Still, Junito’s national team selection has one distinct advantage – I am not a candidate, as I am a human being, not a nation state. Thus, I reasoned, no evil can come of this. I was wrong. The expected and the unexpected merged into a vortex so profound, so deep and convoluted, that if you wiped your pink finger on the surface’s rim, you’d be elbow-deep in abyss in the blink of an eye.

Allow me to explain.

As you may recall, Junito is a brilliant goalscorer, handsome playboy, and future champion. Thus, his success at the World Cup is a surety. However, his national team is a question mark. Junito lays claim to three different nationalities: Mexico, the US, and Nicaragua. Rather than place the burden of this huge decision on a still developing three year old, like any responsible father I polled a group of strangers on the internet so that they would decide for us. You were one of those strangers. And you voted.

I then painstakingly counted each and every ballot, even the handwritten ballots that were mailed from as far away as Guam. I also tried to get a read from Junito on his personal preferences. The other day, he alleged that he took a taxi to Mexico, obtained a magical stone, and then gifted said magical stone to his mother. Only upon further investigation did I realize that no such taxi ride took place, and Junito’s claims to the stone remain unproven. He has alleged that the stone turns into a huge giant that is larger than any dinosaur, but thus far no eye witnesses have corroborated said transformations.

Still, I read between the lines and interpreted his creative musings as an affection for his Aztec roots. BUT, he still prefers gallo pinto, the traditional Nicaragua dish, to any combination of hot cheese-hot tortilla-ground beef-jalapenos. He also dislikes hamburgers and french fries, so the US is out of the question. Although, to be honest, he does enjoy the caja feliz toys.

Could Junito play for three different national teams like Real Madrid all-time great Alfredo Di Stefano? Unlikely. I anticipate him getting capped before his older sister’s quinceanera, which means no U15 or U17 shenanigans. Nope. Junito will burst onto the scene like Michael Owen, but with the lasting power of Paolo Maldini.

While Mexico loves players that skirt the nationality lines, I have one big problem with Junito following in my chicano footsteps: the word “raza.” Nobody has every satisfactorily defined this term for me. I hear it all the time as in “hoy hay un juego en la tarde, pura raza“, and I think – if I said the term “pure race” in English and had a shaved head, I would probably be talking about a minutemen meeting or something. Shudder.

More importantly, the contours of the raza have not been sufficiently elucidated. Is my Nicaraguan wife a member of la raza? Or is la raza just a synonym for Mexican? Repeated emails to the Real Academia have not been answered.

Still, I cast but one vote in this election and let the majority speak. And speak they did. Drum roll please….The winner of the Junito’s-future-national team-election is…..

Pitchinvasion.Again. Yes. You read it correctly. Pitchinvasion? Pitchinvasion. Again. Check out the results:

I know what you’re thinking because I had the same thought – isn’t Pitchinvasion a website, not a nation state? But our analysis can’t be so shallow – in the 21st century, as technology blurs the lines between nation-states and non-state actors, isn’t it entirely possible that Tom Dunmore will rule a big chunk of the universe? After all, he has a soccer blogger trophy case to make Ryan Giggs blush.

Plus, Pitchinvasion has a scarf. And the line between a scarf and a flag is a very fine one, one that is begging to be crossed.

So, there you have it, I try to run a fair & square election in the hopes my readers can guide my toddler son’s future professional career, but Tom Dunmore’s excellent Pitchinvasion gobbles up the votes like a meth using cookie monster. At least unlike the UK, there was a clear majority. And don’t worry, no legal wrangling on my part. I know how twisted anything resembling an election or award can become when it involves the soccer blogosphere.

Junito has traded in his Huggies for calzoncillos (underpants)! The new influx of cash has led to an all important purchase – a Real Madrid jersey. However, I have come under criticism in some quarters for my treatment of Junito – am I inculcating him in some sort of blanquillo-obsessed cult?

Keep shooting, people, because the arrows fall off this iron-thick skin like a drop of water. The word “culto” means “cultured, educated,” in Spanish, so I will just pretend that instead of cult, you wanted to say culto. Yes, I am indoctrinating my son to be cultured and educated. What an astute observation!

