For the last year’s Champions League quarterfinal, we speculated that Barcelona just may embody the spirit of a high school full of vampires. We were pretty close in the comparison and the prediction. Ultimately, despite solid Arsenal resistance, the Cules drove a stake through their hearts.

But the Clasico exceeds in self-appointed grandiosity any old run-of-the-mill Champions League quarterfinal clash. Thus, flash forward several months and add millions of dollars to the movie’s budget. Plot-wise, the vampires have since graduated from high school. They and their werewolf double agent allies have plotted to take over a small pioneer town by the name of Bernabo Bay. Only one thing can stop them: Cowboys. And one more thing: Aliens. And one last thing: Predator.

Of course, we can never fathom why this macabre collection of nocturnal monsters desires to take over Bernabo Bay. Tis a quaint town with humble hardworking folks that work hard in mines. The vampire leader, the fanged and immaculately-eye-brow plucked Count Xavi Nosferatu, has perhaps grown restless in his old age and got bored with his haunted Castle Nou near Mont Thabor. Regardless, he brashly believes that Draculiniesta and fierce werewolves Masher and Busk will make quick work of the townfolk.

They are in for a rude awakening. Bernabo Bay is aware of the impending attack thanks to their own double agent: skinny and socially awkward vampire heartthrob Angel de Muerte. De Muerte looks like an emaciated kid with a tapeworm or a teenager who went vegan to impress a goth chick, but don’t let appearances fool you – he is as quick with his mind as with his feat. He cleverly befriended Lord Leo, a knight of the vampire order, and learned of their attack.

He reported the pending vampire & werewolf invasion to Joe Mayorinho, the town mayor. Mayorinho held a town hall meeting that at times grew rowdy. Peppy, a local ruffian, suggested that they all just kick and step on the vampires until cracking their shins and every metatarsal in their feet. Rancher Sammy the Kid suggested they merely body slam the werewolves into a million pieces. Mayroinho listened to their suggestions, and he liked them. But he also had his own grand plan.

During the meeting, at the back of  the town hall stood the cool and eternally calm cowboy Shabby Lonzo. He smirked from time-to-time and puffed on a cigar.

Shabby and Mayorinho both knew the inherent difficulties of vampire combat – any single one could bite you at any single time. Even a prick from vampirocito Alex Sancho would be fatal. The vampires would form a long and spread-out line, appearing thin in ranks. However, at the first sign of success at any single link in the chain, they would then shift their formation to fully press that particular spot. They attacked like water – first a drop, then a flood. The townsfolk did not have time to construct a metaphorical dam, but they would need to stay compact and prioritize the City Hall, the Grain Depository, and the Post Office (with its telegram in case reinforcements had to be called). United, they had a chance. Separated, they would fail.

They would also need help. Each vampire posed a threat, but the Lord Leo and Count Xavi Nosferatu must be divided and accounted for at all times. No human being could stop Lord Leo in flight. Not even a hungry werewolf. They would need help from out of this world. They would need an alien.

Not just any alien would be able to tail Lord Leo. The alien must be fleet of foot but also incorporate unique cloaking techniques so as to render itself invisible at key moments, but also blind Lord Leo at appropriate times. Ideally, the species of alien would have a white cranium that could reflect light to accomplish both those tasks. Thus, Shabby Lonso, despite the inherent frailty and great risk of any cowboy-alien alliance, sent smoke signals into the sky. And sure enough, an alien ship responded, landed, and down came the white-craniumed Coentraooooo. His bleached scalp temporarily blinded Shabby. Perfect, Shabby thought, rubbing his eyes.

Alien forces would also be necessary for any hope of attack. The rear of the vampire legion was guarded by two ferocious werewolves, Masher and Busk. No man could get past them. Even for an alien, battling hand-to-hand with werewolves was a fool’s errand. The alien species must defeat them through slipperiness, not strength. Shabby needed an alien ally with an incredibly moist and slick cranium that could avoid werewolf teeth, and also fake-baked smooth and plasticy skin that could avoid werewolf claws.

He knew who he needed. And, with assistance from Coentraooooo, he coaxed the slimy Crishtano into landing on Earth and forming an alliance with the folk of Bernabo Bay. Still, Crishtano would not start the fight. Rather, he would lurk in a bunker at the end of a very long tunnel and wait for the right moment to spring forth. Joe Mayorinho organized and rallied his men, designated Shabby as lieutenant, and prayed for victory.

A full moon peaked through the clouds. The witching hour approached. The vampires stealthily crept closer. For all the moon’s whiteness, a sea of red soon flooded the town of Bernabo Bay. The townsfolk unleashed an ambush. Ruffians and ranchers and cowboys and vampires and aliens did battle. It was a battling battle of battles that can only be described as battlerific. On a ten-point scale of battleosity, it would have ranked just above Hannibal’s crossing of the alps and just below the Battle of Carthage. 7.8, to be precise.

