Body-text fonts, pt. 53: Equity

… which is Matthew Butterick’s update of the classic Ehrhardt typeface.

Equity (darker version; lighter version) is excellent – and underused. I’ve seen it “out in the wild” only in books by Butterick or by his enthusiasts: e.g., Bryan A. Garner’s Legal Writing in Plain English.

(Of course, Ehrhardt already is good enough for most uses. Perhaps Equity is superfluous.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Equity is this month’s featured font because private equity is in the soccer news. Infantino is trying to make room for investors – Trump associates! – to buy a substantial share in FIFA’s tournaments.

Some FIFA member nations expect to benefit from the deal. Others – those that have no trouble paying for their soccer operations – staunchly oppose ceding business control to outsiders.

The European nations have resolved, unanimously, to boycott all FIFA competitions unless Infantino’s proposal is withdrawn or voted down.

I hope they get their way – without the boycott. I am not taken with Europe’s “principles.” Europe has a long history of thinking itself too good to play with anybody else.

Tim Vickery, in this video, explains:

Vickery’s diagnosis and proposal are very nearly my own, and so I’ll leave the matter there. But this is not to treat it lightly. The World Cup’s continuance is in danger.

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

P.S. Tens of thousands of Moroccans illegally crossed into the tiny Spanish semi-exclave of Ceuta yesterday. Spain and Morocco, along with four other countries, are slated to host the 2030 World Cup together.

1996, the best year in movie history, pt. 101: The Big Green

I try not to review bad movies. If I watch a movie and don’t admire or enjoy it, I don’t review it. The Big Green (1995) is an exception.

I chose it because I have just finished watching the World Cup.

(Alas, I’d forgotten that the conclusion of Captain Tsubasa, a.k.a. Supercampeones, was released in 1995.)

Having written the review, though, I wonder if The Big Green might not be as bad as all that.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Roger Ebert didn’t care for The Big Green. His review bemoans its triteness.

A team of small-town misfits are inspired by their offbeat coach to master a sport. They start out incredibly bad. They are humiliated by the ace team from the big city, with the expensive black uniforms and the obsessive coach. Then they start getting better. No prizes for who wins their big rematch. … Why soccer? Because their teacher is from England, and is visiting tiny Elma, Texas, on an exchange program. … Under the influence of this inspirational teacher and the discipline of the sport, [the youngsters] transform themselves. This will come as a shock to anyone who has not seen Dangerous Minds, The Dead Poets Society, and the countless other homages to the same idea.

Of course, some such “homages” – Hoosiers, notably – are not bad movies. It helps when the story is traceable to something that actually happened. This imposes constraints of accuracy – or, at least, of plausibility.

Plausibility is not the aim of The Big Green. Many of its elements are unabashedly fanciful. For example, racial groups from every major landmass but Australia and Antarctica are represented in the little Texas town, although the population is low enough that the schoolhouse has just one room.

But let us grant that diversity and inclusion, no matter how unlikely in a given location, befit an idealized tale of the global game.

It’s still important that characters be compelling individuals.

Alas, the individual children in The Big Green are stock figures with particularly unappealing traits. These range from cloying cuteness to frightening psychosis to clichéd hardbittenness.

The runtiest boy is recognizable as Alfalfa from the previous year’s Little Rascals movie. (The Big Green has improved his hairdo.) This lad shows no aptitude for soccer but nonetheless is chosen to take the decisive penalty kick.

Meanwhile, the boy who tends goal – Patrick Renna, reprising his “fat kid” role from The Sandlot – hallucinates that the opponents are ninjas, pirates, knights on horseback, etc.

He copes by redirecting his hallucinations into a productive channel.

Finally, the “tough” girl’s father is a drunkard. (Recall, from Hoosiers, the Dennis Hopper character.) This is the movie’s sole attempt to provide background detail for any of the children.

No, that’s not quite right. A new boy’s reason for coming to the town is withheld during most of the movie; then, near the end, it is revealed. This gets the plot over the hump.

The grownup characters fare better.

The most conspicuous local grownup is a none-too-zealous sheriff’s deputy (Steve Guttenberg). He is serviceably obnoxious as the love interest of the new teacher-coach.

About that teacher-coach, then – the genre’s central figure. This particular coach is an odd duck. It’s traditional for these movies to identify the coach’s personal demons. Happily, Miss Montgomery appears to have none.

She’s played by the fresh-faced Olivia d’Abo, the 1980s and ’90s equivalent of Felicity Jones.

It is Miss Montgomery’s mission to bring British jollity to disaffected U.S. youth.

MISS MONTGOMERY

I believe that you’re all special because you live here in America, and America is a place where you can be anything you want to be.

THE FAT KID

I think that was before Reaganomics, Ma’am.

