The Frank Lampard Appreciation Society offers another unique, unadulterated glimpse into the voyage of life of one tragic Monseur Lampeur.

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.

Get the best of Futfanatico 2011 for only a buck here.

The Frank Lampard Appreciation Society proudly presents yet another chapter in the unedited, uncut version a of Frank Lampard’s diary from this season. Read at your own risk. Warning – this content may not be suitable for mature adults.

NOVEMBER 1, 2011

Genk. The word will forever haunt my nightmares. It seems like just yesterday JT was missing penalty kicks in finals and I was hugging him and reminding him that there would always be a tomorrow. That tomorrow is today. And I can look back at a long line of unhappy yesterdays. We tied Genk in the Champions League. And I didn’t start.

The manager continues to play tricks with my mind, what with the not starting me every game and not playing me every minute. In this game, Ramires scored an early goal, just as I told him to before the match, but then tragedy struck. We won a penalty kick, but our designated penalty kick taker was not on the field. Me. I did shout from the bench for David Luiz to take it, but I specifically instructed him to score. He did not. Then Genk scored. And then, surprise surprise, Mr. Gofer, our “manager,” subbed me in. Super Frank to the rescue. All I needed was a cape!

But even Super Frank needs more than a half hour to create magic. You can’t just grab David Copperfield out of a bus, hand him a hat and wand, and expect him to make the Statute of Liberty instantly disappear. That young Sturridge chap did well, though, and sent me a decent cross. However, he sent me a cross to my feet, not to my head as instructed. If he can just improve that and place a ball on my noggin, I harbor the hope we can turn things around. Assuming I start matches, that is.

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON NOVEMBER 2, 2011

I am ever so upset. On the charter back from the Genk game, I wrote a nice note to Sturridge to compliment his performance, especially the part about passing the ball to me. I sat at the front of the charter, so I passed the note backwards in the hopes it would reach Sturridge at the back. And guess who intercepted it – KALOU. He grabbed it and opened it and read it to everybody. He even imitated my voice and sang “Danny & Frankie sitting in a tree.” I was so angry and also so embarrassed and so sad. Doesn’t he realize that people write and pass notes because they want to say something in private? I really hope we don’t re-sign him at the end of the year. He upsets team chemistry. And me.

NOVEMBER 5, 2011

I am ever so elated! I haven’t much to say because I normally only write in you when things go poorly, but today was marvelous. I started the game, played 90 minutes, and scored the winning goal! I vividly recall the moment. Ivanovic sent me a pass which made me happy, but then I realized the pass would be too low and miss my head, the fool! Instinctively, I closed my eyes, attempted to re-enter the womb, curled into the fetal position, tripped over my own shoes, and headed the ball into the net. It was glorious. I just hope Manager Gopher saw it and learned his lesson.

NOVEMBER 12, 2011

The good times keep rolling and I feel like nothing can stop me, not even Mr. Manager Gopher buzzkill. Well, you can’t stop true genius – you can only hope to not-start it. Or un-start it. Regardless, I am elated yet again! I captained England and we beat Spain! Scott Parker was man of the match, but many journalists overlooked a simple fact – he was only running to where I was pointing. Regardless, I also scored the goal, once again using my patented “no movement /ball bounces invitingly to forehead” approach. I am so so happy! Nothing could go wrong!

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON NOVEMBER 22, 2011

I’m sorry if you think that I’ve been avoiding you, but I’m really really sad. I’ve been too depressed to even pick up a pen. I was scoring goals and starting and the world was wonderful, but then the carpet got yanked form under my feet. We lost to Liverpool at home. I didn’t score a goal and my teammates didn’t give me good passes. It was miserable. Glen Johnson scored a late winner and I sprinted over to John Terry to tell him to not call Glen a black cunt. JT agreed, but asked if he could call him a brown cunt. I don’t think JT quite gets the point at times.

Sometimes I feel like all I have is you. And it breaks my heart.

NOVEMBER 23, 2011

Guten morgen! Even though my team’s season is in a tailspin, I am ever so happy. Why? Well, today I get to see my old friend, Michael, from Germany. We still talk from time-to-time by telephone about the good old days, back when we could stand in front of Essien, walk around, take speculative shots from distance, and occasionally head corner kicks. Michael is liking Germany and even sent me some lederhosen. He said that lots of teams in the bundesliga would love to sign me, and that in Germany, my first name would be “Fran”, not “Frank.” I am not making that last part up!

