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!”

In that respect, I present the first ever Futfanatico Caption Contest with the grand prize being the honorary title of “First Ever Champion of a Futfanatico Caption Contest.” Put that on your Linkedin Profile and smoke it! But seriously, here are the rules:

You have seen the above picture. Now, write something funny. More specifically…

1) Be Good-Natured.

I don’t want to ruin your view of life, but I heard that this one time a fan got angry about something about his or her soccer team. In reality, said fan hates his or her life and projects that aggression onto unsuspecting and well paid professional athletes. Pity them. This blog is a well guarded preserve of the passive aggressive, so an unacceptable entry would be “Xavi and Iniesta suck and shit.”

Here are some acceptable entries: “Win at the Bernabeu & Three Thumbs Up!” Or perhaps: “We won, & now we dance….the Macarena.” Also: “Xavi Silences Madrid Crowd; Goes for Swing in Banana Hammock.” You can cut a little closer, perhaps with: “We Lost the League…But Won the Bernabeauty Contest Hands Down.” And lastly: “Greg Lougannis Eat Your Heart Out.”

2) Don’t be Heterosexist.

The key aspect of this picture is a short, hairy dude in a speedo giving the thumbs up. Xavi might as well be on Semana Santa in Monaco. I don’t want any gay jokes and I will be moderating the comments to that effect. All sports involve some degree of same sex bonding, but displays of affection should not be construed or misconstrued to prefer one sexual orientation over another.

3) The Contest Closes At An Undefined Point In Futureland.

My real job has deadlines. I hate them. Thus, this pic caption contest will continue ad infinitum. I prefer that you add your entry to the comments of this post. However, you can send them to me at futfanatico (at) gmail (dot) com. You can also tweet me them, you lazy bastard you. In one weeks’ time, special guest judge Dr. Moschlavius Gumperteer will return to name the top entries and winner. And maybe even give some useful SEO tips! So put on your creative thinking cap and then be ready to dust off that black hat!

Note: this pic was spotted by the eagle eyes of Neil Sandwich. He regularly contributes to the collection of artists formerly known as Surreal Football: the FCF.

I don’t think that Xavi deserves a soccer award because this material token would cheapen his accomplishments. Xavi is transcendent – we ironically love him as a footballer for transporting us to a place outside football while we watch him play football. He is the consummate non-footballer footballer.

And here is some proper praise (from a Real Madrid fan, no less). Spain and Barcelona bask in the glow of a golden generation. Aside from Xavi, David Villa, Gerard Pique, Andres Iniesta, Sergio Busquets, Xabi Alonso, Iker Casillas, and for a time Fernando Torres, have all lit the world aflame. The passing. The technique. The pivots. The plucked eyebrows. The five foot seven frames. Spain’s national team overcame its longstanding inferiority complex to become giants of the game.

More importantly, Xavi has presided over an unprecedented run of Champions League glory for Barcelona. Yet titles, like awards, make for neat paragraphs in history books but fail to tell the story. How these teams win deserves analysis and praise. In Spanish, their style of play has been referred to as tiki-taka. However, I want to move beyond the literal. For me, Barcelona and Spain play a “rolling thunderstorm over the Great Plains” attacking game.

In any savannah, you can see a thunderstorm from miles away. In the distance, dark grey clouds swallow the sky and choke off all sunlight. Slowly but surely, the clouds approach. You soon hear the rumbling of thunder. A single raindrop falls on your nose. You are Iker Casillas vs. Barcelona. Or any goalie vs. Spain. From 60 yards away, you see the opposing back line pass the ball like pinball wizards. Your forwards get tired. Then, from 30 yards, the opposing midfield inches towards you. You gulp and pray the lightning finishes you off quickly and painlessly.

And Xavi is at the heart of this maelstrom.

