Mexico 2, Ecuador 0; Portugal 2, Croatia 1; predictions

Still he was a pius man in his way and found relief in prayer.

(Daisy Ashford, The Young Visiters)

We lost because Mexico was the home team. It pretty much boils down to that.

Mexico shouldn’t have hosted this tournament, but that’s a topic for another day.

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To my dismay, I’ve been driven very close to embracing a conspiracy theory.

Not because Ecuador lost, but because of how Portugal beat Croatia. A penalty kick was bogusly awarded to the Portuguese; later, Croatia’s tying goal was disallowed due to a tiny spike on a chart. The spike indicated an otherwise undetectable touch registered by a chip inside the ball.

Not even video review could corroborate it.

It’s not that I don’t believe the technology works. It’s that I’m not convinced that this chart isn’t a fabrication.

(It doesn’t help that this technology’s only other beneficiary has been Real Madrid, for a notorious judgment that decided a Champions League series.)

Or, to retreat just a little, a Croatian who chose to doubt the chart would be within his rights.

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Enough lamenting (for now). These are my predictions for the rest of the tournament (see the bracket). I may revise them after the round of 16, should Spain lose to Portugal, Norway to Brazil, or Colombia to Switzerland.

The Belgium/​USA match is hard to predict, too, but its winner shouldn’t last longer than one more round.

Morocco over Canada

France over Paraguay

Belgium over the USA

Spain over Portugal

Norway over Brazil

Mexico (at home again) over England

Colombia over Switzerland

Argentina over Egypt

France over Morocco

Spain over Belgium

Norway (unless undone by Miami’s heat) over Mexico (no longer at home)

Colombia over tired-looking Argentina

France over Spain

Colombia over Norway

Spain over Norway (or vice versa; it’s just a consolation match)

France over Colombia

Come on, Hearts

As I type, the most important Scottish club match of the last forty years is being played at Celtic Park, where the hosts must defeat league leaders Hearts to retain the title. Only Celtic and Rangers have won the title since Alex Ferguson’s Aberdeen did so, in 1985.

It’s almost halftime, and the score is 0–0.

I watched Celtic and Hearts play other teams earlier this week. Hearts looked the better side. But Celtic are at home.

I can’t stream the match. The browser won’t load. It must be that so many people are watching, Paramount+ can’t handle the volume.

That can’t be right. Paramount+ broadcasts the Champions League.

Well, some things are bigger than the Champions League.

Update: Hearts have scored.

Update: Celtic have equalized. Halftime.

Update: Celtic scored two late goals.

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Disheartening: publishing a book with Oxford (!) now involves negotiating with robots.

Pacho vs. Piero

Happy birthday to Mary.

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Some old-ish news:

For the second straight year, an Ecuadorian will win the UEFA Champions League. Paris Saint-Germain (the holders) and Arsenal will contest the final. Willian Pacho plays for PSG, and Piero Hincapié plays for Arsenal.

Both play for the national team, and they used to be teammates at Independiente del Valle.

I don’t care which club wins the Champions League. Arsenal once were purists; now they’re pragmatists. PSG are delightful to watch, but one can muster only so much enthusiasm for a propaganda arm of the Qatari state.

What about the players? Should I cheer more for Pacho or for Piero? Pacho won last year, and Piero hasn’t won. (Advantage: Piero.) But Pacho is likelier to play more minutes. (Advantage: Pacho.)

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Recent news:

CR7’s club failed to clinch the Saudi league title because of this very late “own” goal:

Қайрат (Kairat) 0, Πάφος (Paphos) 0

In Almaty, Kazakhs and Cypriots both failed to win their easiest match of the Champions League group stage.

Kairat’s failure was greater. (A Paphos defender was red-carded in minute 4.) Happily, the draw allowed the upstart ex-Soviets to leap over respectable Athletic Bilbao, as well as illustrious Ajax and Benfica, in the standings.

The islanders – who, on Matchday 1, had stalemated Olimpiacos (6–1 losers today, at Barcelona) – already were perched above that trio.

