MLS Midseason Crash Course

...McBride in the 2006 World Cup


Real fast, I know most of y'all don't know (or care about) MLS, BUT:

-- Beckham and Landon Donovan's LA Galaxy were in first place most of the first half of the season, but they have allowed more goals than any team in the league -- it's not going to happen. They are losing grip and just go embarrassed by a fairly average FC Dallas team.

-- New England has been destroyed by injuries all season, yet they are unbelievably in first in the East. They are the Minnesota Twins, somehow they are winning when nobody thought they would be.

-- The New York Red Bulls are god flippin' awful. They are a disgrace.

-- Houston, the back-to-back champions started extremely slow...They are playing great soccer now and with LA slacking, Houston is going to fly up and win the West.

-- Columbus and Real Salt Lake are two huge surprises...They look like playoff teams in their respective conferences.

-- Brian McBride, one of the three best American players ever, is back in MLS once the Olympics are over. He'll play for Chicago and make them better, but it'll be too late.

First-half MVP: Landon Donovan...12 goals at the halfway point for a man we know as Landycakes for how soft he is.

What's going to happen: LA will fade, Houston will rise and Houston will see New England in the finals once again.

3 AM

This is kind of what it feels like. For all of you wondering what it's like to be me right now, what REAL depression is and not de-facto depression, or "fuck, I'm having a shit day today" depressed. I want to take this and maybe make this more understandable.

It's 2:32 AM as I type this. I am through a ton of my iPod because I have been trying to sleep for more than 3 hours now, unsuccessfully obviously. I read, I read 3,000 year old poetry for Christ's sake, and nothing has gotten me even to be sleepy. Do you know what happens in these situations? My head starts running, and running faster than anything I know I can do can help catch it.

I type this with tears dripping down my face and pausing to blow my nose, and my chest heaves in despair and agony. It's that deep crying that you'd be into if you found out someone you love just died, or you got the news that someone close to you or yourself got cancer. It's profound. It's deeper than I know how to explain, and it came from nowhere.

The most fucked up part is that it doesn't REALLY come from nowhere. There are triggers, red flags, whatever. I was trying, successfully for a while, to meditate in bed. Kristin then rolled over and said "I love you." How dare she!

That was all I needed. I felt the spark in my head like you would feel any physical sensation to a tangible part of your body. I felt a shift, rolled over and started crying. I don't deserve to be loved. I hate myself so much that nobody can love me...there's no way right?

College degree, intelligence, my first paid job writing about sports...People who love me, a great conversation on the phone today with my Dad, Joey L, Russell Edward and most importantly Brady (that was an awesome phone call, my little nephew is like a person now, you can have meaningful conversations with him...INDEED!)....All that means nothing now, here at 2:39 AM. I am worthless, and people telling me otherwise are full of shit.

I want to go to the bar and kill it all. I won't, that's never been me, but I WANT to. I need to maybe. I am too broken to move on like I have planned. Michigan? Chicago? DC? Baltimore? Florida? I can't even fucking handle somebody genuinely telling me they love me, someone I love, or think I do, because right now I don't think I am capable of love..whatever love is. L-O-V-E right? That's the most ambiguously false label in the English language. I love the Tigers. I love Joe Liberta. I love the new Adidas flip-flops I have. I love Kristin? That's all the same word? That seems incredibly wrong.

Amos Lee has a lyric "I'm in love with a girl whose in love with the world, and I can't help but follow," and every time, EVERY SOLITARY time I hear that lyric I get ripped up. Why is this not OK? Why can't I stay here because she loves her job and family? Why is there more? In my head, (I'm struggling to type this), there's more, but how can somebody who doesn't like themselves be selfish? I can't be...These are the thoughts that flash through my head.

I'll chill for 60 seconds...this is all free-writing and may not make sense and I won't apologize, but this is like "Being John Malkovich." Jump in my head for a second.

"Amos Lee is amazing...Fuck Todd Jones. Imagine living in Michigan right now, that little bed isn't a good haven for my crying. If I die there will anyone even come to my funeral. Dude, drugs maybe? Weed? Uncle John did it...I look up to him, my brother is living John's life and seems happy...but is ignorance bliss, is that all it was. Was John really happy? He was alone and smoked...He lived with so much physical pain and so many people loved the hell out of him, but did he love himself? There was a story about him at his funeral about how he'd run to Blockbuster and everyone there loved the hell out of him because of how fucking nice and funny he was. He'd act out scenes of some of the movies he rented. He'd turn on whatever that is he had and charm the shit out of anyone he came in contact with. That's amazing right? But he was alone. Is it possible to be alone and be happy? Is that judgmental? Does everyone live in pain and I just don't know it, do they just not know it? The world's a stage and everyone plays their part? How the hell does anyone know what their part is? But, it doesn't matter what the hell your PART is, right? Parts are surface. The surface is everything, and that's my problem. It makes me feel so uncomfortable in my skin. I don't know my part but at the same time I know it's OK not to know my part and it's OK, no, it's GREAT to never know your part so long as you're at peace with not knowing your part. I hate myself, and this won't ever end. I'm not going to kill myself, but I am looking at 40 years of this? The bridge, sitting on the beach, we have an amazing picture of the Golden Gate at sunset from the beach...I lived that. I lived seeing the sun set on London from the air, with an engagement ring in my pocket and champagne in my hand. I lived that...how can I be this?"