On the field of battle, the battlers battled valiantly. The townsfolk swarmed Lord Leo at every available instant. At one critical juncture, Peppy tossed a special wooden, silver-lined stake (designed to be deadly for both vampires and werewolves) at the young Lord. His compatriots screamed in horror as the wooden, silver-linted stake flew through the air.

Masher, the werewolf, sensed the danger and sprinted towards his ally, Lord Leo, intending to heroically throw himself in the line of danger. He was willing to sacrifice his own tortured existence for the greater vampire-werewolf good. He galloped a might gallop, with all his might. However, he inexplicably fell to the ground and clutched his ankle, despite no contact whatsoever from any other person or object. Nobody knows why he fell.

Busk, the other werewolf, also alert to the danger. He saw the wooden, silver-lined stake flying towards Lord Leo. He also saw Mash inexplicably laying on the ground. He began a mad dash towards Lord Leo, hoping that he could heroically toss his body in the line of fire and protect him. He ran and ran and ran. However, he too inexplicably fell and clutched his ankle.

Lord Leo appeared doomed. The stake flew closer. However, at that time, Angel De Muerte shouted “Noooooo” and showed his true triple agent colors! Yes, he had tipped off the townsfolk to the vampire attack, but he had also tipped off the vampires that he had tipped off the towns folk to the vampire attack. That’s how they had survived the initial ambush! Apparently, Angel valued his friendship with Lord Leo above all else. He sprinted as fast as he could, intending to valiantly toss his body between the wooden, silver-lined stake and Lord Leo. He sprinted and ran and moved his legs as fast as he could. However, he too fell inexplicably and clutched his knee.

Angel De Muerte, Masher, and Busk writhed on the field in made up agony. The stake flew ever closer to Lord Leo, but in the blink of an eye he sidestepped the stake and made Peppy look like an idiot. For the millionth time. Lord Leo then set his sites on the last hope of the Bernabo Bay: prodigious child of the force Iker Skywalker. He targeted the unsuspecting Iker, prepared to deliver a fatal blow, but then was brutally and savagely taken down from behind by none other than Sergio Han Ramosolo!

This shocks everybody – vampire and aliens and cowboys alike. The night before the big battle, Sergio Han Ramosolo had been all “I’m a cagey bad-ass rebel who is leaving Dodge” and all the cowboys were heartbroken because they thought after all they had experienced that Sergio would have developed bonds of affection. Thus, for Sergio Han Ramosolo to come out of the blue and foul the hell out of Lord Leo was pretty neat. He got a red card for it, but still. 

And then came the end game. The pawns cleared the board and out came the true daggers: Jose Mayorinho vs. Pepator, the preppiest and best dressed Predator ever.They circled. They grunted. Before the day of the battle, they had exchanged obtuse banter and indirect barbs via press conferences. Now it was time to fulfill their word.

Then came a fight scene so awkward, so fully of shitty special effects, that it could easily pass for the end of a Star Wars Prequel. At the end, it turned out that Bernabo Bay was built on top of some sort of pyramid or some crap. Nothing important was resolved. Everybody left, disappointed.

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I will keep this short and sweet in the interest of time. FIRST and foremost, Xavi’s hair will look like an iguana. No, I don’t refer to that pet iguana you had in grade school that eventually died because you forgot to plug in the hot rock. No, I refer to some sort of wickedly cool animated iguana who wears a Hawaiian t-shirt, travels by skateboard, constantly gives the thumbs up, and endorses a variety of delicious fruit-tasting snacks which contain little to no fruit.

SECOND and also quite importantly, Dani Alves and Sergio Busquets will continue their perpetual audition for the Catalan tumbling team. Somewhere in the stands at the Nou Camp, a man in a trench coat and with a mischievously large mustache will write on a small notepad numerical scores for their respective tumbles. At the end of the night, only one of them will be selected for this elite honor. And the other will be heartbroken.

THIRD and also kinda important, Mourinho and Pep Guardiola will fool you into thinking that they shake hands. However, in reality, their hands will get super super close but not actually touch. It will be more of a close-to-touching-hand-vibration with more wobbling than actual shaking. Mourinho may also wear a special hand colored glove just to be safe.

FOURTH and kinda depressing, Alexis Sanchez will like, toddle around a lot and be nondescript for large spells of the game. You will forget he’s on the field. Then, out of the blue, he will break Madrid fan’s hearts. If you are near a Real fan, they will ask in shock and disgust – “where did little dude come from?” And Barca fans will smirk, saying “Udinese.” And the Real fan will reply “I am not being nosy. You da nosy!” Then pout for the remaining 80 minutes.

FIFTH and obvious for all to see, Xabi Alonso and Sami Khedira will go WWF on Andres Iniesta, regularly taking down the little spinning Spaniard. If there is a folding chair near the sideline, watch out. The mayhem will continue until Javier Mascherano snaps into a Slim Jim and takes out Xabi from behind with a double studs up tackle.

SIXTH and most likely to be forgotten, you will confuse Pedro for that other dude who looks like Pedro but is not Pedro.

