Darby Jean #70 | Liverpool, Messi, Guaita- who cares?
Liverpool, Messi, Guaita-
who cares?
Photo from 'European Fields' by Hans van der Meer
Out this way the snow's giving it all it’s got, which reminds me of a Hans van der Meer photo that was taken in Berlin a while ago. I’ve looked at this photo a thousand times, and each time I wonder: if it's the blue team who's attacking, how is it possible for that boy closest to the 18-yard box to be as offside as he is?
He's so offside.
In fact, there look to be three of them offside as the ball’s played in, but the linesman’s got a stance like “Nope, let’s see this one out.” I wonder how you scream “Line-o!” in German? I'm willing to bet it's a terrifying sound.
Put your flag up, man.
That Liverpool goal
No one wants to read about Liverpool doing cool things except for Liverpool fans. That’s the kind of club they are. Even still, it’s not often that a team maneuvers from an opponent’s set piece - one that threatens to equalize a game - to an expansive, decisive goal, all within fifteen seconds.
You have to admire this play’s fluidity. Starting with Andy Robertson’s clearing header from a corner kick, the ball lands in front of Trent Alexander-Arnold, who takes a touch before releasing Xherdan Shaquiri with a diagonal ball that's basically a play action pass. The Swiss, running into the country mile of space left by West Ham’s marooned attack, slices a looping, hopeful ball into the path of the scrambling Mo Salah, who controls and finishes inside of two steps.
It's a lovely bit of quality from the embattled champions, who are down but not out, perhaps? A tricky bit of February fixtures may have the final say.
Tuchel at PSG. Whistle. Ankles. Soccer. (Getty)
Out-soccering soccer: Thomas Tuchel
Some things about soccer are just so… soccer-y. Tight track bottoms. Useless drums. Things to keep you warm when it’s already warm out. And now...Thomas Tuchel.
I sensed something about Tuchel when he was at PSG. And wading through reams of Tuchelfodder in the wake of his Chelsea appointment confirmed my hunch: Thomas Tuchel is so soccer-y that he's out-soccering soccer. Just look at this photo of him. Look at all the soccer: the puffy coat; the star ball. The man's wearing a snood as a hat for eff's effing sake.
Breakdancer from the French underworld: Vicente Guaita (Getty)
Vicente Guaita is nasty
Every time Vicente Guaita re-bleaches his hair he seems to grow in power, as though he receives a mana boost like a character in Magic 'The Gathering'. On Saturday Guaita showed his talent for making the magnificent seem mundane with a clutch of saves that helped Palace claim a 1-0 win over Wolves. This dude is criminally underrated. It's a shame you don't hear more about him.
Super pink shirt, super big shorts, and a defender with a well bendy leg. (AFP)
Who cares? Starring Lionel Messi
Reports have leaked of Barcelona’s intend to pay Lionel Messi £492 million over the next four seasons, which is a good reminder that everyone working at that club is high and drunk.
The best take I’ve heard thus far comes from Klobbles, longtime Jeaner affiliate, and designer of our new logo-guy, who shared this via text: “They better have bought the rights to his ashes when he dies. They can spread some on the pitch and use the rest to mark ‘M’ on each players’ head before every game.”
Imagine the Barcelona squad gliding onto the field at the Bernabeu dressed in druid cloaks, with M's on their foreheads, and sacrificing a lamb or plant-based equivalent ahead of each game? What would poor Serginio Dest do then?
And with nary a Champions League title in sight.
Choons | Teenage Fanclub - Songs from Northern Britain
You have to be in the mood for Teenage Fanclub. Not because they're weird and angular, or pushing you to start throwing crazy dancefloor shapes, but because they play guitars, and harmonize, and there's a dude in the band named Norman, and none of that is terribly fashionable.
Songs from Northern Britainis a classic (1997) and it's aging well- just like you. Try pairing it with Sunday night, a sinkful of dishes, and the last can of the weekend, and tell me I’m wrong.