Still, due to some financial distress, I was unable to get Junito an official Madrid jersey. Additionally, there were some cleaning concerns. The all white shirt must not be sodden, and Junito has not yet mastered the use of the silverware. Granted, the important thing is that Junito wear the shirt with pride and aplomb. But the fried cheese stains probably make the spirit of Puskas cry.

Despite a nose for goal, I have a confession to make – I still harbor hope that Junito can develop into a withdrawn striker/false nine. The shining example of grace for my money is Dennis Bergkamp of Arsenal fame. The Dutchman struck a fine balance between the amazing assist and the elegant goal.

There’s just one little stumbling block: the Ajax academy generally does not accept youths under the age of 5, but I do have their number on my cell phone. I haven’t cared call them, but it would be a shame to miss such a call because I thought it was a solicitor and didn’t answer. I could return the phone call, but I would hate to imperil Junito’s development in anyway.

And yes, I know what you’re thinking – the star of Real Madrid…at the Ajax Academy? Right now I am not impressed by the Madrid youth system. The “cantera” is appalling. Granero? Come on. Thus, Junito’s initial career path has two possible projections – either the Eredivisie, ala Ronaldo, or the Portuguese Liga, ala Ronaldo. He could dabble in the Premiership or maybe Serie A to cut his teeth, but nothing long-term. A post-35 deal in Qattar is also a distinct possibility.

Still, seeing as Junito is too young to start lifting weights, I have focused heavily on his cognitive development. Recently, he was able to recite the entire “burrito song” with no assistance. For those of you anglos, the burrito song refers to a “small donkey” who does not know the vowels. It is an excellent method to teach the kiddos the “vocales” in Spanish. Junito has excelled, as expected, but I am not sure he is ready to dive headfirst into the stormy ocean of consonants.

For now, to ensure he becomes a student of the game, I am emphasizing an exacting and rigorous approach to writing his own name in cellophane blocks. Absolutely, positively no taking a bite out the blocks. Not even a little bit. Junito, to his credit, has responded positively to my draconian, Fabio Capello, taskmaster tactics. As you can see…

Junito: English for “Mata-Barca”

Plus, inspiration came in the way of an amusing Landon Donovan commercial in which the Toffees man took a break between German and English loan spells to shoot a lottery commercial.So, to get this reconciliation started properly, I get down on my knees (me arrodillo) and began for forgiveness (pido disculpas). I swear Spanglish, those Portuguese lessons at livemocha were only short-term (de paso), I never….I never meant to hurt you! Please, please take me back.

Okay, now we move to the task at hand. Donovan did a lottery commercial for the Mexican lottery. The premise: Donovan tries to sneak himself south of the border to play the lottery! He is stopped by Mexican border patrol, a prospect as likely as Neil Armstrong walking on the Moon a second spell. Make that Neil Young. And Saturn.

But still, a pretty riske move on Donovan’s part. And I laudit him for finding international sponsors and starting his acting career pre-retirement, unlike Eric Cantona. And here’s the clip…

So here is your super scientific translation.

First line: Soy Mexicano. I am Mexican.

Donovan loses 1 point on the mocho scale for saying the “x” in Mexicano. But he gets a bonus point for saying “soy” instead of “yo soy”, a common error that while grammatically correct is a giveaway you come from anglolandia.

Second line: Es que…ganar en Mexico es mas facil. It’s that…to win in Mexico is easier.

Donovan loses 1 point for the tone, which does not descend like a native Mexican. Still, the pronunciation and the pause were spot on, so he gained 4 bonus points.

Third Line: No No No, hablo de ganagol. No No No, I talk of ganagol.

This is a draw. On the one hand, you can hear him think about saying the “h” to start of “hablar.” On the other hand, he tried so hard! Err, so “ard.

Fourth Line: Es la mas facil que ganar porque son once partidos. It is the easiest to win because there are only eleven games.

I give Donovan a bonus point for saying such a long sentence without taking a breathing break. However, I deduct points for misleading content – from a statistical perspective, the quantity of games does not alter the probability of winning. Thus, Donovan is an accomplice to the ganagol scheme, which inevitably has some link to dirty cartel money.