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON NOVEMBER 24, 2011

I am sad. It was great to see Michael again, but we lost to his team, Barnyard Leavercusack, on another last second goal. The worst part is that I specifically told each defender not to give up a goal in the last ten minutes of the game! And what did they do? Yep. I also tried on the lederhosen, took a pic, and put it on my Google Plus profile for a spell as a joke. And guess who printed out a picture and taped it all over the locker room? KALOU. I hate him.

Worst yet, management got wind and I had to meet with the coach and GM. I had to profess my “commitment” to Chelsea, but nobody had to commit to me. I’ve really started to lose patience with Mr. Gopher Manager. I tried to talk tactics and drew a chalkboard of our team with lots of arrows pointing to my forehead and me standing near goal, but it was lost on him. Simpleton. I actually miss Avram Grant. And Gus Hiddink. And Carlos.

NOVEMBER 27, 2011

The downward spiral continues. I didn’t start yesterday and the manager told me the night before. I slept with the window open and a cold chill awoke me around 3am. I closed the window. I put on an extra layer of sailor pajamas. I got out a second comforter from the closet. I still felt a cold chill. I put on the lederhosen my friend Michael had sent me, but nothing worked. I lay awake, freezing. The day of the game, the team won 3-0, but I only played the last 20 minutes. In that time, I walked, I pointed, and I panted, but I felt the world spinning around me. I was lost in my own jersey, in my own stadium, and playing in the stadium I’ve called home for a decade.

I really hope I get an iPad 2 for Christmas to cheer me up. And a Bentley.

Digital image impression by Erik Ebeling. Check out his other artwork at ErikEbelingArt.com. He also did the excellent illustrations for our soccer eBook “An Illustrated Guide to Soccer & Spanish.”

Noted American philosopher and novelist Ayn Rand has graciously cleared her hectic social schedule to answer a few questions about the MLS cup, David Beckham, and also her philosophy of “objectivism.” Please note that while I am a fan of MLS and respect Mr. Beckham’s sporting endeavors, I do not intend for this post to serve as an implicit or explicit endorsement of Ayn Rand’s philosophy. Or their implications for MLS. Nevertheless, as an intellectual celebrity, we were delighted to get a few words in with her.

Even if they don’t really clarify much of anything.

Editor: Ayn, few people know that before becoming a philosopher, you were actually a screenwriter in LA and playwright in New York. As such, MLS fans obviously want to know – were you secretly hoping for a LA Galaxy vs. NY Red Bulls final?

Ayn Rand: Everybody always wants to see the most productive geniuses at the highest level and to achieve greatness we must create systems that do not reward mediocrity. My attachment to those two clubs, though, comes purely from reason and the reason that the strongest, fastest, and swiftest must prevail or we as a society are collectively strangling them in the worst ways imaginable. The fact that I geographically occupied the same region should not be read as some sort of moral or emotional attachment. Only reason must drive the individual, and the individual’s attachment, or success will be unattainable.

Editor: So, um, with that in mind, do you think the MLS playoffs are okay? Should we just disregard geography entirely like they already sorta do? Or do you think the playoffs need to be tweaked? New York playing LA early on and in a Western conference game is kinda weird, right? But at least you must love the fact that both teams have lots of designated players and therefore have put serous pressure on the concept of a salary cap. Do objectivists dig the direction of the league? Do the “haves” in MLS not “have” enough?

Ayn Rand: The “haves” never “have” enough. The Beckham Rule was just the beginning of the inevitable – be it in Russia, or even now in Cuba. The strong will not be shackled for eternity by the mediocre demands of a weakly collective. The runts of the litter will enjoy their teet of milk for only so long, but they will die as the stronger thrive.

Editor: So you think eventually the designated player rule will swallow the salary cap and the Columbus Crew will cease to exist? Interesting. Now, changing gears, your philosophy of ‘objectivism” was pretty popular stateside but largely ignored by the intellectual elite as stubbornly nativist. The basic problem was that you just kinda assumed an objective reality existed free of language, and then built a philosophy on that. Similarly, MLS has arguably built a single entity-franchise model built on Wal-Mart principles that has failed to attract a whole lot of international attention. What do you have to say for you and MLS’ detractors?

Ayn Rand: Philosophers have always lashed out at me for a simple reason – science and technology have supplanted their importance and threatened their livelihood. The old guard of philosophy was built upon mysticism and faith, yet the industrial revolution improved medicine and extended the length and quality of life. Capitalism has rendered the average man incredibly intelligent and self-sufficient. The 21st century man and I have no time to squabble with ivory tower academics that preach blindness to an objective reality everybody can see but them. And as for MLS, the proper laissez-faire policies could allow the producers of greatness to do what they do best – produce greatness. Attention will then follow greatness – it always does.