Did I watch any of these games? I did not.

Now, a report on some (not all) of my compatriots.

Willian Pacho scored Paris Saint-Germain’s first goal of seven at Bayer Leverkusen. (PSG won.)

A game I did watch: Piero Hincapié’s Arsenal smoked Atlético Madrid, 4–0. Piero didn’t play. He’s easing back from injury. The starting left-back, Calafiori, rested; Lewis-Skelly, Calafiori’s understudy, played brilliantly, assisting on the second goal. Piero also can play left center-back. That position’s occupant, Gabriel, scored, then assisted.

Hardworking Viktor Gyökeres, a Swede – the game’s best player – broke his scoring drought with two goals. He’s not a positional rival of Piero’s. I rooted for him.

This blog entry is for Jesús

… the nurse who gives my children their shots.

It was Abel’s turn to get poked. He glared when Jesús came into the room.

“Children recognize me,” Jesús told Karin. “I was at Walmart, and a child saw me and ran away. His parents gave me dirty looks.”

Jesús is super nice.

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It’s old news, but … Paris Saint-Germain shredded Inter, 5–0, with the best team performance in any final in the history of the Champions League. (I’ve observed just one other comparable performance: Barcelona’s, in 2009, which caused a very good Manchester United team to chase shadows. Milan’s drubbing of Barça in 1994 is supposed to have been impressive, too, but I didn’t see that game.)

Were I forced to choose, I’d name Vitinha as PSG’s standout player:

Willian Pacho started in defense and repeatedly charged into the opponents’ half to intercept or wrest away the ball. He was astounding. They all were, the Parisians.

Pacho has returned to Ecuador to play in Thursday’s World Cup qualifier, against Marquinhos – his club-mate – the captain of Brazil and PSG.

Happy birthday to Samuel

He turns five tomorrow. Quite a ritual awaits him at school. He’s to carry a globe around the classroom five times while his teacher and classmates sing to him and eat granola bars. Photos of his short life will be displayed.

Karin & I worry about the singing, which Samuel doesn’t always take to; but we’ve drilled the expectation into him, and he bears it stoically.

He now seems to like school. He was downright excited at the bus stop this morning after what must have been a too-long Fall Break.

(The driver took the wrong street but quickly turned around and came back for Samuel.)

He’s losing various perks: the WIC vegetables, the books from Dolly Parton, the visits from privately funded social workers. But he wouldn’t eat the vegetables, anyway; and he continues to peruse the books that arrive for Daniel.

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I ought to mention, today I saw one of the brightest “firework displays” of my lifetime: Madrid’s and Dortmund’s rehash of last season’s Champions League final. I have no love for Madrid, but my goodness, what talent, what tremendous self-belief. Pedigree is real.

A fire-pit

I’ve added Olympic National Park (Washington) to the previous entry’s list.

To see a map of the Olympic Rain Shadow, click here and scroll down. The rain shadow covers Victoria, British Columbia, a place that seemed curiously arid when I visited fifteen years ago; now I know why.

Speaking of Olympian mountains, I learned that Olympus Mons, on Mars, is about as large as Poland.

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We bought a portable fire-pit for burning the wood that accumulated in our yard these last two years, and for placing our lawn-chairs around, roasting wieners in, grilling cucumbers over, etc.

Samuel’s much-studied book, Cooking with Foil, would have been useful had he not torn out the pages.

Not that we’d’ve been guided by it anytime soon. We’re unable to keep a fire going longer than five minutes. Certain twigs and sections of rotten logs burn, and the rest just don’t.

Last night, Daniel wandered off with the poker, and we crept around in the dark, looking for it with our phone-flashlights. No luck. We searched again today and were about to give up when Karin lowered her eyes and noticed it in plain view.

Poker or no poker, we are hapless.

Karin tried stimulating the fire with her breath; she extinguished it. I told her she should never carry the Olympic torch. (Not that I’ve kept the fire going any better.)