Should he be throw in jail and have the key placed on the collar of a menacing rottweiler? No, just a friendly but easily distracted miniature schnauzer. And it is more than a coincidence that he leaves to England when this commercial comes out…

Allegedly, the ladies posed for a scandalous soccer calendar to raise funds. Yes, Simone De Beauvoir rolls in her grave and my postmodern-liberal-radical feminist mind races in circles and circles. Is this a good thing? Do we problematize sexuality by ironically portraying the gender roles? Or is this master-servant with one whip firmly in one party’s hand? (And we assume that’s a bad thing)…

Then comes the skeptical aspect and a regional linguistic element – the concept of a town named “Naquera” to my Mexican ears elicits a laugh. Why? Well, because “naco” is the word used to describe somebody who, ahem, lacks culture. Think redneck, but without intellectual stalwarts Jeff Foxworthy and Larry the Cable Guy defending the cause. It is an even worse (and homophobic) perjorative in Nicaraguan Spanish.

And thus I began my search for the truth from the comfort of my desk but in a surreal state of disbelief and suspicion. And then things got interesting…

I begin with the most astounding revelation: Naquera is indeed a Spanish town. Granted, this is no Madrid or San Sebastian, but confirmed existence is the first step towards greatness for any entity, be it person or place.

Still, things fall apart after that. The UD Naquera website is in the 404 twilight zone. Could that be due to financial difficulties? Maybe in Spain the clubs don’t focus as much on the online stuff; I recalled it impossible to find a Jozy Altidore jersey at the Villareal website last year. But a quick search showed even they had improved the tiendita online. And the second division,-Real Madrid beating-Acorn State site was totally money.

The most credible citation in the original article, to Superdeporte, led to another dead end. A search for the term “calendario” bore no fruit. The unoffical UD Naquera website has only existed since this December. The email on the “unofficial site” also oddly makes reference to the calendar and is udnaquera (at) hotmail. I am afraid to send an email….

And then another turn out of a dead end. I am not a member of fotolog, but the pics of young children when looking for “UD Naquera” makes me think this is way too poorly put together to be an elaborate hoax. I also found some old recaps of UD Naquera games. Additionally, Spain has had a pro women’s league since 1988, although the mighty Naqueras have been absent from the primera. But maybe it’s because they never made it to the lucrative topflight, instead trading charter flights for hitchhiking via semi-trucks?

I know what you are thinking – this wreaks of an elaborate internet hoax so it must be the work of…my younger brother. But there’s just one problem – Wikipedia remains un-scarred. The only entry on the Valencia region in Wikipedia mentions Naquera once in a segment on the Moorish conquest. This is either a poorly trained copycat, my little brother is losing his edge, or maybe, just maybe, this calendar exists and the “women + suffrage = non-stop perpetual linear advancement” equation is out of serious whack.

I have decided to let Susan B. Anthony rest in peace for now, be content that a real world town exists called “Naquera,” and hope that the calendar concept is some sort of hoax or a radical brand of postmodern feminism inspired by Judith Butler but beyond my liberal comprehension. And when me and the lady rock the Camino de Santiago in a few months time, rest assured we may first head southeast to visit this mythical town where Mexican and Nicaraguan pejoratives meet the harsh practicalities of a sport in recession.

Basically, in many Latin American countries, once folks hit the age of 16 your ma or pa takes you to the civil registry and you get your national id card – kinda like a social security card in the States, but with a picture. But sometimes things don’t work out so simply…

In the beach resort town of La Plata, Argentina, there brews a fierce rivalry between Gimnasia de La Plata and Estudiantes La Plata. Plata means silver in Spanish and refers to the ocean waters. I would have used the terms “icky” or “disgusting” instead, but hey I only spent one weekend there a few millenia ago. Maybe the water cleans up come Christmas. But yeah, fierce rivalry.

And in 2006, Estudiantes beat Gimnasia 7-0 in a goleada historica. The wounds still fester. And a young chap went to get his id card, and he wore a Gimnasia jersey – the problem? Such fashion items are expressly prohibited in official government photos. Draconian? Well, let me give you an example – one of my friends in Buenos Aires had his dad kicked out of a hospital because he smuggled in a tiny Boca Jrs. jersey and insisted in placing it on a premy baby. With that cultural context, yeah, not so draconian. Still a bit dungeonian, but necessary.

