Video Credit: Chris Farley, Saturday Night Live

You know that picture. It brings back painful memories. But take your anxiety medications or sip some wine (not both), and get ready for another soccer-Spanish lesson.

Last time we opened up our Spanglish pocket-sized dictionary, we focused on a young hotshot United striker by the name of Javier Hernandez. I explained the crucial difference between the palomitas you eat at the movies, the palomitas that plague city parks, and the palomitas (diving headers) that the Young Mexican scores. We now focus on another United striker, slightly older.

And the curious Spanish name for his wonder-strike.

First things, first. A video of the wonder goal. In a tense 1-1 game between United and City, Wayne Rooney reacts to a blooping Nani cross in the least predictable fashion – an astounding and jaw dropping bicycle kick. (Via our friend Nacho Briso at the excellent Chile based mepongodepie)

In English, Rooney’s goal could be called either a “bicycle kick” or an “overhead kick.” The first term, bicycle kick, comes from the kicking motion, akin to pedaling a bike. The second term, overhead kick, comes from the location of the striker’s leg as he makes contact with the ball. Spanish also offers several terms for this trick.

One of these terms is bicicleta, a literal translation. However, more recently “bicicleta” has come to be associated more with step-overs. The other term, “chalaca,” is used by Peruvians.  Nevertheless, it sounds like “boom-shaka-laka,” and thus would fit in very well with an NBA Jam-soccer edition. Uruguayans call it a “trizaga,” because it should be a three point shot. However, the term we shall focus on is “la chilena.”

The Real Academia Espanola defines “chilena” as a female citizen of the country of Chile. However, Wikipedia, that ever reliable fountain of knowledge, defines “chilena” as a bicycle kick. Urban Dictionary also confirms this definition. Thus, it is therefore eternally coded in open source stone. The RAE must bow before peer-edited websites. Right?

But academic squabbles aside, why did “bicycle kick” come to be named “chilena”? The obvious explanation – a Chilean performed it. Kinda. The etymology is much more complex. Actually, the first individual to perform a bicycle kick was a Spaniard that naturalized as a Chilean, Ramon Unzaga Asla. He first performed the feat in 1914 in the Chilean port city of Talcahuano, and it was called “chorera” in homage to the city’s nickname.

The name “chilena” did not appear until Mr. Asla played in Buenos Aires, with the Chilean national team, in 1916. The Argentine press referred to the complex maneuver as a simple “chilena.” In 1920, David Arrelano, founder and player for Chilean club Colo Colo, observed Asla’s move and later took it with him to the motherland, popularizing the trick and term “chilena” in Spain in 1927. With Argentina and Spain, the two barometers of fashionable Soccer Spanish, in agreement and accepting that term, “chilena” came to predominate over “chalaca” and “trizaga.”

Thus, “chilena” is named after a Spaniard that moved to Chile, invented a soccer trick, got noticed and nicknamed by the Argentine press, and then got exported to Spain by a native-born Chilean. Deliciously confusing and convoluted? Absolutely. However, despite the delightful roundabout beginnings, the term has somewhat stagnated recently.

By that, I mean, two distinct types of chilenas have evolved. The first and most impressive, as executed by Rooney, involves a first time volley on a teammate’s cross. The timing and skill is exceptional. Hugo Sanchez performed a similar chilena sobresaliente a few decades ago.

Since then, several Brazilians have pulled off a few media chilenas. By that, I mean they chest a pass with back to goal and then execute the volley kick. This version still requires exceptional skill, but also relies on slack defending around the opposition’s box. While I can appreciate Rivaldo’s goal, it belongs to the second category.

And that has nothing to do with me being a Real Madrid fan.

Video Credit: Sky Sports

Factual Research: Wikipedia

Be sure to check out BetUS for soccer predictions, recent news, and plenty more.

That’s right – you know the infamous Bush pic. It’s a time for some learn’in, ya here! Today’s lesson plan is courtesy of Javier Hernandez, the Mexican goal-scoring sensation whose apodo (nickname) is “Chicharito.” Chicarito means little pea. How did he get the nickname?

