A less than ideal return from the winter break for Barca
Athletic Bilbao finished the first leg of their Copa del Rey round of 16 tie against Barcelona with just nine men, yet they still won 2–1. The result was as much of a shock to the visitors as Aritz Aduriz’s throat punch on defender Samuel Umtiti shortly before halftime.
Aduriz, who scored the match’s first goal, was not punished for the blow itself, but both he and Umtiti were booked for scuffle that took place once Umtiti regained the ability to breathe.
Bilbao scored their two goals in a span of three minutes during the first half, but Lionel Messi got one back in the 52nd minute. In the 74th minute, Bilbao’s Raul Garcia received his second booking and six minutes later, the same happened to teammate Ander Iturraspe, leaving the home side with nine men for the final 10 minutes.
Barca will surely be better prepared for the second leg back at the Camp Nou, perhaps even with throat protectors.
Since getting sacked by Swansea City, Bob Bradley has been talking to anyone who will listen to his endless supply of bitter words. Shortly after he got the boot, bastion of dubious claims the Daily Mail, reported that Swansea players had nicknamed Bradley “Ronald Reagan” for his antiqued training methods.
Now, presidential nicknames aside, accusations of faulty training methods are fairly common when a manager is abruptly dismissed. It’s the kind of justification that the press and public can’t argue against since training is something that largely goes unseen by anyone outside the club. And in Bradley’s case, it reinforces the notion that the American was out of his depth. In other words, whether right or wrong, it was the perfect story for the club to push.
But Bradley has now responded to this insult with one of his own. From the Guardian:
Bradley, who took eight points from 11 matches, was reportedly given the nickname by insiders, who felt he was old-fashioned in his methods — a throwback to the 1980s when Reagan was US president.
But in an interview with the Times, Bradley said: “Trust me on this, not one of those players knows who Ronald Reagan is.”
Yes, take it from the man who knew these players for a whole 85 days—exactly none of them are aware of a person who was leader of the free world and part of the west’s pop culture within their lifetimes.
It’s a strange thing for Bradley to be so certain about if he isn’t just trying to retaliate against a public slight, so it seems that’s the most likely explanation for his comment. That said, it creates an amusing headline that does little to reinforce the image he has of himself as a top level manager who should be taken seriously as such. It probably would’ve been better if he ignored the claim all together.
But ignoring jibes is something Bradley simply could not do. As the first American manager in the Premier League, he was always going to have snickering doubters making snide remarks about his pedigree and he fell into the trap of debating every criticism or joke tossed at him instead of ignoring it and letting his work do the talking.
Interesting take from @allyrudd_times on Bradley’s insecurity, defensiveness re being American & self-fullfilling prophecy of his demise. https://t.co/CpJiAQLAaw
The press exposed an underlying insecurity within Bradley and in a business where projecting confidence is arguably the most important job requirement, his endless rebuttals just might poison his chances at another top level job. But, hey, at least he wasn’t nicknamed Max Headroom.
Ball boys: A scourge upon the beautiful game, hellbent on subjugating participants to their will the world over. Eden Hazard knows it, Jose Mourinho knows, and now Tim Cahill knows it.
During a New Year’s Eve match between Cahill’s Melbourne City and Central Coast Mariners, there was a plot decided on by the ball boys to try and sabotage Cahill’s signature corner-flag boxing celebration should he score a goal.
In the 40th minute, Cahill did score and, as expected, ran towards the corner flag. But as he did so, the ball boy standing nearest to it pulled it out of the ground and stood there with it, emotionless, as Cahill did his boxing routine anyway.
After what ended up a 2–2 draw, the ball boy in question told Fox Sports of the plan, but there were no hard feelings from Cahill, who even stopped to take a picture with the kid.
When will the ball boys’ reign of terror come to an end?
Guardiola seems to be heading down a familiar path of discontent
(MCFC)
Man City beat Burnley 2–1 to start the new year, despite going down to 10 men in the 32nd minute with the score still 0–0. Fernandinho was the one sent off—his third red card in his last six appearances across all competitions—and City now lead the Premier League in red cards with four this season.
After the match, Guardiola was responsible for a supremely awkward interview.
City’s indiscipline and Guardiola’s sulky demeanor coincide with an interesting quote from an interview with NBC (via ESPN FC):
“In the moment, I will feel — and I am a little bit in that process — I feel that the end of my career, I will be… [throws up his hands]. I will not be training in the 60 and 65 years old, so…. No, no, no, no.
“Manchester City is three years or maybe longer, but I am still approaching the end of my career, like a manager. I am pretty sure of it.”
It’s an unusual thing for an overwhelmingly successful 45-year-old manager to say, but we have to remember how Guardiola got here.
