Batman without the bat signal. Superman sans the cape. Mr. Clean without that rough and tumble earring. Every hero needs an icon. And justice, a diffuse concept that is not easily grasped by materialistic minds, needs a hero. Always. Since the start of time; ’til the end of time.

UEFA’s Financial Fair Play is no different. A recent report shows over half of European soccer clubs uncomfortably in the red. What’s worse is that the “Jones effect” is in full swing – like an obnoxiously new rich gated community in a tax haven exurb, the top clubs spend and abuse credit to compete with one another to win. Obviously, not all debt is bad. To use a person analogy, many professionals rely on student loans to advance themselves and their families. However, the UEFA report shows more shady car dealers than doctors. More disparagingly, Platini, the lapboy of Blatter, does not instill fear. Imagine him in a batsuit, leaping from a rooftop into a dark alleyway to punch a mugger. However, after landing a dainty single blow, he buckles over and is gassed for air.

We tried a special Supporters’ Trust (FCDSTT) to stem debt, but it failed. UEFA needs a hero. Justice needs a face. And I believe it should be Pepe.

I start with two ironclad premises: (1) that justice requires force and (2) Pepe would easily defeat Bane, the antagonist in Batman comics and the forthcoming DKR film. I say both with certainty. As background, in the comics, Bane frees prior bad guys from jail that then battle and tire down Batman, and then Bane breaks Batman’s back. Pepe, however, would cut through Arkham Asylum like Azrael with a lightsaber. The Scrarecrow needs special gas to drive victims crazy. Pepe, from the long and proud line of f’ugly Brazilian born soccer players, needs only to smile & wink in order to melt your eyes to their sockets. The Joker would try to trap Pepe in a prisoner’s dilemma between saving one innocent or another, but halfway through the dialogue Pepe would probably stamp the Joker’s hand, face, and crotch, and then sarcastically applaud the real life police force.

In sum, Pepe is the perfect tool of force to enforce UEFA Financial Fair Play.

Of course, this begs the question – does UEFA really want to enforce these rules?

Logistics would also be a dilemma. Obviously, as the anti-hero who enforces the law but does not abide by “due process” or “arrest warrants” or other major inconveniences for police, Pepe couldn’t be on the UEFA payroll per se. They could probably spare for a Pepe symbol, but may need to channel some funds via an offshore trust or Cayman bank account. They couldn’t give him any awards, but they could half-assed attempt to catch him but look the other way if they ever got close.

The results would be terrific. If anybody can bring an end to the coming backdoor old boys bogus business deals that will soon eviscerate Financial Fair Play, it’s Pepe. Did the Sheik’s Uncle’s business just agree to sponsor City in a record deal? Oh. Wait. Pepe dangled him from the top of the Burj Khalifa until he agreed to tear up the contract. Did City just agree to sign your club’s favorite player? Not so fast. Pepe broke his ACL, MCL, and even a metatarsl for good measure (while he lay prone on the camilla and was being carried off the field).

Of course, the boo birds will blow out of proportion Pepe’s pasts indiscretions. If anything, the time he’s sitting out and serving a suspension would be ideally utilized to enforce FFP provisions. Pepe would bring some needed sharp edges to the corners of the FFP paper tiger. Sure, once Pepe attains perfect 100% compliance then the absence of credit will dry up opportunities for advancement by middle class clubs, but that’s a problem for another day. For now, the bane of football’s existence is debt.

Granted, the greatest problem with European soccer clubs is preposterous labor costs. However, this may actually play to Pepe’s advantage. If he can just end the career of 3-4 players per team, then he could dramatically reduce payroll costs around La Liga and in the Champions League. There are less violent means, such as a salary cap and luxury tax, but that’s stuff for the UEFA folk, not the caped Pepe crusader. Like a heat-sinking missile, he will seek and destroy all potential debt and future FFP problems.

There are two simple facts: FFP needs teeth. And nobody can stamp out free-wheelers like Pepe. Thus, in our darkest hour, we should follow Alfred’s advice and turn to a man that we don’t fully understand.

