What he had to say will probably only confuse you, unless of course you obtained a doctorate from the European School of Philosophy. But not the University of Chicago – everybody knows those hacks just say really big words. Ahem. Now onto the interview!

Slavojile, you’ve argued very vehemently against the hegemony of regimes that presume interpellating individuals in a set polity. Is that really just a subtle dig at Total Football?

The problem with a set polity and an emphasis on individuals as parts is that it overlooks the important role of psychology within each individual. Only when we focus on the category of the subject, accepting a degree of “manque”, will we begin to decipher anything of worth.

Slavdawg, you seem to walk a fine line in your interpretations of consciousness according to Marxist ideals. On the one hand, you reject the concept of “false consciousness”, yet you also claim no individual truly grasps their own motives. So, does Sergio Ramos wear tight green pants because he knows they’re ridiculous? Or is he clueless?

The existence of tension underscores a truth that cannot be plastered upon every landscape at every given time. On the one hand, the Marxist notion of false consciousness represented quite well the 20th century bourgeoisie – the prevalence of creature comforts sedated them into submission, and any attempts to empathize with the proletariat were hollow. However, just because the self cannot pinpoint it’s won motive, that does not foreclose a better appreciation of conscious workings in how those motives play out in the real world.

Slavvyslav, your work has been summarized as the Lacanian approach to reconciling the eternal tension between materialism and idealism. Basically, “the Real” is not experienced by the subject as our systems of comprehension order it. Does that explain why Camacho flipped his shit when Villa scored against Paraguay?

Sadly, your question answer itself with a very important presupposition. If we begin our analysis with a non-referential scope of ideology, then the domination of the subject’s senses and experiences clouds our conclusions. Only by rejecting these assumptions and inverting the pyramid can we approach a true and accurate Lacanian understanding of the modern self at this exact point in time.

Audioslavoj, you have steadfastly critiqued the modern desire to scientifically analyze the brain, concluding that a biological description would still leave a gap between material reaction & consciousness – that very gap, known in Freudian terms as “the death drive”, is, in your understanding crucial. Will Spain find any similar gaps in the Netherlands’ back line on Sunday?

A techno-scientific discourse is to philosophy as the conquistadores were to the natives of the Americas – all consuming, destructive, and a retardation. The desire to paint ourselves in a black & white light is tempting, yet ultimately this picture reflects more of what we hope for than the reality beneath. More troubling, this discourse, with its matter of fact descriptions and conclusions, obscures and ignores the more important, fascinating, and overarching questions of morality that guide the subject conscious self.

Slobslav, relying heavily on Descarte’s problem of possible automation, you take the controversial conclusion that consciousness is opaque – thus, one can never know if another conscious being is truly conscious or a mere mime. Do you think Xavi will dance circles around Von Bommel, like those annoying mimes along Las Ramblas?

The problem of interacting subjective conscious entities always comes back to the Husserlian failure to account to the other’s selfhood. Von Bommel and DeJong do not accumulate yellow cards because they are a tad slow or reckless in the tackle, but rather because they do not acknowledge the consciousness of opposing attacking midfielders.

Wesley Schneijder is that abrasive guy who kinda shadows you at social events. You show up to a protest, a rally, a meeting, and guess who is there, standing just behind you. Oh, what a coincidence. Hello subtly abrasive guy who makes believe he is your shadow. Yes, of course the two of you will exchange brief pleasantries while your mind hums along, searching for exit strategies. Oh, you forgot to take your nonexistent son to the emergency room for heart cancer? Gotta run. Oh. His son has the same problem. Sure. A carpool would be great. Shit. Subtle.

Martin Demichelis is that guy who always starts fights and ends up in a hospital. The local sports franchise is playing an important game. As such, you and a few of the crew head to a local pub, sipping away on some fruit flavored beer when the pony-tailed prince of paupers arrives. Within minutes, he is chest to chest with a guy twice his side. The bigger man tries to avoid trouble and backs off, but le pony follows him outside, where he soon finds his nose broken and himself lying in a pool of blood. But when you hear his side of the story, he at least landed a few punches before the guys’ friends intervened. Friends. What a novel concept. Delusional.

Jose Mourinho sits at the front of class and won’t stop raising his fricking hand. Congratulations on having done all the reading last night and now, at 8am, sharing every detail of every paragraph plus your thoughts. Why let anyone else speak? Why let anyone else take credit? Dialogue? But monologues make for such potent stage work. Dramatic.