Editor: Wow, so you’re for no salary cap? Then more international eyeballs will catch an MLS Game? But surely European debt problems at major clubs show that without any check on competition, the owners will spend themselves to death, right? Surely sport is distinct from other enterprises – in PCs, if we are left with only Microsoft, we’ll survive, but if we are left with only Manchester United in soccer, who the hell will they play?

Ayn Rand: I find your lack of faith disturbing. Where you see a monopoly, I see greatness personified atop a mountain’s peak. Do you really enjoy watching Manchester United play against Norwich on a cold Saturday morning? Regardless, you sound like the most cynical of social workers. Even mid-table teams don’t need coddling. The opposite is in order. For example, in terms of MLS, the elimination of a salary cap would allow the teams to recruit top players to then obtain more profit from people paying to see the improved product that they produce. How would that spell a death knoll? Your condescension and lack of faith in the producers belies your cynicism and is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Editor: Um, what about the NASL? But that debate is beyond the scope of this interview and you sound like Data from TNG anytime somebody pokes a hole in your libertarian ideals. Thus, here’s a more practical topic: in terms of the actual MLS Cup Final, who did you expect to win – the LA Galaxy or the Houston Dynamo? Why?

Ayn Rand: Based on the past, often a poor rubric for predicting the future and success, one would think LA was more likely to produce the best product. LA also had a significantly higher investment in assets (players) and was playing the game in the comfort of their own designated industrial production zone (stadium).

Editor: Speaking of that “zone”, Los Angeles, I know that you have long argued that air pollution is a “scientific” problem, not a “political” one. However, anybody who’s flown to LAX can see the cloud of smog. I was in LA for a week and didn’t realize there were surrounding mountains. Surely Chad Barrett would be a step faster if he could breath during games, right?

Ayn Rand: Yet Chad Barrett had a good season and has never doubled over from a coughing attack. I do not blame you for imposing your-concerned-social-worker values upon a professional athlete, yet the freedom of labor and movement offer the solution. If one is not happy in their wonderful industrial metropolis, then the world offers many others full of fruitful occupations.

Editor: On that topic, in terms of the mobility of labor, MLS has continued to rely on the college draft to pick-up talent. However, in Europe, they usually sign teenagers and then send them to elite soccer-focused academies. You’ve come down pretty hard on American high schools and colleges – you believe they only confuse young minds and leave them in a state of disbelief. However, many professional athletes who have avoided this “land of disillusion and poor education” and made mad bank are poor within a few years of retirement. Can we agree that education at least teaches people to not be total idiots with their money?

Ayn Rand: No. Once again, your narrow-mindedness attempts to cleverly graft a sense of value upon flawed institutions. Who are you to judge the spending of another? Who are you to say that Mario Balotelli’s iPad does not bring him immeasurable joy? He has worked hard for his wages and has an objective right to spend them as he sees fit. The individual’s right to autonomous decisions, including the spending of wages acquired for production of soccer playing, should never been subject to such naive “altruistic” and “collective” considerations.

Editor: Alright, I figured you’d say as much. Now, and lastly, this is the most important question – now that his contract is up, will David Beckham re-sign with the LA Galaxy?

Ayn Rand: Maybe.

EDITOR’S NOTE

We at the Frank-Lampard Appreciation Society knew that releasing his diary, the uncut version a, would ruffle some feathers. Nevertheless, we remain firmly committed to shedding light on the player’s life, thoughts, and ruminations during this darkest of winters at the twilight of his career. This historical document will continue to be released, unedited, for the sake of the world’s heritage.

SEPTEMBER 29, 2011

Yesterday was bittersweet. I smiled. I cried. I was exhausted. The manager told me the morning of the game that I was going to start against Valencia (no relation to David), and I was excited. I put on one of my classic performances where I control the game with as little leg movement as possible – a metronome if you will- and I scored my first goal of the season from open play!

However, then the manager got fickle. He subbed me out with seven minutes left. As if I couldn’t have walked another seven minutes! Did he not hear the traveling fans’ applause for my goal? Now, I realize I don’t gallop with the ball like I used to, but class and pedigree are eternal in a thorough-bred. And the worst part is that Kalou, the little runt with the big mouth who came on for me, struck the ball with his hand like a volleyball. Valencia scored on the penalty kick. And we only got a draw.