Does the upstanding government official demand a bribe or insist the individual take off his jersey for the pic? No. He allows the pic to go through. only for a special surprise to appear weeks later…

Did you catch that handwritten note? The one below the pic which says “7-0.” I wonder if that is maybe the date in Argentina time or some special code. Of course, when questioned, the authorities pointed the finger at other government agencies. And, to further complicate things, his public school refused to admit him because he presented an adulterated document.

The passion, the emotion, the hinchada, don’t you wish you were living the dream in South America? Missing class by government decree, all due to a soccer jersey and an incompetent, low-level government official?

As if colluding with my campaign manager to steal an election was not bad enough, Tom Dunmore of the wonderful Pitchinvasion has taken things a step further. My friends ratted me out to his Sandinista friends, and I’m currently locked in a cellar on a 20 acre hacienda in the outskirts of Bluefields, Nicaragua…Oh, and I’m writing for my life.

Tom, quick with a revolver, had one simple request: write about my craziest real life soccer experience. My own site is a mix of imagination and facts, but this had to be strictly facts. And thus, my experience attempting to see a “Super Classico” in Buenos Aires is available at Tom’s site. Warning – this is an eery peek into the autobiographical world of one Elliott “el elliottito” Tucker. If it does not receive 1,000 hits by midnight tonight, I fear… (pistol whip)…

VOTEN para Pitchinvasion como mejor blog de 2009, o mataremos el presumido gringo huelepedo.

Voten ya!

(pistol whip)
(pistol whip)

Voten ya!

(pistol whip)

There comes a time in every man’s left where, no matter how atrociously he played a sport, he plays it even worse. He plays it so bad, and his knees ache so much, that the “I need the cardio” excuse no longer holds muster. But how can he stay involved in the sport in the flesh & blood? How can he distract himself at work with frivolous worries about Thursday night’s beer league game? Bless the Good Lord for sons & daughters.

This series, tentatively titled “Junito Conquers Europe, the World, and your Heart,” puts me in an odd place – writing about a topic in which I am incredibly emotionally invested. Granted, I love soccer and follow the sport quasi-religiously. Yes, I get moody when my hometown Wizards lose. But Junito, my son, is on a whole different plane. Please be kind in the comments, although constructive criticism is appreciated. I have great plans for Junito, and will need your help…

As an American of Mexican descent, Junito has one sole aspiration: surpass the glory of 1980’s Hugo Sanchez at Real Madrid. Yes, Junito will be the beast of the blanquillos, the matador of the madrilenos, the maximo goleador para todas las epocas (all time greatest goalscorer). In Spain, the word for the leading goalscorer is “pichichi.” At least for now. In thirty years time, it will be “Junito,” but you will say it with a hushed sense of reverence. And it inevitably will spark the debate about how the current top scorer could never hold a candle to the legend of legends.

We shoot for the stars, but must walk firmly on the ground. My primary task will be to ensure that the inevitable early success does not get to Junito’s head. I don’t want a Freddy Adu, wandering about Europe. Or evern worse, a Ricardo Quaresma. My secondary task will be to impart all my years of soccer wisdom into Junito’s unconscious, so that a pivot, a switch, a shot, will come instinctively. Please stop laughing. No this series will not be over in two weeks. Okay then.

Right now, the biggest red flag is a strong-headed brand of selfishness. The other day, Junito refused to share his talking toy-hammer with his older sister, and actually threatened to hit her with it! These kind of lapses may be moderately punished in the Turner household, but could you imagine Junito threatening Di Stefano or France Puskas in such a fashion? He’d be shipped to Getafe in the blink of an eye!