“Take that, hand that was about to sign a contract at unsustainable wages! Justice!”

The Frank Lampard Appreciation Society proudly presents yet another chapter in the unedited, uncut version a of Frank Lampard’s diary from this season. Read at your own risk. Warning – this content may not be suitable for mature adults.

NOVEMBER 1, 2011

Genk. The word will forever haunt my nightmares. It seems like just yesterday JT was missing penalty kicks in finals and I was hugging him and reminding him that there would always be a tomorrow. That tomorrow is today. And I can look back at a long line of unhappy yesterdays. We tied Genk in the Champions League. And I didn’t start.

The manager continues to play tricks with my mind, what with the not starting me every game and not playing me every minute. In this game, Ramires scored an early goal, just as I told him to before the match, but then tragedy struck. We won a penalty kick, but our designated penalty kick taker was not on the field. Me. I did shout from the bench for David Luiz to take it, but I specifically instructed him to score. He did not. Then Genk scored. And then, surprise surprise, Mr. Gofer, our “manager,” subbed me in. Super Frank to the rescue. All I needed was a cape!

But even Super Frank needs more than a half hour to create magic. You can’t just grab David Copperfield out of a bus, hand him a hat and wand, and expect him to make the Statute of Liberty instantly disappear. That young Sturridge chap did well, though, and sent me a decent cross. However, he sent me a cross to my feet, not to my head as instructed. If he can just improve that and place a ball on my noggin, I harbor the hope we can turn things around. Assuming I start matches, that is.

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON NOVEMBER 2, 2011

I am ever so upset. On the charter back from the Genk game, I wrote a nice note to Sturridge to compliment his performance, especially the part about passing the ball to me. I sat at the front of the charter, so I passed the note backwards in the hopes it would reach Sturridge at the back. And guess who intercepted it – KALOU. He grabbed it and opened it and read it to everybody. He even imitated my voice and sang “Danny & Frankie sitting in a tree.” I was so angry and also so embarrassed and so sad. Doesn’t he realize that people write and pass notes because they want to say something in private? I really hope we don’t re-sign him at the end of the year. He upsets team chemistry. And me.

NOVEMBER 5, 2011

I am ever so elated! I haven’t much to say because I normally only write in you when things go poorly, but today was marvelous. I started the game, played 90 minutes, and scored the winning goal! I vividly recall the moment. Ivanovic sent me a pass which made me happy, but then I realized the pass would be too low and miss my head, the fool! Instinctively, I closed my eyes, attempted to re-enter the womb, curled into the fetal position, tripped over my own shoes, and headed the ball into the net. It was glorious. I just hope Manager Gopher saw it and learned his lesson.

NOVEMBER 12, 2011

The good times keep rolling and I feel like nothing can stop me, not even Mr. Manager Gopher buzzkill. Well, you can’t stop true genius – you can only hope to not-start it. Or un-start it. Regardless, I am elated yet again! I captained England and we beat Spain! Scott Parker was man of the match, but many journalists overlooked a simple fact – he was only running to where I was pointing. Regardless, I also scored the goal, once again using my patented “no movement /ball bounces invitingly to forehead” approach. I am so so happy! Nothing could go wrong!

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON NOVEMBER 22, 2011

I’m sorry if you think that I’ve been avoiding you, but I’m really really sad. I’ve been too depressed to even pick up a pen. I was scoring goals and starting and the world was wonderful, but then the carpet got yanked form under my feet. We lost to Liverpool at home. I didn’t score a goal and my teammates didn’t give me good passes. It was miserable. Glen Johnson scored a late winner and I sprinted over to John Terry to tell him to not call Glen a black cunt. JT agreed, but asked if he could call him a brown cunt. I don’t think JT quite gets the point at times.

Sometimes I feel like all I have is you. And it breaks my heart.