Diego Milito you start to hate but then you laugh out loud. Who is this guy? He just kinda walks in, and then, bam, he gets one or two passes and spins gold out of hay. What the……oh, you can’t stay mad. Look at that sheepish grin. You fool nobody. Go ahead. Pat Diego on the back. Give him a high five. Slap him on ye olde buns if it suits your unusual manifestations of masculine bonding. Lovable.

Mark Von Bommel is the driver who never checks his blind spot or uses his turn signals before changing lanes. What’s that? There are….there are other people on the highway? You may…you can hit them if you run around recklessly with no regard for their well being? No way. Total shocker. I thought you could just hop on the expressway and it was Lord of the Flies meets law of the jungle meets an R rated version of Lost. Sorry about the fender. And the shin. And the foot. And the thigh. Dick.

Sigh. Spring beckons the winter-weary with playful rays of sunlight and budding flowers. But, for the European soccer fan, this time of year can induce the opposite of Seasonal Affect Disorder – do you suffer from “Seasonal-Abject-Depression”? Please, joint me as we mope together.

The harvest has been long, the winter cruel, and the missteps of the fall haunt you like a mansion’s deceased butler. As the roses bloom and the clouds part, do you only find yourself complaining about a running nose? A scratchy throat? Red eyes? Is your glass half empty, even though it’s half full of delightful wheat flavored beer?

As the young couples promenade about town, holding hands and smiling effervescently, do you find yourself full of jealous? Do you pass the day thinking about errant Nicklas Bendtner or Dimitar Berbatov headers, delicately plucking the pedals from a flower and saying “FA Cup…not this year. Premiership…not this year. Champions League…probably never”?

Have any ants ruined your picnic at a park? Is your sun dress an ironed, wrinkly mess? Do your khaki shorts make your thin-as-a-stick calves look, err, thin as a stick? Would one errant penalty kick in November have made you the happiest person in the universe? Does your heart ache for moment’’s passed, for what if’s, for a time when Fernando Torres could run without spraining his MCL?

Spring is a time for new beginnings, but do you long for the summer already? Would you readily trade the humidity and heat for the glimmering prospect of a new manager or new impact player to trot about? Or is that just one of the many lies we tell ourselves, that with just one more signing we could….we could….Sigh. Sigh.

Hope springs eternal, but Spring encroaches upon the soccer fan like an enemy army assembling on a nearby hill. Despite the seasonal treats, the memory of another season past, another year of dust collected in a trophy case, stings like the harsh winter wind. Sigh.

There once was one who desired “to make his throne higher than the clouds over the earth and resemble ‘My power’ on high.” This one, who called himself special, built a throne as high as the eye could see, yet his grasp never reached his vision. Frustrated. Troubled. His hubris weighed him down, tumbling to the Earth on broken wings. And landing in the Serie A.

Yet an ideal can also fall.

Ideals. Principles. Morals. Values. The desire to speak for an eternity of echelons, to convert the material into the ideal. Yet what happens when the carefully constructed mental image meets the harsh confines of reality? When happens when the painter’s loft is bombed by German warplanes? Guernica inspires introspection but wouldn’t stop a bullet. Ideals meet deaths. Often of their own making.

Temptation. Why be a stick in the mud? Why be so stubborn? Why try to fly a flag in a hurricane? The alternative is easier. Hoof the ball forty yards up field. Bypass the midfield with a switch to Messi. Ibrahimovic is so much taller than the central defenders. Alves whips in such dangerous crosses. Is it really that different? A slight tactical adjustment never hurt anybody. Just this once.

Adversary. Enemy. Accuser. Beelzebub. Belial. What Raphael will stand up to the Great Dragon? We’ve seen this battle enacted and re-enacted a thousand times before our very eyes. The lightbearer becomes archdeceiver. The risen falls.

Humming along on a cruise ship in the Caribbean, everybody is cordial and nobody doubts the abundances of life and goodness of man. But what happens on a lifeboat in open sea, when the sky blurs into the ocean, the sun beats down like a club, and you only feel the ripples of the waves and the pangs of hunger?

Now comes the true trials, temptations, and tribulations. The Cules will blink and swear they see twelve men huddled in the box. The lurking Swede’s head will appear tallest and easiest to hit. But for all the talk of rebellion, betrayal, and darkness, this time last year a flashing, blinding beam of hope shot through the Chelsea net like the first rays of dawn. Will we see another?