(Not bad, kid.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I’ve been treating The Big Green as a genre piece, transposed, awkwardly, into a comedic and fantastical key. But I believe that despite its perfunctoriness about the sport itself – the gameplay is wholly unbelievable – the movie does capture various Hoosiers-style social truths.

Children and youths in mid-’90s U.S. prairie towns really were this jaded (or worse). I know because, in 1996, I went to school in rural Missouri.

Soccer really was viewed as a curiosity there. My classmates knew more about The Big Green than about the 1994 U.S. World Cup.

The movie is correct that pickup soccer didn’t exist in such places, and that the only way to play was to join an urban or suburban league. This still is the case. Millions of U.S. children have no access to the world’s game. The harvest is ready but there are too few Miss Montgomeries; and, if there were more, their efforts would be appropriated by the pay-to-play industry. Indeed, this is what appears to happen in The Big Green.

The movie is correct, or nearly so, that ultra-competitive coaches of the city youth leagues pace the sidelines shouting through bullhorns, brandishing swords, and leching after any Miss Montgomeries who cross paths with them.

COACH HUFFER
[Jay O. Sanders]

You know, we have a little tradition down here among the coaches. Before the final game, we always make a little wager.

MISS MONTGOMERY

Really? What are we betting?

COACH HUFFER

Well, now, I couldn’t take your money from you, but, you know, I’m divorced. I wouldn’t say no to a kiss.

MISS MONTGOMERY

Deal. But if you lose, you have to kiss our mascot, Ernie. He’s that lovely little green goat over there. He’s divorced, too.

(My favorite line. All right, the movie has some charm.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Perhaps the oddest and, to me, most intriguing thing about The Big Green is that its skies are so dreary. Indeed, all the lighting is rather dim. (The poster misleads.) The story is hokey nonsense. Why not prettify the visuals, then? Would it have been too costly? Or could it be that behind the story lurks a somber attitude? Hoosiers, which takes place during the winter, is awash with radiant color; but then, Hoosiers is uplifting. Nothing about The Big Green is; not really. The cheerful Miss Montgomery is not inspiring so much as freakishly out of place.

J. L. Carr wrote a novel, The Battle of Pollocks Crossing (online here), about an English schoolmaster who accepts a temporary job at a school in rural South Dakota. The Booker judges shortlisted the novel. I doubt anybody reads it nowadays.

It’s supposed to be a quirky story. The schoolmaster involves himself in some sort of campaign, on behalf of the “Have-Nots,” against the “Haves.” Farce ensues. The resolution is perhaps less than triumphant. (Bear in mind, I haven’t actually read the book.)

The sky of the book’s cover looks a lot like the sky of The Big Green.

My own fanciful idea, almost certainly false, is that someone set out to turn this oddity into a movie. The script was fed through different writers’ groups. The profit motive was accorded too much weight. Eventually, only the barest outline of the original tale remained. The U.S. World Cup was approaching, and so soccer was grafted onto the story as an afterthought – or perhaps as a vestige of fidelity to Carr (who also wrote a soccer novel, How Steeple Sinderby Wanderers Won the F.A. Cup).

If anyone wants to buy Pollocks Crossing for me, I’ll gladly read it and report whether this daydream is true.

“Bad” and “good” guys

Bots must have read my previous entry and decided that I would approve of this Substack post: it has come up a few times in my feed (in Spanish, more often than not). The post is by one Éamann Mac Donnchada, “an Irishman resident in Barcelona, deeply marked by his years in Argentina.”

Indeed, I found it moving.

(See also this post of Mac Donnchada’s, written before the final.)

Mac Donnchada offers a nice counterpoint to what I have been reading and viewing elsewhere. For example, the Guardian – don’t think it doesn’t have an axe to grind! – would have us believe that Argentinians are morally undeserving, as indicated by the fact that some U.S. Blacks and some non-Argentinian Latin Americans prefer not to cheer for Argentina.

(The piece on Latin America begins, amusingly, with a Brazilian – a citizen of Argentina’s chief sporting rival – saying, I *would* cheer for Argentina, *but* … )

Of course, I can’t speak for – or to – everyone belonging to these groups. But the obvious rejoinder to the argument is: Look closely at Spain. Look closely at Europe. Look at their histories and their present attitudes (which are cosmeticized, as Mac Donnchada notes). Are the Argentinians really so much worse?

As Mac Donnchada remarks:

Football has acted as a socially acceptable pretext for saying things that would have been unacceptable in any other context. National sporting rivalry has licensed people to express prejudices that normally remain hidden behind progressive language.

To wit, prejudices against Argentinians.

Which isn’t to say that Argentinians aren’t themselves prejudiced. But it does shed light on the team’s conduct. When the Argentinian players turned their backs on Spain’s post-game celebration, it may not have been entirely a matter of bad sportsmanship. It may also have been a refusal to applaud a country where Argentinians suffer prejudice.