NOVEMBER 23, 2011

Guten morgen! Even though my team’s season is in a tailspin, I am ever so happy. Why? Well, today I get to see my old friend, Michael, from Germany. We still talk from time-to-time by telephone about the good old days, back when we could stand in front of Essien, walk around, take speculative shots from distance, and occasionally head corner kicks. Michael is liking Germany and even sent me some lederhosen. He said that lots of teams in the bundesliga would love to sign me, and that in Germany, my first name would be “Fran”, not “Frank.” I am not making that last part up!

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON NOVEMBER 24, 2011

I am sad. It was great to see Michael again, but we lost to his team, Barnyard Leavercusack, on another last second goal. The worst part is that I specifically told each defender not to give up a goal in the last ten minutes of the game! And what did they do? Yep. I also tried on the lederhosen, took a pic, and put it on my Google Plus profile for a spell as a joke. And guess who printed out a picture and taped it all over the locker room? KALOU. I hate him.

Worst yet, management got wind and I had to meet with the coach and GM. I had to profess my “commitment” to Chelsea, but nobody had to commit to me. I’ve really started to lose patience with Mr. Gopher Manager. I tried to talk tactics and drew a chalkboard of our team with lots of arrows pointing to my forehead and me standing near goal, but it was lost on him. Simpleton. I actually miss Avram Grant. And Gus Hiddink. And Carlos.

NOVEMBER 27, 2011

The downward spiral continues. I didn’t start yesterday and the manager told me the night before. I slept with the window open and a cold chill awoke me around 3am. I closed the window. I put on an extra layer of sailor pajamas. I got out a second comforter from the closet. I still felt a cold chill. I put on the lederhosen my friend Michael had sent me, but nothing worked. I lay awake, freezing. The day of the game, the team won 3-0, but I only played the last 20 minutes. In that time, I walked, I pointed, and I panted, but I felt the world spinning around me. I was lost in my own jersey, in my own stadium, and playing in the stadium I’ve called home for a decade.

I really hope I get an iPad 2 for Christmas to cheer me up. And a Bentley.

Digital image impression by Erik Ebeling. Check out his other artwork at ErikEbelingArt.com. He also did the excellent illustrations for our soccer eBook “An Illustrated Guide to Soccer & Spanish.”

This past weekend, a German referee attempted to commit suicide. CNN reported on this tragedy, and also managed to sneak in the same article some game recaps. Tactful! The Guardian did one better, reporting racism charges against Luis Suarez while also letting us know that the alleged racist did not play in an international friendly due to injury. Useful! I will now do them both one up by reporting on this week’s Champions League fixtures…..and the gruesome puppy death(s).

(Associated & Fabricated Press) – Today, we regret to report the death of over 200 adorable puppies. And a less than adorable nun and bus driver. At eight o’clock at night, the Save-a-Pup bus, full of 200 recently rescued puppies, rambled down the road on its way to a warm & welcoming puppy shelter. Little did the driver realize that rather than heading towards Brownsville, Texas, he and the puppies were on track for their own grisly deaths. Taylor Sampson, a volunteer bus driver with Save-a-Pup for over five years, was going the speed limit on a country road when he noticed, despite poor lighting, that several stray cattle had escaped from a fence and wandered onto the road. He flashed his lights, honked his horn, and then, not seeing any traffic, switched to the other lane to avoid hitting any cattle.

Sadly, due to the lack of streetlights, he did not see Sister Johanna Merkers on her motorcycle. The Sister had just returned from 10 years of missionary work in India bathing lepers and lepers’ close associates (including friends, immediate relatives, and not so immediate relatives). Exhausted from the ten years of service and half-day flight back to South Texas, she must have forgotten to turn on her front lights and did not hear the bus honk or see its flashing lights.

The bus smacked into her head on, sending the nun to her immediate death and the bus flipped onto its side. It spun several times. The puppies, confused and startled, yet still adorable (perhaps even more so due to the fact that their yelps of distress sound cute to human ears, oddly), were tossed about the inside of the bus cabin. Logically, one could presume that several cute puppy bones were broken. However, a veterinary-coronary report is impossible. The bodies are charred beyond recognition, along with the bus driver’s.