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON OCTOBER 1, 2011

I must admit I thought of you while I was in Spain. The joy, the sadness, the anger – it all got pent up. I do ever enjoy so much writing in you. You really are my dearest friend. I shall make sure you come with me on my next travels, so that we shan’t be apart for so long.

OCTOBER 15, 2011

Another one of those days. Today I started, played the full 90 minutes, and really feel that the manager is starting to trust me. I make mistakes. He makes mistakes. We all make mistakes. I can forgive him for not starting me in the past so long as he keeps starting me in the present and also the future (which is important). I think he’s finally began to realize that my exceptional leadership qualities continue to shine even when my legs tire. Nobody on this team, not Mikel, not Ramires, not Mata, not Droba, can point to a teammate and tell them to run like me. With my years of experience and the lessons my footballer father taught me, I know where my mates should run before they even know, and I’m not afraid to let them know. So, I didn’t score today, but we won. And my finger pointing played a big part I’d like to think.

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON OCTOBER 20, 2011

I know I said that I wouldn’t ever trust that blabber Kalou again, but I mistakenly mentioned you to him. And, of course, within days, Terry and Drogba were making fun of me. Terry brought a pink and heart shaped diary into the locker room and asked me to sign it after training. I tried to fight back the tears, but when he threw it at my face and then Drogba pulled down my shorts, and then every body laughed, I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry and cry.

OCTOBER 29, 2011

Yesterday was another bittersweet day. It’s an odd thing. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve started thinking more about my legacy, but also my younger years. When I was a lad, I used to love to go to museums and stare at statues. I idolized them. I wanted to be them. I’d stare and stare and always promised myself – someday I”ll stand around, hardly move, be looked at, and be really really heavy. Here I am, close to the pinnacle of my childhood dream, yet now my legacy worries me. We lost to Arsenal.

Of course, I scored a goal. But as the game wore on, my mates really stopped listening to my instructions. I pointed at Cole at least five times and told him not to get dribbled around by Walcott. And what did he do? He got dribbled around. I pointed at Terry and told him not to trip when trying to receive a hospital ball, and what did he do? Yep. I don’t know if they couldn’t hear me because of the noise at the Bridge, but I clearly pointed at them. I was also standing center circle, so they couldn’t have missed me.

As I sit in my study at my loft, I’d like to think that I can pen the last chapter of my career as simply as I write these very words. Yet a tear runs down my cheek. I’ve never much cared for twist endings, especially when my ex-wife made me see The Notebook and it turned out that old ugly hag was crazy the whole time. I hope my time at Chelsea doesn’t end like that.

Since mankind painted the walls of caves, we have struggled to capture the immensity of reality in brushstrokes. At the most basic level, a painting or image will simply mirror real life. A family portrait, a postcard – these superficial reproductions serve a purpose, albeit limited. However, every once in a while inspiration meets perspiration meets talent. Sometimes, a pictorial creation transcends reality to not just replicate it, but communicate profound understandings of both reality and ourselves.

When ESPN debuted their new red-own-goal icon a few weeks back, it was one of those moments. Since then it has proliferated, appearing in both the Ireland European Cup qualifying game and the Brazil-Mexico friendly. But what does this little red soccer ball say about us?

Since the Roman empire, red has always been associated with Mars, the planet and God. That is to say, red can mean love and war, peace and hate. Red represents two sides of the same passionate emotional coin. Red provokes rage in bulls but also taints the blood that flows from our body. Red is a powerful color. Red is destruction, but destruction due to our own human frailty. Soeth is they Own-Goal Icon.

Not convinced? Well, let’s take a glance at some other places where we’ve seen this ESPN Own-Goal Icon or similar images before…

Hal from 2001: A Space Odyssey
Did you find Hal from 2001 kinda creepy? Even before he killed a few of the astronauts and tried to lock out another? Why? Well, he definitely had a Microsoft Mr. Paperclip vibe about him. And you got the feeling that perfection could run into a perfect loop of a shit storm. Just as defenders fight to get a foot or head to every cross in the name of the defensive mission, Hal took any means necessary to advance his own shuttle. Yet perfection applied to an imperfect world is a recipe for self-destruction.

A brief transcript of the Ireland-Armenian game:

-Open the Armenian goal, Hal. OPEN THE GODDAMN ARMENIAN GOAL!

-I’m sorry, Robbie Keane. You got injured playing for the LA Galaxy. I’m afraid this mission is too important to….
Creepy Verizon Droid Bionic Ads
Nowadays, the young people like to trot about with super computers in their pocket. They play Angry Birds instead of paying attention to adults, but rest easy at night – the radiation will hopefully render their genders a mutilated mess by their mid-forties. Assuming the brain cancer doesn’t kill them.

