I wrote a thoughtful piece at the Run of Play on linguistic differences between Spanish and English. Since then, the FA has banned Luis Suarez for 8 games based on allegations that he made racist remarks. I don’t care to get into the mucky and murky waters of administrative proceedings. Rather, I want to focus on Liverpool’s official statement in response. Why? Well, because unlike other snobby bloggers, I can see the logic. The calculation is simple, yet makes perfect sense.

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!

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.

So, I have a two-post series at FoxSoccer about the US, and US soccer, and our twisted, bizarre, schizophrenic, and bipolar relationship with Mexico and Mexican Americans. I give Fox credit for letting me be candid, honest, and frank about both sides of the equation – I address how and why Hispanics have been somewhat excluded in the current US setup. I also speculate as to how they can be un-excluded. In the end, I’m optimistic about the future, so don’t go call BP and give them my IP Address just yet. Part 1 is available here.

However, the US vs. Honduras game presented a related & pressing topic not addressed in those posts. I speak, of course, about the banter about “Can the US play a home game at home?” Basically, how should we deal with complaints that the stadium composition for US games against Latin teams is “too ethnic” and there’s no “home field advantage.” Is it true? Is it a genuine problem? Or does the framing of this “problem” reveal deep-rooted prejudices?

I’m really just gonna shoot from the hip on this topic because 1) I’m still deciding myself how I feel, and 2) Your input & perspective have just as much to teach me. Please comment. Unless, of course, you hate America. Which you say you don’t but your frequent trips to go shopping in Europe suggest otherwise. Buckle up & here we go.

I’ve always objected to US “B team” friendlies against Central American teams on one simple ground: we are prostituting the team or, in marketing parlance, diluting the brand. Yes, it’s good to give some up-and-comers a few games, but ultimately many of these games are to fill US Soccer coffers and little else. My friend Tahir has pointed out that making a buck is not a crime. True. But soccer is more than a business. At least it should and can be.

Other people, who I shan’t name because I don’t believe in shaming, voice concerns about the lack of “home field advantage.” Simply put, lots of ethnic (read: brown) people show up and speak in “foreign” languages (read: Spanish). Ironically, this very discourse and its premise form a part of the prejudicial cycle. By categorizing these fans as “the other”, we as Americans force them to cling ever closer to their country of their birth. And I have to ask – is it just a coincidence that there are only white stars on the American flag?

On the other hand, it would be nice for Brek Shea to be able to take a corner kick without being called hijo de puta and getting pelted by packets of urine. When you play at home, you expect some love. I can understand this. This is a valid immediate concern. The only problem is that this situation springs from a fundamentally flawed view of America as English-only and white ran, with bountiful professional athlete jobs for blacks, engineering gigs for Asians, and some janitorial positions for Hispanics. Does that caricature offend you? Or resonate? Or both?

In sum, is America a caste society? Should it be? If it is – how did we get here? Is American identity static and forever tied to English, the language of our Constitution? Should the US only play home games in Columbus, Ohio or, better yet, ban brown people from USMNT home games? I hate to lump soccer fans whom I respect into the same mental box as segregationists from the 1950′s, but separate-but-equal feelings of uneasiness pervade the American soccerscape. Hell, they pervade America.

Short-term, Jason Davis and J Rodius of the Best Soccer Show have echoed my calls for people to go out to US games and support the team – fill the stands with your concept of America if you are really worried about fans from El Salvador. If dual citizens are taking over the stadium, buy more tickets! More importantly, and mid-term, glance at the stand-shots in Miami of the fan celebrations after that sweet Dempsey goal. How many Hispanic faces do you see in red US shirts? Quite a few, actually. If you want to see more, then try not to subtly push people into boxes.

Chew on those thoughts, please comment openly & honestly, but don’t spoon feed any of that PC white shame nonsense. Contemporary structures of exclusion require willing participation by all parties. A few years ago, I saw a prominent African-American professor speak about “racialism” and “racialist speak.” Basically, today, for the most part, the vestiges of prejudice lurk in our subconscious, and only by openly acknowledging them and articulating them can we hope to conquer them.

I tried that in my Balotelli post in January. And now it’s time for US soccer.

After our last post on club ownership, some curious readers and tweeters have asked – what exactly is a “partial flotation” on a stock market? What does Manchester United plan to do? Generally, the Red Devils want to go public, but not as publicly as we’d like. They want cash, but not transparency. How can we tell? For starters, they have chosen the Singapore Stock Exchange, which has less disclosure requirements than the LSE. Secondly, I’ve glanced at a few recent Singapore IPO listings, brushed up on international finance 101, and brainstormed a few possible permutations for this alleged “partial flotation.”

Things do not look pretty. Here are the likely forms and results:

First Partial-Flotation Variation: Huckleberry Finn’s Raft

A partial flotation is a quick cash grab. You usually have a big but floundering parent company, and a studly subsidiary. The parent company sells a minority interest in the subsidiary looking cash in on “the good son.” This raises some cash but also a dilemma – how can a shareholder truly value this somewhat removed fraction of an interest in a spin-off? Uncertainty leads to volatility, like the choppy waters of the Mississippi in Mark Twain’s classic “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.”