(Argentinians often are bad losers; I’ve seen Ecuador beat them enough times to know that. 😆 Even so, I’ve noticed that Argentinians tend, after the obligatory period of fisticuffs and grousing, to bestow grudging respect.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Politics aside, the more I think about the final, the less convinced I am that Spain dominated Argentina as thoroughly as it seemed. Yes, the stats – possession, passing, shooting, etc. – favor Spain; but how were those figures achieved? As Hannah Frye explains, in tennis, the scoring system allows the side that returns service just a little better to tally many more games and sets. Soccer is thought to exhibit the opposite tendency – goals are not predictable amplifications of modest superiority – but, as every devoted viewer understands, the focus on goals is misleading. It’s other metrics that predictably get amplified. The Spanish were able to record better numbers, and to look vastly superior, by repeatedly exploiting a single weakness that the Argentinians were aware of but almost powerless to correct. The Spanish understood that the Argentinians were too old and tired to effectively press Spain’s back line. (This was evident as early as Argentina’s match against Cape Verde.) This allowed the Spanish to constantly advance their teenaged central defender, Cubarsí, into the midfield; and the resulting numerical advantage in that sector allowed them to control possession. Yes, the Spanish are good at passing and recovering; but are they so much better than these same Argentinians who, four years earlier, overran the French? The answer is: Yes, with greater youth, more rest, and an extra player in the middle. That’s all we really can tell. The Argentinians, of course, knew that they were being made to look inept. And they knew how. Their response was logical. Fernández occasionally would leave his place in the middle and join the front press – not to generate turnovers but to “persuade” Cubarsí to retreat. It was desperate but necessary, and it resulted in Fernández’s expulsion. It was an altogether more proactive gambit than, e.g., England’s total retreat into the box.

Hannah Frye: “The resilience to losing that you have to have [in tennis] is, I think, unlike any other.”

But much the same could be said about Argentina in this final. The team showed more resilience than any other I can think of, despite the humiliating amplification, all over the field, of the failure of the press. The Argentinians were so resilient, they almost won. The Spanish, for all their “dominance,” almost didn’t. This was no 2009 Champions League final, no low-scoring affair with an outcome nonetheless settled early; this was a live contest until the end. The Spanish never did pass all the way through Argentina: they hoofed a ball into the box, where a couple of fresh substitutes got to it first. (And yes, the earlier goal’s disallowal was correct.)

There was, then, a certain reactiveness to Spain’s game, a certain fundamental preoccupation with the opponent rather than with proactive excellence (e.g., the Spanish were in no hurry to obtain a lead). And, I daresay, a certain smugness. I’m reminded of a story of my Uncle John’s. The classical guitarist, Andrés Segovia, once listened to an earnest amateur’s performance. He then took the guitar and played it back, cruelly replicating each mistake. What is an opponent to do in the face of a virtuoso’s calculated meanness? I don’t say that Spain played as cruelly as Segovia. But it was a virtuoso one-trick performance. Spain could have tried different things but didn’t – until the end. Then the ball simply was hoofed into the box. Argentina tried more things. (It’s a mistake to claim the opposite.) None worked. That’s all.

Let me end with a quotation from a different Spanish youngster: Gavi, who took a few knocks after the final whistle.

No, to be honest, I don’t think [the Argentinians] should be suspended. I realize it doesn’t set a good example for the children, but there’s also that side to football that’s a bit more violent.

He’s magnanimous because he’s young, the pundits say. Perhaps. Or perhaps Gavi is wise enough to put himself in the other’s place. Or perhaps he’s not especially proud of how Spain approached the game. That’s not to say he should be ashamed. You play the way you know; you try to win the way you can.

Postmortem

The World Cup has ended. I congratulate the Spanish. They are deserving champions. If I never see another World Cup, I won’t regret having seen Spain win last.

I also hugely admire the Argentinians. Outclassed, they came close to winning through sheer determination. They were the tournament’s most antagonistic team – and, from the competitiveness-prizing point of view, its finest.

After the final, Western European pundits tarred the Argentinians – and, alas, all South Americans – as violent and uncouth. The good guys won, the bad guys lost, was the pundits’ gloat. Football was saved. Even supposing it were true, the self-righteousness astounds. Europeans also misbehave. Harald Schumacher, Zinedine Zidane, and Sergio Ramos all played more despicably, for all the world to see, than any Argentinian did in this tournament. Italian squads have been as defensive as Argentina, and as petulant. The Dutch of the 2010 final, and the Dutch and Portuguese in their notorious match of 2006, were shockingly, comically violent. (The English – poor people – have mostly just harmed themselves.)

I also recall that many pundits – not French ones, of course – worshipped these same “uncouth” Argentinian players when they won in 2022. I suppose that like most people, pundits are knee-jerk home supporters first, rival haters second, victory worshippers third, and objective judges fourth; and, all the while, hypocrites.