You get the feeling that no youth coach ever pulled Xavi aside and said “You know, the point of the game is to, like, score goals, right?” How can I say this so confidently? Because Xavi’s game is passing, spacing, and continuity. Nobody outpasses Xavi. Nobody. Other players dribble and deke and shoot and complain and whine. Xavi’s goal is to be the omnipresent Point B between Points A & C, his two teammates.

The Iberian Universe revolves around Xavi, yet he abhors the spotlight as nature abhors a vacuum and I abhor vacuum cleaners. At the Balon d’Oro, he sits uncomfortably on a couch, probably wearing a suit his mother selected for him. Pomp and circumstances mix with his demeanor and style of play like water & oil. However, unlike the awkward Messi and insecure Cristiano, one gets the sense Xavi is at comfort with his discomfort. His personality fits his effect on a game – it is dark matter, indiscernible to the naked eye but everywhere.

The greats in all fields transcend their respective areas. They do not break boundaries, they make you forget that boundaries even exist. For the past few years, Xavi has been the consummate blogger’s player – not award prone, not a physical freak of nature, but tours like a rock star and has a style all his own. You don’t love Xavi because he’s a great football player, you love Xavi because he makes your forget he’s a football player. Xavi inspires each of us because he appears to have eliminated the athletic component of the game. Joe Schmoe believes he can step onto the field and thread passes between Sergio Busquets and Andres Iniesta. Not because he can, but because Xavi makes it look like he can.

Yet Xavi’s greatest illusion has been to resist the calling of father time. He has largely avoided injury, but seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months, and years stop for no footballer. Xavi made us forget soccer is a sport, but he also has stretched his window of opportunity for success beyond most other midfielders. On the field of play, he has made us forget about the clock and those mere 90 minutes of play. Each Barcelona possession stretches into infinity, approaching the goal, circling the net, and then waiting to strike.

Still, all players expire. All eras end. Xavi has won every team medal possible, yet individual accolades elude him. As the time winds down on his great career, don’t shed a tear. Just be happy you got to see him play and watch the sun slowly set.

Digital Image Impressions: Julia Blankenship. Check out her graphic design website here and follow her on twitter here.

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Yet, of course, a third class of person watched the game. The kind that write under deadline pressures. Here is what he or she or it wrote in a vain attempt to explain the sporting phenomena. Inside the chest cavity of Barcelona players beats the heart of a Champion. The heart is not abnormally large. The heart does not beat any faster or any stronger than most other hearts. However, there is still a great difference. And it is this: the heart beats inside a chest cavity of a player that is a Champion. And you can always tell a Champion from a non-Champion because the non-Champions finished second or worse in a competition. The Champion? First. So, Barcelona advanced over Madrid because of that little thing between their sternum and spine.

Barcelona had that extra something. Madrid did not. The Cule players just have “it”, but “it” cannot be precisely described with words. Rather, “it’ must be defined in relation to surrounding phenomena. For example, rumors percolate that Elvis Presley himself crafted “it” while working as a secret scientists at Area 51 and manufactured “it” out of the skin of the Lochness Monster, the brain of an alien, and the hair of Bigfoot. “It” was last reported in unofficial government records as being in the hip pocket of Amelia Earheart as she boarded her last flight. Since then, rumor has it that the kidnappers used “it” to help calm down the crying Lindbergh baby, but we can’t really speculate too much more on “it.” The important thing is that Barcelona has “it” and Madrid does not. “It” is the reason that they advanced. Duh.

Barcelona has the right mix of veterans and young players. Sometimes, veterans will get old and no longer be useful. They will lose footraces to younger players. Other times, a player will be too young and react poorly to an adverse crowd or a mistake or a foul. Barcelona’s roster is the perfect mix of veterans that are knowledgeable and young players that win footraces. Real Madrid’s roster is not the right balance. Madrid has too many veterans that are now old and well past their expiration date. Madrid also has too many young players that react poorly to new stimuli like being booed. Thus, Barcelona advanced because of the balance of their roster.