What has led them to hold small beeping cancer boxes so closer to their ear? This.

Yes. I don’t get it either. This is the future, what the world will look like when our bodies have long been frozen next to Joe Dimaggio’s. The winking red eye seduces them, the promise of instant gratification too great. If David Luiz spent a bit less time texting, perhaps his vision would be clearer when trying to cut out crosses. We all see Death before he takes us; some just stare at him cross-eyed.

The Eye of Sauron

I’m not a big fan of Hobbits or three hour movies or trilogies when the second film just kinda repeats the first one. Yet, as painful as those films were, nothing quite burns the eye like watching 90 minutes of effort evaporate due to a defensive miscue. Was Sauron worse than Morgoth? Is an early own-goal worse than a late own-goal? These are the riddles that puzzle philosophers and ate away most of your youth spent sifting through used fantasy graphic novel bins and comicons.

Sauron’s eye was emblazoned on his warrior orc’s shields and helmets because his own sentry dared not utter his accursed name. Even to this day, Colombians tremble at the mere mention of the term autogol. Brutal images of US ’94 snap into mind. When Frodo saw the eye, it was a yellow slit and the pupil was a window into nothingness. Yet in soccer, the red eye of the Gamecast Icon is a window into eternal sporting damnation. Ye dare not stareth too long….

The Masque of the Red Death

In Edgar Allen Poe’s short story, the rich protect themselves as best they know how – cloistering themselves far away from the poor and hollowly paying lip service to the conventional god of the day. Yet, despite their efforts, one by one, the Red Death comes to them as a stranger and leaves them as a killer. Similarly, no matter how many times a team practices set pieces or defending crosses, the prospect of self-destruction lingers.

As you watch the game, probably from work, you flinch as you click re-fresh. You immerse yourself in the match to forget the toils of the day. Yet, deep down in your heart of hearts, you dread and fear and anticipate that little red ball appearing. Then, horror of horrors. The Gamecast play-by-play is a few minutes behind, but you already have seen the red writing on the wall. The dot of Mars sears your eyes and leaves a profound mark on all it touches.

Less they be damned….or own a smartphone.

Elliott’s soccer eBook, An Illustrated Guide to Soccer & Spanish, is available on the Amazon Kindle for only $5.99. Check out a free preview here.

FOREWORD

Frank Lampard kept a diary from September 1, 2011 until June 2012. Initially, he wrote it strictly for himself. Then, upon seeing the success of second rate player autobiographies, he decided that when the season was over, he would publish a book based on his diary. He began rewriting and editing his diary, improving on the text, omitting uninteresting passages, and adding others. Frank’s first, unedited diary is normally referred to as edition a. The second version, though, is known in academic circles as edition b.

At the end of the season, when it became clear that Frank was no longer a regular starter for Chelsea or England, he became frustrated and ceased to write. A secretary found bits and pages of the diary thrown across the locker room in Stamford Bridge. She then turned the diary over to Chelsea’s PR department, who decided to fulfill Frank’s initial wish and publish the diary.

In making this choice, the PR department had to bear several points in mind. For starters, the diary had to be short to fit into the serial blog format common at the time. Out of respect for other similarly discarded veterans, the PR department also initially omitted unflattering references to those players. Frank, who had the maturity of a ten year old at the time of the diary’s writing, wrote openly and candidly about his likes and dislikes.

The Frank-Lampard-Appreciation society, based in London, UK, was ultimately entrusted with these poignant insights into the mind of one of Chelsea’s iconic footballers. The reader should keep in mind that this diary series is based on the a version, not the b vesion, but naturally grammatical and spelling errors have been fixed. We have also added his later comments from the same time period. Otherwise, the words have basically been left as written by Frank, since any attempt at editing would be inappropriate in a historical document.

SEPTEMBER 2, 2011

I hope that I will be able to confide all of my life to you, as I’ve never been one to confide in any person, and I hope you will be a strong source of support. Not like that stupid Villas-Boas. Or Kalou. I once told Kalou a lot of stuff about my feelings, and then the next day Drogba and Terry made fun of me in the locker room. I hope you don’t do that.

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON MARCH 14, 2012

Thus far you truly have been my greatest and most cherished friend. Much better than Kalou. This way of maintaining a diary is ever so pleasant, and I look forward to writing in you daily.