Well, for those of you not in the know, Hernandez actually descends from a long line of Mexican footballing aristocracy. His grandfather and dad both played for Chivas, a Mexican league club based in Guadalajara and usually one of the top teams. Usually. His dad, also named Javier Hernandez, was nicknamed “Chicharo” during his playing days because of his green eyes, a rarity down South.

So what more can we learn from this little pea?

Well, I hate to contradict your high school Spanish teacher that spent a summer in Guatemala a decade ago, but the term “palomita” does not mean little dove. Well, it does. But it also has another meaning. Popcorn. Yes. The next time you go out to see a midnight 3-d Avatar screening, and drown your popcorn in coconut butter, you are actually drowning little doves. And then eating them. Of course, the civilized folk in South American refer to popcorn as “pochoclo.” How kind of them to spare the little doves.

But palomita also means “diving header.” The term is gol de palomita.  And in a short span of time, Javier Hernandez has scored several of them for United. Observe.

The outstretched arms, the inclined head, Chicharito soars two feet off the ground like a graceful dove. And no, I don’t think he’s available for weddings. Although he is quite skilled. People ask how Sir Alex knew he would make it in the EPL. The English-pass-muster-hypothetical is simple – when given a pass two feet off the ground and ripe for a sidefooted volley, would Hernandez instead dive to use his head?

Chicharito even finds a way to use his head to score goals when the pass stays ground-bound. Observe.

As a lover of Inzaghi, who has scored more professional goals with his pelvis than 90% of strikers do with their feet, I can appreciate some deflectionary. But, in Spanish, when intentions do not match reactions but get results, the proper term is “culo.” Yes, from your extensive studies of the Daddy Yanked lexicon, you know that culo also means heiney. But it also means lucky.

So there you have it – the next time you see Javier play for United on Telemundo, you can munch on palomitas and talk culo. Your welcome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here is an example:

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

Did you just think of David Terezeguet? Me too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We´ve complained about refs, learned a few songs, but now we turn to the reason middle-aged men obsess over sports: the young people.

Take your eyes off your “panza” (gut), put down the cerveza for a few minutes, stop stroking the few “pelitos” (little hairs) which grace your “pelon” (bald) head, and recall a time when you could run 200 meters without coughing up a lung. And now, after a moment of reflection, we begin.

Hispanics vary as to how we refer to the young people. The academically proper adjective is ¨joven.¨ In Spain, they refer to a young person as a ¨chaval.¨In Mexico, the term is ¨chavo.¨Sounds pretty similar, but ye olde Spaniards use chavo to refer to currency! Thus, the hit Mexican kids show ¨Chavo del Ocho¨ would be “an eight cent coin.” Don’t worry – it doesn’t generate that much confusion. Everytime Mexicans go to Spain, we just speak English. It’s easier that way.

In Central America, the common term is “chavalo.” So if you are ever confused, just say “chaav” and mumble something. The odds favor you. Unless of course you go down south, where those wacky places below the equator say “pibe.” I speculate that the etymology comes from the word “ebay” and those little bolsitas which rival fans toss at one another. The ones with yellow….okay enough. Let’s get practical.

Here is an example of something your middle-aged self would say in the course of a partido (game). ¨Correr¨means to run. Thus, to say – look at that kid run – you would say “¡Mira como corre ese chaval/chavo/chavalo/pibe!” The upside down exclammation point is absolutely essential. If your keyboard is English-only, then copy and paste. ¡No excuses!

Another example. “Saltar” means to jump. Thus, to say – look at that kid jump – you would say “¡Mira como salta ese chaval/chavo/chavalo/pibe!” Got it? Good.