I will keep this short and sweet for today’s group matches. Benfica v. Lyon will be the most attractive match with wide open, attacking football. You will regret having missed it. Schalke will play Hapoel Tel Aviv. Despite having just read that last sentence, any consciousness you may have had of that game will immediately dissipate. Werder Bremen will play FC Twente at the Weserstadion, a name that inexplicably elicits chuckles each time you say it out loud to yourself. Harry Redknapp’s tactics will fail to get Spurs a result at home against Inter. Despite Peter Crouch’s brilliance. Bursaspor will show why they are the top Turkish team ending in the syllable “spor”, but play out a drab goalless draw with United. Maurice Edu will not score two goals in the Valencia-Rangers game. Barcelona will eek by FC Copehagen, and  Rubin Kazan will briefly stop hacking chat-roulette to defeat Panathinaikos 1-0.

Whew. Almost ran out of breath.

So, in the spirit of WAATP shit look-a-likes, I stumbled upon a delightful feature film which I think sets the course for Jose Mourinho’s coaching career at Real Madrid. That film? Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining.” So grab a bag of fresh popcorn, tuck your kiddos safely into bed, and get ready to be terribly amazed.

The Interview….

Jose Mourinho had not even finished coaching Inter when he stuck his foot in the door at Real Madrid. Pellegrini Schmellegrini! The offer was too enticing for Perez to turn up, as Mourinho explained “You need a defensive minded & disciplined coach to lead Madrid to a domestic title and thus add credibility to your project. And Fabio Capello is not available.” However, Mourinho’s own confidence blinded him, failing to see the cracks that could never be fully papered over.

The Arrival…

Mourinho’s arrival led to the transfers of Guti & Raul, aging icons from the last Galactico’s era. Despite this gesture, doubts remained. Kaka would play a key role in….being injured for yet another season. Luckily, Van der Vaart is coming off a confidence building substitute appearance in the World Cup final, in which he managed to both fail to clear Torres’ cross and also keep Iniesta onside for the winning goal. All while wearing the captain’s armband. Wait a second….BAH! No time for such details.

Ominous Signs…

Jose Mourinho will sacrifice the King’s Cup competition to prioritize the Champions League and La Liga. Madrid will flame out before the final, but Mourinho will point to the progress as compared to last year. Nobody will listen. Everybody will only point to even further back, when Madrid last won the King’s Cup (1993). The questions & taunts of the press will reverberate throughout the Bernabeu, disrupting his sleep.

The First Encounter…

Mourinho will succeed where Pellegrini failed – delivering Madrid the needed La Liga trophy. While Jose’s Madrid will win by 1-0 margins as compared to the 4-2 attacking affairs of Manuel, Barcelona will get hit by the injury bug and a dose of inconsistency. Pep’s “Coldplay songs” will start to fall on deaf ears. Jose will celebrate the La Liga trophy as if it were his last.

The Madness Begins…

In European play, Jose will quickly realize he lacks a target forward akin to Drogba or Milito. More disturbingly, he will begin to obsess over the left back position. Arbeloa? Marcelo? Arbecelo? Marbeloa? Marbaarbeceloloa? Arbelarcemarcybalboa? All defense and viewing video of opposition make Mourinho…something something. All defense and viewing video of opposition make Mourinho…something something. Where’s my hatchet?

Consumed by Insanity…

The ghosts of past greats will haunt Mourinho. Despite winning La Liga and semi-respectable Champions League run, the rumors will swirl that Perez will axe the Portuguese at season’s end. Jose, affronted by the speculation, will chase Perez through the Bernabeu’s corridors, seeking words, comfort, and assurances. He will find none.

The End

Despite another silver pot in the trophy case, the critics that decry defensive football will win over Perez. The coach will thank Jose for his professionalism and then show him the door less than a week after winning La Liga. Out in the cold, Mourinho will briefly consider the eternally his Portugal manager job before instead deciding to do the honorable thing and freeze to death. Or he will become manager at City.

Ahhh vacation, when the neurotic micromanage time into tiny tidbits not long enough to melt 24 hours into eternity. The American vacation, not necessarily synonymous with occupation of a foreign nation, usually revolves around “to do lists”, “guidebooks”, and breakneck walking as we try to see the Eiffel tower, the Mesquite de Cordoba, and the Coliseum all in one day. In sum, we need vacations from our vacation. And that time has come.

My original plans for this Premiership preview were quite simple – I would link to Brian who would link to Fredo. Last year, SIATS blew everybody’s collective mind by accurately predicting to the tenth degree every single Premiership fixture and 75% of the Cup thinger-ma-jigger-whatever(s). It was as if Nostradamus had broken the outer lens of the the Hubble telescope, turned it into a peace pipe, and graciously passed around some of that knowledge.

Alas, I am afraid it appears Bedorarrci has drugged the protagonist and I must carry Frodo to the promised land. With help from Kate Perry of course. So here you have it – a Premiership preview in terms of vapid pop songs that plagued the airwaves in the US of A. Or, alternatively, “how to improve mobility and decrease risk of cardiovascular illness your next stay-cation.” Vamos.