SEPTEMBER 20, 2011

Today was one of those dreadful English days when the clouds didn’t envelope the sun, they’d killed it the night before in its sleep. From the window of my three-story townhouse in London, all is gray. Fall beckons. Outside my window stands a magnificent tree, standing over fifty feet tall and with a thick, sturdy trunk. Yet all its leaves have fallen to the ground, crumpled under a passerby’s footsteps. I feel as though the naked branches point at me.

I’ve been holed up in my townhouse for only a few days, but it feels like weeks. Each second stretches into an eternity that I both dread and grasp. I’d rather be training at the Bridge with the lads, but the manager sent me home to rest up and nurse an injury I didn’t even know I had. Every time I ask about the team sheet for a match, I hear the same story about legs, energy, and later important games. I want to believe the words, but the eyes, tone, and body language speak differently. I am depressed. I am profoundly depressed.

SEPTEMBER 24, 2011

Today the manager told me that I would start, but then right before the match told me he changed his mind. It’s okay, though. I’ve learned to cry on the inside, and only the inside. I thought about telling Kalou, but then I remembered the last time when he told Drogba and Terry, so I didn’t. I feel alone. You are the only one I can trust, the only one who will listen. I’ve tried calling my ex-wife, but she only picks up the phone when it’s my turn to have the kids. Otherwise, she doesn’t answer or respond to my text messages, not even the ones with smiley faces. I hope that someday you’ll respond to my text messages with smiley faces. And you won’t tell Drogba and Terry anything, unlike Kalou.

SEPTEMBER 28, 2011

A few days the manager called me and had me fly to Spain with the rest of the squad. I’d already taken up a correspondence course online and been hanging out in the attic/reading room with my cat Moortje, and the phone call came out of the blue. I’d just started to get comfortable with being useless to the man. He told me there’s a big game and I was an important player, just like he always does. He wouldn’t tell me if I was starting or going to be a sub, just that I’d made the game day roster. I don’t even know what to feel anymore, aside from anguish and disgust. He did send me a text message with two smiley faces, though.

This is obviously a work of satire. Neither Chelsea nor Frank Lampard was involved in the creation of this lampoon.

Some good folks at other sites have spread the word about my modest ebook, hot off the cyber presses. To said folks, please accept my sincerest thanks. And here’s the breakdown on the world wide web of love:

If you want to read a sample of the book, then check out an excerpt at the Good Men Project. Ryan also had some nice things to say about it. Who’d have thought?

If you are an Anglo simmering with rage at the recent US loss to Mexico, learn some essential Spanish terms to defend thyself this time around at Dirty Tackle. Brooks was super cool about pointing the Yahoo-DeathStar-traffic laser in my direction. 

The recently launched KCKRs also spread some link love, and Jason Davis invited me to participate in the American Soccer Show podcast. We chatted about American soccer culture, both optimistic for a fusion between the Anglo and Latino strands. Check it out here, but be warned – my raspy, decrepit voice has been known to provoke shrieking in cats and cause mirrors to break. And I say the word “like”, like, a million times. Cyber-blush.

Also, thanks again to Brian Phillips, who graciously penned the foreword. I’m also excited to report that Brian is now a staff writer at Grantland, and you must immediately check out his first soccer piece on the US-Mexico rivalry. Brian waxes philosophical on the American concept of the “border” as a mental construct, a fantasy where the physical line demarcated by the Rio Grande opens up to a lawless land of unregulated desire. As someone who lives on the border, I just think it’s really hot, really poor, and a state income tax would probably help better fund schools for poor people. I also try not to step on any zeta or cdg toes. But yes, the tacos and mole are to die for.

The illustrator, Erik Ebeling, who is not exactly a rabid soccer fan himself, posted some thoughts on his own website. You can also check out some of Erik’s other breathtaking works, of which there are many. Keep your fingers crossed for future collaborations.

On a housekeeping note, again, there will be no print edition. We also do not offer a PDF version. I am not as cool as the Blizzard. And we’ve both known this for quite some time. Nevertheless, the ebook is available for only $5.99. Click here for the Kindle version. Click here for the Nook edition. Recycle. Rinse. Repeat.

Last week, a lot of amateurs dragged my good name through the mud. Basically, a handful of loons got on internet forums and felt the need to inaccurately predict the end of the world. And who pays the price? Sports-following clairvoyants like me, that’s who.

And intellectuals. Luckily, last week noted Psychoanalytic scholar Jacques Lacan spread some truth on Manchester United’s record-setting 19th title winning season. Now, we once against seek help from the world of academic all-stars: noted Postmodern educational scholar Paulo Freire gives us a peek at what to expect in the Champions League final.