That was two or three minutes of shutting off the censor and just typing what was in my head. That's a small sample. Try to fall asleep with that flying around your head.

I think about my heroes: Uncle John...Hemingway, Kerouac and to some extent Ginsberg. They all had profound pain and let's tally up their endings...John - who knows, but he died before his time, smoked out and alone in an apartment in Bethesda. Hemingway killed himself, and I think of "A Farewell to Arms" how a beautiful story ended so horribly. Holy shit, they're going to end up together, this is absolutely the best book I ever read...ohhhh no...maybe not (read it if you haven't, it's absolute brilliance). I think of "The Sun Also Rises." Shit, just the title is encouraging right? No matter how dark the day is, remember that the sun also rises. OK, Jake, the main character lived a tortured life surrounded by what he could never be and what he could never have...lovely.

Kerouac - "On the Road," a quest, like what I think I am on, ending fruitlessly, especially if it was a biographical sketch of Kerouac. "Dharma Bums" is this awesome, and by awesome I mean the real definition of awesome, not the skateboarders thieved definition of awesome, I mean FULL OF AWE awesome, tale of the seeking of enlightenment and scrapping of materialism and resentment of what American life had become. By the end of the book he's defeated and retreated into the life he had before of debauchery and it's a disjointed ending to what WAS a beautifully noble quest...Well, Jack, he died miserable and unhappy and by some accounts drinking himself to his death.

Ginsberg lived it through though and died of liver cancer, but his last poem is everything I think of when I think of Ginsberg..."Things I'll Not Do." Beautiful right? He died with regret apparently, but it's beautifully nostalgic with that tinge of, "we're all going to die with things we'll not do." And it's all in my interpretation. Ginsberg was a super, super enlightened and spiritual man. His poem is nostalgia but I take it as a writ of regret.

How the fuck do I avoid that fate? WOW right? This is a sampling of the hill I am running up. I'm 28. There are SO many things I HAVE done that people at 70 haven't done. Doesn't matter. I want more, and who am I to want more? I'm nothing, I'm "just a bubble in a boiling pot" (stolen from Jack Johnson).

3:21 AM and I am jumping from thoughts that Landon Donovan should jump abroad and play for a team like Celtic or Rangers to thoughts of how I wish I was in a hotel room in Houston, or Mexico City, or somewhere. Anywhere but here, reading, journaling, and seeing the world and meeting people who are there (as long as they aren't like the guy I met in Cincinnati who mother f'd everything in the world).

I remember laying in bed even in high school and thinking "wow, there's this world someone in the Far East is living right now that doesn't resemble mine in the least." And that's still there. It's incredible to me to think like that, but it's insane. What good is that doing me to think like that?

I'll end and go journal, but here's some of my 3,000 year old poetry:

True words aren't eloquent;
eloquent words aren't true.
Wise men don't need to prove their point;
men who need to prove their point aren't wise.

The Master has no possessions.
The more he does for others,
the happier he is.
The more he gives to others,
the wealthier he is.

The Tao nourishes by not forcing.
By not dominating, the Master leads.


-- Lao Tzu

Obama in Berlin

200,000 people in Berlin. Even as an idiot, you have got to understand the profound historical significance. It's undeniable that in the place where Hitler once stood and espoused his hate, his Aryan rhetoric, stood this man, and the significance of his presence there.

In a city that once was a physical and metaphorical borderline between the Socialist world and the Democratic world, stood an African-American man who had the captive ear of 200,000 folks.

His words were incredibly profound and important; wanting to bring the United States back into better standing in the global community, and emphasizing just that...the global community. Our current "leader" thumbs his nose at the global community, acting unilaterally while demanding the help of other countries after the decision gets made.

To hear G.W speak is not nothing. Americans aren't the only ones who see this moron. Our president is a representation of US...you and me. He sits there and botches words, he's combative with reporters, his arrogance starts wars, and he disappeared for HOURS after the first planes struck on 9/11.

