No, this is profoundly amusing.

I am not making this up.

Check out the official website here.

Now let’s engage in a totally random thought experiment. Our goal is to create a soccer club name which is amusing on a basic, primate level. However, we also want a second dimension of comprehension for the quasi-literate (who, of course, still enjoy vulgar humor). Is your brain warmed up yet? Okay. Good.

Now we introduce a somewhat lower class American term known as “poon.” This term, the etymology unclear, likely first came from the lips of Cartman of Southpark. It is a reference to the genitals of a female homosapien. Would you name a soccer club after it? Sure, there are endless marketing opportunities and Kotex shirt sponsorships to be had, but you’d have to be a pretty sly and creative person to pull that off.

Or you’d have to live in Singapore.

Now comes the next step – the quasi-literary level. How can you create some sort of double entendre out of that term? Poo would probably fail – yes, it would have two meanings, but both are vulgar. The Starbucks sipping Barcelona fans would sneer and look down their nose at such antics. But what if…what if you included a literary term itself in the name?

So, to conclude, you have created Sengkang Punggol FC. I don’t know if it’s pronounced Pun as in “poon”, or Pun as in “rhymes with fun.” Nor do I care to. In a sense, the ambiguity, presumably intended by the author, sheds a ray of light on the darkest shadows of our language’s limits. Or in a more optimistic sense, it shatters them.

Now I know your first reaction: doubt. Skepticism. Doesn’t punggol sound somewhat like churrigol, the Spanish term for a sloppy goal? Well, that’s another theory. Maybe. And I know your second response: punggol is a neigbhorhood in Singapore. Perhaps its named after that region? Also, possible.

Nevertheless, the Punggolers (as they are called stateside by their rabid fan club of one) lost 2-0 to Geylang United FC, and their status in the topflight is in serious doubt. So as you watch the world’s best players live out do-or-die matches, don’t forget that a few clubs with amusing names still ply their trade this time of year. And be sure to catch the Punggolers before they get relegated to obscurity.

Editor’s note: the real definition of “punggol” is equally amusing. And likewise has nothing to do with soccer.

First off, I could just see Clint Dempsey and Steve Cherundolo nonchalantly discussing late 1990’s US children programing and reflecting upon a certain purple dinosaur. “Oh Stevie”, Deuce may muse, “I used to get such a chuckle out of that hilarious Barney.” Then, to his chagrin, the fourth official pulls out a yellow card, booking the Texan for mistakenly hearing the term “Barmy” and confusing the amused smile for mocking laughter.

Things would only get worse when, while still on the subject of outdated children programming, Landon Donovan and Tim Howard discuss an unusual youtube video that violently parodies Kermit’s affections for Miss Piggy. “Timmy”, Donovan may inquire, “did you see that bizarre and gory Kermit video on youtube?” Howard, glued to the web when not training, would shout in shock “Oh yes, the one with the bloody muppet!” Then, lurking in the shadows, the second official would jump into action and give the Yank keeper a stern talking for such harsh language.

However, this linguistic confusion could play to the Yank’s advantage. After a missed offsides call, I could see Jozy Altidore and Robbie Findley creatively insulting the chastity of the referees’ wife. Jozy would start, “You idiot, your wife is a total skank! I could see her in an adult film!” Then Findley would chime in, “I could totally see her dumb face with the eyes closed at the cross-cum shot!” The referee, smiling obliviously, would think they were referring to half-pass/half-shot attempt.

Still, danger lurks in every American utterance. While it is winter in South Africa, the Yanks should be careful to avoid the topic of any sort of bug repellent. I could just fathom Carlos Bocanegra complaining to Gooch, “Hey, will you help me out with this mosquito spray?” Gooch, unimpressed by the quality of said product, would reply “It just can’t seem to get these bugs off.” The linesman, within earshot by confused, immediately informs the referee via walkie talkie. The referee then gives Gooch a straight red for saying “bugger off.”