When Jose Mourinho arrived in Spain seven years ago, Guardiola was in the midst of a heavenly introduction to management. He dominated with a style of his own at a club he loved. It was perfect in every way. Once Mourinho arrived on the scene, Guardiola continued to win trophies, but there was an atmospheric shift. Bad vibes took hold and animosities permeated his idyllic life. This was when Guardiola first adopted the now familiar look of a man subsisting on a diet of spoiled milk.
In 2012, Guardiola walked away from the game and took a year-long sabbatical, living a quiet life with his family in New York. When he returned to work, it was to take charge of Bayern Munich—the best team in the world at the time. This began a three-year spell where he again enjoyed peaceful domination—drinking beers the size of his head at Oktoberfest celebrations and wrapping up Bundesliga titles halfway through the season.
Now he’s at Man City, where not only is Jose Mourinho his neighbor, but there are Jose Mourinhos in the press box and even the stands. Guardiola has gone so far as to take issue with what he views as the selective support of City fans, leading to an odd moment during the match against Burnley when he tried to rally the crowd at the Etihad and was largely ignored.
All of this is exponentially worse than what poisoned his will to continue at Barcelona, which leads to the question of whether another sabbatical, or perhaps something more permanent, is in his near future. Because for as talented as Guardiola is, his temperament is a bit fragile. And given his team’s disciplinary troubles, it seems to be rubbing off on them, too.
Meanwhile, as Mourinho gets to grips with Man United and now has them just three points behind City, he finds himself in the position of Jon Lovitz’s character in The Wedding Singer.
Starting off the new year with an in-depth analysis of 2017’s first great goal
(Arsenal FC/Twitter)
Olivier Giroud, a man who too often has trouble scoring while facing an open net, managed to pull off a breathtaking sideways scorpion-kick goal in Arsenal’s New Year’s Day win over Crystal Palace. It was the type of goal that can be difficult to process. Just watch and let it turn your motor functions to mush.
Thankfully, I have a PhD in Goal Theory, so I am qualified to explain just how this remarkable goal came to be.
The foundation of this goal began the night before. New Year’s Eve. Olivier Giroud and the ball just happened to find themselves at the same party. They spotted each other from across the room. They exchanged timid glances and just before midnight, Giroud worked up the courage to approach the ball.
They discussed how funny it was that they were both there, given that they would be working together the next day. The conversation flowed easy. As the countdown to the new year began, Giroud admitted that he was developing feelings for the ball.
“I don’t have relationships with players,” the ball told him. “I’ve been kicked aside too many times.”
“I’m not like the others,” Giroud insisted, caressing the ball’s high-visibility exterior. “I’ll love you like Theo Walcott loves his coffee machine.”
As the clock struck midnight, the two kissed passionately. Everyone around them disappeared in that moment and the fireworks above were no match for those in their hearts.
In the small hours of the morning, Giroud and the ball went home together, where they explored every smooth, rounded panel of each other’s bodies.
When Giroud was jolted awake by his alarm, the ball was gone and he wondered if their affair was just a fleeting moment of loneliness and desire.
He prepared for the match as he usually does—winking at himself in the mirror and bathing in cocoa butter. When he arrived at the Emirates and stepped onto the pitch for warm-ups, he tried to ignore the ball as it feigned interest in other people. The match began and this silly game continued. But in the 17th minute, they could no longer resist their animal attraction.
Alexis Sanchez sent in a cross that put the ball behind Giroud, who flung out his leg in a desperate attempt to make contact with his complicated lover. As he did so, he whispered “Please, my love, go in the net…and wait for me there.”
Just before the ball propelled off the outside of his boot, it replied: “Anything, Giroud…”
With all the strength it could muster, the ball spun itself down off the crossbar and into the soft embrace of the net, leaving all its witnesses gasping in astonishment.
After the match, Giroud tracked down the ball to profess his love and eternal devotion. He said they could retire and live out their days on a deserted island together. Maybe even have children, if such a thing proves to be possible.
“You know this will never last, Olivier,” it told him. “But I will always remember our time together. And this goal will live on as a testament to what true love can achieve.”
With that, the match official took the ball away, leaving a tearful Giroud to be consoled by Gunnersaurus in the tunnel of bittersweet emotion.
The Chinese Super League’s investment in foreign stars extends to fictional characters
Shanghai Shenhua have made an audacious offer of €20 million per season to fictitious Mexico international Santiago Muñez. Portrayed by actor Kuno Becker, Muñez played for Newcastle United and Real Madrid in the Goal! trilogy, released between 2005 and 2009, turning the character into an internationally beloved star. Now Becker is weighing up taking Muñez out of retirement to play for Shenhua.
“After playing Santi in three films, I thought I was finished with the character,” the 38-year-old Becker said when asked about the offer. “And when my agent first told me about Shenhua’s proposal, I didn’t believe him. But I spoke to the club’s executives and Gus Poyet, the manager, and I’m impressed by their belief in this project. I’m still not sure how it would work since I’m not actually a footballer, but it’s difficult to ignore the money they’re offering.”