A more respectful and realistic European is Tim Vickery; he points out that Argentina’s initial strategy was not just to defend and foul. (Ignore the other pundit.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Organization-wise, the tournament is broken. There are too many games. Temperatures are miserable. Players look tired. Distances between host cities are too great. Tickets are too costly. Price-gouging for amenities is unrestrained. Refereeing isn’t credible. Political interference by the hosts, once deemed unacceptable, has become the norm.

Only four years ago, this still was the most watchable event in sports. Say what you will about how Qatar prepared, the spectacle was lovely.

This time, I just wanted it all to end.

The 2030 World Cup will be held in six countries, including Spain and Argentina, and on three continents. The number of teams may be raised.

It is rumored that the USA will bid for the World Cup of 2038.

The best players, managers, referee, goal, and games of this World Cup

Bear in mind, the final has not been played.

(I’ve italicized the Best XI.)

Front-line players: Mbappé (France), Haaland (Norway), Kane (England), Messi (Argentina).

Midfielders: Ødegaard (Norway), Bellingham (England), Fernández (Argentina), Rodri (Spain), Xhaka (Switzerland), Ruiz (Spain), Tielemans (Belgium), Olmo (Spain).

Defenders: Cucurella (Spain), Mazraoui (Morocco), Laporte (Spain), Lisandro Martínez (Argentina), Akanji (Switzerland), Lucumí (Colombia), Muñoz (Colombia), Porro (Spain).

Goalkeepers: Bounou (Morocco), Nyland (Norway), Emiliano Martínez (Argentina), Pickford (England).

(English journalists have been savaging Pickford for letting in two goals that weren’t his fault. All the more reason to choose him.)

Most valuable player: Messi.

Best-all-around player: Bellingham.

Outstanding old player: Messi (39).

Outstanding young player: Bouaddi (Morocco) (18).

Outstanding substitutes: Lukaku (Belgium), Lautaro Martínez (Argentina), Quintero (Colombia).

Best managers: De la Fuente (Spain), Scaloni (Argentina).

Best referee: Barton (El Salvador), especially for Türkiye vs. Paraguay …

… and for France vs. Spain.

(The final will be refereed by Vinčić, the Slovenian. I thought him too generous toward Mexico; Argentina will eat him alive.)

Best goal: Kane’s second versus the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Best games: Türkiye vs. Paraguay; Ecuador vs. Germany; Netherlands vs. Morocco; USA vs. Belgium; Norway vs. Brazil; Mexico vs. England; France vs. Spain; and every knockout contest involving Argentina (may the final be the same).

Semifinals: France 0, Spain 2; England 1, Argentina 2

Which manager was worse?

(I) Thomas Tuchel, for:

(a) ceasing to attack …

and

(b) permitting Messi & Co. to hammer away at the English goal …

for forty minutes;

OR:

(II) Didier Deschamps, for:

having no response for anything that Spain did.

I vote: Deschamps. This is the second time he has “crashed the Ferrari” in the World Cup. (I’m not considering France’s Euro defeats.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Deschamps almost “crashed the Ferrari” in the 2018 World Cup final. The Croatians were passing through the French at will, and had scored once. But then the referee gave France a second goal.

Deschamps’s tactics with France always have been simple.

(1) He fields three or four prodigious scorers – even if they don’t maintain possession, defend, etc. He values their scoring so much that he requires little else of them.

(2) He overpopulates the defense. He prefers central midfielders and fullbacks who are defensive specialists. (That is putting it kindly; at times, he seems to prefer that they have offensive limitations.)

(3) He ignores transitional midfield play. He figures that as long as (a) his attackers seize on mistakes and put in goals and (b) his defensive multitudes keep goals out, the middle of the field doesn’t matter.

In short, he gambles on offensive talent, which of course France has in spades.

Well, these tendencies bit him in 2022, against Argentina, and again in this tournament, against Spain. The vaunted attackers weren’t outplayed, exactly. Rather, the opposing midfielders cut off their supply. I had expected that Mbappé, Dembélé, et al. should have enough chances provided them. Everyone expected this. Instead, they were starved. Rodri, Ruiz, and Olmo – great players – bossed the middle. But they were aided by Deschamps’s abdication of that zone.

Halfway through, it was clear that France sorely missed the few polyfunctional midfielders employed during Deschamps’s tenure:

• Griezzman, an attacker willing to drop back to defend and to build up play. (Retired.)
• Kanté, ball-winner extraordinaire, known also for jump-starting the attack. (Old; languishing on the bench.)
• Camavinga. (Left at home.)

(Moussa Sissoko was discarded after featuring in the 2016 Euros; Steven Nzonzi was a bit-player in 2018; Manu Koné, in this World Cup, has been an occasional substitute for the not-fully-fit, defensively-minded Tchouaméni. These are versatile players that, at different times, Deschamps has not preferred to use.)

