Den Cotton

Well, if you’ve been paying attention, LA Galaxy star David Beckham recently said he thought Zinedine Zidane was the greatest player of all time. Was anyone a little surprised by this? There have been so many great players over the years. Who would you choose as the best ever?

Beckham was also quoted as saying that Cristiano Ronaldo should go play for Real Madrid. That probably won’t sit too well with the folks at Old Trafford. What is Beckham’s motivation for saying this? Lingering bad blood with Man U? Or is Real Madrid the premier team in the world?

Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the prettiest player of them all?

“Yellow man in Timbuktu
Colour for both me and you
Kung fu fighting
Dancing queen
Travel spaceman
And all that’s in between

Colours of the world
Spice up your life
Every boy and every girl
Spice up your life
People of the world
Spice up your life
Aaahh!!!”

– Spice Girls

Last year, I sold my TV one day — just out of the blue — right before a huge yard sale I put together. It lasted eight months before I decided to dumb myself down and get another talking box. So, I wanted to remind myself why I threw that thing out.

In case you forgot, I’m a cranky, old bastard. Nothing personal folks, but I just don’t want to see a lot of this stuff on TV. It doesn’t mean your favorite sport or show really sucks –although there’s a 50-50 shot that it stinks, if it is on the list. It’s just that I personally wouldn’t mind if most of these brain drains disappeared from the screen so everyone can do something important — like blog for instance, or learn to practice Internet Kung Fu…

20) Timbersports
19) Competitive Eating
18) NFL Draft
17) Ultimate Fighting (The only ultimate fighting I really enjoyed was from the neighbors at the skanky apartment I used to live at…)
16) Indoor Soccer
15) NHL Playoffs — (Problem solved Gary Bettman, maybe no one wanted to see it anyway..)
14) Rock-Paper-Scissors Tournaments
13) Jim Rome is Burning (my ears)
12) Extreme Ironing
11) Fox News
10) Golf
9) Nascar (round and round we go)
Scripps National Spelling Bee (They sell quality dictionaries now)
7) Supergroup (Super Painful and key factor in previous dismissal of said TV)
6) NHL Hockey on NBC (NHL on ESPN is acceptable)
5) The Surreal Life (No Life)
4) Arena Football (See Indoor Soccer)
3) American Idol
2) The O’ Reilly Factor
1A) World Series of Poker (or any card game of any kind)
1) Bowling (ESPN, come on… I don’t drink that much anymore, unless I’m at the alley for cosmic midnight madness)

* Bonus Tracks:

Pros vs. Joes, 700 Club, Adult Kickball, Maury, Tour de France, Dancing With The Stars, Trick My Truck, Real World, The Bachelorette, Hannah Montana

“What you’ve just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.”

“Blow up your TV, throw away your paper
Go to the country, build you a home
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches
Try an’ find Jesus on your own”

John Prine

Well, as usual, I have some really bad advice for any of the loyal lima bean disciples out there who have been following along. Just depending on how twisted of an individual you are at heart, this could be really important knowledge to carry with you in the quest of the perfect party.

I just thought I would offer up some ideas, actually dos and don’ts — well only don’ts — for your next throwdown.

If you decide to have a soirée, it is quite clear you should refrain from bringing any of the following : Rich Rodriguez, Bill O’ Reilly, Keith Olbermann, a soccer ball, and a six pack of illegal immigrants. These are all the things that can ruin a good time, and ultimately cause people to think your party stinks.

You can bring Bill O’ or K.O., but not both. That would be the worst party in the world.

You can maybe bring a soccer ball — if you get the ok from the host ahead of time — but you can’t invite disgruntled American soccer fan, who clearly has a chip on his shoulder about loving a sport, which is still second class in the U.S. It’s ok soccer fan. I’ve accepted that not everyone is going to like soccer as much as I do either. I just feel very European inside, and it makes me feel more worldly.

Do not show up with former West Virginia head football coach Rich Rodriguez unless the party is in Ann Arbor. Personally, I would party with him like no tomorrow because he got something like $4 million — well, not exactly I guess — for doing nothing, except winning a lot of games. He just kinda left the party early ya know, and didn’t even help clean up the mess. West Virginia fan, I know you say you are “over” RR. I just don’t believe you. Look, I know I sound like a jerk, but it hurts. I still haven’t completely gotten over the breakup with my last girlfriend — and that was over two years ago. I’m doing much better now and it gets easier every day, especially if you have an awesome new girlfriend or excellent head coach — which I have neither. It’s barely been a few months for you. It is better just to accept that it didn’t work out the way you wanted — despite the breach of contract — and everything will heal in time.

