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I Want To Go Back To Dreaming About Space

Netherlands  0     Denmark  1

If I could, I would write a million words about the turmoil of the past two weeks.  But there is never enough time or words.  Never enough pictures.

The Milwaukee Brewers,  after a 4 game sweep on the road of the  LA Dodgers, the best team in baseball, lost their 3 game home series with the Pirates and then made Cubs starter Ryan Dempster look like a Cy Young award winner on an evening when Yovani Gallardo turned in a 10 strikeout Cy Young performance himself except of course for those 5 runs he gave up before handing the gasoline can and the blue-tips to the bullpen crew to complete the 10-0 final.

The Celtics were set to clinch the East Final at the Boston Gardens on a night that Le Bron James played the Game of His Career…the game everyone had been waiting to see him play, even those of us who wanted to bitch-slap every word of The Decision out of his swollen head and burn them with a magnifying glass like a swarm of little ants skittering across the sidewalk.

The awful and the inevitable happened. Paul Lambert resigned from my Norwich City Canaries after leading them from League 1 to the Premier League mid-table in 2 successive promotions. Now Lambert’s shoved off to England’s Second City to lead Aston Villa from the depths of mediocrity.  Chris Hughton has replaced him. He’ll do great. But dammit anyway!!

Kurt Busch got suspended again for ill-advised, yet truthful remarks following the Nationwide race at Dover last Saturday. He’s well on his way to topping his brother as the Joey Barton of NASCAR. Although I’ll bet ya a shot of Jägermeister that Kurt Busch has never read any Voltaire, Neitzsche, or Kierkegaard. Maybe that’s what Jim Finch should do with Kurt while he sits out tomorrow’s race in Pocono and the following race at Michigan….give Kurt a copy of The Birth of Tragedy and don’t let him back in the car until he’s not only read it, but taken it to heart.

It also tragic, on some level that the hopes and dreams of Horse Racing were shattered this week. I’ll Have Another pulled up lame in practice for The Belmont and has been scratched. And once again, there will be no Triple Crown winner this season. It’s been 34 years since Affirmed took the Triple Crown. I’ll Have Another was certainly the horse that could have come through. But not to be.

And as I’ve just finished watching, Netherlands was upset by the facking Danes ((WTF??  The Danes???)) in their Euro 2012 opener in Kharkiv, Ukraine on a goal from Michael Krohn-Dheli  who fuckin’ nutmeged Netherlands’ goalie Steckelenberg at the 24th minute. I mean….what psychic animal saw THIS one coming?? Oh. Anyway, Netherlands and Denmark are in Euro 2012’s Group of Death with Germany and Portugal. ANY loss here in Group B could mean the end of the road. Germany and Portugal tee-off in a few minutes, and I swear to god that if Portugal upsets Germany, I will stumble drunken out the bar with my pants around my ankles claiming that I was drugged and then go vandalize some parked cars.



Germany 1     Portugal 0

Deutschland!! Deutschland!!Deutschland!!  Well now I won’t have to toddle out of the pub with my pants around my ankles. And I won’t have to vandalize any parked cars. Thanks to a determined attack and tough defense, Mario Gomez’s sweet and incisive header at the 72 minute mark put Germany atop the group B table with Denmark.

By all rights, Germany should have netted a few more…Gomez had one called back by the ref who belatedly called for a free kick outside the area when he should have just played advantage. Gomez was through for a subtly deft tap in. But the delayed foul call resulted in a free kick which resulted in nothing. And though Portugal made it lively towards the end, clanking a couple of the woodwork and forcing Neuer into making some spectaculars saves, Germany moves on to their death-match with the Netherlands with only a few tweaks to make (Podolski was naught sharp and I would think Miroslav Klose (the birthday boy who eventually replaced Gomez at the 80 minute mark) could get the start there). Portugal trudge off to face the fackin’ Danes with more questions to ask and answer about their overall team quality, especially their finishing. Or maybe they could just ask Yvonne & Orki what THEY think.



Spain 1     Italy 1

Well….so much for Koi Hodgson’s prediction, and mine. And no game winner from Torres in his 16 minute runout at the end, though he came awfully close. And everything is happening at once….the F1 Canadian Grand Prix; The Pocono 400; The Brewers tee-off against the Padres in an hour. And in 30 minutes and change as I type this, Ireland and Croatia go at it in Poznań, Poland. And martyrs everywhere are dragging their crosses across the face the Sun…no, scratch that….they’re tearing up their betting slips in disgust as after Union Rags edged out Paynter by a head in yesterdays Belmont. They’re tossing their pay-per-view TVs off of 13th floor balconies because Timothy Bradley Jr. won a split decision over Manny Pacquiao to take the welterweight title. They’re sneaking down backalleys looking for a bootlegger selling liquor out of his garage at 3:17 in the morning and poking their eyes out while wearing LeBron James’ and Duane Wade’s fake eyeglasses, their only hope being that next Tuesday night, the Oklahoma City Thunder will begin to inflict the punishment the Fab 3 so richly deserve for their hubris. No wonder, that I want to go back to dreaming about space.

I should say a word as well about the passing of Ray Bradbury this past week at the age of 91. The Martian Chronicles. Something Wicked This Way Comes. And of course, Fahrenheit 451. He wasn’t my favourite science fiction writer, but those three books should top anyone’s reading list. Rest in Peace. It’s a terrible loss, but his visions will live forever.



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