Shenhua have already paid Disney a transfer fee of €60 million for the rights to the character and it is believed Becker would be required to answer only to “Santiago Muñez” or “Santi” both on and off the pitch for the duration of the Chinese Super League season.
This move follows the signing of Carlos Tevez to a contract that reportedly makes him the highest paid player in the world. It also comes amidst rumors that Guangzhou Evergrande have put in a bid for animated character Captain Tsubasa and Shanghai SIPG are looking to make Gunnersaurus the world’s highest paid mascot.
You don’t become a pro footballer by picking and choosing when you play hard and Atalanta striker Papu Gomez’s son learned this lesson the hard way. While playing with his father on the beach during the winter break, the younger Gomez was on the receiving end of a rather nasty two-footed challenge…which the perpetrator than posted on Instagram himself.
But since 2016 refuses to go out quietly, Samir Nasri’s now deleted official Twitter account had a few things to say about this.
That’s an…interesting recommendation. And Nasri’s account wasn’t done there (read bottom to top).
At this point it’s clear that Nasri’s account had been hijacked and signs were beginning to point to his (ex?) girlfriend of four years Anara Atanes being the perpetrator. She has a history of Twitter outbursts involving Nasri and whoever was tweeting from Nasri’s account seemed particularly mindful of how this alleged incident impacted her.
At one point, Nasri himself appeared to try and regain control of his account, hastily tweeting “Someone hacked my account and tried to spread rumors which is fake i am sorty for all the ppl involved in that i apologies [sic]” as the other tweets disappeared.
But the social media hijacker continued on, before concluding with the following (full transcript here):
The expression of a young Nasri in the avatar photo elevates the entire diatribe to another level.
For their part, the Drip Doctors account that unintentionally started this whole thing denied the accusations.
@SamNasri19 account has been HACKED and the recent tweets about @dripdoctors are all FALSE, this will be confirmed shortly. Thanks ?
In a move that seems to confirm Atanes as the one behind the tweetstorm, the attacks on the Drip Doctors representative pictured with Nasri continued through an Instagram account that appears to belong to Atanes.
According to Drip Doctors’ social media accounts, other celebrity clients include DJ Steve Aoki and singer Chris Brown.
It was a pleasure providing world renowned DJ Steve Aoki our custom Limitless IV Infusion to help with his post tour jet lag! #dripdoctorspic.twitter.com/kMVKX4BoyT
Obviously we can’t know if the accusations made against Nasri and Drip Doctors are true, but what we do know is that in 2016 no one is safe. Not even from their own Twitter account.
Crystal Palace bring a traditional Christmas poem to life by hiring Sam Allardyce
’Twas two nights before Christmas, when all through Selhurst Park
Not a creature was stirring, not even a lark
The stockings were hung by Benteke with care
In the hopes that Big Sam soon would be there
The players were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Chinese transfers danced in their heads
Steve Parrish in his ‘kerchief, and I in my cap
Had settled our brains for a long winter of crap
When out on the pitch there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Gave a luster of midday to objects below
When what to my wondering eyes did appear
But a large Mercedes and eight camera crews out for a leer
With a big driver who had a head like a ham
I knew in a moment he must be Big Sam
More rapid than eagles the players they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name
“Now, Sako! Now, Souare! Now, Zaha and Ledley!
On, Remy! On, Tomkins! On, Campbell and Kelly!
To the top of the table! Or at least to the center!
Now don’t let investigators even hope to enter!”
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his shoes
And his reputation was all tarnished with scandals in the news
A bundle of money he had flung on his back
And he looked like a grifter just back from the track
His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks filled with porkchops, his brow rather scary!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And his multiple chins bounced to and fro
The stump of a cigar he held tight in his lips
And his shirt was too tight, exposing his nips
He had a broad face and a sizable gut
That was definitely caused by too much Pizza Hut
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly gaffer
And I laughed when I saw him—oh, the internet banter!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all his pockets, then turned with a jerk
And laying his finger inside of his nose
And giving a nod, his ego—it grows!
He sprang to his car, his team gave a whistle
And down the drain they flew, like the last piece of gristle
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight— “Happy Christmas to all, going undercover ain’t right!”
As if playing for Sunderland wasn’t embarrassing enough…
The little known third Wet Bandit: John O’Shea
Liverpool seem to have inspired other Premier League clubs to subject their players to the public humiliation of trying to act on video, and now Sunderland have tried to pull off the concept with a festive twist.
When you watch this video, it immediately becomes clear that at least some of these guys have seen the films they’re referencing and a few don’t even know what they’re being asked to say.
So that clearly didn’t go well. Maybe that’s what Spurs enlisted Mark Wahlberg to help former captain turned club ambassador Ledley King carry out a similar activity.
It’s only a matter of time before Premier League footballers pool their money and buy YouTube just so they can shut it down and never have to be subjected to this kind of thing ever again.