When somebody leaves Chelsea for money, you know either the Universe is an ironically just place, or Liverpool is in serious trouble. Or both. Placing Joe Cole behind the striker may make up for his lack of pace due to age & injury, but is Stevie G really the withdrawn drummer to lead the march to the Champions League?

Liverpool is Katy Perry – a disheartening and disturbing transformation. Unlike Perry’s past, which includes being a Christian singer and the profound song title “You’re so gay”, Liverpool were the elite of Europe a few years ago. Yet the credit crunched right when the overextended American owners landed. Forced to play Ngog, Babel, and other Rafa miscues has left Scousers as shallow up front as the lyrics to “California Girls.” Is Joe Cole as cool as Snoop Dawg? Arguably, yes. But a few moments of rapping brilliance won’t be enough.

Meanwhile, Arsenal finds itself in an odd position – the global economic meltdown means that almost every other club is pinching pennies. Will Wenger’s prudent policies make the Gunners the king of the scrooges? Arshavin is rested. Cesc is not in Catalunya. Van Persie learned to play forward effectively without scoring goals. Cesc is not in Catalunya. Nasri looks lively. Cesc is not in Catalunya. Alexander Song looked good in the World Cup. Cesc is not in Catalunya.

The Gunners are Eminem – the rhythm and flow remain the same, but success may return several years later. Arsenal fans love the way Wenger lies, but can the backline break a cycle of dysfunction that makes Slim Shady seem the prudent marriage counselor? Goodbye Gallas was addition by subtraction, but ultimately Abou Diaby will be the next Patrick Vieira, or will be the eternally next next Patrick Vieira.

Up in Manchester, the town has gotten somewhat small with the Blue shirts signing any warm body looking for a wage boost. Nevertheless, Manchester United is BoB. After the Community Shield victory and a stunning return to form last spring, could Paul Scholes sparkle like a shooting star?

Manchester United fans wish that the Glazers had never purchased their beloved club – if a leveraged buyout was a bad idea pre-2009, post stockalypse it is chinese water torture meets time bomb. The last major purchase, Dimitar Berbatov, has yet to show his best form. Every defender but Vidic has a glaring weakness, from O’Shea’s footspeed to Ferdinand’s fitness to Evans’ maturity. Still, Valencia and Nani should wreak havoc on the wings. After last season’s disappointment, can the Red Devils change flight and be back winning titles at the end of the night?

At the other end of town, Manchester City is Talo Cruz. Which is to say, we know nothing about Talo and we know everything about Talo. While Mancini takes to the sidelines wearing his favorite brands, notably a scarf, when faced with adversity, the Blues seem to throw their hands up in the air. Each player is a microcosm of the club – on the verge of world class, but lacking that “it.”

Given the surplus of talents, plus the presence of ever unhappies Carlos Tevez & Emmanuel Adebayor, a stick of dynamite would be less explosive than the Blues’ locker room. Last season Mancini managed the egos, but as ridiculous wages anchor anxious players to Eastlands, the sheer size of the problem may overwhelm the Italian tactician. City came close to the promised land, barely losing out to Spurs for a shot at the European promised land. With Yaya Toure adding balance to midfield alongside Gareth Barry, expectations are higher, but trophies may still be just beyond reach.

In London, Tottenham is Enrigue Iglesias. Before you could always crack a joke and be generally indifferent. Sure, bailamos was a decent song. Yeah, dimelo had a nice beat. But reggaeton? Reggaeton? Whether or not you or I like it, the Spurs will be representing the isles in European club competition. Try not to let the rhythm of your churning stomach take you over.

The European nights will sap precious energy from Tottenham. And the savvy European opposition will pose problems. Gareth Bale will run into three defenders to no avail. Robbie Keane’s finishing and timing will come in handy on occasion, emphasis on on occasion. Wilson Palacio’s typically suspect passing will shift gears to “always suspect.” And Lukas Modric will look like an all-star. He is. Still, as the curse of the Europa league has sabotaged many a season at AstonVilla, expect similar scars for Spurs. Yet you won’t be able to turn your head away from the wreckage.

Chelsea are, of course, Travis McCoy. But here’s the catch – Chelsea really are billionaires. For those unaware, Travis dreams that zeroes and bank accounts will afford luxury and eliminate problems. Err, wrong.

Malouda & Anelka have adapted well to the Premiership, but can they be counted on to not strike at the first rumble of disturbance? Frank Lampard hopefully has seen a hypnotist and draws a blank when asked about the months of June & July. Didier Drogba’s arm does not hide the fact he’ a diver, but surely he will dive more carefully so as to avoid re-injury. The Blues barely edged United at the finish line last season, but the exit of effective subs like Cole, Deco, and Ballack, stretch them too thin.

So, in sum, my prediction for the English Premiership is a top-down corporate structure controlled by elite tastemakers whose decisions behind closed doors determine your preferences by artificially limiting options. In a word, Manchester United.