After the bus stopped twirling, the engine began to leak a lot of gas. By a lot of gas, I mean an oil tanker worth of gas. Not literally. Figuratively. Hyperbole-ly. Gas. Everywhere. Lots of it. The car’s engine, terribly damaged from hitting head-on a nun in a motorcycle, intermittently turned on and off. The bus driver, half-conscious from the blow of the collision, could smell the gas and immediately realized the danger. If any sparks from the stuttering engine touched one drop of gas, he and the puppies would be toast.

The immediate impact had separated the bus driver’s right shoulder. He lay on his side, still buckled to the driver’s seat. The air bag had inflated, but only blocked his path to salvation. Pain shot up and down his right arm. The fumes made his head spin like a carousel. Taylor could taste his own blood in his mouth. The puppies shrieked in terror. Some moaned in pain. Others lay still, shocked or dead by the impact. He knew that he had to reach the ignition and turn off the engine. He had to turn that key.

He winced and attempted to move his right arm. A thousand needles stabbed him in his back. A hundred knives stabbed him in the right shoulder. He lacked feeling in his right arm. The engine sputtered. It clicked. He felt gasoline by the left side of his face. A pool was forming. It felt cool as water yet smelled terrible. He took several deep breaths. There was still no smoke. Some hope remained. He spat out blood, bit his tongue, and tried to move his right arm one more time. This time ten thousand needle stabbed him in the back. His right arm was useless.

The shrieks of the puppies made his head twirl. He felt his own heart beat. Among the adorable but injured canine groans, he could make out one dog’s voice, a miniature schnauzer. Taylor had several years experience as a driver for Save-a-Pup. He knew to keep an emotional distance from the puppies. He knew that he could not save them all. He knew that he could not, and should not, play favorites with the rescue puppies. But that miniature schnauzer had gotten to him. From the first time he saw her, he was smitten. Her trimmed hair, her bushy schnauzer beard, the way she wagged her cute little tail – he tried to ignore her, but he couldn’t. Hearing her low schnauzer moan inspired him for one last effort.

He had to turn that key. He took a deep breath. He gritted his teeth. He said a prayer. He closed his eyes and braced for an unimaginable quantity of pain. He would count to three and then try to move his arm and turn that key, pain be damned. One…..two…….

And then the engine sputtered, sending a spark down to the pool of gasoline beside his ear.

In other news, on the same planet but a different continent, professional soccer clubs in Europe played a series of games. Some teams won. Some teams lost. Some teams tied.

I’ve heard there was a special chord

That Ray Hudson sang when Messi scored

But you don’t really care for pundits, do you?

It goes like this

The fourth, the fifth

The Xavi pass, the Andres split

The baffled d decomposing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was low you needed a lift

You saw him darting on the pitch

His beauty in the floodlights overthrew you

He glued you to a Nou Camp chair

He climbed your throne, he showed you flair

And from your lips he drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Halleluja, Hallelujah

There was a time when you tread below

Dinho was fat & Marquez slow

But now you look down upon me, do you?

And remember that game of four to one

You did the pasillo and then we won

And every breath I drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe I’ve never been here before

My heart in one place but eyes no more

I used to follow one team before I knew him.

I’ve seen your flag hung from Gaudi arches

A sudden burst then victory marches

It’s a bright and it’s a sudden Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah,

Hallelujah, Halleljuah

We often take past names in vain

The past the past the present the same

But if I did, well really, what’s it to you?