Under no circumstances can you bring illegal immigrants to the party — even if they pick all the fruit and vegetables for the shindig. If the party gets really hot and the roof catches fire, they might even fix it for you the next morning if you buy the shingles. Hell, they might even put in a new floor if the party gets really crazy. Seriously though, it’s better to not be a hypocrite, and just never let them in the back door for all the fun. They can cook good food, sing, dance, and probably clean up after the party is over. You won’t have to lift a finger. But they will probably just mooch off of you for the rest of your life, because they are total parasites — from what I hear — and will ruin a good party if you let them. Next thing you know, there are 30 million of ‘em running around unannounced, kicking soccer balls all over the lawn they just fixed up for you.

Personally, I think it would be a fun party if you brought everybody, but I like a good sideshow.

“They’re selling postcards of the hanging
They’re painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They’ve got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they’re restless
They need somewhere to go
As lady and I look out tonight
From desolation row”

– Bob Dylan

Dear Soccer/Fútbol:

I just wanted to apologize from the bottom of my heart for all of the horrible things I said about you when I wrote the headline “If Illegal immigration is such a huge problem, why does soccer still suck in America?”

I know you don’t suck in America even though there are more popular sports like baseball, basketball, and football. You are very talented, and still popular among the people who really count, just like the indie bands I listen to over the Top 40 garbage I hear on the radio every day. MLS — while getting better each and every day — is not as exciting as the Premier League, but I don’t care. Soccer, I just want you. I’ll do anything to get you back. You are as sexy as ever, and I can’t live without you.

The truth is that I used you; used you in the worst way. I was trying to be cutely poignant in displaying my radical viewpoint that we, as a country, are taking the easy way out in turning our backs on a hard-working race of people by wanting to kick them out, while putting a lock on our borders, instead of creating better initiatives as well as programs to support a more logical way of ensuring that all residents can be productive and contribute culturally to a nation of immigrants, eliminating the idea of illegal human being status. Even though we stole their land in the 1800s, they still want to come over and teach us to play your wonderful game of fútbol. I think that says a lot about a group that could forgive so easily, and still want to mingle with us imperialists. Even though I said those nasty things about you, I hope you can see now that I didn’t mean to hurt you with my bizarre behavior.

I realize now that I shouldn’t have made a fool of you for my own political gain. If it makes you feel any better, there are a lot of people who think that I’m a total nutjob because of all the outlandish things I said.

Anyway, I still think you are beautiful — the most beautiful game — even in America. I’ve loved you since I was 6 years old. I think you have raised some of the most talented players in the world, in any sport — despite the fact that there are still a lot of prima donna crybabies and divers. I can even accept Cristiano Ronaldo since he has such skill and mastery of the ball. I know that you can’t parent every player to be perfect, and they will all have some flaws.

The next time I need to make a point, I surely will choose something else to exploit. I will also try to be less vague, although I can’t promise it won’t be politically charged, no matter how silly or nonsensical my analogies, figurative speech, and allusion happen to be.

If you take me back, I will try to support you better — in good times and in bad — even though I don’t think you will ever be loved as much in America as in Europe. But that’s ok. You still make my heart flutter and that’s all that matters. We could even renew our vows — that is, if you want …

I know I don’t always say and do the right things — being the silly and sometimes insensitive person that I am — but I’m hoping you can see the beauty that’s in me too, even when I act downright stupid. Don’t let this ruin our marriage.

So let’s grow old together and raise lots of fans. What do you say? Maybe together, we can win the World Cup in America one day.

Love,

Den

“I’m coming through the door
but they’re expecting more
of an interesting man
sometimes I think I can
but how much can I fake
I’ll speak until I break
with every word I say
offend in every way”

jack white III

Every Sunday, I venture out to the local soccer complex where my former B-league club, Stumptown All-Stars — more affectionately known as (the) All-Stars — fearlessly take the pitch for another intense match. And there is usually no shortage of Latino players on any given Sunday, or any day of the week for that matter, at most of the fields in town.

I’m not one of those guys who immediately wonders if any or all of them are illegal aliens nor do I really care much. But I have thoughts albeit different ones; thoughts to their story. How did they get here? And why?

I once overheard this comment from an opposing player when a group of Latino players arrived for their game:

“They must have just gotten off the bus,” he said (with a British laugh) only within earshot of a handful of acquaintances and teammates. I wondered if he had just gotten off the plane. Perhaps he was right, but how could he have any idea of their status?

There are a couple of teams in the league which feature almost a full lineup of Latino players. And there is no question that they take their soccer seriously — at least more seriously than the All-Stars — but not anymore than a lot of the other clubs dominated by American players, who seem to think they are playing in the MLS. I’ve recently come to the conclusion that soccer players — of any ethnicity — are the biggest prima donna crybabies in the world; especially in the World Cup.