Barcelona’s youth academy is better than Real Madrid’s youth academy. Let’s just forget the Quinta del Buitre and focus on Bojan Krkic and Giovanni Dos Santos, the living proof that La Masia regularly produces world class players like an assembly line. Let’s also forget that Fabregas, Pique, and Iniesta actually left Barcelona to play at other clubs. That is not important. What is important is that La Masia produces consistently world class talent. This is not a golden generation of Spanish players that will fade like Les Bleus of the late 90s and early 2000′s. This is all the work of La Masia. Barcelona has La Masia, Real Madrid does not. Case closed.

Also, tactics. Barcelona played with better tactics. In particular, Puyol’s clever “let Benzema embarass me” tactic truly and fully lured Real Madrid into a false sense of hope, exactly as Pep drew up the game on his chalkboard at halftime. Pep also strategically planned on a Dani Alves screamer goal. Beforehand, Mourinho’s tactical gameplan to concede two early goals was a mistake. He should have tactically planned to only concede a single goal. Conversely, Pep’s halftime tactics to concede two goals was edgy but paid off. And that was the difference. Tactics. Tactics. T-A-C-T-I-C-S.

Lastly, the locker room. My reputable foreign sources reported that Mourinho has lost the locker room. A few weeks ago, Mourinho knew exactly where the locker room was. Mourinho could have been blindfolded and found the locker room. Mourinho knew the locker room like the back of his hand. It was a static, enclosed room in which players dressed into and out of their uniforms. Not anymore.

Mourinho woke up and everybody realized that he had lost the locker room. He’s still not sure how the locker room escaped. It may have been a hole in the fence. Or Perez may have left the gate open for the 1,000th time. What’s worse is that unlike most respectable dog or locker room owners, Mou did not even try to inject any GPS tracking device into the locker room. Thus, Mou’s best bet is to offer a reward, ask some friends to drive around nearby neighborhoods with him and shout “locker room”, and frequently check the “found” section of Craigslist. Pep, however, has his locker room. And it was a major advantage.

DECEMBER 6, 2011

It’s funny how the clothes we wear reflect who we are, and I don’t mean those t-shirts that the mentally handicapped wear and include the person’s name, number, and address. I mean something more meaningful. I’ve worn the blue of Chelsea for several years. It has become a part not just of my repertoire, but of my essence. So it was blue tears that streamed down my cheeks when Mr. Manager Gopher called me into into his office and explained I would not start against Valencia.

Yes, the team won. But that notoriously obnoxious Kalou came on before me. He even stuck out his tongue at me when Manager Gopher called his name before mine. Obviously, as a professional, I did not immediately retaliate but definitely thought about writing him a really nasty note. Still, sitting on the bench and watching the team win without me hurt. A lot. I didn’t cry, but I didn’t not cry. Replays are inconclusive, but a series of mini-tears may or may have not formed and scampered down my face. Hmph.

DECEMBER 12, 2011

Another meeting with Manager Gopher, another dose of bad news – not starting vs. City either. This whole not starting thing has really started to take a toll. I know that, at age 34, walking an hour and a half twice per week is a daunting physical task, but Chelsea has top rate cardios. I feel just as slow at 34 as I did at 24, yet something has changed. My blue kit used to fill me with pride and put a spring in my step, now I feel a great weight. I yearn to wear it, yet also dread to wear it.

The other day, while going through an old trunk full of family stuff, I found the sailor boy costume that my mother used to dress me up in when I was in my late teens. I recalled my childhood, when I would spend countless hours in that sailor boy outfit and even attend special sailor boy galas with my mum. Times were so much simpler then. I didn’t actually sail a boat or anything, but I loved that outfit. I felt like Popeye and mum was my Olive Oil. All I needed was some spinach and anything was possible! Now, I can’t walk half a game without needing an ice bath. Sigh. Maybe Mr. Gopher has a point after all…..