There’s a blaze of light in every step

It doesn’t matter the most recent set

The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah,

Hallelujah, Hallelujah,

They did their best, it wasn’t much

They couldn’t keep up, they tried to touch

I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you

And even though it all went wrong

I’ll stand before the Lord of Song

With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Song Credit: Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley

(H/T to Nutmegradio)

After much deliberation and feedback, the soccer eBook is now available in a DRM-less ePub format at Goodreads. Right here. What does that mean? Well, for those folks who do not have a Kindle or Nook, you can now purchase the book for $5.99 to then download and read on pretty much any other device. If you rock the open source Calibre, you can read it. If you use Adobe Digital Editions, you’re also included. And, of course, you can simply use the Goodreads eBook reader by simply signing up.

Speaking of the eBook, Robert of theTwoUnfortunates wrote a positive review that you can check out here. Terry Duffelen, blogger, podder & Socrates co-founder, also had some kind words to say about the eBook at Goodreads. And thus far the ratings have been squarely in the 4-5 range. Not too shabby. I’m still riding on a wave of confidence and my Vampire-High school-Law firm legal thriller/comedy series will be available from Doubleday in May of 2013.

But seriously, I promise to stop proudly boasting about the eBook until at least the new year. Scout’s honor. Books are like kids – once you have more than one, they all start to look the same & you eventually forget their names. Now, the links.

We’ll start with me. Two of my all-time favorite sites, Sport is a TV Show and FistedAway, presented some prime posting opportunities. First, I waxed on why you really hate Manchester City. My conclusion is that your simple envy and jealousy blind you to the truth – the Sheikh is desperate to buy your attention and affection. Given him neither. (SIATVS)

In case you didn’t see it, Arsenal FC actually won a game this past weekend. As the world’s leading Gunner-satirist who, while a Manchester United fan, has immense respect for Wenger & his sporting project, I penned a few words at Nick & Rob’s fine site. And, as per usual, a wave of Gunner-trolls took personal offense.I would just like to clarify that when I wryly poke fun at the intangible sporting entity which occupies your free time, it is only in lieu of punching you in the face. Please, get angry. Pretend that I have punched you in the face. (Fisted Away)

In terms of legitimate news, victims of the Hillsborough tragedy will finally get to see all the documents produced during the resulting investigation. David Conn squarely puts the blame on local governments & businesses who in the immediate aftermath tried to point fingers instead of looking in the mirror. (Guardian) Writing from a distance both spatially and temporally, Richard Whittall, young Canadian soccer writer extraordinaire, beautifully articulates what “Hillsborough” as a concept means to different people. (Footy Blog)

And, just to keep the kabal atmosphere going, James Tyler of Unprofessional Foul made his debut at ESPN. JT, not to be confused with Justin Timberlake when off the dance floor, summed up the prevailing sentiment that the United-Liverpool game kinda stunk. Both managers started off with defensive lineups, and even the helter-skelter of the last ten minute was more hurricane than rip-roaring EPL tide. (ESPN)

Also, I’ve been tearing into the Digital Edition Issue Two of the Blizzard. It’s available in PDF, ePub, and Mobi on a pay-what-you-want basis. In reality, it should have a price tag of at least $5 to $10 per issue. I really enjoyed Jonathan Wilson’s recap of the recent Copa America, which included some cool soccer Spanish terms like “enganche” and “garra.” (The Blizzard)

We satirists have struggled to properly mock Tevez for his recent childish antics. Maybe we’re gassed, or maybe the audience has ran out of empathy and the knives are too sharp. Regardless, Chris Toy’s images of Tevez t-shirts are hysterical, especially the third. Thanks for showing us the way, Chris! (Studs-Up)

TV rights. They are kinda important. In fact, maybe more so than foreign ownership. For a thorough and meticulous probe into the world of finances and football, there’s no better place. Even if this “Ramble” is a bit too close to FIFA for comfort.(Swiss Ramble)

Lastly, Charlie Davies has filed a lawsuit against a K street nightclub and Red Bull for throwing a party and serving alcohol to the drunk driver the night of his fateful crash. I side with C.D. and am absolutely outraged that these establishments are allowed to serve alcohol in blatant violation of the 18th Amendment of the Constitution and the Volstead Act. I only hope that current President Woodrow Wilson launches a full executive inquiry into this flagrant disregard for the rule of law. (Washington Post)