I suppose this so-called “immigration problem” is an issue that hits home with me since I worked with a lot of Latino men and women in the orchard business, who I don’t know for sure were legal. And so it’s a long debate of the many intricacies surrounding illegal immigration, ranging from stresses on the health care system to its effect on wages and jobs in the U.S.

I was interested to learn recently that one of the problems with hiring American workers in the landscaping business — young people especially — is that they sometimes will not last on the job, many quitting after a few days due to the demands of hard labor. Which results in losses — lost time and investment — for the business owner, making it very attractive to hire illegals.

But my hypothetical question is this … If you lived below poverty level in Pennsylvania but could move to New York, make twenty times the amount of money — even though it was illegal — with the likelihood of not getting caught, would you do it for your family?

The biggest problems in this country do not involve illegal aliens although we like to believe so. We find it convenient to point toward these things without truly analyzing the broader scope of issues within ourselves and our own government, which has made illegal immigration an issue due to its blunders and missteps not only at home, but also abroad in the never-ending quest of imperialism; its warring business; and its current Team America: World Police of Dubya & Co.

Issues like immigration come to the forefront when leaders are too busy meddling in affairs of other countries — when it is unwarranted — while forgetting to manage their own backyard.

Last year, I went on a quest to better understand the foibles of government past and present — a conscious effort of brainwashing if you will — and so I picked up A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn, which is a very intriguing read, although admittedly, I haven’t finished it. It gives an account from “the people” affected by government — in many cases, the disenfranchised — rather than the usual run-of-the-mill school text book, government-style perspective. It helped me to get in touch with my inner hippie, liberal commie, anti-establishment side.

So putting my hummus plate and veggie burrito aside for a moment, I wouldn’t say that illegal immigration is not an issue, but it is not THE issue.

Sure, I get a little frustrated when some of the Latino soccer clubs bring out a mariachi band to midfield after scoring their tenth goal against us. But I’m just pissed because they humiliated us, and not because I think they are all freeloading border jumpers.

And even if they are, soccer still sucks in America pal, further proving illegal immigration is a secondary issue to the real American problem.

“White Americans, what?
Nothing better to do?
Why don’t you kick yourself out?
You’re an immigrant too.
Who’s usin’ who?
What should we do?
Well you can’t be a pimp
And a prostitute too”

— White Stripes

A possible looming recession doesn’t appear to be affecting the Detroit Pistons’ attendance — leading the NBA at the turnstiles for the fifth time in six seasons — and the motor city’s bad boys didn’t run out of fuel during a back-and-forth playoff series where the Sixers surprisingly put a little gunk in their carburetors before the Philly economy car broke down in game six. Which raises the question, how will a clogged-up economy affect ticket sales at major sporting events in the U.S.?

The rebate check is in the mail from Uncle Sam — or more appropriately, Yosemite Sam — so you better start planning which game you can afford this summer or which brands of peanut butter and jelly to buy.

I’ll be heading to see the Asheville Tourists (Colorado A affiliate), thanks to my free cash from El Presidente. Oh yeah, it’s not free… I’m pretty sure it’s the money the IRS will conveniently take away from me at some point.

I haven’t been to a Major League Baseball game in at least five or six years. And no wonder, ticket prices at some professional events cost as much as a full tank of regular unleaded.

The Atlanta Braves — nearest in proximity to where I live — generally speaking, have pretty good fan packages. But with gas at $3.50 per gallon and higher, do you think many people — having to drive several hours — will make the trip? So until gas drops back down to $2 for a fill up, I’ll be content to watch Asheville manager Joe Mikulik have another classic meltdown — a SportsCenter dream come true of course — and perhaps he’ll treat Ashevegas to an encore of sliding head first into all the bags this time around; and maybe a shoe shine for the home plate umpire.

Having offered you that semi-nonsensical and contradictory preface, I’ve been trying to drum up some plans with my soccer hooligan buddies to go see L.A. Galaxy — and David Beckham — take on D.C. United this summer. And I guess I want to get a peak at Man U’s former favorite son since a lot of soccer pundits — Brits especially — thought that Becks was out of gas after coming to America to play in a clearly inferior league than the Premiership where he starred before leaving the Red Devils in favor of Real Madrid in La Liga. But Beckham seems to be as pretty as he ever was — healed ankle to boot — and is faring well in the MSL, with a goal and 4 assists in only 5 games, while helping feed striker Landon Donovan, who netted a hat trick against Chivas last week for a league-leading 8 goals.