Now we must learn how to describe your aging, decrepit middle-aged body. A warning – this could get graphic. The proper word for old is ¨viejo.¨But watch out. In Mexico, your ¨vieja¨is your girlfriend. Yes. I know its non-sensical. No, Mexico is not a land of ferocious cougars, although jaguars do populate parts of the southeast. But wait, to add further compound matters, in Argentina, your ¨viejo¨is your father. Try not to confuse the two.

Two prime examples. When you see Gabriel Heinze or Fabio Cannavaro get torched for the ninety-ninth time, you would say “ese viejo no corre para nada.” That oldie can´t run for anything. And when you see goldie oldie Javier Zanetti overlap for the 100th time, you would say “ese viejo corre como loco.” That oldie runs like a lunatic. Claro (clear)?

We end with a point of contention. A veteran player is “un veterano.” Simple. An experienced player is “un jugador experimentado.” Slightly confused? Experimentar means “to experiment” but also “to experience.” You could also say that a player with experience “tiene experiencia.” And in South America, but not Spain, you would say that such a player “tiene cancha.”

“Cancha” means “playing field/stadium,” and the etymology of the phrase comes from the sheer awe many young players have at setting foot before thousands of screaming fans. Not intimidated? Tough to believe? Imagine playing here. Thus, a player with “cancha” won´t have wobbly-knees upon arrival in Europe.

Your homework is to watch a La Liga game, choose one of the young players, and talk about how “ese pibe corre como loco.” You should also call your viejo (father) more often – he is old, alone, and misses you. As for your vieja, well, that’s up to you, you slydog.

The people have clamored for more interactive lesson-planning. You are bored of reading my writing. It’s okay. I’m not offended. Not in the slightest. I had a good cry or two, but I’m over it. You, the student-consumer are always right. Plus I also found some fantastic supporters videos courtesy of Miguel of El Batallon, a Houston Dynamo fan group.

In South America, the name for a fanatical group of supporters is “La barra brava.” Usually, this collection of fans brings drums and flags to the games, singing and dancing away the game. Drums in Spanish are “batterias” and flags are “banderas.” “Brava” means brave, courageous, audacious. But be careful when wandering the streets of Latin Amerca – a “barrio bravo” is a rough neighborhood. Also, some barras bravas toss objects onto the field. Toilet paper is “papel higienico.” And as for those little bags full of yellow substance? Let´s just call them “bolsitas.”

This first song is set to the tune of “Llamado de Emergencia”, a single by Daddy Yankee. The word for hit single in Spanish is “exito.” And yes, this is a brass version of a reggaeton song. In theory, the combination puzzles and repulses you. In practice, the sound echoes sweetly in the eardrum. Listen and try to catch the lyrics.

Did you catch all that? I didn’t think so. But at least it’s catchy.

The song lyrics reflect South American Spanish. “Hinchada” means a collection of fans in South America, and comes from the verb “hinchar” which means to swell. Presumably, it comes from “to swell with pride.” In Spain you could say “aficionado” or “fanatico”, and in Mexico you would simply say “un fan.” Yes. “Un fan.” It’s that easy! Your highschool Spanish teacher also lied when he taught you that ¨centro commercial¨means mall. In Mexico we say un mall.¨ Notice the pattern developing…the pattern of lies? Back to the lesson…

The song itself mirrors the structure of several classic Argentine soccer songs what with the repeated use of “dale dale” and “yo te quiero ver campeon.” The last line means “I want to see you as champion.” South Americans also say “aca” for “right here,” whereas Mexicans and Spaniards say “aqui.”

Here is a slightly complex River Plate song from my days in Argentina. The lyrics are” vamos vamos vamos Millonario.” Vamos means “let’s go.”

This may blow your mind, but millonario means “millionaire.” However, Boca fans call River fans “gallinas” (chicken), in addition to a host of undesirable names. If you ever find yourself in Boca´s home, La Bombonera, you will see lots of people jumping and shouting “el que no salta es una gallina.” Basically, “jump if you´re not a chicken/River fan.” My advice is to jump as if your life depended on it. And try to avoid the flying bolsitas.

