, I was reminded they were intricate carvings.
Test your first assumptions.
Author: Jack Fuzz
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I spotted this piece hidden behind an electrical box.
Looking close has rewards.
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In celebration of the Eredivisie kicking off, a few passages on Dutch football:
First, from Soccer in Sun and Shadow, Eduardo Galeano recounts Cryuff’s origins:
This scrawny livewire earned a spot on the Ajax roster when he was only a child: while his mother waited tables at the club bar, he collected balls that went off the field, shined the players’ shoes, and placed flags in the corners. He did everything they asked of him and nothing they ordered him to do. He wanted to play and they would not let him because his body was too weak and his will too strong. When they finally gave him a chance, he took it and never let it go. Still a boy, he made his debut, played stupendously, scored a goal, and knocked out the referee with one punch.
Galeano’s Gullit piece reads like it’s speaking to 2019, not 1993…
In 1993 a tide of racism was rising. Its stench, like a recurring nightmare, already hung over Europe; several crimes were committed and laws to keep out ex-colonial immigrants were passed. Many young whites, unable to find work, began to blame their plight on people with dark skin.
Ruud Gullit, known as “The Black Tulip,” had always been a full-throated opponent of racism. Guitar in hand, he sang at anti-apartheid concerts between matches, and in 1987, when he was chosen Europe’s most valuable player, he dedicated his Ballon d’Or to Nelson Mandela, who spent many years in jail for the crime of believing that blacks are human.
I googled The Black Tulip to see if Ruud Gullit would hit my screen first.
Nope.
Instead, the search engine delivered another historical rebel – Alexander Dumas, and his novel titled: The Black Tulip.
Now, from David Winner‘s Brilliant Orange:
A dedication worth reading:
For:
Dad, who taught me to love football,
Mum, who taught me to love art
and Hanny, who taught me to love Holland.
It’s clear to me now, but back in 2004, Winner’s book introduced me to the Dutch mentality of controlling the game. Also, Winner taught me there’s more to Dutch football than Johann Cryuff.
‘It’s a thinking game. It’s not running around everywhere and just working hard, though of course you have to work hard too. Every Dutch player wants to control the game. We play the ball from man to man; we wait for openings. That’s how to play football: with your brains, not with your feet. You don’t have to be a chess player, but you must think ahead. Before I had the ball I knew exactly what I would do with it. I always knew two or three moves ahead. Before I get the ball I can already see someone moving in front of me, so when the ball arrives I don’t have to think about it. And I don’t have to watch the ball because I have the right technique.’ If ball control comes naturally to a player, he needs only one touch to get it where it needs to be.
– Arnold MuhrenLastly, two transfers to watch out for:
Jordy Clasie returns to AZ on a permanent. Could a return to the Eredivisie see him mount a national team comeback?
Former Johan Cruyff Trophy winner and Pochettino outcast Vincent Janssen has landed in Monterrey. Could the ketchup finally flow?
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My treason was tested. Argentina contra Brazil. The final before the final. Afterward, my match notes were all scribbles about Dani Alves.
How at 36, is this man running, harrying, sombrero-ing, and no look passing Brazil into Copa America glory?
What type of protein shakes is he drinking?
What type of ice bath does he run?
Is cross-fit still a thing?
Even as he’s aged, Alves hasn’t restructured his game much. He plays less matches per season, but he’s still the zip-line fullback playing on the wire.
His few appearances last year in PSG’s midfield wasn’t an attempt to move away from the demands of a modern right-back. It was about being team player, because Tuchel’s midfield hard drive was empty.
I’ve learned it’s not wise to judge a man by his instagram account. Dani is no James Milner. But he must be doing push-ups and eating his spinach everyday.
You don’t win 40 trophies without doing so.
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The brakes squeal. It’s my stop.
I throw my messenger bag over my shoulder without ripping out my earbuds.
Win.
I step towards the sliding double doors. The commuter behind me bites my heels. We all want to get this Friday over with.
But a flash of green and white jagged crests catch my peripheral vision. I hesitate to take another step. I pause. There’s been a sighting.
It’s last year’s streetwear sensation – The Nike Nigeria Stadium home jersey.
The lady wearing it glares. Unsure about my intentions. My mind is buffering, this mustn’t go unnoticed.
I take in the design. The EKG zig-zags. The black, white and green palette. The all black swoosh. The Super Eagles badge.
My earbuds are still popped in so I whisper: “Nice shirt”. Her eyebrows raise but her lips stay straight. She gives me a thumbs up and points to her heart.
I step off the train. My day is made.
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I thought I knew it all.
I don’t carry a doctorate in world football, but I was confident I’d recognize every player in Uruguay’s starting 11.
Not so.
So who did I Google?