So, back in November of last year, Wayne Rooney was playing well and we sung his praises with a look at some trite football cliches. But here’s the dilemma – since that time, Rooney has gone on an even more torrid goalscoring run and his talents transcend “football.” Thus, we present a series of trite cliches that go beyond the sport.

Against Milan in the return leg, Rooney ran onto a lovely Neville cross and made no mistake. Obviously, the average human being would see Gary Neville start to attempt a cross and give up in advance. They would roll their eyes and shrug their shoulders in anticipation. But not Rooney. He kept his focus on the .001% chance that a decent cross may arrive. And it did. And he finished it. A fan at Old Trafford, savoring the sweet taste of European victory, was heard to remark – “Wayne Rooney has a good head on his shoulders.”

Against Aston Villa in the League Cup final, Rooney fended off James Collins to nod home the winner in pulsating 2-1 victory. This was a clutch goal in a clutch situation – any other player may have gotten wobbly knees despite the apparent simplicity of the task. Not to mention the fact that Rooney, despite a robust frame, does not exactly exude height or jumping prowess. A commentator put it succintly – “Rooney is heads and shoulders above the rest.”

Just a month earlier, against City in the League Cup semifinals, deep in injury time, Rooney again used his noggin to glance home a winner. The goal culminated an emotional fightback by the Red Devils, who had lost to City and an inspired Carlos Tevez in the first leg. Rooney’s goal was not the result of an individual duel of will with a center back, but rather a sharper reaction. Rooney’s goal was the fruit of a focused and acute mind. This time, a manager took a a stab at explaining Rooney’s consistency this season:  ”He always uses his head.”

Signs of this prowess have been plain for all to see since 2007. As a young man in a game against Arsenal, Rooney redirected an Evra cross with a very conspicuous part of his body. Hint – it was attached to his neck and not his torso. No, not his shoulder. This is Wayne Rooney, not Pippo Inzaghi. At the time, many Red Devils fans wondered – could this pale Scouser be the real deal? A Gunner pundit muttered under his breath – “Rooney is heading in the right direction – BAH HUMBUG!”

Still, the year before, Rooney got an infamous red card against Portugal in the World Cup. He stamped Ricardo Carvahlo’s groin and was sent off, with England to later lose on penalties. Questions abounded about his temperament, focus, and dedication. Despite a bit of provocation from Cristiano Ronaldo, Rooney’s own teammates admitted he was a bit “hot headed.”

But after 20 plus goals, a League Cup, and leading the attack in a United side that is threatening for the domestic and European double, a homeless man outside a pub, watching the Milan game through a window, remarked: “Rooney has grown from strong willed and ill tempered to focused and headstrong. Defenders just seem to get out of his way.”

Every star player’s career starts as a collection of trite similes. If fortune smiles upon this young man, he will play for a top club and be compared to the ghosts of European Cups past. But then, one day, his performances will cast away the fog of history like the sun rising over the mornings’ mist. Gonzalo Higuain, I extend sincere congratulations because, sob sob, you really really remind me of Gonzalo Higuain.

A few others concur in my assessment….

The old, cagey fan.  “You know what I like most about this whipper snapper, aside from them young legs? His attitude. He sat on some benches behind some other guys, and he didn’t brood, he didn’t complain. He just schemed and planned and trained like a man. He’s got a bit of Higuain in him, that young’en, and in today’s footballing world of dancy nancies, a little Higuain goes a long way.”

The ignorant, casual young fan. “Oh my gosh for Christmas, like, I asked for a Gonzalo Higuain jersey, and, like, when I woke up in the morning, I ran down the stairs, tore open all the presents, and found my very own gleaming, bright, clean as a new sheet, white Gonzalo Higuain jersey! I can’t wait to go to the game and wear it and be like, hey, I have your jersey! Sooo Higuain!”

The male-as-object female-centered soccer blog. “Do you know who he’s dating? Do you care? Do I care. Did you see those legs? He made Daniel Alves look like an ugly Brazilian demon that hopefully upon expiration will take his rightful place at Mephistopheles’ side. And the hair. He’s a total Higuainy!”

The petulant troll-laden soccer forum. “Dude, every single player sucks and should play harder. I am so mad that a player missed a game to witness the birth of his child – I had a fiver and everything. Cunt. But not Higuain – this guy plays really hard every game. That’s why I brilliantly have incorporated his name into my username: Higuain.”