You are widely credited as one of the fathers of “liberation theology”, summarized as an attempt to return the Catholic Church to a decentralized entity as envisioned in the gospel of the early Church. Will United be able to exploit Barcelona’s centralized reliance on Xavi and Messi?

Liberation theology, before anything else, is an attempt to apply a Marxist lens to Christianity by focusing on the suffering of the poor and their perspective. In this sense, Christ forces us to look at the larger structures of the world to ask – how and why do they create such unequal results? While Messi has scored lots of Barcelona’s goals, one can never underestimate the power of Xavi to fairly redistribute the ball to other teammates. This is the fundamental tension between centralization and decentralization, no?

Some of the key tenets of liberation theology, grass roots meetings and build-up theological interpretation, have been criticized by the current Pope. Will Barcelona’s attempt to slowly build from the back also be repressed by United’s pressure?

Many theological scholars misinterpret the criticisms of then-Cardinal Ratzinger. Rather than tossing the baby out with the bathwater, his concern was that Marxist and political lenses had supplanted, not enhanced, the fundamental message of the Bible: Jesus’ love and sacrifice for humanity, and our own potential to attempt to imitate this act. As such, Barcelona’s intricate buildup will surely face an initial wave of pressure from the light-footed Chicharito and tireless Park Ji-Sung. However, we cannot conflate such specific points with the broader picture.

Your obra maestra, “Pedagogy of the Oppressed,” has been summarized in unflattering terms as “Students prefer seminars to lectures – no shit.” Similarly, Barcelona’s approach has been called “Monkey in the middle ’til Messi gets open.” How do you respond to such characterizations?

A superficial and functional observation can always lead to unflattering summaries, even if they do have a shred of accuracy. However, these characterizations reveal a critical eye but a closed heart; only by fully rejecting the “top down/banker deposits knowledge” pedagogy and the “run-and-kick” offense can one accept the amazing power of transformation. On a spiritual level, you must accept this concept before the intellect can follow. Not vice-versa.

Your book “the Pedagogy of the Oppressed” has been banned in several totalitarian states, including Arizona (zing). As such, how can we reconcile Sir Alex’s iron-clad clasp on power and United’s success?

Well, for starters, one must clearly define success. Is power alone the definition of success? If so, then some authoritarian states, such as Cuba, must be deemed “success.” However, this is a self-serving criteria. Similarly, oftentimes the iron-clad SAF image and reality diverge. His assistant, Carlos Quieroz, actually runs a large share of United’s day-to-day operations. Also, SAF has shown a democratic and meritocratic approach to players – blooding, developing, and incorporating several different generations over the years. In this sense, SAF has the final say, but the players run the show. Is that not democracy?

Literacy programs for impoverished adults played a large part in both your personal and professional life & development. Do you believe that Barca’s cultured reading of the game gives them a slight edge as compared to United’s counterattacking 4-4-2?

Knowledge and power form a symbiotic bond. One inevitably influences the other. At moments this season, Manchester United has launched counters which go beyond functional literacy to collective telepathy – an understanding and coordination among persons that extends beyond top-down models. However, ultimately, in any society individuals are frightened by their freedom, yet freedom can only be attained by conquest. This is the paradox. We must rightly ask – will fear dominate? Thus, as always, human praxis will rule the day. If one side’s defense fails in its dialogical pursuits, the antidialogical temptation by either Pep or SAF, manifested in a defender for winger/forward sub, could undermine the entire enterprise. And leave them exposed to a counter.

In light of United’s historic 19th title, we decided to revive our special series on interviews with famous intellectuals. We were delighted that dearly departed Jacques Lacan took an hour from his busy day to answer a few questions on Sir Alex Ferguson, the Mirror Stage, the Imaginary Order, Nani, and the ahistorical implications of subjectivity. And United’s 19th title.

Would you classify the reign of Sir Alex as a “Return to Freud” or a “Return to Busby”?

For several decades, the epistemology of psychoanalysis & professional football lay upon a rotten foundation: the unquestioned understanding that secondary Freudian texts should be studied first, often supplanting Freud’s words for these later works. In a sense, Sir Alex has succeeded more on a conceptual level than a material plane – he has pierced the fog of the Atkinsons, the Sextons, and the O’Farrels to offer a fresh yet accurate interpretation of Busby. For that he deserves praise.

Will Nani ever progress beyond the “mirror stage” and stop throwing himself to the ground at every gust of wind?