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON DECEMBER 15, 2011

The funny thing about always being right is that you never get sick of not being wrong. Ever. Manager Gopher subbed me in, and whala, within a few minutes, I’d pointed at Sturridge, a good lad, and told him to score a goal or get an assist. He did the next best thing: he won a penalty kick. And guess who converted it? A hint: he looks quite dapper in a custom made sailor suit & cap for a teenage boy. Me!

It’s not all good news, though. Naturally, at my young age and with only two years left on my contract, I thought it prudent to renegotiate an extension at Chelsea just in case some really large club decides to try and buy me in a year’s time based on this single game. I don’t want to play games with Blues fans in 365 days time, and I don’t want to tempt myself either. Just as Ulysses tied himself to a mast before hearing the sirens’ call, I wanted to lock in my time with Chelsea before other big clubs realize my enormous talent and value.

Mr. Vile Boa Constrictor, the master of condescending and dismissive shoo-aways, just smirked and said he’d talk to Roman and the Sporting Director. Yet I haven’t received a text since. I’m really worried some big club scout will have seen my winning PK and make me a huge offer in 56 weeks, but I guess I’m the only prudent one rowing on this ship. Sigh.

DECEMBER 17, 2011

I’m really trying to change and be a better person and player. I had a dream where I cut off all of Mr. Vile Boa Constrictor’s body parts and fed them to my pet snake, Valdemorkandmindy. It was then that I realized I had a problem: a hate problem. I read up on it, talked to a shrink, and am now trying to embrace and respect the manager. Less hate. Less hate-filled dreams. More deep breaths. Some light yoga. And lots of pringles. In that regard, I am embracing Mr. Manager and my new role at Chelsea. I am a chameleon, and alternate between a starter, a super sub, awesome benchwarmer, and fantastic watcher-from-stands-or-tv-in-living-room.

I psychologically prepared myself to sit for 90 minutes, as opposed to walking for 90 minutes, and then life tossed me a curve. Against Wigan, I got the start! I also played a key role in our single goal that gave us the lead! Indirectly, at least. I cleverly and intentionally left the field to get treatment for a mouth injury (WINK WINK). Half the Wigan players stared at me, recognizing that even from a touchline I can cause havoc with the flex of a single forearm. The other players foolishly let their guard down, assuming Chelsea’s impotence in my absence.

Sure enough, Danny took advantage of the half-distracted and half-conceited defense to perfection and scored a goal. I don’t want to take all the credit, but even my absence is a positive for Chelsea. Some days, you walk on waters I swear! Granted, our defense caved and let in a late equalizer, but the important thing is I started. And was influential.

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON DECEMBER 18, 2011

I am ever so upset. Right after the game, we joked around in the locker room and gave Danny a bit of a ribbing. JT called him a “talented black cunt,” and I stepped in and said to JT “JT, you really need to expand your vocab. What will the police say?” He just paused, then smiled, and called Danny “A gifted footballing black cunt. An exceptional black cunt.”

I was about to give JT my two cents when that meany Kalou stepped in. He asked me what I was going to do about it, and I told him I was going to tell JT’s parents about his potty-mouth. Kalou then, to my horror, pulled you out of his Nike gear bag and tossed you to David Luzer. Kalou asked me if my Sailor Boy costume would save me, and I said I didn’t know because it was an outfit, not a costume. Kalou called me a sissy and I tried not to cry and I don’t remember crying but I may have cried a little bit. And a lot afterwards.

At least David Luzer gave me you back and didn’t speak enough English to understand most of what people said, aside from JT and the “black cunt” stuff. I fear I shouldn’t leave you around the locker room anymore. In fact, I am writing in you right now while I sit in the locker room, and Didier is giving me odd looks.