Diego Laxalt – The left back is currently at AC Milan. Though I didn’t hear his name mentioned once on podcasts this past Serie A season. Curiously, he’s also listed as an attacking midfielder on Wikipedia. Will he fit in with new Milan coach Marco Giampaolo’s tactical plans next season?
Fernando Muslera – Galatasaray’s #1. The former Lazio keeper looks so young I think every match is his debut.
Nahitan Nández – The Uruguayan number 8 is at Boca Juniors. Rumored (if you believe the internet) to want a move to Leeds to play under Bielsa.
Lastly Telemundo’s man of the match: Nicolás Lodeiro.
My first thought was Mexico – Liga MX. He’s got to be pulling up his socks for PUMAs or America, and I just never noticed. Or maybe Spain. A solid mid table La Liga side. Villarreal or Sociedad.
No.
“Nico” as he’s known on MLSsoccer.com slips on his shin-pads each week for the Seattle Sounders.
His playing resume reads like a gap year itinerary: Nacional, Ajax, Botafogo, Corinthians and Boca Juniors, all before dying his hair blonde and sailing in to Puget Sound.
An MLS player dictating a Copa America match? Doubtful any Copa America preview pieces predicted that.
Nice of football to again remind me, I don’t know it all.
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James Rodriguez is a hypnotist. At this point in the match, he’s floating where ever he likes. He receives the ball a few yards from the touchline, just behind the midfield stripe. Argentina’s coach Lionel Scaloni, bends forward, shouting for someone to close him down.
Too late.
James already snapped the picture. Now his head is down. His left foot sweeps through the ball. There’s a pop. A thump of kangaroo leather and synthetic plastic colliding. The ball blazes across the pitch, wind wrapped, minimum back spin. The Nike swoosh smiles up at the Salvador sky.
In the end the diagonal ball takes out 8 Argentinian players within two, three seconds. Yes, Roger Martinez still needed to produce a tight outside of the foot dribble, followed by a golazo to complete the move. But James’ diagonal ball was the instigator.
The diagonal ball is a basic, but lethal tactic. It hypnotizes defenses, turning defenders into ball watchers. But then the ball snaps it’s it fingers. The spell is broken, and your goalkeeper is picking the ball out of his own net.
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I confess. It’s betrayal. Though Brazilian, I’m hoping Argentina win this edition of the Copa America.
I don’t live near the Tríplice Fronteira (Triple Frontier). I’m not pissed at Tite, or disillusioned with Brazil playing grinding, backhoe football.
My only reason for supporting Argentina?
Leo Messi.
I’m tired of the doubters. Exhausted of the skeptics.
Beings of the universe – Leo Messi is the greatest player of all time.
If the 600 + goals, 5 Ballon d’ors, 4 European Cups and a clutch of corny Pepsi commercials doesn’t convince, maybe a Copa America win on Brazilian soil will.
I admit, I’m not sure how far my treason will stretch.
A Brazil – Argentina final would certainly test my resolve. But Messi raising South America’s most prestigious trophy may at last lower the doubting voices.
Forgive me.
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BY JACK F.
This was fun.
I met Whales on Stilts! in a used book store and fate took it from the there.
Real talk, author M.T. Anderson sprinkled in all the essential storytelling spices and herbs, including words like:
cad – a man who behaves dishonourably, especially towards women.
vestibule – an antechamber or hall just inside the outer door of a building.
cetacean – an order of marine mammals comprising the whales, dolphins, and porpoises.
sinister – suggestive of evil or harm.
(you’re welcome for that jump in your SAT scores)
dialogue that burns with Shakespearean fire:
“I am cleverly disguised,” he explained, “as the photocopier repairman of the future, when man, through his ingenuity, will conquer even the farthest reaches of space, and need to make duplicates of things.”
– Jasper
“Everyone wants to get back to the place the know best,” said Lily’s grandmother. “When you are old, though, sometimes that place is not just far away on the map but far away in time. How do you get home, then when home is in another era?”
– Lily’s grandmother
thrilling 5 fisted action:
Cars were stopped in the middle of roads so people could run into discount clothing stores. Smoke was pouring out of the gas station. A pop machine had ruptured; dogs licked up Dr. Pepper from the pavement.
And somewhere in all of that chaos, Lily’s grandmother lived.
and all the 3,000 leagues below the Mariana Trench deep stuff:
A whale. It was a whale, a walking whale on stilts, with deadly laser-beam eyes. Her grandpa had always said this time would come.
M.T. had me turning pages, underlining bits of dialogue, and writing back at him in the margins.
Whales on Stilts! is a worthy read. You’ll laugh from your belly, and cry from your ears – and isn’t that all we want from a book?
Floodlights and Goalposts 