The over-educated-underpaid quasi literary soccer blog. See above.

On Achilles’ demise at Troy as recounted in the Iliad…

Self knowledge is the root of all knowledge. In my playing days I had a bit less height than the other lads, so I had to use my center of gravity and hip check taller blokes. Still, fate and time destine us all to have weaknesses, weaknesses which we must ourselves explore and defend. Achilles could have had any minor goddess he wanted and teased out some crucial information, but, simply put, he didn’t. If I had been Achilles, I would have had a titanium boot covering that heel and I also would never have left my blindspot so poorly guarded. Achilles had his chances – I feel no pity for the man. And the Hector celebration was a bit in poor taste.

On Odysseus’ bad luck in the Odyssey…

Here’s the deal – despite my rough edges, I’m a family man. I may have broken some anterior cruciate ligaments in blind rages, but when I see a smiling three year old I roll over like a dachshund. In that wain, Odysseus had a young son, Telemachus, and still left to fight the Trojans despite his opposition to the war. I know some people say “all’s well that ends well,” but as a man you have to look yourself in the mirror and ask – do I really need to fight this fight? All of his later problems sprung from that ill fated and poorly thought out initial decision.

On Aeneas’ misfortune in the Aeneid…

Well, first off, I don’t agree with his leaving Troy. Your city in flames, your women raped, your family heirlooms plundered, I would have taken out a few enemies and died a soldier. But let’s just assume, assume, a-s-s-u-m-e it’s okay to run away with your tail tucked between your legs – if you really want to get home, how about you not spend so much time in the lovenest of Dido? How about you not go on “hunting expeditions” or “enter caves” with a goddess whose husband was murdered by his brother? Is that really the type of family you want to get involved with?

On Fernando Torres’ predicament at Anfield…

A lot of lesser men could look around and say, you know what, I play alongside Ryan Babel and depend on Yossi Benayoun for service? Okay, I just clocked in – five hundred tweets later – okay, I just clocked out. But not this young tenacious Spaniard. Against Villa, he pounced on that loose ball in the box like a starving Grizzly Bear snaps up Salmon in Alaska. You get the feeling he would snag a kitten from a mansion ablaze without batting one of his boyish eyelashes. But the babyface doesn’t fool me, not for one second. If I had to pick one mate to watch my back in a barfight aside from Patrick Vieira, it would be Torres. And I don’t say that lightly. My advice for Fernando is simple – never change, and don’t let anyone else change you.

Still not forgotten.

Carlos cut out all the carbs

And added cotton.

Photo Credit: WAATP

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Arshavin is Superman

Just re watch the tape.

This Russian breed of player

Merely lacks the cape.

Photo credit: ESPN (Getty)

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Capello A Capella

Fabio now speaks:

“I won’t indulge anymore.

Owen just plain wreeeeeeeeeeeaks.”

Photo credit: 3Nil (Getty)

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The Kazim Dream Team

Club seeks a transfer,

But some stamina rumors

Means no good offer.

Photo credit: Off the Post

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The Indignant Optimist

“Just you wait, you prick!

Because next season it’s on!

We will crush you. Dick.”

Photo Credit: The DA

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Russian for “Ha Ha”

-What is he saying?

-I reckon he’s trash talking!

-Get back to playing!

Photo Credit: Dirty Tackle

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Skank’in Rooney

Rooney skanks about

To the wailing trombone beat.

Then lets out a shout!

Photo Credit: Footy Factor

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The Price of Success

To reach the summit,

You must reach deep down inside

While the weak plummet.

Photo Credit: The DA

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Pinky Polkraine

Masculinity?

When you’re hot, why bother with

Such affinity?

Photo Credit: WorldCupBlog

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“Rabid Maldini Envy”

Like a quite fine wine

Paolo got better with age.

More grapes from the vine?

Photo Credit: The Offside

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]]> http://futfanatico.com/2009/12/18/photo-batchhaikus-to-match-3/feed/ 0 http://futfanatico.com/2009/12/11/photo-batchhaikus-to-match-2/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=photo-batchhaikus-to-match-2 http://futfanatico.com/2009/12/11/photo-batchhaikus-to-match-2/#comments Fri, 11 Dec 2009 14:31:25 +0000 Elliott http://futfanatico.com/?p=2302

“Run Ronnie, Run”

He once scored at will.

Now he lusts for something else

And can’t get his fill.