Our lawn-chairs sank pretty far down into the mud.

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This aftertoon I watched forty-one-year-old Pepe, of the immortals, in the UEFA Champions League. He played well. He’s a thug, but I like him; as John Huston says in Chinatown, “Politicians, ugly buildings, and whores all get respectable if they last long enough.” I watched through a thicket of climbing, niggling children. Daniel begged to watch “hungry planets” on YouTube, and Samuel, who is susceptible to advertising, kept asking for Heineken.

The sports

We’re all still sick, but we feel much better – except for Karin, who feels poorly again. She did go to the office today.

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I picked these teams to reach the Final Four:

Indiana, because of my loyalty to the state. ELIMINATED!

Purdue, also because of my loyalty to the state (not to former University President and former Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels). ELIMINATED!

Kansas, because I used to live near the Kansas-Missouri border. ELIMINATED!

Mizzou. Ditto. ELIMINATED! Who’d’ve thought Mizzou would finish second to Princeton in the Battle of the Tigers.

Now I’m cheering for Kansas State. It’s a respectable prairie team. I saw Kansas State beat Kentucky in the Battle of the Wildcats. I’d like the Big 12 Conference to secure its third straight title, or at least its fourth straight title game appearance.

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The schedule has been set for the quarterfinals, semifinals, and final of the UEFA Champions League:

In the top half of the bracket, Chelsea will play against Real Madrid, and the winning club will face either Manchester City or Bayern Munich.

On paper, the bottom half is much easier: Napoli will play against Milan, and Benfica will play against Inter.

I’m pleased that Napoli is likely to scale greater heights than ever before in this tournament. I’ve seen Napoli play in several games. The players are smart, they work hard for each other, and, skill-wise, they range from excellent to breathtaking. Look out, especially, for the Cameroonian, the Georgian, the Nigerian, and the Pole.

The ghost of Maradona is smiling down …

Tabloids

May 6, 2023: coronation day for Charles and his Queen Consort. Mark your calendars. Who knows when another coronation will occur?

Palace insiders told the Mail on Sunday that the Duke of Norfolk … had been tasked with making it a simpler, shorter and more diverse ceremony that reflects modern Britain. “The King has stripped back a lot of the coronation in recognition that the world has changed in the past 70 years,” a source told the paper.

One change reportedly being discussed is for a more relaxed dress code, with peers possibly dressed in lounge suits rather than ceremonial robes.

… the Guardian says.

The government and royal household will be conscious of the scale of the coronation in the light of the cost of living crisis facing the country.

Such backhanded compliments are often in the news. Guardian readers do not esteem the Royals. Even so, they lap up their lives and rituals like cream. Papers like the Mail aren’t the only ones beholden to the monarchy.

The Guardian is happy to quote the King when it wishes to take shots at the Prime Minister. No one expresses withering, casual contempt better than a thorough snob does. That is one of the most serviceable functions of the aristocracy. Just as civilians need soldiers to fight invaders and police to keep criminals at bay, the people need kings and dukes to show the most exquisite disdain for the politicians they elect, for their fellow human beings.

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Barcelona and Inter contested a thrilling Champions League match yesterday.

Meanwhile, I was viewing a mediocre match between Rangers and Liverpool. I turned it off with less than half an hour to play. Liverpool had just gone up 3 goals to 1, and the benched Mo Salah was about to enter the game.

Much later, I found out that he scored thrice in six minutes. The match ended 7 to 1.

Zadok the priest; Pop. 1280; a recipe

Karin: “Zadok the priest
And Nathan the prophet
Were hangin’ out,
Doing some stuff.”

Some commenter on YouTube: “Can you imagine when the Queen eventually passes away, and Charles becomes King. As he walks through Westminster Abbey on the day of his coronation … 95% of the viewing public are going to be thinking to themselves, ‘Why the bloody hell are they playing the Champions League theme?!?!’”

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Per this entry: Jim Thompson’s Pop. 1280 has arrived from a library in Connecticut. So far, it’s better than The Killer Inside Me. Funnier, at least.