Despite the parakeet, the octopus, and an assortment of other animals, only one entity can accurately predict the World Cup final: Slovenian philosopher and critical theorist Slavoj Zizek. We had a quaint chat with the man to wax Marxism, the Lacanian real, and Mark Von Bommel.

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.

The typical suspects have overcome group stage difficulties to rise to the top. However, no smoking gun has appeared to point out the single culprit most likely to win the tournament. Using a really big magnifying glass, a trench coat, a smart talking sidekick, and intuition, we embarked on an investigation of the remaining teams in this World Cup quarterfinals, searching for clues in a sea of uncertainty. Our conclusion as to who will win the World Cup?

All signs point to….

Let’s start with the obvious – you knew nothing about Paraguay except that their A closer inspection reveals a side more than capable of holding la furia roja without a goal for 90 minutes. Also, Argentine born – big in Germany -forward Lucas Barrios has proven potent up top, while Oscar Cardozo shined in Portugal this past year. Still, the albiroja would be a long shot for a finals appearance. Thus, they are among the list of secondary suspects – dangerous, but not requiring closer inspection at this time.

As for Uruguay, admit that you knew about Diego Forlan. He had a good season at Atletico de Madrid, scoring clutch goals in their successful Europa league campaign. However, aside from the game against South Africa, he has taken on an accomplice role. Diego is the distraction to the deadly, deceptive, and delightful enrachado Suarez, the Dutch young player of the year who has scored crucial goals this tournament for the charruas.

Despite the  world class striking tandem, depth at midfield poses a problem for Uruguay. Do they have the bodies to pull off a heist of global proportions? Probably not, as a nearly disastrous double yellow in the opening game against France revealed. Thus, the Uruguayans may pose a bigger menace than Ghana, they remain a secondary suspect.

Ghana is better than you thought. Despite the injury to Michael Essien, the seeds of the successful under20 side are blossoming nicely. Even Muntari, a strong role player in Inter’s successful treble winning season, struggles to get minutes. However, a glance at the magnifying glass reveals overly defensive tactics and a team too wet behind the ears. Could they upset Uruguay? It’s a remote possibility. But the semi-finals will probably be a bridge too far for Africa’s last remaining representative.

Now we move onto the primary suspects. The first is obviously Spain. The furia roja edged out a negative Portugal side which lacked any ounce of creativity in midfield. Still, David Villa aside, the Iberians have lacked a cutting edge in the 18 yard box. Despite Fernando Torres’ attempt to conceal his identity via hair color change, his lack of fitness has hindered his contributions. And his athletic and direct approach always stuck out like a sore thumb for Spain.

More troubling is Del Bosque’s overly negative tactics. The Spaniards two holding midfielders, Xabi & Busquets, means that Xavi has limited attacking targets. The lack of movement has been troubling. David Villa’s individual brilliance can probably lead them past Paraguay, but the semi-finals should see the limping Spaniards bounced in convincing fashion. The Spaniards are a primary suspect, but only just barely. Don’t count on finding their prints anywhere near the trophy.

Now, we turn out attentions to the disappearing Dutch. A glance at the roster gives us ample motive to assert Holland as favorites. However, going from paper to people, reasonable doubt creeps in. The Dutch locker room is always volatile, a tempestuous sea of swirling emotions where placid surfaces mask powerful undercurrents. Robin Van Persie’s recent outburst and lingering resentment from a basic free kick at Euro 2008 reveal a group of mean spirited, needy, and insecure professionals.

Up until this point, the Dutch coach has refrained from criticizing his own players, a rarity in the “everybody else is to blame” orange establishment. However, when the going gets tough, when the chips are down, the stylish Dutch 4-3-3 reveals a gaping hollow in the center as wingers complain about a “lack of service” rather than backtracking. Not to mention that this Dutch side has hardly played stylish attacking soccer so far. The orange’s suspect back line will haunt them against Brazil, in a closely contested affair more akin to involuntary manslaughter than premeditated murder.

Argentina has scored goals by the bucket, shielding an aging and lead footed back line. Javier Mascherano, aided by either Veron or Maxi, has worked tirelessly to feed the three striker attack while provided cover for Heinze and Demichelis. But will Di Maria provide enough width against a well organized German defense?

The bi-polar Diego gives both reasons to both suspect and discount the Argentinians. On the one hand, he has a happy locker room and confident group of attackers. On the other, he has failed to show the capacity to make an astute tactical substitution to turn a game in the albiceleste‘s favor. The young Mueller and speedy Podolski may reveal the wear and tear on the defensive tires, but no team with Leo Messi and the in-form Tevez & Higuain can be dismissed out of hand. Expect a breathtaking quarterfinal, with the Argentines willing to attack, and the counterattacking Germans inviting them forward. Who will win? That would be more guesswork then detective work. A coin toss.

You can never underestimate the Germans. Never. Just when you figure the old guard has advanced into the sunset, a group of young and sprightly blonds, tall as an oak, sprint by your wingbacks and outjump your centerbacks. The biggest cause for concern, and suspicion, is the Turkish central playmaker.