We live in strange times. On the one hand, being poor sucks. Every Bulgarian champion needs a helping hand and a TV payout from UEFA helps, no matter how small. On the other hand, nobody likes Kool-Aid with too much water. Dilution concerns us. Tang leaves a bitter and putrid taste in the mouth. Plus, Europe’s elite desire to face off against one another. The aristocracy demands a debutante ball with sufficiently dashing and deep-pocketed suitors. And everybody loves a spectacle of excellence. Which is why I found today’s Champions League fixture utterly pathetic.

Here’s a quick rundown of how the teams fared in their own leagues last year:

• Manchester City-3rd place EPL,
• Villareal-4th place La Liga,
• Napoli-3rd place Serie A,
• Bayern Munich-3rd place Bundesliga,
• CSKA Moscow-2nd Place Russian Premier,
• Trabzonspor-2nd Place Turkish Super Lig,
• Lille-1st Place France Ligue 1,
• Inter-2nd Place Serie A,
• FC Basel-1st Swiss Super League,
• Otolul Galati-1st Place Romanian Liga I,
• Benfica-2nd Place Portuguese Primeira Liga,
• Manchester United, 1st Place, English Premiership
• Dinamo Zagreb-1st Place Croatian Prva HNL,
• Ajax-1st Place Dutch Eredivisie,
• Real Madrid – 2nd Place La Liga, and
• Lyon-3rd Place France Ligue 1.

Did you notice the distinct lack of first places? Only 6 of those 16 teams were “Champions” of their domestic league. We can surely agree that fact is problematic. Well, I have a few ideas on how to solve that problem.

First, and easiest, we could always just simply re-name the “Champions League.” For example, the “Champions, near Champions, and friends of Champions League” has a nice ring to it. We could even stretch the definition of the term “Champion” to include teams that have won domestic cups, like Real Madrid and Manchester City last year. However, I argue against this on practical grounds and in principle.

In a nutshell, coming off a recent global economic recession, it’s simply a waste of money to ask the proud and dignified Champions of Romania, Otolul Galati, to, for example, fly a team to Madrid to play a group game against a second place team. The carbon footprint from European competitions has got to be horrific. If anything, the true Champions, Otolul Galati, Lille, Ajax, Dinamo Zagreb, Manchester United, and FC Basel, should have a month long spa resort/futsal kick about in a Swiss Alps resort town. Champions deserve rest. And coddling.

This is the point where you scream about European integration and economic redistribution. Blah. Blah. Blah. If you want to run an elite club competition, you have to exclude the riff-raff. Augusta National does not have blank membership applications in the lobby. I understand that trimming the fat may hurt the perpetual third and fourth place teams, but will anybody really miss watching Robin Van Persie getting injured in the quarterfinals? And I’m sure, even without the Champions League TV money, Arsenal can milk some new real estate deal to make ends meet.

And here’s an even crazier idea. What if, to protect players’ health by reducing games, the Champions League was truly only champions and went straight to an NCAA style home-and-away elimination tournament? The mouth waters at the prospect of a heated, passionate, do or die clash between FC Basel and Dinamo Zagreb as early as October! The TV ratings would surely shoot through the roof. And Barack Obama’s bracket could be the PR olive branch to finally re-energize Nuclear disarmament talks with Russia.

Now, I know your response. Even the Olympics has a pity-party at the end and allows 2nd & 3rd place to stand on a podium with the Champion and show off their ugly-colored medals. We could easily arrange a similar event in this “True Champions League.” At the closing ceremony after the very last game, the second and third place teams could have their own exploding ticker tape/photo-shoot op. Granted, the ticker tape color would vary based on placement. For the Champions, they’d get a proud color like purple or gold. For the other places, they’d receive something hideous like magenta or fuchsia.

Of course, I wouldn’t watch the losers flaunt their not 1st place medals, but I’m sure somebody would.

