¡¡¡ Patada criminal !!!

My Facebook feed gives me all the minutest updates about the Ecuadorian national soccer team. As it should. … What’s remarkable is how these updates are titled. I’m reminded of the headlines of El Extra.

For example, Gabriel Achilier recently earned a red card in the Mexican league. The headline:

#LoÚltimo ¡¡QUÉ IMPRUDENCIA!!

¡¡PATADA CRIMINAL DE ACHILIER A UN RIVAL!! LO MANDARON A LAS DUCHAS … PERO QUÉ PATAZO …

MIRA EL VIDEO …

(In fact, it wasn’t a very serious foul.)

Of course, these days, most of the updates are concerned with the preparations for Ecuador’s last two World Cup qualifiers. (More precisely: these will be our last two qualifiers if we don’t finish in fifth place in South America; should we finish fifth, there would follow a two-game series against New Zealand.) Gustavo Quinteros, our manager, has been sacked. His replacement, Jorge Célico, has abandoned several regular players (e.g., Christian Noboa) and seen others abruptly retire (e.g., Felipe Caicedo). In their stead, he’s convoking rookies. I’m not necessarily in favor of dropping Noboa, but I welcome the influx of new talent. The old team had gotten far too predictable. The new players won’t have been scouted very thoroughly by our opponents.

Our next game, away to Chile, is on October 5 – Karin’s birthday. Karin isn’t very eager about this. I’ve tended to be sad on game days, lately.

UPDATE: Karin’s birthday is October 3, not October 5.

I knew that.

“Beer!”

Two entries ago, I celebrated the coming of the fall season. Now I must report that the fall has ended and that summer has come again. Temperatures this weekend were in the mid-to-high nineties (F). Skies were blisteringly clear. I kept the shades down to protect Ziva and Jasper from the ultraviolet rays.

This afternoon, Karin and her mother performed their post-equinox ritual of tromping around some local corn mazes. Karin returned sunburned, and, probably, dehydrated. She also brought home two small pumpkins that Ziva and Jasper keenly sniffed.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

At IUSB, I carry a small, green Perrier bottle. I drink from it throughout the day, refilling it at the water fountain.

On Friday, one of the tutees brought with her an old man – senile, disheveled, and toothless – who appeared to be under her care. They sat a short distance from my table while I tutored someone else.

The old man noticed my green Perrier bottle.

“Beer!” he said, and lumbered over.

“No! No!” we all exclaimed.

It was too late. The old man took a swig and sat at my table. “Beer.”

I let him keep the bottle. He was a jolly old man, prone to outbursts of contentment.

Santos vs. Barcelona

Last night, for the Copa Libertadores, Barcelona visited Santos of Brazil. The teams played the second leg of the quarterfinal stage.

Santos is the club at which the following illustrious players spent their formative years:

(1) Pelé;

(2) Robinho (a twerp); and

(3) Neymar (an arch-twerp).

Neymar has been in the headlines lately. He was caught, en pleno partido, bickering with his Paris Saint-Germain teammate, Edinson Cavani, on the question of who should take a certain penalty kick. This is what they probably said:

Cavani: “I’m PSG’s incumbent penalty-kick taker. I should take this penalty kick.”

Neymar: “My transfer to PSG cost €222 million. I should take all the penalty kicks. Give me the ball.”

I have no great love for Santos or for its twerps.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

During last week’s first leg, Santos played defensively and got a lucky goal. (To me, the goal seemed offside.) That game ended 1 to 1. And so, last night in Brazil, Barcelona was obliged to score at least one goal so as to avoid succumbing​ to the away-goals tiebreaker.

Last night’s game started with Santos attacking more than Barcelona. Then Barcelona began its onslaught. Santos retreated. Barcelona pounded and pounded, but without precision or success.

The (neutral) announcers kept talking about how Barcelona deserved to win. They had a fatalistic tone. It all seemed pretty bleak.

The goal arrived at minute 70, more or less. ¡Gol! ¡Gol! I shouted, alarming Ziva and Jasper.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

My joy was short-lived. Barcelona’s goalscorer, Jonathan Álvez, was red-carded. The teams’ roles were reversed: Barcelona defended and Santos desperately attacked.

The game turned into a high-tension brawl, typical of the Copa Libertadores. Each team suffered one more red card. Barcelona’s players guarded the result, wasting time and rolling on the ground, observing the proper etiquette.

They did just enough to win.

Santos was Barcelona’s third Brazilian opponent of this year. A fourth awaits in the semifinal: Grêmio, of Porto Alegre.

The fall

Fall has arrived: cool air, cloudy skies, a congested work schedule.

At IUSB, I’m one of the longest-serving tutors. This means that my hours are more numerous – and less regular – than in previous years. And it means that when I’m not tutoring, I’m writing emails to set up special tutoring sessions.

These things get in the way of meeting my life goals, such as finishing the Ph.D. and making enough money to sire children in good conscience. (Of course, by wishing to sire human children, I don’t mean to devalue Jasper and Ziva. I love them as dearly as if they were my own offspring.)

This week, at last, I met Russell, Ana’s & David’s little son (Ana & David are visiting from Texas). Russell is no larger than Jasper. He’s partly a terrier and partly a Chihuahua. He has a considerable repertoire of tricks.

Last night, at supper, our whole family watched Russell do his tricks. Then we watched one of our favorite movies: Citizen X, about a Soviet serial killer. The Donald Sutherland character reminded me of my Ph.D. advisor.

Thank you Uruguay, thanks Bolivia

… for defeating Paraguay and Chile, respectively, which is all that’s keeping Ecuador in the hunt. The Venezuelans helped us, too, drawing with Argentina in Buenos Aires.

(I feel like Alanis Morissette in her “Thank U India” video: chastened and nude.)

No thanks to ourselves. Last night, the Peruvians defeated us in Quito. We were bad.

It’s hard to know what, or whom, to blame. Our players? They’d do better if things weren’t so dire. Our coach? Certainly, his tactics are bankrupt, or else they aren’t suited to our personnel; but I’m not sure what tactics to suggest instead. The groundskeeping? That was a problem last night. The grass was cut short to make the ball roll quickly. But our players kept failing to control the ball.

The altitude? Last night, it didn’t help us. I think Peru may have used more “highland” players than we used.

I’d be in utter despair – I was all through the night – except that Argentina and Chile are playing badly, too, and they’re our closest qualifying rivals, and they’re whom we will play against in our last two games. I thought the Peruvians would be easier to beat, but now I’m not so sure. The Argentinians have looked tepid under all three of their world-class coaches. And the Chileans, well, they’re a disaster. And so are we. The three teams are punch-drunk and knocked down. Whoever can stand up just a little will be admitted to the World Cup.

Thank you, Paraguay

This article describes last night’s results. “South American qualifying,” it says, “is one of the best-kept secrets in global soccer.” Maybe; what’s certain is that South American qualifying is the best competition in soccer, period.

Last night, I was profoundly glad about South America. I watched modest Paraguay hammer the Chileans in Santiago. “Paraguay is such a brave little country,” I thought.

That result kept us Ecuadorians in the thick of things, even though we lost in Brazil. (Still, our defeat was a pity: a victory would have propelled us into fourth place; instead, we sunk to eighth.) Now, if we win our last three games, qualification is virtually assured.