That concludes today´s lesson and expect more videos. Your homework is to refine your flag-waving.

Mil gracias a Miguel de El Batallon por encontrar y mandarnos el enlace. Visita a la pagina de los fanaticos del Dinamo a www.elbatallon.com

The groundwork has been laid, the foundation solidified, and we bravely move on to advanced Spanglish! A note: I am seriously considering producing certificates of completion for all the loyal students – of course I will have to come up with an exam to verify that you actually read the articles. For new readers, please peruse the basic courses before continuing.

We move on to a point of contention between the Anglo and Latin cultures: the playmaker. The preferred formation in MLS and the EPL is a 4-4-2 with two trashmen in the middle, interceping passes, tackling, and cleaning up messes. This scheme pushes the creativity to the flanks, where run-cross-head is the name of the game.

While profoundly democratic – no one player controls the offense- it can also lead to confusion. Can everybody lingering at the far post really get a head to ball? Really? In contrast, in Mexico and La Liga most teams field at least one creative midfielder in the center. This player is known as either an “enganche” or an “armador.”

“Enganche” literally means hook, and refers to a player who slows down the offense and organizes it. For a worst case example, look to Real Madrid’s Guti. While capable of magical moments, he also shortcircuits the offense with misplayed passes. For a best case scenario, look to Boca Jr’s Riquelme. His vision for width and slide-rule passes keeps Boca’s offense in movement.

“Armador” is largely synonymous with “enganche,” and has nothing to do with your oak armoire where you hide your nocturnal reading under a stash of socks. However, there is one slight difference: the term “enganche” is normally associated with a slow-footed playmaker, while an armador may occasionally run at the defense. So for a armador, think Diego Maradona in his prime, well before he decided to (mis)lead the Argentina national team.

Does the concept of an armador or enganche make you uncomortable? Can you trust all that power in one player’s hands? Is it, gasp, tyrannical? Yes. And when Riquelme has an off day, Boca looks terrible. But when he is on his game, the direction and movement are a joy to watch. Unless you are Serbian.

As a general rule, the playmaker wears the coveted #10 jersey. And in Italian, I´ve been told that the term is “treqartista,” however I can´t personally confirm this is not a synonym for orquestra.

Well that concludes the first intermediate class and I know what you’re thinking – very little Spanish. Well, the armador/enganche is so central to the Latin game that, gasp, even the wobbled MLS-era Claudio Reyna received praise from Telemundo commentators. Therefore it’s important.

Okay class, some troublemakers have come whining that my Spanish is neither filthy nor officially exiled from the Real Academia. You want to know the dirty stuff? The truly filthy stuff? The stuff which your highschool Spanish teacher understands – and it makes the hair on his neck stand on end? Here are a few links. But that is all you will get from me. For now.

AHEM, we turn to the names for the positions on the field. In Spain, they love to call the goalie a “portero.” They also call the goal “puerta”, which is the same as a port of entry or a door. However, here in ye olde Americas, a goal is an “arco” and a goalie is an “arquero.” A portero is usually a doorman, and don’t you think Iker Casillas has a future in that profession after retirement?

As for the midfield, known in colloquial English as “centermids.” They can be “centrocampista”, “mediocampista”, or “volante.” Volante, however, has some key variations. Claude Makelele would be “volante de contencion,” while Zidane would be a “volante creativo.” Florent Malouda would be either an “inutil” or an “agujero negro”.

Yes, look up those words. Yes, I know, it’s not funny. For you at least.

But seriously, the word for a winger like Malouda is “extremo.” The sidelines are referred to as “la banda.” A cross from the wings would be a “centro”, while the proper adjective for most of Malouda’s crosses would be “feo.” Look it up. I am glad you concur. You would also refer to Malouda as “lento.” Look it up. Agreed.

Your assignment for this week is to watch an ESPN Deportes gamecast of the English Premier League. And you must shout “goooooooool” for as long as the announcer. Lungpower is essential to speaking Spanish.