I said, at the beginning of the tournament, that the French could win any match with just twenty good minutes. Spain granted five. By then, for France, it was too late.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Spain’s midfield is tactically and technically superb; but so is Argentina’s. And Argentina has grit, grit, grit. Only the Croatians approximate them. This should be a fascinating final. I’ll bet on Argentina; these Spaniards have yet to meet such willful adversaries. But I wouldn’t mind if Spain won. Both these teams are worthy.

July’s poem

This poem is for the eliminated World Cup teams. The thing about international soccer is, you can’t just go out and buy the crucial missing pieces. You make do with what you have. (But if you’re France, you’ve already “imported” so many pieces that everybody else is scrambling for your castoffs.)

It’s demoralizing knowing that, however well you use what you have, you or whoever beats you will eventually surrender to France.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

For want of a nail the shoe was lost,

For want of a shoe the horse was lost,

For want of a horse the rider was lost,

For want of a rider the battle was lost,

For want of a battle the kingdom was lost –

And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

(From The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, edited by Iona & Peter Opie. Recited, in The Clocks, by Hercule Poirot. Previous versions due to: Benjamin Franklin, in Poor Richard’s Almanack; the poet George Herbert; the Germans; and the French.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Is the “want of a horseshoe nail” an “INUS” condition? (That is: an insufficient but necessary part of an unnecessary but sufficient condition; in ordinary English: a cause. See: J. L. Mackie.)

Losing the battle might suffice for losing the kingdom, even if the kingdom could be lost in other ways: e.g., due to a meteor strike.

Losing the rider might suffice for losing the battle, even if the battle could be lost in other ways: e.g., due to a meteor strike.

And so on, for each preceding line. (Let’s say the meteorite gets smaller and smaller.)

Or is causation better analyzed in some other way? I’m getting too old for this.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Q: What was the “horseshoe nail” that Ecuador wanted?

A: Goals. And (controversially), according to some journalists, avoiding getting death threats from Mexican cartels.

Canada 0, Morocco 3; Mexico 2, England 3; USA 1, Belgium 4

So, the co-hosts of this rotten World Cup have been eliminated, pop-pop-pop, in the same early knockout round, and I couldn’t be more pleased; I’ve waited eight years for this moment. Canada, I fault only for having joined a corrupt alliance. (I didn’t much like how the Canadian team played, but put let’s put that aside.) Mexico, I fault for having long ago entered into faustian hosting arrangements with the United States, in this World Cup and in other tournaments; for having greedily sought to host the World Cup a third time, ahead of countries that haven’t had a turn; and for gross inhospitality. All of Ecuador cheered when England beat Mexico. I certainly did, even though I cheer for England as little as possible (just three times since the 1998 World Cup).

As for the USA, well, it may not be gracious to “pile on,” but certain matters must be addressed. If you don’t know the immediate context, you can read about it here or in countless other sources.

Know this, at least: a certain U.S. politician admitted – bragged – that he’d interfered in a supposedly neutral disciplinary process.

As it turned out, the meddling hurt rather than helped the intended beneficiary. The U.S. team already was out of sorts when it took to the field against the Belgians. Those opponents carved up the U.S. with surgical professionalism – until the last minutes, when the ball was trickling into the U.S. goal every which way; then, they unleashed the “Trump” dance.

It’s gratifying to see on-field retribution. But the urgent lesson is that stricter and more explicit rules against political interference must be adopted, or else matches themselves will lose whatever credibility they once had. (Today, undue controversy surrounded Argentina’s victory over Egypt.)

Moreover: in a better world, certain FIFA officials would be impeached. And a certain country would be barred from the World Cup, for at least as long as the Chileans were barred in the early 1990s for their procedural violation.

It might be objected that in the present case, the politician’s meddling backfired, and so no harm was done. I couldn’t disagree more. A legal analogy: specific instances of bribery, intimidation, or jury tampering might backfire; but they should be punished anyway, because such offenses corrode the integrity and the trustworthiness of the court.

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.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

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.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

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

1996, the best year in movie history, pt. 100: Late night with Conan O’Brien

Ecuador will play against Mexico in a few minutes, so I don’t have time to review a feature-length movie.

Please enjoy this joke by the late Norm Macdonald. It’s about a pig with a wooden leg.

What more is there to say?

Go Ecuador.

Ecuador 2, Germany 1

As one would expect.

That’s Gonzalo Plata poking the ball past Manuel Neuer, after Kevin Rodríguez’s flick-on. This was our winning goal, in minute 77.

Nilson Angulo had leveled the score in the ninth minute. He was assisted by Pedro Vite.

Immortals.

Disgraced: Tori Penso (referee, USA) and Joe Dickerson (VAR assistant, USA) for allowing Germany’s goal to stand although Germany had fouled Vite.