Video Credit: Expert Village

Last week, a lot of amateurs dragged my good name through the mud. Basically, a handful of loons got on internet forums and felt the need to inaccurately predict the end of the world. And who pays the price? Sports-following clairvoyants like me, that’s who.

And intellectuals. Luckily, last week noted Psychoanalytic scholar Jacques Lacan spread some truth on Manchester United’s record-setting 19th title winning season. Now, we once against seek help from the world of academic all-stars: noted Postmodern educational scholar Paulo Freire gives us a peek at what to expect in the Champions League final.

You are widely credited as one of the fathers of “liberation theology”, summarized as an attempt to return the Catholic Church to a decentralized entity as envisioned in the gospel of the early Church. Will United be able to exploit Barcelona’s centralized reliance on Xavi and Messi?

Liberation theology, before anything else, is an attempt to apply a Marxist lens to Christianity by focusing on the suffering of the poor and their perspective. In this sense, Christ forces us to look at the larger structures of the world to ask – how and why do they create such unequal results? While Messi has scored lots of Barcelona’s goals, one can never underestimate the power of Xavi to fairly redistribute the ball to other teammates. This is the fundamental tension between centralization and decentralization, no?

Some of the key tenets of liberation theology, grass roots meetings and build-up theological interpretation, have been criticized by the current Pope. Will Barcelona’s attempt to slowly build from the back also be repressed by United’s pressure?

Many theological scholars misinterpret the criticisms of then-Cardinal Ratzinger. Rather than tossing the baby out with the bathwater, his concern was that Marxist and political lenses had supplanted, not enhanced, the fundamental message of the Bible: Jesus’ love and sacrifice for humanity, and our own potential to attempt to imitate this act. As such, Barcelona’s intricate buildup will surely face an initial wave of pressure from the light-footed Chicharito and tireless Park Ji-Sung. However, we cannot conflate such specific points with the broader picture.

Your obra maestra, “Pedagogy of the Oppressed,” has been summarized in unflattering terms as “Students prefer seminars to lectures – no shit.” Similarly, Barcelona’s approach has been called “Monkey in the middle ’til Messi gets open.” How do you respond to such characterizations?

A superficial and functional observation can always lead to unflattering summaries, even if they do have a shred of accuracy. However, these characterizations reveal a critical eye but a closed heart; only by fully rejecting the “top down/banker deposits knowledge” pedagogy and the “run-and-kick” offense can one accept the amazing power of transformation. On a spiritual level, you must accept this concept before the intellect can follow. Not vice-versa.

Your book “the Pedagogy of the Oppressed” has been banned in several totalitarian states, including Arizona (zing). As such, how can we reconcile Sir Alex’s iron-clad clasp on power and United’s success?

Well, for starters, one must clearly define success. Is power alone the definition of success? If so, then some authoritarian states, such as Cuba, must be deemed “success.” However, this is a self-serving criteria. Similarly, oftentimes the iron-clad SAF image and reality diverge. His assistant, Carlos Quieroz, actually runs a large share of United’s day-to-day operations. Also, SAF has shown a democratic and meritocratic approach to players – blooding, developing, and incorporating several different generations over the years. In this sense, SAF has the final say, but the players run the show. Is that not democracy?

Literacy programs for impoverished adults played a large part in both your personal and professional life & development. Do you believe that Barca’s cultured reading of the game gives them a slight edge as compared to United’s counterattacking 4-4-2?

Knowledge and power form a symbiotic bond. One inevitably influences the other. At moments this season, Manchester United has launched counters which go beyond functional literacy to collective telepathy – an understanding and coordination among persons that extends beyond top-down models. However, ultimately, in any society individuals are frightened by their freedom, yet freedom can only be attained by conquest. This is the paradox. We must rightly ask – will fear dominate? Thus, as always, human praxis will rule the day. If one side’s defense fails in its dialogical pursuits, the antidialogical temptation by either Pep or SAF, manifested in a defender for winger/forward sub, could undermine the entire enterprise. And leave them exposed to a counter.