Then, of course, if the playful conversation turns to music, another booby trap lurks. One could imagine Rico Clark saying to little Bradley – “you just need to keep shooting, just shoot one more time, like that song, you know.” Bradley, a bit young and puzzled, would ask “What are you talking about.” A lightbulb would flash in Rico’s head – “that song, one more time, by, by….DAFT PUNK.” The fourth official, still angry, would show Rico a direct red for using the derogatory term “Daft.”

Finally, with the Yanks reduced to 5 men, the result could go either way. However, after the match, the linguistic confusion could still lead to some pretty odd moments. For example, if England concedes on a counter or setpiece, a Yank may hear JT and Ledley King complaining about how the other “cocked up.” To which the young Yank will have nightmares and be forced to take cold showers for months, speculating onto what that may entail.

Conversely, if the Brits win, then the words of condolence from the Englishmen may cause even further confusion. Assistant coach David Beckham may step onto the field and drape his shoulder around Donovan, telling him to “keep his pecker up.”

Sadly, this technology is going the way of the dodo due to your love of Apple. No, not the guy sitting next to you. YOU. This is YOUR fault. And what will happen when this priceless technology leaves the Earth, when we must grapple with three dimension viewing of sports?

To examine this issue in depth, I suggest following a link sent to me from Bedorrarci, the executive editor at Futfanatico.org (my site’s nonprofit branch). Here’s the link.

Ireland and France square off in Dublin in the first match of a two leg playoff with World Cup qualification at stake. With so much one the line, nerves will play a role and uncertainty looms. Can Ireland qualify for the World Cup after missing out in 2006? Can the new look France fully mature?

There is only one certainty: all-star commentators Alexi Lalas and Tommy Smyth, loved by all, will not be tag-teaming the broadcast booth. While once, in my runaway imagination, a distinct possibility, a spat during the preview show escalated and caused producers to pull the plug. We have acquired (manufactured) a transcript:

Tommy: “I just feel that if Ireland is going to bulge the old onion bag, the key will be setpieces.”

Alexi: “I couldn’t disagree any more with you. Seriously, the key to scoring for Ireland will be corner kicks and free kicks.”

Tommy: “Well, Alexi, I think yer a bit confused…” [interrupts]

Alexi: “Look Tommy you think with your accent that you know more about soccer, err football, but what the f*#k is an onion bag anyway? I’ve wanted to say this for a long time: you, my friend, are a total dousche.”

Tommy: “Go hIfreann leat ye feking ejit.”

Alexi: “I can’t work in these conditions – this guy doesn’t even speak English. The man is in desperate need of a teabag!”  [raises arms in disgust]

Tommy: “Ye feking muppet can pog ma hol! You’ve got the fine fist to talk about the Queen’s English and…” [interrupts]

Alexi: “I will show you fine fists…”

People are confused. To be more specific, Indians, Brits, and Aussies are confused. The president of US soccer, Sunil Gulati, recently stated that “US´s soccer´s faith never wavered in Bob Bradley.” But if that´s so, then why was Bradley hired on an interim basis?

What they don´t realize is that in these here United States of America the term “interim” really means “unconditional belief and uncompromising faith.” (Snicker)

So, it has been pointed out that my focus on filthy Spanish has left a gaping hole for the lovers for filthy English. Even more so, Fredorrarci at the wonderful sportisatvshow let me onto an unusual Irish term. That word is the “cross cum shot.”

In the Queen’s clean and pure English, the cross cum shot is merely a ball played into the eighteen yard box that could be either a shot or a cross. It is the gender-bender of the soccer world, neither fully male nor female. The Jamie Lee Curtis if you will. And you will.

This tickles the American fancy. When I first head the word, I immediately thought of the wonderful feature film logjamming, which recounts the odyssey of a cableman unwittingly seduced by a customer. While the concepts of domination/submission pervade both sports and film, I was sad to not see a more direct connection.

And I assure you that the term has nothing to do with camera angles, lighting, close-ups, or action sequences. And here are several examples of cross-cum-shots, courtesy of the Aussie victory over American Samoa.