Our reaction was tremendous. We overcame the Germans and officials and claimed our just reward. The yellow-clad New Jersey crowd was overjoyed. Our players, so harshly criticized, were overjoyed. I was overjoyed, as were my parents and siblings and our spouses; we all watched together.

Just before the winning goal, I was holding Abel, and I thought, When the ball goes in, I’ll try to avoid shouting, so as not to frighten him. Please, God, let him not be frightened. Ecuador scored, I shouted – we all shouted – and Abel was calm, so calm, greeting the occasion as a matter of course.

I got a little misty when you all shouted, Karin said afterward. She suffered before the game, worrying she’d have to bear a houseful of anguished in-laws. No doubt our friends felt the same. Then the game ended and our phones exploded with congratulations.

Facebook reel: tying goal.

Facebook reel: winning goal. (Dale con fe.)

Facebook reel: winning goal. (Gol hjpta.)

Facebook reel: postgame. (Una moneda.)

The woebegone

I’d hoped to write a long entry about Ecuador’s companions in misery in this World Cup. But, scanning the list, I found just two, maybe three, comparably disappointing teams: Türkiye (eliminated, having lost twice); Uruguay (nearly eliminated, having drawn twice); and Senegal (nearly eliminated, having lost twice). (I fancy Senegal’s chances against Iraq, however; I don’t fancy Uruguay’s against Spain.)

UPDATE: As I type, the South Koreans are losing to the South Africans; if the result holds, they’ll finish third in the group. And if they don’t scrape through in that position, it will be a tremendous disappointment.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Other teams have been eliminated or soon will be, but none came into the tournament with the expectations of Türkiye, Uruguay, Senegal, or Ecuador (UPDATE: or South Korea). There’ve been no shocking breakthroughs (UPDATE: not unless the South Africans preserve their victory, anyway). But some teams have exceeded expectations on the field, if not in the standings. I tip my hat to the eliminated Panamanians. I tip it to Cape Verde and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, each of which may yet pull through. I tip it to New Zealand (in dire straits) and Iran (in straits slightly less dire).

I might be expected, for graciousness’s sake, to tip my hat to the Curaçaoans. But I won’t unless they acquit themselves against the Ivorians. Ecuador outplayed Curaçao, after all.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

More notes. This is turning out to be a World Cup for top-drawer strikers. Messi, Haaland, and Mbappé have astounded. Vinícius Júnior and CR7 have shown flashes, if less consistently. And the whole Dutch front line looks good.

Less famous but also excellent: Germany’s Deniz Undav; Morocco’s Ismael Saibari.

I couldn’t say the same for any of the defenses, except maybe Argentina’s – which is considered fragile by some pundits. (Nor have the Mexicans and Spanish conceded, but they hardly have been tested.) The best individual defensive performance was by Bosnia & Herzegovina’s captain, Sead Kolašinac, against Canada.

As late as yesterday, it was mathematically possible for Ecuador to win the World Cup without ever scoring. I told my brothers I’d gain pleasure from such an outcome. I don’t think they agreed. Their Internet silence was rather loud.

Postmortem

So, we failed to score against Curaçao, arguably the World Cup’s weakest participant – certainly its smallest. This is no surprise. Scoring is the surprise. Every goal of the last two four-year cycles has seemed miraculous. Enner, our country’s greatest scorer, is not a reliable scorer; he, too, is gripped by the national malaise.

My blood ran cold very early on, after Enner’s first miss. I knew it would be almost impossible to win.

It wasn’t a matter of not creating chances. Enner (and others) had chances.

It wasn’t a deficiency of technique. Enner has technique. And he has noûs. He does brilliantly until the final touch, and then he scuffs, or aims at the wrong side, or shoots too softly.

What of the longer-term perspective? How might the strategists have failed?

It’s not a matter of not having dredged the talent pool for better strikers. I doubt there are better ones. One could always scout farther afield or try out prolific scorers from the domestic league. But … I’ve watched Ecuador a long time. Even our best strikers have had miserable conversion rates with the national team.

We have no automatic scorers. No Ecuadorian believes that scoring for Ecuador is his God-given right.

Ecuadorians can believe in themselves to keep goals out, to win the ball, to pass or dribble around opponents. But tabulation is of another order.

It’s like accumulating riches. Talent, luck, and elbow grease can bring in large sums. But financial dominance requires illegal or legal ruthlessness: cheating, gouging, strongarming, or hoarding. In any case: a tremendous sense of entitlement.

For better or worse – for better, I’d say – an entitled attitude is something very few Ecuadorians have. Especially when they measure themselves, as Ecuadorians, against other nationalities.

It’s a thousand times easier for another smallish and good-willed country – Norway – to produce a goal-gobbler like Erling Haaland. Firstly, because his sort never worries about getting enough to eat. And secondly, because the Norwegians know their ancestors were Vikings. (If you don’t think old history inspires them, well, you need to watch more reels of Norwegian soccer players.)