I’ve always speculated that, as gas prices rise and the economy gets shaky, much like Detroit in games one and three in the playoffs, consumers spend more of their hard-earned cash on cheap liquor, cigarettes and condoms. Aren’t there any studies on that yet?

People need an escape in hard times I guess. And as the bank takes your house due to a delinquent subprime loan payment, your boss cuts your pay, your health insurance claims you have a pre-existing mental condition, be sure to check out a minor league game this summer and drink plenty of 32-ounce Coors Light. Don’t worry about drinking and driving. The car is runnin’ on E.

“30,000 wheels are spinnin’
and oil company faces are grinnin’
now my hands are turnin’ red
and i found out my baby is dead
the big three killed my baby
no money in my hand again
the big three killed my baby
nobody’s coming home again”

-white stripes

Perhaps I’m losing my religion — if indeed I have one.

According to my neighbor, Beelzebub is lurking in the form of a downward-facing dog yoga pose. That is still up for debate, but I am sure that a demon has been lurking in my injured groin for at least eight months.

I seem to be facing some type of purgatorial punishment for trying to play recreational soccer with a freakishly scrawny body that would cause female supermodels to knock down my door like zombies for some of the better heroin — or “the skinny” as I like to call it. Now, I’m stuck in this terrible limbo of not knowing whether I will be able to sprain my ankle again like Beckham and possibly facing relegation to the couch for countless hours of Fox Soccer Channel.

The conversation with my neighbor started off pretty innocent after I explained that I was suffering from a devil of an injury. How does one end such a plague of the loins? Well, prayer of course. Or maybe try worshiping a yogi — if you are a heathen like me. She is a really cute yoga instructor in case you are scoring at home.

My neighbor offered to pray for me in a noble effort to heal my groin — and I tend to find such things somewhat endearing because people usually have their hearts in the right place. The thoughts of prayer however, would somehow lead down a road unforeseen.

From what I could gather out of the conversation, my neighbor seems to have issues with Buddhist practices and is completely against meditation that isn’t centered on religion — Christianity that is. I simply told him that yoga is the perfect way for me to relax, and that I wasn’t planning on joining a cult. Though he persisted that yoga “empties the mind” and allows negative thoughts - Satan specifically - to leech into your being.

The whole conversation reminded me of when I was in grade school at St. Theresa and a mascot controversy reared its ugly horns. The administration wanted to change the red devil to a monarch so that we could either be the ruler of our opponents or flutter away from tenacious defenses. Insert nearest Dick Vitalism: Are you serious? Definitely Madness with a capital M.

I have to say that a friendly game of soccer was much more meditative than yoga. Nothing like crashing into people at high speeds with little protection and cursing referees for not calling a penalty in the box when I was clearly tripped.

It’s odd I guess, but I almost have to be active in meditation — which is why I tend to fancy yoga. Church never really brought it home for me. I couldn’t sit still that long and my mind tended to wander into far-away places.

I did my penance. I went to Catholic school for 12 years — and if I want to do yoga instead of listening to sermons, then by God, I have earned that right.

Don’t get me wrong. I still go to church once a year to a midnight mass at Christmas with my father. But it sure would be cool if I could do a lotus pose during Communion although that is virtually impossible now with my busted groin.

More recently, I did visit The Basilica of St. Lawrence in Asheville, North Carolina — land of freaks, hippies, anarchists, protestors, liberal commies, Hare Krishna, and yoga studios on every corner. Admittedly, I only went to church because I heard it was pretty inside, and I knew it would remind me of my dad, who lives several hours away in another state.

As my neighbor and I chatted onward, I wondered if he was trying to sell me on his brand of God. I had to put a stop to that — so I quickly told him that I was raised Catholic. That is codeword for “all other religions are inferior” and “I don’t want to have this conversation any longer.” Besides, I needed to go chant or something.

Granted, a conversation with your neighbor about God and yoga is not nearly as frustrating as the door-to-door Jesus salesman. I definitely have a problem with religion knocking at my door. I know my dad and I can agree on that. Once people tell me that I need to “be saved” or request that I read scripture with them, they would have better luck “saving” their spiel. But it would be super if someone would show up on my doorstep wanting to practice yoga.

I should close out my thoughts with a confession of sorts — to avoid hell’s fire of course — by saying that I have really friendly neighbors who would help me out any time and even offered to cut my grass (not my hippie pot) while I’m a cripple. With that said… Namaste.

“Judge yourself if you feel the need
Just let me alone to be
In search of the truth myself
There is a drop of blood on the ground
And it seems to me that it’s not my kind
And I can’t be sure if it’s yours or mine”

-Jack White III