Europe was war-torn for a lot of the early twentieth century. Even today, people under the age of 40 have trouble understanding what Poland and Germany must have looked like during the World Wars. Yet, since then, a lot of the wars that have transpired since have been perpetuated by America. Europe is sick of it, the world is sick of it, and America, non gun-touting, bible-thumping America is sick of it.

It's time for things to change. Watching Obama speak in front of all of those people, in Berlin, as a physical representation of the transformation that is happening in America is as proud as I have been of this country since I've been old enough to vote.

Monday is Sunday

My mondays feel like most people's Sunday mornings. It's not unemployment, fully, because I am getting an income from my writing job (that is amazing to say) and Met tickets...but I gotta say, my Mondays are awesome, in the morning especially.

I usually journal, or do some writing and throw on Amos Lee, Miles Davis, Jack Johnson or whatever sets that mellow Sunday morning mood...err, Monday morning mood. I keep the TV off pretty much all day and just chill. It's like writing therapy, but this morning, it's hard.

Thank God I bought some cigars on our Indian Reservation run, because along with the writing therapy, and the Miles Davis therapy, I need some smoking therapy. Maybe it's a form of meditation, because smoking a stogey definitely regulates your breathing, but whatever it is, it is helping this morning.

I'm reading "Unstuck" by Dr. James Gordon, and it's been really awesome. It's a holistic approach to getting through this shit, and I like it, because the meds seem to, if anything, have as much of an adverse affect on me as they do a positive one. Take for instance my Sunday...Took the Seroquel at 11:30, laid in bed to read and write a little, fell asleep by 12:45...yeah, rolled out of the rack at 3:15 PM. I slept for close to 14 hours Saturday to Sunday.

While some people think this is amazing, it's a hindrance to living. I could have done a million things in the time I was laid out. Granted sometimes my dreams are amazing, like when Tin and I had some beers with Robbie Keane in a London Pub, or when I was a character on an episode of "The Hills" (these are seriously dreams I have had on the Seroquel). But is there anyone past the age of 22 that thinks it's cool to wake up at 3:15 in the afternoon on a Sunday? (That's right Dr. Harrington, I started a sentence with but!! BOOM!!).

By the way, on "The Hills" dream I was macking Lo hard, but in real life I'm an Audrina guy...it doesn't make me gay to know this, it makes you gay for not knowing it.

Anyhow, last night may be a last straw for the Seroquel. We halved my dose without doctor's permission, and it didn't work. I stayed up for three hours after taking it (normally my shelf life on a full does is 40 minutes, tops), and my dreams were horrendus. I debate whether I should even write them down or not.

In one way, shape or form, they were all centered on the suicidal thoughts I had that lead me to BryLin. Flashback to the book I am reading, and the whole chapter before bed was about managing suicidal and "dark" thoughts. Yeah, not a good idea post-Seroquel, pre-bedtime. In my dreams I wanted to end it all. I must have been in the dream stage of sleep for a while too, because I vividly remember my mother laying in bed while I yelled to her that I was going to kill myself in front of her. Yeah...this is why I debated writing these down, but I think it's good, cathartic, to get it out.

I had visions of my life in Michigan and how Dad and Joyce couldn't stop me from running out of the house in search for somewhere they sell guns. The last two days on Seroquel have been a whore, but you can't see anyone who can recommend a lower-dose. Psychiatrists, if they are taking new patients, have 2 to 3 month waiting lists for appointments, and my primary is a bag of strawberry douche.

I wake up scared shitless. Is my life in Michigan going to be more of the depressed, lonely, sameness that I have here, that has led me to the call to get out of Buffalo? I wake up feeling like the suicidal dream me is the real me, and for a while it stings.

Tonight I shall take the Seroquel and just watch YouTube videos of Jennifer Love Hewitt before bed I think. If I have 14 hours of Jennifer Love Hewitt dreams, then maybe this Seroquel isn't such a bad thing.



I feel bad leaving this without a video or photo, so here is the man you need to know going into the Olympic tournament...Mr. Jozy Altidore, 18 years old, striker, USA and Villareal:

Skim This

You guys need to at least skim over, and hopefully read thoroughly this link:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keating_Five

Idle Time = Sexy Time

I have too much time on my hands...for real.

And this is what happens:



The Mohawk abides...but for how long? An August 16th wedding that I am standing up in, or else this could be my permanent look. What careers face a dude with a college degree, a tattoo and a mohawk? Tattoo artist, writer, male model, TK's employee, and I'm thinking like Leo DiCaprio in Basketball Diaries....Maybe I should shave it off, cause only one dude I know would re-enact that Basketball Diaries scene for money, and his name rhymes with John Ferrino.