Not that Haaland is a baddie. But one can understand why he has no trouble accepting that his destiny is to score goals.

Our next game is against Germany. Ecuador must win to advance. We could outplay the Germans. They’ve not impressed, and I do think we’re that good. But will we score?

It could happen. But it would be a miracle.

World Cup notes; body-text fonts, pt. 52: Fairfield (old and new), Fanwood, and Fanwood Text

Tuesday evening, we were without Internet. I couldn’t stream Norway’s first World Cup match since 1998 – Iraq’s first since 1986. Norway won, 4–1.

Then I missed Argentina’s brushing off of Algeria. Messi equaled Miroslav Klose’s scoring record. After his third goal, I relented and tuned in to Fox. The commentators asked how the Argentinians would motivate themselves. They played for Messi’s sake in 2022, they said, but now that Messi has won the World Cup, what will they play for?

It’s for such imbecilities that I avoid tuning in to Fox.

We reprogrammed our TV and, happily, gained offline access to Telemundo before the midnight match. I caught the Austrians’ first World Cup appearance since 1998. I went to sleep before they finished putting the Jordanian debutantes to the sword.

Iraq and Jordan were the first Asian teams to lose. Iran, on the previous night, salvaged a point against New Zealand. Humorists produced this headline: Kiwis Learn How Trump Feels after Stalemate with Iran (or words to that effect).

The French had a glorious second half against Senegal. Along with Argentina, they are the favorites (Spain failed to defeat Cape Verde). The French are frightening. They could win the tournament with just twenty good minutes in each game.

I have kind feelings but few words for: Belgium, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Uruguay, England, Croatia, Ghana, Panama, Colombia, and Uzbekistan. Their games were entertaining.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Fairfield (des. Rudolph Ruzicka, 1949) was shortened and fattened by 1990s digitizers. This is what one comes across in, e.g., recent Norton Critical Editions:

(There is a lighter body-text weight.)

Compare with the original metal-type in Henry Hazlitt’s influential primer. This type has longer ascenders and descenders:

(More Hazlitt:

Actually, “in the long run we are all dead” is a problem for “longrunism.”)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The newer Fairfields may be easier to read at small sizes, but the original is more beautiful. Thankfully, the metal-type’s dimensions have been digitized as Fanwood (lighter) and Fanwood Text (darker).

The Fanwoods have no boldface. But they are free to download and use. And lovely. It’s gratifying to come across them in new books.

E.g., in Freida McFadden’s.

(Our sofa is like the cop’s.)

The piano (cont.); World Cup notes

The piano has been moved to the kitchen, its likely resting-place for as long as we live in this house.

Now we must learn to play the thing.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

What follows is highly selective.

Ivory Coast 1, Ecuador 0: An even, chaotic contest decided by an 89th-minute goal. Chaos doesn’t favor Ecuador. Our strength is tidy defending.

Piero Hincapié had trouble marking 19-year-old Yan Diomande. The goal came from an attack down that flank.

Thrice we hit woodwork. Our attacking woes continue. I will say, it’s hard when foulers aren’t penalized. The Ivorians were spared a couple of second yellow cards.

Brazil 1, Morocco 1: Has-been vs. emerging superpower. The same is true of their respective continents. The Moroccans were breathtaking in the first half; having established their superiority, they ceded the initiative. Brazil had a single brilliant moment.

Australia 2, Türkiye 0: The most entertaining game so far.

(Some would choose the Netherlands vs. Japan [2–2].)

I love watching the Turks. They attack at breakneck pace, slickly, all game long. But the Australians defended stoutly and landed two counter-punches.

USA 4, Paraguay 1; Germany 7, Curaçao 1; and Sweden 5, Tunisia 1: Three blowouts that tell little about the winners (and not much more about the Tunisians, who fell apart late but weren’t consistently bad).

Mid-half hydration breaks, twice per game: I am sick of them.

Mexico 2, South Africa 0; South Korea 2, Czechia 1

Karin came home from the office.

John-Paul: “So, are your colleagues excited that the World Cup is about to begin?”

Karin: “Oh, yes, it has been mentioned many times.”

John-Paul: “Really?”

Karin: “No, it hasn’t been mentioned at all. HA, HA, HA, HA, HA …”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

However competently the New York Times might report on the logistics, economics, and politics of the World Cup, I’m afraid the journal doesn’t credibly judge how well or poorly the sport is played.

How could any reader take seriously an article titled, “Re-ranking the 48 World Cup Teams after Day One of the Tournament”?

(As if two matches involving four also-rans warranted a comprehensive re-think.)