I’d been thinking it was about time to do some political campaignin’, since I had a pretty tough opponent coming up for a change. … [¶] Always before, I’d let the word get around that I was against this and that, things like cockfighting and gambling and whiskey and so on. So my opposition would figure they’d better come out against ’em, too, only twice as strong as I did. And I went right ahead and let ’em. Me, almost anyone can make a better speech than I can, and anyone can come out stronger against or for something. Because, me, I’ve got no very strong convictions about anything. Not anymore I haven’t.
[Ch. 9, ¶¶ 1–2]

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Today’s lunch:

Ingredients for the rice cooker:

• Butter (1 tablespoon)
• Brown rice, dry (1/3 cup)
• Water A (2/3 cup)
• Red lentils, dry (1/2 cup)
• Water B (1 cup)
• Russet potatoes, raw, cut into 1/2-in cubes (5 oz)
• Jalapeño peppers, raw, chopped (2 oz)
• Yellow onions, raw, chopped (3 oz)
• Broccoli, raw, chopped (5 oz)
• Sazón Goya (1 packet)
• Water C (1/2 cup)

Other ingredients:

• Tortillas
• Sour cream
• Cheese, shredded
• Etc.

The steps are what you’d expect.

There are approx. 835 kcals in the pot; the amounts and kinds of tortillas, sour cream, cheese, etc. are up to you. The filling, once cooked, is pasty, like refried beans. It’s lumpy where the potatoes are, and just a little crunchy because the rice retains some hardness (don’t worry, it’s edible). To make the rice come out softer, if that is your desire, use more water, although that’ll make everything softer. Or, I dunno, use less rice.

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Scott was baptized in a small church in Michigan; afterward, there was special music by one of the congregants. “The guy told us he’d recorded four CDs,” said Jennifer, Karin’s stepsister. “I wasn’t expecting him to sing them all.”

Umbrella; vermin; children; Heineken

Rihanna: “ … under my um-bar-
ella, -ella, -ella,
eh, eh.”

Samuel: “Hahahahahahahahahaha.”

A timely song, what with all the drizzle. Summer appears to be winding down. We’ve had our first notable cooling, and leaves have been peppering the ground. This is a “false fall”; but tell that to the mice, who’ve again infiltrated our mud-room: we’ve found little mounds of dirt where they’ve been tunneling. We’ve left no food for them. They must simply be sheltering from the cold.

Daniel, who seems constitutionally squirmier than Samuel (and he is plenty squirmy), has been hurtling himself out of his chair and slithering over the ground, either backwards until he gets stuck or, like a hurricane, in a spiral pattern. He leaves little spiral-paths of puke. Or he stays in his chair and rocks his legs so vigorously that it lurches, a foot at a time, across the room.

Samuel leaves out uncapped dry-erase markers, and Daniel sucks them.

I’m gradually weaning the children off YouTube, to interest them in soccer (which will be necessary for them when the World Cup is played). It helps that on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, ViX broadcasts Champions League matches. Samuel is familiar with the halftime commercials. “Drink responsibly,” he says when he hears strains of Handel, who composed the Champions League refrain.

The old couch

Some UEFA Champions League matches are free to stream through ViX Deportes.

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Goodbye, goodbye to our long-serving couch – I used it the last ten years, after it was passed around by various members of my family, including myself on previous occasions. (Or so I believe; I’m not sure about that last detail.) Tonight, the couch is out beside the curb. It has become filthy and ragged, due to the children and the cats. It never was beautiful. Well, did it have “character?” No, it did not. But it did “tie the room together.”

R.I.P. The Super League

The Super League is no more.

Fans protested; pundits criticized; politicians threatened. The English clubs withdrew. Other clubs withdrew.

(So much for the spiffy website.)

Now the clamor is for owners’ and sporting directors’ heads to roll.

Meanwhile, Florentino Pérez of Real Madrid continues to advocate for the Super League.