JANUARY 2, 2012

I am ever so exuberant! Call me the Captain of the SS Happiness! Today I started against Wolves, played the full 90, and scored the game-winning goal off an Ashley Cole cross! Obviously, given my recent run of form against top quality opposition like Wolves, I am 100% sure that Mr. Manager will start me for equally important matches in the Champions League and whatnot. It just goes to show you about that old saying – it’s better to have worn a sailor outfit as a teenager and then signed and played for Chelsea, then never to have worn a sailor outfit as a teenager nor played for Chelsea. I of course rang my mum to tell her about the goal and emailed her a link to it on Dailymotion.

JANUARY 14 2012

I have been told of emoticons. They are combined images from my keyboard that form faces on the computer to reflect emotions. This one, , means happy. I make it with : plus – plus ). And I am very happy, err, , today. Why? Well, I started and scored another goal in a super important game vs. Sunderland! I feel sorry for Torres that he can’t direct a simple bicycle kick on frame, but nobody can deny my raccoon-near-trashcan-at-night instincts. The defense even kept a clean sheet, we won, and nobody called anybody a black cunt!

NOTE ADDED BY FRANK ON JANUARY 15, 2012

I forgot to mention the other great news – Kalouey is off in Africa for some games blah blah and nowhere near Chelsea. In fact, I can write in you at the locker room, in the ice bath, and even in the shower if I’m careful enough! I hope those games in Africa last forever and then we don’t re-sign Kalou. I’m so joyous that I could wriggle into my sailor boy outfit and waltz all by myself all night, but that wouldn’t be fair to mum.

JANUARY 21, 2012

So, the last week has been a major buzz. Yes, I can confirm that MLS Champion and Megaclub the LA Galaxy have expressed an interest in me JUST AS I PREDICTED. I tried to warn Chelsea to sign me a month ago, but no, they had none of it. I’ve talked a bit with Becks, and he says the MLS is topflight and regularly pays the coach airfare for 18 hour flights to Southeast Asia for friendlies immediately after the end of the season. Here in Europe, we normally take  a break after the end of the season, but not those hardworking Americans! I was ever so impressed.

Still, am I ready to just discard my Chelsea Blue and don my Sailor Boy Outfit while hopping around the glitzy streets of LA? Truth be told, it is tempting. However, from a sporting perspective, I still feel I have much to give. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve scored goals in some pretty important games against Sunderland and Wolves. I still feel that Chelsea need me, even if I also feel hurt at times.

Against Norwich City, I once again pulled off my famous “injured to distract other team” tactic, the same one that led to a goal by Danny vs. Wigan. Still, while I distracted Norwich, I also took the wind out of Chelsea’s sails. After I left, we looked rudderless, deflated, defeated. I’ve always believed that only the rats flee the sinking ship – the Sailor Boy stays until all else have reached safety. But I increasingly feel Mr. Manager pushing me into a lifetime and telling me to row.

So, will I hop the pond and don my Sailor Boy outfit on Manhattan Beach? Only time will tell. But my heart still beats Chelsea Blue blood.

Digital Image Impression: the wildly talented Erik Ebeling.

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The Federalis even went so far as to mark the bus with the dreaded SAT sticker of death. As somebody who has personally been excluded and marked by vicious, clicky, and sticker-loving grade school children, my heart goes out to the Puebla FC fans. Read all about it with your Google Translator here.

And you thought Harry Redknapp had tax problems.

Regular blogging, if such a thing exists, shall resume in a week or so. Until then, enjoy this Kaka-related guest post of mine at the excellent Fisted Away.

(Via Reddit & DeMarcus Beasley)

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And you, the reader? When was the last time you clicked on an ad? Sadly, this year hasn’t been all good news. My site unfortunately has started to suffer from a plague of voyeuristic vultures – folks that come by three to four times a week, read the latest post, sometimes leave a comment, and then leave without even clicking goodbye.

But I have a plan.

I have bravely entered the super competitive and cutthroat Dollar Store market. Todo Por Un Dolar be damned! The margins are low, but I plan on aggressive tactics to get a slice of market share. For example, I am prostituting this site for the 1,000th time. Yes, that’s right – several soccer writing offerings are now available for the price of a small fry at McDonald’s. Nourish your soccer-loving soul.