It’s the praise for Mexico’s curtain-raiser, however, that’s just bonkers:

An accomplished, drama-free opening victory against South Africa was pretty much everything Mexico hoped it would be. The excellent Julian Quinones’ early goal settled any nerves[,] and then came the emotive, heart-rending second from talisman Raul Jimenez in the second half. With potentially more to come from Edson Alvarez (left out as he builds up his fitness) and wonderkid Gilberto Mora, Mexico may feel the benefit of home advantage more than anyone, what with that unbelievably passionate Azteca crowd.

accomplished: Hardly.

drama-free: Nope. His side having assured victory, César Montes, Mexico’s captain, needlessly got himself ejected.

pretty much everything Mexico hoped it would be: I don’t know what Mexicans hoped for, but see the previous comments.

excellent Julian Quinones: (Is basic Spanish orthography too much to ask for? His name is Julián Quiñones.) He was decent, not excellent.

emotive, heart-rending second [Mexican goal] from talisman Raul Jimenez: (Ditto: it’s Raúl Jiménez.) These sentiments aren’t relevant to ranking teams.

with potentially more to come: Ditto. Not relevant.

The Mexicans then were catapulted up six places in the NYT’s rankings. If such effusion is lavished on the USA’s co-hosts, I shudder to think what will be written about the USA.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Koreans and Czechs then staged a much better contest. Neither side oozes talent, but both at least operate with clarity, and each managed one rather clever goal last night. The pressure is now on the Czechs to make up ground against the Mexicans. Neither Czechs nor Koreans should have trouble with the South Africans, who are out of their depth.

June’s poem

Wilfred Owen’s:

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime. –

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, –

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Better to chase glory in the World Cup than in war.

It’s Iran’s privilege to do both. The soccer team will be forced to fly into and out of the United States, each game day, to keep appointments.

Africa’s top-rated referee – a Somali – has been refused entry by the U.S. government.

A public service

I hope this is useful: a document listing the World Cup match times.

(They’re all set to the time zone in which I reside. If you’d like a list of match times set to a different time zone, let me know, and I’ll make one for you.)

The document can be printed on two sides of one sheet. I intend to fold up my printout, and to carry it in my pocket. I don’t want to always have to fire up the Internet to find out when the next game is.

The games will be played at different times every day.

(Why so?

This wasn’t always the case.)

Markup

From the New York Times:

“Train Tickets to 2026 World Cup at MetLife Stadium from NYC to Cost More than $100”

You’re free to stay home, I imagine free-market diehards retorting.

I’m also free to register my disgust.

🤮 🤮 🤮 🤮 🤮

One thing I like about Justice: What’s the Right Thing to Do? – Michael J. Sandel’s popular and opinionated introduction to political philosophy – is that it commences with a discussion of price gouging.

Not with such classic questions as:

Is there a duty to obey the law?

and

Can the state be justified?

– asked from a libertarian-friendly starting-point –

but rather with:

If a storm has cut off the electrical supply for many people, is it moral for merchants to double (triple, quadruple, etc.) the price of a bag of ice?

Unlike the classic questions, this one puts libertarians on the back foot.

Of course, there are differences between the scenario discussed in the book and the stadium-transport markup scenario.

(1) The exploitees in the latter scenario are pleasure seekers, not hurricane sufferers.

(2) They’re exploited by NJ Transit – a governmental agency – not by private merchants.

(3) They’re (mostly) foreign tourists, not members of the polis.

Sandel wants us to conclude that price gouging is wrong because it’s uncivil, or because it’s bad for the polis, or for some such community-centered reason. (I’m pretty sure he wants us to conclude that. I haven’t read the end of the book.)

But in the World Cup transport scenario, price gouging – of foreigners, mostly – might actually be good for the local community.

I leave it as a reader’s exercise to explain whether these differences matter morally and whether marking up the price is wrong.

An entry, posted late, requiring every ounce of strength to type

Notable World Cup “tuneup” results:

• Ecuador 1, Morocco 1 (cracker of a game)
• Brazil 1, France 2 (France dominant)
• England 1, Uruguay 1 (tedious)
• Colombia 1, Croatia 2 (dunno)
• South Korea 0, Ivory Coast 4 (look out for the “Elephants”)
• USA 2, Belgium 5 (too soon to gloat, alas)

Tomorrow promises to be grueling; today already was. Lily, Karin’s sister, will be married tomorrow afternoon. It’s the childcare that vexes. Samuel, at least, is accounted for: he’ll bear the rings. He successfully brought the cushion down the aisle during today’s rehearsal.

Abel and Daniel are another matter. The last thing the ceremony needs is a chorus of squawking. I scouted the building today for possible retreating-places. There aren’t many.

Today, before I chased around and, ocassionally, strong-armed Abel and Daniel, I’d already tired myself loading a humungous, old brush pile – which had plagued our backyard since we bought the property in 2021 – into our pastor’s trailer. Pastor Josh and I took the debris to the church and tossed it into the forest next to the parking lot. It’s not every day you get to dump stuff in a forest.

This has been a grueling entry to type, too, because my “shift” key has been sticking.