(The whole video is worth watching. This issue is so clear-cut, the pundits can’t say a wrong word: even terrible Alejandro Moreno delivers some nice zingers.)

European soccer will change, though. An overhaul of the UEFA Champions League was approved even before The Super League declared its intentions.

This video explains the changes:

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I should say a few things about my family, or at least about the boy. For several days, he has suffered from an ear infection. Sometimes he has been feverish. Today his mood was better, but he broke out in a rash: he appears to be allergic to his medicine.

We took him to Walmart for the first time since the pandemic began, and he was pretty amazed by everything.

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Oh, and I gave my last guest lecture on Alasdair MacIntyre. The students clearly were struggling to read all of After Virtue. Perhaps I ought to have refrained from mentioning other readings, so that the students could focus on getting through the book that had been assigned to them. But instead, I recommended a few shorter pieces that, realistically, they might digest by the end of the semester: “Is Patriotism a Virtue?” and “Politics, Philosophy, and the Common Good.” I think those essays display what is best about MacIntyre’s moral and political philosophy, more or less independently of his history of moral and political philosophy (which, tantalizing though it is, I am inclined to reject).

The Super League

So, apparently, twelve ultra-rich European clubs have decided to form a breakaway competition called The Super League which is to rival the UEFA Champions League.

Motto: “The best clubs. The best players. Every week.”

The inaugural chairman will be Florentino Pérez, the president of Real Madrid – the world’s most powerful club thanks to the backing of General Francisco Franco.

Among the four inaugural vice-chairmen, three are U.S. sporting owners who happen to control Arsenal, Liverpool, and Manchester United. The company JPMorgan Chase (also U.S.) is reported to be the League’s foremost lender.

Nearly everybody who cares about soccer is outraged by this blatant “gated community”-style hijacking of the sport. Even horrid British P.M. Boris Johnson issued a powerful statement against The Super League.

What many of us hope from FIFA, UEFA, and the relevant domestic associations is that they ban these clubs and their players from all other competition.

Certainly, if this league goes forward, I’ll never watch any of its clubs again.

I blink

Watching highlights of the Champions League’s first knockout round, I was surprised to see Thomas Tuchel on Chelsea’s touchline. Apparently, he’s been working there since January. Already he holds the record for consecutive victories by a manager who is beginning at the club.

(It seems like only yesterday when the previous gaffer, Frank Lampard, was scowling at those same players’ ludicrous displays.)

I also was surprised that the 6,000-seat Estadio Alfredo Di Stéfano was the venue of Real Madrid’s knockout game against Atalanta. Indeed, Real Madrid have been playing there since June of last year, and the Santiago Bernabéu is under renovation.

In other words: I’ve been ignoring world-famous clubs like Real Madrid, Chelsea, and Paris Saint-Germain (the club that employed Tuchel as recently as December, and for which he also had record-breaking success). And there’s nothing special about those giants: I’ve been ignoring soccer in general (though I do usually watch a game or two over the weekend).

This neglect is certainly due to COVID. Soccer is just not as exciting when no one is in the stands.

Which is a pity. The footballers are, if anything, less inhibited now; and the quality of play is better.

Our annual holiday

The semifinals of the Champions League were unremarkable. The winners, PSG and Bayern Munich, played on Sunday, and Bayern deservedly came away with the title.

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Karin took some days off from work, as she does every summer, but this year we didn’t travel much. We went as far as New Buffalo, Michigan – forty-five minutes away. With our friends, Dan, Lizzie, and their children, we strolled through a county park distinguished by its marshy scenery and two boardwalks: one high in the air, the other at marsh level. We saw marsh plants and kayakers and little fishes.

Then we tried out the beach at New Buffalo. It was crowded with revelers from Illinois, so we left. Frankly, I’d rather have gone to a beach in wintry Old Buffalo. We went to Niles for lunch. On our way, in tiny Three Oaks, we were detained by a long parade of flag-waving tractor drivers.