First, and most recently, an anthology of my best 10 pieces of soccer writing this past year. It is available on Kindle for the low low price of $0.99. It includes posts published originally at the Run of Play, In Bed With Maradona, and the Good Men Project, among others. Ponder how great this is – paying for something you already got for free. Groundbreaking. Then, take a deep breath, place four quarters into the side of your tablet computer, and click “purchase.” Buy here.

Second, and as you may already know, we have both an Android and iPhone app. The price? Yep, that’s right, only $0.99. You can get the Android app here and the iPhone app here. These are selling like hotcakes and the company who did them has changed their pricing structure (to screw me over), so get them while they last!

Third, for you fellow Kindlers and new Kindlers, let your Fire burn eternal by subscribing to this very blog for the reasonable price of, yes, $0.99 per month. Check it out here. The first two weeks are free, but be warned. This sample is not to offered in the spirit of altruism, but rather because Bezos knows that studies show humans forget most things after 14 full days. So subscribe, forget, and stare into Bezos’ eyes. You are feeling sleepy, very very sleepy….

Fourth, and finally, no dollar store would be complete without items that cost more than one dollar. I wrote a soccer eBook that teaches you all the Spanish terms you’ll ever need to know, assuming, of course, that you only ever talk to Spanish-speakers about soccer and immediately cut off all communications if the topic changes. Brian Phillips penned a wonderful foreword and Erik Ebeling contributed some hysterical illustrations.

And here’s the best part – I’ve lowered the price as part of a holiday clearance. All eBook inventory must go! You can now purchase the eBook for only….$5.99!!! Wait, you say. Isn’t that the normal price? Exactly. Like all stores, I marked up the price two weeks ago, just so that I could now sell it for the same price and call it a sale. Duh. This offer is for a limited time only!

ACTUALLY, and in reality, I am offering the eBook for sale for 50% off (only $3) at Smashwords with the Coupon Code: CK54X. The coupon is valid until December 31. Smashwords offers versions of the eBook in Mobi for Kindle, ePub for the Nook, and HTML for browser reading. Check it out here. You enter the Coupon Code at checkout. So, when you open that new eBook reader on Christmas morning, don’t delay in purchasing ye fine book….because January 1, 2012, you face the grim prospect of paying $3 more than you have to.

We are also very proud to announce that you can buy the eBook at Pitch Invasion Publishing’s online store here. The eBook is still available for purchase on the Kindle here or the Nook here. It is also now on the Kobo here and at Diesel here. We even have a version at the Google Bookstore here and at iBooks for you Apple nerds here. The Sony eBook should be out by the end of the year. If you don’t have an e-reader, you can buy an ePub version at GoodReads here. The price at these lovely places is $5.99 though.

I also, ahem, am going on vacation. I will return in January, probably near the end of the month, and will publish a post so clever and funny that you’d be embarrassed to miss it. Rather than checking the site everyday, I suggest you subscribe via RSS and follow me on twitter. What is the post about? Well, I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but here’s a hint: soccer.

Remember when FIFA said they were going to release documents on December 17th and we got all excited? Well, there is no Santa Clause. Nor financial transparency. Just unkept promises. The release has been delayed due to “legal privacy concerns.” And the Qatar bid will not be re-evaluated. On the plus side, Sepp has now gone almost an entire week without uttering a racist or sexist or homophobic remark. He must have had dental surgery.

Over at the Classical, James T of Unprofessional Foul has a nice look at the evolution of the German National Team. More Turkish. More Tunisian. More flair. Less headers. (Classical)

Vaclav Havel, Czech President and pro-democracy activist, has passed away. One of his great theories was that informal associations were key to combating dictatorships. This makes perfect sense, as dictatorships rely on fear, distrust, and pitting private citizens against one another. Read one of his essays at (Slate) Now, apply it to soccer in Egypt. Ultras, groups of militant soccer fans, were essential to taking down the former President and are now confronting the military. (TWMS)

For some lighthearted fun, Brooks toyed with photoshop and removed the green complexion of Harry Redknapp. He looks horrid, but has definitely turned into a Grinch. His tax woes have left him a joykill, and he doesn’t want his players to enjoy xmas. (Dirty Tackle).