Photo credit: In the Stands

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“Guti is Perfect”

Guti is snooty,

But his name has fitting rhymes -

Moody and fruity.

Photo credit: Realmadridtalk

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“Fabio Hasselhoff”

He’s seldom merry.

But now fitter than Rio,

Fab beside Terry?

Photo credit: Dailymail

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“Eternal Greatness Awaits”

Best music ever?

Still better than that well known

Football Manager.

Photo credit: Wikipedia

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“Bitter Aftertaste”

I prefer smooth beer.

I tried a Newcastle once,

but will now steer clear.

Photo Credit: The DA

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“Where the Wild Things Are”

A boy becomes man

When he stands up for the just

And does all he can.

Photo: WAATP

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“The Enemy List”

Perhaps you mistook

Hiddink for Richard Nixon.

One was not a crook.

Photo: MarthaCalcio

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“The Essence of Kuyt”

You’ve seen him hobble.

But have you yourself ever

Heard Dirk Kuyt gobble?

Photo credit: Football Filter

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“The R & B Left Back”

Nascent rap career?

Not with his delicate knees.

Care to lend an ear?

Photo: In the Stands

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“Heaven”

Another short loan…

Upon return, tail tucked in,

Care to hear him groan?

Photo: SBI

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]]> http://futfanatico.com/2009/12/11/photo-batchhaikus-to-match-2/feed/ 1 http://futfanatico.com/2009/12/04/a-perceptive-panoptic-gaze-into-the-future/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=a-perceptive-panoptic-gaze-into-the-future http://futfanatico.com/2009/12/04/a-perceptive-panoptic-gaze-into-the-future/#comments Fri, 04 Dec 2009 13:07:36 +0000 Elliott http://futfanatico.com/?p=3566 Talent never goes unnoticed. Sure, we’ve chuckled along to Jack Bauer’s MLS playoff preview and Walter Mercado’s take on the Premiership, but behind the fantasy lied a cold reality: both made pretty good guesses. Granted, gambling a mortgage on a taurot card is not recommended. But, in addition to the stock “copyright lawsuit threat letters” which fill my inbox,  I recently received an interesting offer: an invitation from a football gambling website.

I cannot tell a lie – I see no problem with putting a fiver on a match or two. Basically, BetUS has asked for an ever so small slice of the limelight, I need to cover server fees, and, more importantly, Michel Foucault. Michel Foucault? Yes, Michel Foucault, the renowned French philosopher.  What does Michel Foucault think of this development and the upcoming English football fixtures? Let’s find out…

Arsenal is mired in a tailspin after losing at Sunderland and at home to the diabolical, aging, but not decrepit Blues man group. The 4-3-3 without Robin Van Persie lacks a forward capable of creating his own shot, yet Stoke should offer more than a sacrificial lamb. Michel predicts that the current madness at the Emirates will calm down and the Gunners will produce a civilized and convincing victory over Stoke.

Manchester United faces West Ham at Upton Park and in unfavorable circumstances. After a poor start, West Ham is hitting its stride and, with only Wayne Rooney showing signs of offensive life, this could be an upset pick. Foucault believes that the United backline’s lack of discipline this season may be punished, although you may want to check the latest betting football odds at BetUS before placing a fiver.

The next marquee match up is a classic battle of new rich vs. newer rich. Chelsea may have been knocked out of a cup competition midweek, but their victory at the Emirates solidified their status as topdawg. While City has a talented roster chocked full of individual talent, Mark Hughes has failed to form a winning combination. Michel is torn when trying to place an order on the things favorable in this game. On the one hand, if Hughes packs the midfield with De Jong, Ireland, and Barry, City may continue their lovely draw streak. On the other hand, with Robinho’s return to fitness, Hughes may take an offensive gamble. One on which Chelsea would capitalize.

Lastly, Liverpool visits Blackburn whom is boosted by the return to fitness of Sam Allardyce. With neither Gerrard nor Torres at 100% fitness and a negative home side, do not expect the goals to rain from the sky. Unless the Rovers can knick a goal off a set piece, expect a dull affair with the highlight being a Dirk Kuyt half-spin and volley which does not end wit him connecting with the ball.

Foucault would disregard a priori concepts of human nature and focus how Rafa’s discourse of “my players suck and underachieve and its not my fault” constitutes the current subjective reality of the Scousers’ mediocre season. And he would put a fiver on a 0-0 draw. He would reflect on BetUS when considering bet football picks online