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Karin & I have been counting kcals again. I’ve lost several lbs. Watching my diet has forced me to acknowledge that butternut squash is more filling and nutritious than jasmine rice. Mowing has become a more welcome chore, since it burns kcals and allows me to increase my food quota. I briefly considered buying a reel mower to work out even harder. Then I watched some videos of people using reel mowers and decided it wasn’t for me.

More quarterfinals

Attack, attack, attack was the theme of the first three quarterfinals, beginning with Atalanta’s.

In the second quarterfinal, RB Leipzig, which came into existence just eleven years ago, outplayed and defeated Atlético de Madrid (who’d so impressively ousted title-holders Liverpool). Leipzig sliced through Atlético’s middle for the first goal. The winning goal was fired in after a clever low cross.

Leipzig’s young center-back, Dayot Upamecano, bossed Atlético’s strikers.

The next game was one of the most breakneck-paced contests I’ve seen at this level. Both Baryern and Barça threw caution to the wind. Bayern’s high defensive line was especially shocking.

Indeed, the Catalans had early chances. They didn’t take enough of them. The Bavarians romped to a 4–1 victory in each half, improving upon their 7–2 group stage victory over the Potato Tots.

The experts are predicting that Barça will be renovated through and through.

There was less attacking in Lyon’s surprising victory over Manchester City. The Citizens possessed the ball but lacked ideas. The “signature” moment occurred when Raheem Sterling missed the tying goal just feet from the empty net.

Outcomewise there are various possibilities, but Bayern has the best team this year.

Near-upset

A cracking good, heartbreaking first quarterfinal. Atalanta outplayed and led the headless chickens of PSG until minute 89 or so. Then the Parisians scored two goals, overturning the deficit. Their difference-maker was Kylian Mbappé.

Neymar, who reportedly earns about as much as the whole Atalanta squad, played a stinker of a game.

I have no horse in this race. There is no European team I cheer for. But the Parisians are the least deserving semifinalists I’ve seen in a long time.

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Samuel had a checkup today. The nurse practitioner said he was too thin. She urged us to feed him mashed potatoes.

Weather for Hoosiers

We are like the frog in the cauldron. Mishawaka was cool for two weeks; gradually, it warmed; yesterday, suddenly, the temperature reached ninety (Fahrenheit).

Karin napped inside the air-conditioned house. Samuel and I remained on the sauna-porch. The little boy zonked out.

From time to time, he would raise an eyelid at the sound of a distant lawnmower or chainsaw.

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Today was more of the same. The air was stagnant and sultry. Samuel scooted around the porch and covered himself in dirt which he transmitted to my sweaty face. I took some dead leaves out of his mouth. He resented that.

Tonight, on the other hand, we had severe t-storms and wind gusts of 50–70 m.p.h. There were even a few little tornadoes. I carried supplies down to the basement, but the worst winds were over quickly, and it never became necessary to hunker down.

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The quarterfinal, semifinal, and final rounds of the UEFA Champions League will be played as single-game contests in Lisbon, at the home grounds of Benfica and Sporting (non-participants upon these lofty stages). Every match can be streamed gratis with a CBS All Access trial subscription.

The most odious clubs have all been eliminated, except PSG.

Poor Liverpool

… tore through the English Premier League this season in pursuit of some amazing feats. Would they join 2003–2004 Arsenal as EPL “invincibles”? Would they repeat as European champions?

They would not.

In the EPL, they lost to Watford.

Then, Atlético de Madrid eliminated them from the Champions League.

Liverpool could have surpassed Manchester City’s EPL points record. But City thumped them as soon as they clinched the title; and today, needing a draw to be able to accumulate 100 points, as City had done two seasons before, Liverpool suffered a lackluster defeat to Arsenal.

I watched on Peacock TV, NBC’s new streaming site, as Liverpool became also-rans in comparison to other champions. The futility was palpable. Jürgen Klopp, Liverpool’s manager, seethed.

This acclaimed team is, ultimately, a less memorable one than the 2015–2016 Leicester team that accumulated just 81 points.