Still, the selfish streak makes me think I have a striker on my hands. Right now, though, we just have one little problem. Junito has never kicked a soccer ball. Yes, he can walk. He can also articulate coherent thoughts.  Yes the kicking of the soccer ball has yet to happen. But I am sure he will love the sport. Why? You can tell a man’s desire by following his eyes…

Barcelona Beware…

Well, class, this is it. This is the moment of truth – I will finally see which of you rabblerousers have been prestando atencion (paying attention), and which ones have been skimming the text in hopes of cool videos. This is the ultima clase (last class) in your nascent Spanglish careers. Well, at least official class. I still promise some filthy spanglish from time-to-time, and with Dieguito going to South Africa, count on youtube updates by-the-minute. But still, the tears…the tears just aren´t coming.

Please keep your lapices (pencils) on your escritorios (desks) and refrain from beginning the prueba (exam) until time is called.  Scratch that – this is an open note, collaborative exam. Please post your answer in the comments section for everyone else to see. But beware – wrong answers will be ridiculed.

We will begin with a delightful goal involving Ronaldinho of Barcelona-fame. 1) How would you describe said species of goal?

Don’t get discouraged. It’s only one question – and if you blew it, there are still more. Here’s the next scenario. A player feathers a pass to the onrushing Kun. 2) What kind of pass?

Alright, now we move onto the dark art of the defense and tackling. 3) What could you call this sort of stompery?

I don’t want to rub any salt in the wounds, but Giusseppe Rossi is a young, rising starlet. 4) How would you describe such a promising young man?

When FC Barcelona came to the States in the summer of 2006, I had the pleasure of seeing them play at Giants Stadium. Except for Lilian Thuram. Watching the once great defender lumber around was painful. 5) How would you describe this late 30’s defender?

Juan Roman Riquelme has played centermid for various clubs. 6) What would you call his midfield position. 7) From what kind of shot does he score most of his goals?

Alright, so far so good. Time for a break and some mockery of mainstream media. “En fuego” makes little-to-no-sense in Spanish. If someone were literally on fire, you would say “encendido.” If someone is playing exceptionally well, you would say “enrachado” or “estar de racha.” Racha means basically a “good run.” But you can have a “mala racha.” Please, never EVER say or type or think “en fuego.” It brings to mind “on fire,” as in “standing on fire.” But can you stand on fire” No. Fire is not a solid object. Back to the questions.

A slightly more complex task. 8 ) What is the name of this type of kick? 9) What is the name for this type of goal scored? And this time no help from a Spanish-language video.

Now on to a more recent lesson and example. 10) What did Alcocorn do to Real Madrid in the first leg of their Copa del Rey match?

And now, for those smart alecks who have stretched beyond the literal-dictionary Spanish to embrace the culture, I have an extra-credit question. First, watch this incredibly amusing David Bisbal music video (Don’t worry it makes no sense in any language). Second, 11) What is buleria?

It really has been a blast, and just a few tips on your upcoming visit to Spain (as gleamed from Mr. Bisbal).

1. Do not date the girl in the red dress.
2. Do carry a gun, especially if you go to a bullfight.
3. Do not button the top buttons of your shirt when wandering the mountains of Andalucia.

Congrats on graduating from the Futfanatico school of Spanglish. The South Americans say “recibirse”, the Spaniards “graduarse”, and the Central Americans “promocionar.” As for the Mexicans, we just say “hacer graduating.”

Okay, so the last lesson we did on the offensive part of the pitch was a bit short. Still, the distinction between “gol” and “gooooool” and “golaaaaaazo” is an important one. But I once again heeded to your calls, and this lesson will focus on goalscoring. More specifically, how exactly one scores a goal. Well, “tu pateas una pelota o la cabeceas” – you kick a ball or head it. So simple!

I begin with one of my all time favorite terms, the “churrigol.” Let´s speculate on the etymology. A “churrito” is a delicious pastry with cinnamon and creamy, sugary powder. I know what you´re thinking – this sneezy old professor always gets sidetracked and can´t relate to the young people. YES, I know that churrito is commonly used to describe a burrito purchased at chipotle´s. But that is just plain wrong. Okay…a compromise – when hanging out with your white middleschool-aged friends you can use the word like that. But only occassionally.