In other news, the long awaited Pitch Invasion book has been released. You can get the eBook edition for $5.99 or the print version for $11.99. I highly recommend this book, although the nostalgia factor is a bit high for us old-timers.

Have you ever wondered how Andres Villas-Boas got to where he is? Or where he may end up? Me neither. Yet the folks at SF spin comic gold out of these topics in a flowchart. (SurrealFootball)

Barcelona beat up on Santos in the Club World Cup, and Neymar received some criticisms back in Brazil. Deportes Mais ran a clever “Missing Child” pic of him on their cover. (Unprofessional Foul)

Lastly, Darren Bent went Christmas shopping this past weekend. THE MONSTER! Yet as the only human being who goes shopping on the second-to-last Saturday before Christmas, he received ire. And, to be fair, he also kinda skipped out on watching his own team Aston Villa play. Granted, he was injured. However, you’d expect some emotional investment in his own team. Right? Wrong. He actually has an airtight defense. (The DA)

And now we must take this logic to its rightful conclusion.

First, the opening argument is weak. Basically, it mixes circumstantial evidence and character defense. Scousers claim that Suarez has a black grandpa and therefore cannot be racist. In sum, blacks can’t be racist. This is preposterous. Prejudices lurk deep inside all of us. Once prominent African American activist Jesse Jackson said that his greatest shame was hearing youth behind him in a dark alleyway, turning around, and being relieved to see they were white. We can all be prejudiced against our own race. But the debate doesn’t end there.

Second, and more subtly, there exists an ingenious & unassailable formula of an argument. Liverpool pointed out that Suarez had black teammates and black friends. Concisely put, the equation appears to be Luis Suarez + black friends = not racist = did not make racist remark. However, Liverpool argued that the word “negro” was not racist in Spanish-speaking countries. Thus, they admitted to him using that word. The equation is more nuanced.

Therefore, the actual formula is: Luis Suarez + black friend = okay to make racist remark. The underlying logic is that one cancels out the other. If you are nice to a black person one day, then that cancels out being racist the other. From a utilitarian perspective, this makes perfect sense. In fact, in cost/benefits analysis, this would make the world a much better place. I can dig this. In fact, I will now expound on this equation for the benefit of all humanity.

Let’s take a totally wild example. Let’s assume that John Terry, captain of England and upstanding human being, utters a racial epithet during a game. I know, I know, it’s preposterous but bear with me. So, JT makes a racist comment. BUT, what if JT invites Ashley Cole over to his house for dinner? What if JT invites Ashley Cole and Bosingwa and Drogba over to his house for dinner? From a global societal perspective, he has lowered the quality of life of one black person, the victim of the racial epithet, but also improved the lives of three other black people. Now imagine if every racist did this. Black people would have countless dinner invitations and be really happy. What a wonderful world it would be!

Just to clarify, I’m not saying that Suarez can just invite over Glenn Johnson to play XBox for 12 hours and all’s well. No no no. It must be somewhat sincere. Still, if society is ever to conquer racism, then we must accept the Liverpool formula and try to rehab the racists. We must oblige them to form superficial friendships and acquaintances so as to cancel out their deeply held racist thoughts and prejudices. If Suarez goes to the mall right now, this very minute, and meets and befriends two black guys, then I just may be able to forgive him. And isn’t that what stereotypical tokenism is all about?

Now, some cynics will say this logic is a “get out of jail free” card. They are wrong. You can’t go to jail for making a racist remark in a soccer game. You just get suspended and fined. Case closed!