I would just like to clarify that the “mirror stage” is an essential moment in human development, but really is much more than a single moment per se. Rather, as Freud reflected upon the lingering nature of post-partem attachment between young children and their mother, the mirror phase can last for years, even a decade. Basically, at six months, a child may recognize him or herself in a mirror, yet they lack the ability to fully control their body. While Nani has full control over his hands, as evidenced by the hours he spends in front of the mirror doing his hair each morning, I do not anticipate the mirror stage ending for him anytime soon.

You have posited that “speech originates from beyond our control” and lays in the realm of The Other. Thus, is it fair for Sir Alex to get banned for speaking about referees?

First, we must clarify the glaring difference between “the other” and, of course, “The Other.” The other, referred to as “a”, is but a reflection of our ego, like those Lil Penny commercials from a decade ago. Conversely, “the Other” refers to radical alterity, the symbolic order that is separate from each and every one of us. Only in the “Other” can speech be constituted. Speech is never constituted in the individual, not even Sir Alex Ferguson. Thus, a two match ban would have been less harsh.

You’ve written extensively on the “Symbolic Order,” namely the tension between an object’s simultaneous presence/absence. Would you place Anderson’s performances this year in that category?

What the layperson refers to as “realty” can be broken down into three separate realms: the Imaginary Order, the Symbolic Order, and the Real. The Imaginary is the world before language mutates it – you see Anderson heaving & lumbering about the field, but the words don’t yet form in your head. The Symbolic Order is the wall of language which transforms the world as we perceive it into words and sentences. You see Anderson walk. You think “unfit” or “lazy.” Then, the Real is reality beyond perception, with no margin for error or mistake. Absence/presence only exists in the Imaginary and Symbolic realms, where a reality lurks behind the things our eyes see. Anderson similarly stalked this realm in the last Champions League final, when he simultaneously existed on the same field as Andres Iniesta yet disappeared in key moments. This year has been no different.

Your writings focus on unlocking intimate desires – for example, you claim that only by “articulating a desire” can it be fulfilled. Was this the case in Cristiano Ronaldo’s move to Real Madrid?

Desire exists first in the Imaginary Order. Our lusts, our yearnings – these manifest themselves before language can map them into a Symbolic Order. The summer before Cristiano’s move to Real, the entire world could feel the intense Imaginary Order emanating from his actions & gestures. Yet he stayed at United. I assert that only when his desire was fully articulated and began to occupy the Symbolic Order could it be attained. Plus Real offered a huge transfer fee.

Gareth Bale’s short-popping runs bring to mind your work “The Signification of the Phallus.” Do United “need” a new left back to replace the aging Patrice Evra, or is this just a “desire”?

First, we must classify “desire appropriately.” There is desire as a need – a biological impulse that must be fulfilled. Every team needs a left back. However, there is also demand – which both articulates that need and also is a demand for love. Even if we fulfill our “need”, thus satiating the pressing “demand,” the demand for love will always be unfulfilled. United can fulfill their need for younger legs at left back by signing Bale, but the need for love is omnipresent. And Evra is pretty needy as is.

The time has come to revisit our roots. And our roots are tethered to the shifting sands of the Egyptian Nile, where the first haiku mocking an athlete was engraved into a tablet that later came to be known as the Bosetta Stone. Okay, so maybe we made that last part up. And maybe these haikus are made up. But the pics are great. Enjoy!

“Startling, Subtle Truths About the Star Swedish Striker”

Ibrahimovic.

His name’s tough to fit haikus.

Moody,whiny….

via (Futbolita & AP Photo)

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“Mario Balotelli’s Recent Actions Cast Doubt on His Maturity”

Super Mario.

A bum knee but working mouth.

Worst scenario.

via (Dirty Tackle & LaPresse)

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“Gerard’s Appointment Elicits Zero Emotions”

Gerard Who-lier?

Caretaker or gravedigger?

Which is scarier?

via (A More Splendid Life & Aston Villa Blog)

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“Edgar Davids is a Ferocious Seat Winner in the Theater”

He who harrasses,

Meets his own. For the last time -

They’re NOT sunglasses!

via (The Spoiler)

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“Board is Almost Spelled the Same as Bored”

Krulak is a troll!

When you don’t spend on players,

time is seldom full.

via (The Offside)

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“Not All Decisions are Incredibly Difficult”

Avram has his way.

Stay Home, Rest, or Coach West Ham?

Let me think – Oi Ve.

Via (Soccernet & PA Photos)

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