Mesut Ozil’s ascent has been meteoric. June 29 of last year, he led the Under 20 side to a 4-0 thrashing of England. And this summer? Just a 4-1 drubbing in the World Cup. With the tireless Schweinsteiger in midfield, the ageless Klose occupying defenders, and the fearless Podolski out wide, Ozil offers a touch, vision, and reading of the game rarely seen in Deutschland. He is a primary suspect and must be watched closely, along with the rest of his German cohorts.

The primary suspect is the typical suspect is the usual suspect. Brazil. However, this Brazil wears gloves, a mask, dusts its own prints, and leaves no trace of impressive success in its wake. Not wanting to leave behind a shell, a bullet, or any other clue, the Brazilians prefer a much simpler, less noisy, and less messy manner of murder: asphyxiation.

Gilberto and Felipe Melo slowly wrap their paws around the game, patiently passing the ball with Lucio and waiting for a moment of weakness. All your intuition and instincts point to Brazil, yet no smoking guns appears. You blink your eye, and a first touch combination by Kaka, Elano, and Luis Fabiano leaves another talented side dead in the water. You blink a second time, and Robinho has just turned his defender and sidestepped a centerback, setting up Corrales for a tap-in.

And then they go back to pedestrian passing, a five foot pass backwards to a defender, a ten foot pass sideways to another, as if nothing had happened. You scratch your head in bewilderment, unsure of what you’ve just seen but uneasy all the less.

I went 11 for 16 on my last round of predictions (if you include the prediction I refused to put on paper: US wins the group, England comes in second…you’ll just have to trust me), which kind of sucks to be honest.  But since I’m playing pundit, absolute past failure will have no impact on my ability to predict future trends.  Being a pundit is great!

Uruguay vs. South Korea

I’ve underestimated Uruguay throughout this tournament, and I see no reason to stop now.  South Korea squeaks by in PKs.

USA vs. Ghana

Is it too early to call USA the Cinderella story of the tournament?  Two big crunch-time wins have given them at least even odds to make the Semifinals.  Jozy gets on the scoreboard today, and the USA sends the last African team packing.

Germany vs. England

It’s good for the US to be on the other side of this bracket.  Germany hasn’t been great at this World Cup, but England has been worse.  Germany in PKs.

Argentina vs. Mexico

El Tri will give the Argentinians a bit more than they expect–remember, Argentina hasn’t exactly had a top-flight opponent yet.  But the Argentinians have figured out how to score in a World Cup that has been lacking goals.  Argentina get a scare, but scrape this one out.

Netherlands vs. Slovakia

Yet another top flight team that hasn’t yet gotten a major challenge.  I’m pause to jump on the “Netherlands will finally win” bandwagon until I see them against a top 10 team.  Slovakia isn’t that team, but look at who’s up next after the Netherlands get through in a close match.

Brazil vs. Chile

It’s become pretty clear that Chile isn’t used to playing on a stage this big.  They controlled the game early vs. Spain but after conceding a goal deciding stabbing at the legs of opposing players would be enough victory for them.  Chile has racked up, by my rough count, 211 yellow cards and will be missing all 11 starters and 3 subs.  Brazil moves on, despite another threatening first 15 minutes by Chile.

Paraguay vs. Japan

Borrrring.  Paraguay tied an awful Italian team, beat Slovakia, and held onto a draw with the New Zealand All Blacks…or is it All Whites today?  I don’t know.  This somehow got them into the Round of 16.  Japan’s quickness eats them up.

Spain vs. Portugal

Spain get the matchup they want.  Right?  Maybe?  Aside from their 7 goal explosion against North Korea, Portugal have not looked exceptional this tournament.  Spain seem to have regained their footing, even if Torres is doing his best Emile Heskey impersonation.  But Spain have regained their footing against moderate opposition, and still only managed two goals against 10-man Chile last night.  This one goes to PKs.  Spain moves on.

Just when you think that David Bowie has retired from the site, that the Goblin King will no longer grace our presence, that Jorge Luis Borges really is dead and not just waiting for a USMNT run to the finals, bam. It hits you. Despite the odd jokes, obscure historical references, and kinda weird pictures, we at Futfanatico give you the best betting tips for the World Cup while mocking the SEO keyterm Google carousel in an ironic act of betrayal, subversion, and delightful perversion.

Thus, here are your WORLD CUP BETTING TIPS.

Group A – The Group of Dearth

This group presents the most confusion as Mexico is incredibly young, Uruguay has hit a dry spell since the 1950′s, Raymond Domenech makes his starting 11 selection based on horoscopes, and South Africa is both the host & on a tear under Parreira. Still, a few things become clear.

First, Mexico will look great in possession but suffer from woeful finishing. Do you know who Alberto Medina is? You will. He will make great runs as a super sub, but  miss from five yards. Against Uruguay, Giovanni Dos Santos will probably have blood all up and down his legs from the “cleat-meat-special.” Carlos Vela may or may-not chip the keeper.