The Glazer’s Singaore IPO certainly has shades of the escapades of the Duke & King from Huck Finn. The American owners have royally angered England-based fans, so what do they do? They hop on over to the next town down the river and try a new trick to raise funds. Overseas, far away from the local fans who have filled Old Trafford for decades, who knows what the Glazers will do if we turn a blind eye? What will they sell? Like the last few chapters of Huck Finn, this ending could be unsatisfactory on various levels. 

Second Partial-Flotation Variation: Captain Jack Sparrow’s Ship

Another major risk for a partial IPO in a subsidiary is that instead of price volatility, it simply flops. Investors could be concerned about two issues: First, who calls the shots at the subsidiary? After all, an executive Board holds the Parent Company in check (in theory), but does that same Board have a say in the Subsidiary? What about possible conflicts of interest between the studly Subsidiary and plodding Parent? On a general level, isn’t it odd that the Parent Company is slowly sinking but the Subsidiary is a Black Pearl of profit?

Then there’s the biggest risk – like the first Pirates of the Caribbean, success breeds shitty sequels intended to squeeze more dimes out of a bored populace. If the Glazers raise some cash in Singapore, then will a partial IPO in Bangladesh be next on the agenda? Perhaps they could go to Barbados, canvass door-to-door, and raffle off certificates of ownership to local residents! And, ad nauseum, this will further dilute the value of the “what the fuck are these exactly” shares already sold.

Third Partial-Flotation Variation: the Barge from Apocalypse Now

The Glazers really haven’t made many friends in England. Let’s just imagine that their “unfriendliness” leads to a few local enemies in Singapore, who then pull strings to make United’s ownership on the  Stock Exchange a living hell. After all, the former American owners of Liverpool got ran out of town on a horse. In Singapore, things could end even messier.

Why? Well, the alcoholic beverages advertised on the Singapore Corporate Counsel Association website gives an impression of an entrenched “Old Boys” culture. “Let’s take a few shots of Jim Beam and wax fiduciary duties, dude!” This is not a land to get mired into a messy corporate battle. Nor a place where you will probably get the fairest of shakes in a dispute. An exit could be tedious, costly, and worse than the benefit of entry.

Fourth Partial-Flotation Variation: Willy Gets Freed, Kinda

Another risk in selling a minority share in a subsidiary is that the subsidiary gains enough momentum to break free from the parent company. This is the least likely and most fascinating scenario. What if Manchester United manages to break free from the Glazers and…falls into Singapore investors hands? Technically, a partial flotation will require the Glazers to create or use a legally distinct subsidiary and then sell shares in that entity. If there’s enough cash, and, crucially, belligerent shareholders, then the parent company could be swept away in  Tsunami of money & boardroom politics & lawsuits. Granted, the two-tiered voting structure is meant to impede this. Not likely, but we can hope.

The great irony, of course, is that thousands of Englishmen & women love Manchester United and would love to own a part of the club. The Glazers want that cash, but not the responsibility. Even now, I can imagine local Singapore subsidiaries being created to allow for English investors to own a piece via the Singapore IPO. I’m sure the English are somewhat happy with United’s success, but, like the end of Free Willy, are sad to see a friend go away.

In sum, the IPO partial-flotation has several possibilities. It’s unlikely that the Singapore IPO will free United from the Glazers, but we can dream. In a few weeks or months, the Red Devils will go public. We can only pray for the best results. Will you be there?

Dear Arsene Wenger,

I write you on behalf of humanity. We all know why you signed Mikel Arteta – not to compete for trophies, but rather to crush his boyhood dream of playing for Barcelona. In fact, Arteta played youth football for the club, but left for PSG because he couldn’t break into the starting eleven. But let’s not let the past obscure the present.

Everybody is on to your little game of “kidnap and ransom Catalan youth academy players.” We know that your scouts snoop around the city parks near La Masia, standing by the slides and monkey bars and offering chocolate to promising young players. On at least five occasions, your operatives offered a nine year old Andres Iniesta a Hershey’s kiss. On at least two occasions, one twelve year old Xavi Hernandez was offered Snickers’ bars.

These boys were strong enough to say no. But now you prey on poor Mikel Arteta.

For the sake of humanity, please do not shackle him. If you do not immediately release him on a free transfer to Barcelona, then they will be forced to dress him in an FC Barcelona jersey at all national team gatherings. The players will also take a break from auditioning for the Catalan Asociat du Tumbling and plea to petty journalists for his release.

Of course, FC Barcelona will not meet your preposterous ransom demand of fifteen million pounds. It is against Catalonian state policy to negotiate with terrorists. In your hands you hold the dream of a boy. Please free him, so that he may fly like a beautiful dove into Cesc Fabregas and Lionel Messi’s waiting arms.

Sincerely,

The Universe.

“Waiting for Superman” by the Flaming Lips

Digital Image Impression: Erik Ebeling. Erik offers great freelance work for small businesses at competitive rates.

“Where is My Mind?” by The Pixies

Song Credit: “I am bored” by the Microphones

Song credit: “Madness” by Deltron

Song Credit: “The Boy Done Wrong Again” by Belle & Sebastian