Back to the lesson. A churrigol is basically a “crap goal” requiring little-to-no-skill. An optimist may refer to it as a fortunate set of circumstances, and the masters of the churrigol as known as “pescadores” in South America and “repolleros” in Central America. Pescador means “fisherman,” but pescar can mean “to hunt”, and thus the translation most sensical is “poacher.” Repollero comes from “repollo”, which is the disgusting green leaf substances that passes for salad.

Here is an example:

When you think of pescador, think of Ruud Van Nilestrooy sleeping at the far post. When you think of repollero, think of Filippo Inzaghi´s first goal against Liverpool in the 2007 Champions League final. Actually, think of any of Pippo´s goals. Pescador-repollero can also refer to forwards that lounge offsides (posicion adelantada/fuera de juego).

Did you just think of David Terezeguet? Me too.

We know turn from the crass the class. We have already talked about the Diez (attacking midfielder), but how do you say his preferred tactic – the pass to space? While we have already discussed the split-sliderule pass (pase entrelineas), what happens when that pass is airborne?

I prefer the term cucharrita (little spoon), as in the motion made when you spoon out a bit of sugar from a container and then drop it into your morning coffee. Another popular term is arco iris (rainbow), which reflects the arc of the pass as it grazes over Jamie Carragher´s head before delicately dropping to the ground.

Of course, there is term which refers to both the chip and split pass to space. The word is “balon filtrado.” Filtrado means filtered, like the filter in the work cofee machine you are supposed to clean after using but do not. Your co-workers really appreciate that. But let´s end on a positive note: mouthwatering Xavi balones filtrados (and a few golazos)…

Your homework is to watch a Barcelona game and count how many balones filtrados you see. This is your very last tarea, so please take it seriously. You just may be quizzed!

If the taste of victory is sweet, then the sabor [taste] of defeat is amargo [bitter]. For this lesson, we will focus on a very sensitive subject – how you feel when your team loses. And no, you are not an eternally cheery optimist.

We begin with a close look at exactly how your team lost. Was it a low-scoring, close game? Well then, at least it was apretado. Or did your team get crushed? In Spain, those wily siesta sleepers say ¨darle un buen baño.” Literally, ¨give them a good bath.” The etymology is unclear, but let´s remember that basic hygiene began in the Americas, not Iberia.

One could also say that the game “fue una goleada.” Basically, it was a goalfest. The listener would then infer from your tears, shaking, and gasps of despair that your team bore the brunt end of the match. “Acorn who”, they would ask, patting your shoulder. “There, there.”

My preferred phrase is central american – “cajeteada.” Cajetas are tasty cookies, also popular in Mexico, and vary in substance from coconut to peanuts to milk. What all cajetas have in common is that the substance is flattened to thin, crunchy perfection. Sortof like your team, except for the taste. “Cajetear” thus is to mash. And the cajeteada is the mashed.

But perhaps you are a person of pocas palabras [few words[, the silent type [un tipo callado]. In that case, you could simply say “perder”, to lose. You would say “mi equipo perdio” [my team lost]. Just like in English, you can also perder the faith [la fe]. You can lose faith in the team [el equipo], the coach [el entrenador], or everything [todo)]

But you may also be downright enojado [angry]. Did your team fail to hold the lead and fall victim to a remontada [comeback]? Montar means “to mount” and is generally associated with horses. Thus, remontar, like the English refrain, is to get back on the horse. Or, perhaps, simply, your team´s goalie fluffed an easy shot or cross. ¡Se la comio! He ate it – think American surfer.

We end with a note on pronunciation. In the case  of the double r, the r should roll like a Riquelme thru-ball. ¿Yours? Well, I don´t want to offend you, but it´s kind of a… causa perdida. But it´s okay – focalizate [focus]. I can render assistance in one crucial area – the diphthong.

I assure you the diphthong is not the latest in skimpy Ibiza swimwear. The diphthong is the sound of two or more consecutive vowels in a single word. Think aceite [oil] or seis [six]. I have a very simple trick for pronouncing the “ei” diphthong correctly – the fonz. What does the fonz say upon entering a room? Heyyyyyyy, as in, s-heyyyy-te. It works. I swear.

Your homework is simple – watch your beloved team lose and complain in Spanish. And when you skip the channel for a sunny weekend in Iberia, be sure your diphthong is not see through.