Second, France will be woeful. The new three winged attack will leave too much work on that one guy, you know, not named Makelele nor Zidane nor Vieira, Toula-hulu or something, and the lack of possession will hinder their progress. Plus, the lopsided attack on the left via Ribery, Malouda, and Evra will cause teams to shift bodies to the left. Which will cause France to experiment with Raymond Domenech as both coach, right back, and right mid. However, his failure to provide enough service to the temperamental Anelka, killing team chemistry.

My prediction? The two teams with the most points will advance out of the group. But barely…

Group B – The Group of Darth

Argentina is favored to advance, although the combined coaching skills of Diego Maradona, the sheer pace of Martin Palermo, and the calm temperament of Sebastian Veron, all make this proposition less than certain. South Korea will rely on Park Ji Sung and that one dude who plays for Bolton. And I think that one dude who plays for Bolton will do quite well, although not quite well enough for me to look up his name on wikipedia.

Nigeria will miss John Obi Mikel, but not as much as Jay Jay Ochoa. Or perhaps I am projecting my own longings and feelings on Nigeria. Regardless, the Chelsea curse has struck yet another national side. And as for Greece. Well, they bring a a brief flash of happiness to the financial chaos back home by creating a few scoring chances from the run of play, as opposed to setpieces. Then, in a brutal deflationary spiral, they will try to barter their shirts post-game for dollars or yen.

My prediction? This is a tough call, but the two teams will the most points will likely advance.

Group C – The Group of Doth

This will be a formidable group and much tougher than anticipated. Despite the blinding pace of Ledley King and the keen back passing of Steven Gerrard, the Three Lions will ride hard on both Wayne Rooney and Peter Crouch. Conversely, the United States will rely on goals from unlikely places: our forwards. The back line will be sliced to pieces, but an unusual twist – competent possession and crafty passing – will ensure more goals from the run of play than 06.

Slovenia will play some gorgeous possession football with first touch passing and triangles all over the pitch. However, the anglo-saxons and Algerians will scythe down the Europeans anytime they approach the 18 yard box. In fact, the Algerians will do their best to upstage the Greeks by playing the “Greece style” on meth.

My prediction? The two teams that have the most points after three games and superior goal differentials will advance. But barely.

Group D – The Group of Duluth

The Germans will miss Michael Ballack, but then remember that several of their other players played in the Champions League final and are under 30 years of age. Then, in assembly like fashion, they will move the ball from side to side and earn a set piece. On that set piece, they will head in a goal. Repeat. The cold weather may cause the gears to freeze up, but the machina is too well programmed to be bothered by such details.

Australia will rely on Tim Cahill, who despite being a tad old will create moments of true danger. However, the out of form Harry Kewell and dearth of other options will hinder the Aussie attack. Also, protests against Kangaroo leather in shoes will distract the players from the games at hand, potentially prompting a shift to Nike boots, which are made out of space alien skin.

As for Serbia, Nemanja Vidic will probably commit a series of serious fouls that should be red cards but are not because of his gregarious smile. With a nod and a wink, only a stern warning will be given and a set piece awarded. Ghana will miss Michael Essien and Stephen Appiah will show that you don’t need regular club football to perform poorly for your national team.

My prediction? The team with the least points will not advance. The team with the second to least points not advance. But BARELY.

Group E – The Group of Dither

Japan will continue to impress by abjectly failing to live up to paltry expectations. Denmark will rely on the grace, elegance, and cunning of Niklas Bendtner. The only question mark is whether his cerebral, methodical, and patient passing game will transfer to the rest of those brutish Danes. Think fish out of water, but so far out of water that the fish is in outer space. But the fish is not on Mars, because Mars has ice and the frozen water would be too similar to Denmark.

Cameroon will continue to rely on Samuel E’too, who under Jose Mourinho learned the art of playing forward and not scoring goals. But will his prolific not-scoring-goals-streak extend to the international level? With a bit of luck, it just might. As for the Netherlands, expect the offense to run through the elderly but indefatigable Gio Van Bronkhurst, who captured your affections at Arsenal but broke your heart at Barcelona. Despite playing for Feyenoord, pronounced Ti-na-Fay-eeeeeee-new-dddd, the outside back will supply plenty of service for the nimble footed Kuyt and iron man Van Persie.

Your best bet is to wager on the two teams with the most points advancing, although don’t bet a mortgage on it.

Group F – The Group of Dirk D

Italy will deploy the dreaded no forward formation, showing as much interest in the ball as your significant other. However, unlike yelling at you for your month long lack of attention, the Italians will complain to the ref about  every call, no call, and phantom no call. Fabio Cannavaro will show why that team from the Middle East recently signed him.

As for Paraguay, expect the Guarani to ride on the back of their recent Argentina acquisition. However, Roque Santa Cruz will remind you he still exists, briefly escaping from the closet Mancini hid him in while at City. New Zealand will exceed expectations. Slovakia, with some quality players in the Serie A, are the dark horses that could cause problems for the white horses, but I assure you it’s not a race thing to use extended metaphors that refer to dark as bad and white as good. I promise.