The frozen ice water. The booneyliga. Schalke City. We will miss the ramblings of Raul Gonzalez’s German adventure. Please enjoy this last entry in a series dubiously subtitled “Real Madrid legend meets 10th place Bundesliga team.” Au revoir. Right here.

My original plan was to attend an MLS game and toss a dead baby seal onto the field. Then, I thought better.

Cesar Chavez. Mahatma Gandhi. Martin Luther King Jr. These great men fought greed, colonialism, and racism with non-violence. They preached that only light can cast out darkness. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, so to speak. Yet I do not count myself among them. Not even close. Sometimes, the fireman (or firewoman) must employ a limited controlled fire in order to prevent an inferno of cataclysmic proportions. The racism in European football has reached that crisis point. And we have only one option left.

Dare I push the button? Yes.

The racist bananas. The “mono” term mouthed by Busquets. All these racists acts and words degrade minorities by associating them either animals or their stereotypical food of choice. FIFA has tried fines. They have tried campaigns. Nothing has worked. Only one solution remains and that is to turn the tables. As a half-caucasian male raised in America, I am immune to simplistic race baiting. Thus, I suggest we deploy a good-natured ribbing of anglo-saxon cuisine and culture. We will not sit idly by as Marcelo gets called mono. Rather, we will toss the food back.

Here’s the first item to be tossed at a white player as he or she enters the field of play: Kraft macaroni & cheese (preferably recently half-heated in a microwave). Remember the one-thousandth time during your childhood when your mom or dad, a bit tipsy from a late happy hour/early martini, forced this specialty on you and your siblings? Can you still taste the love & concern? The preparation? The attention to detail? Me neither. The only concern is getting a microwave into the stadium. I suggest you use stealth. And cunning.

The second item to be tossed at a white player as they trot about the stadium is meatloaf. This abomination, allegedly a combination of puppy hearts, kitten brains, and the tears of a recently orphaned two year old, can get you in serious trouble with the stadium’s security. The stuff is toxic and normally reserved for holidays. You may need to bribe a stadium guard to get it in, but once inside, watch out. If the white player was not motivated to run hard before this shit hits the field, he or she will double the effort to ensure a sustained career and no need to live at home on the parents’ couch. It may also bring back painful & tasteless childhood memories. Hopefully.

Third, and most debatable, are dead Arctic foxes. PETA concerns prevent me from advocating the killing of an endangered species such as seals. However, the universe needs to develop an offensive white-person animal comparison. Polar bears? Well, they’re white. And I’m kinda tapped out on creative juices. But are polar bears bad? Well, unlike monkeys, they lack an imposable thumb. They will thus never master fire. Advantage: mono. And I assume polar bears eat Arctic foxes. At least when no seals are available. Feel free to also make polar bear noises, but be careful – the shouts of pain are also similar to mating calls. And I wouldn’t want anyone to get seriously hurt.

Fourth, and last, we look beyond America to the UK. While both countries have seemingly stamped out racism in the stadiums, at least compared to Western Europe, we won’t let the Brits off that easily. Especially after that royal wedding we were subjected to. Thus, I suggest that you toss bangers & mash at the white players as they enter the stadium.

Now, I know your first dilemma. What if Harry Redknapp bends down on his hands and knees and starts to eat off the ground? Well, Harry’s an adult now, with an adult’s stomach, and an adult’s responsibilities. If he eats bangers & mash off the ground, then he has to live with the consequences. And Spurs fans don’t even have to worry about him getting too distracted, what with his “no tactics” approach to tactics. He could eat bangers & mash off the ground all day and still start Lukas Modric alongside Rafael Van der Vaart against Real Madrid for Lord knows what reason.

Your other concern is similarly unfounded. Yes, there is a 90% chance that the white player will simply confuse the banger & mash for vile mud. And, if it’s raining, the chances increase to 99%. But that’s a risk we must take.