This group will be incredibly complicated, but you can count on the two teams with the most point safely advancing.

Group G – The Group of Death

Despite the injury to Didier Drogba, the Ivory Coast will make a strong showing. That is, at least until an individual player makes a mistake. Then, the infighting, finger pointing, and yelling will make the Dutch look like the Brady Bunch on methadone. North Korea will defend with numbers, but sorely miss their forward turned goalkeeper.

Brazil will impress you with their commitment to passing the ball sideways, passing the ball backwards, and then passing the ball sideways again. Kaka will assure his fans that he is not injured, rather he is simply “not healthy.” Robinho will show sparks of genius and creativity, only to be benched. Portugal will rely on Cristiano Ronaldo, despite the fact that Simao puts on better showings for the national team. Deco will aim to disprove Chelsea’s claims that he is not committed in training, but half-halfheartedly tackling when not standing still.

This is the toughest group to predict, but expect the two teams with the highest sum of points and best goal differential to advance. But barely.

Group H – The Group of Duuuudeth

Spain is the obvious favorite to advance, but let’s not discount the simmering rage instilled in the hearts of their former colonies. Sure, it’s been over a hundred years since the wars for independence, but Honduras and Chile would love nothing more than to tell that rey where he can stick his furia roja. Still, with injury questions for both David Suazo and Wilson Palacios, Honduras will probably struggle. As for Chile, Marcelo Bielsa led an electrifying qualifying campaign based on offense. However, he also built the Argentine team around Veron in the ill-fated 2002 campaign that was marred by the infamous 3-3-1-3.

As for the Swiss, expect the unexpectedly expected. Predict the unpredictably obvious. Live on the edge of the safe bridge with no chance of falling into the precipice. Gaze into the abyss and boldly proclaim – boring, boring, boring.

This is the toughest prediction, but a hunch makes me think that the two teams with the most points after three games will advance.

So, in case you do not live in a cave with wax in your ears and a blindfold carefully tied over your eyes, Madrid has a bit of a big game. A reader reminded me that it has been ages since I last glanced into a magic ball via the assistance of David Bowie. Why? Why so long? Why so serious?

Well, the future is a terrifying place. I saw my own death, and, as expected, it sucks. I also saw a few other deaths – which likewise suck. You would never think that carrying a spoon while running down a flight of 12th century stairs in a Buddhist temple in Nepal would be dangerous, but then some careless monk tosses his banana peel and…You get the picture.

On the other hand, the future is amorphous. Too many writers toss out hypotheticals such as “If Madrid gets the first goal early, then…” or “If Lyon can survive the first 20 minutes, then…”.

Thus, in the interest of justice and reality and my journalistic integrity, I present my preview of the Madrid game with painstaking precision.

First, the game will take place at the Santiago Bernabeu stadium. I absolutely positively guarantee that this game will not be played at the Nou Camp, the Vicente Calderon stadium, or even the Sanchez Pizjuan stadium in Sevilla. Not a chance.

Second, I predict that despite a 1:30 game time, the actual start time will be at least ten minutes later. Not five minutes. Not six minutes. Not even seven minutes. TEN MINUTES. Why? Heineken commercials. Plus, Bank CEOs want to pay thousands of Euros for their kids to be on TV and hold players’ hands. And who am I to stop them?

Third, I predict that the first half will not last longer than 55 game time minutes. Not 56 minutes. Not even 55 and a half minutes. Not even 55 minutes and one second. 55 minutes and ya! Why? Because Sir Alex Ferguson is not the manager of Real Madrid and thus his magical capacity to extend matches while down one goal will be absent.

Fourth, I predict that the second half will not last longer than 55 game time minutes. Not 56 minutes. Not even 55 and a half minutes. Not even 55 minutes and one second. 55 minutes and ya! Why? Because Sir Alex Ferguson is not the manager of Real Madrid and thus his magical capacity to extend matches while down one goal will be absent.

Fifth, I predict that Real Madrid manager Manuel Pellegrini will wear a tie and suit. No t-shirt. No athletic shirt. No tennis shoes. Nike and Reebok emblems will be curiously absent. Not even a black cut-off with “Twisted Sister.” Suit. SUIT.  Suit pants. Suit jacket. Tie. Manuel will not even try to pull off white athletic socks with his dapper pants and dress shoes, like that time you were late to work but forgot to do the laundry the night before. No. If Manuel has to put on a stanky pair of shoes, it’s fine. After all, his co-workers run around and sweat and smell ten times worse. Okay, maybe only 5 times worse.

Sixth, the Real Madrid players will wear jerseys with their last name on the back and a gambling website on the front. The gambling website will be Bwin. Not BetUS. Not BetFair. Bwin. In the case of a repetitive last name or a last name of great length, a nickname will be used.

And as for the game? Well, that’s anyone’s guess. I do predict that if no goals are scored, Madrid will not advance. However, if some goals are scored, then Madrid may advance. MAY.

And you can count on it.