Minor League Baseball Madness

...Dunn Tire Park

Friday night, K.O and I went to see the Bisons Fridaynight Bash. Some fireworks, some baseball, and amazing weather...However (read that how Stephen A. Smith would say it) the Bisons are really not so good this year, which is strange. I am spoiled. The Bisons are always good, but the Bisons game Friday night was the worst baseball game I have ever witnessed. That said, it's never a bad time at the ballpark, so it was all G.


...Comstock Senior Softball Rules!

Monday night brought about yet another "Buck Night" at the Erie Seawolves game. Dad, Joyce, K.O and I shot down to Erie with enough time to go to the mall in Erie for a lil' bit...and Tinny's life would never be the same after the mall.

...my Dad is why I am black.

They have a BEASTLY pet store at the mall in Erie. They easily sell fifty dogs, mostly, if not all, puppies. WELLLL, Monday they just so happened to have a 9 week old Bulldog puppy. The clerk at the store brought the bully out and Tinny got to pet him and look him in the mug and love him up. You had to be 25 years old to hold him (I'm guessing because of the insane $3,900 price tag on him) and I don't think the fella thought K.O was 25, because he said she couldn't hold him. He was PERFECT. I still don't know how we didn't come home with him!!!!

OH YEAH, Dollar beers still! Dollar hot dogs and three dollar tickets didn't hurt either. We had a sweet spot, a picnic table down the first base line, and I went to town. I definitely hit double-digits on the brew, but it was over a 4 hour period, and seriosuly, $1 Yuengling drafts...what do you want from me!?!?

...I save my drinking for Mondays.

Highlight of the night was our absurd coincidental meeting up with Jackson, one of the kids from last time we went to Erie. He was just walking by with his Mom and Tinny spotted him so we went and talked to he and his mama for half an inning or so. That kid rules, but I think he is more on the track of being a professional wrestler in life than he is a Senator. He's a mad man.

...Jackson, soon to be in a prison or wrestling ring near you.

Erie lost, because like the Bisons, they are terrible this season. It was yet another classic Monday night in Erie, Pennsylvania.

Euro 2008 TV Ratings in America

The Euro 2008 Final between Spain and Germany drew 3.8 million viewers in the United States.

MLS is whatever, a notch below the NHL ratings wise, but people aren't understanding that the television ratings for the English Premier League and International Tournaments in the United States are dwarfing the NHL ratings. Games like Aston Villa vs. Manchester City on Fox Soccer Channel are matching ratings of Penguins vs. Flyers games on NBC.

Nobody said the soccer revolution in this country would be MLS-based, but it's happening. Americans are tuning into to world-class soccer...And then there is this:

LAREDO, Texas (July 11, 2008) – The U.S. Under-20 Men’s National Team defeated rival Mexico in front of a raucous pro-Mexico crowd in the Laredo, Texas. Defender Sheanon Williams scored the game-winning goal in the 25th minute and forward Peri Marosevic added a brace in the first half in front of a sold-out crowd of 4,000.

The American Youth squads are taking down World Class competition...They beat Mexico's U-20's without Freddy Adu. Last year they made it to the quarters of the U-20 World Cup, dismantling Brazil on the way.

Taste this goal by Freddy:

Euro Soccer Rumors Are The Best!!!

The reports today were too good just to update on the soccer site. Christiano Ronaldo, the best soccer player on the planet (and apparently the most gorgeous player in the world), is the source of this incredible, soap-opera like chase. He plays for Manchester United, and is being pursued by Real Madrid...The two richest and most popular clubs on the planet.

Ronaldo's sister has come out and said he is staying, other family members have said otherwise. Through all of it there are stories of Ronaldo having sex parties with teammates and hookers in his ridiculous castle-like mansion outside of Manchester, England (there are even pictures).

Today, Wimbledon Champion Rafa Nadal is in the middle of Christiano's rumors. Nadal, a huge Real Madrid supporter, on his victory tour back home in Spain spoke with Real's president and has been assured that Ronaldo will be at Real when the season begins in August.

It's just ridiculousness, it all means nothing yet it's the most fascinating stuff in the world to read every day.

Today, So Far

Just keeping a running tab for Rachel Potempa, since apparently my life is her business:

11:00 AM: Woke up. I wake up late now because the anti-psychotic I take before bed puts me into a deep sleep. It's called Seroquel. I don't want to forget any details.

11:01 AM to 12:15 PM: Read up on the sources I check every morning for the soccer job. Wrote a few updates. In case you were curious, Freddy Adu may be moving to another European club and Arsenal's ownership may have to sell Adebayor and Fabregas because of a budget crunch.

12:15 PM to NOW: Journaled and read the current book that I am reading to get through my mind-numbing, suicidal depression. The book is titled "Unstuck" and is penned by Dr. James S. Gordon. So you know Rachel, I did forget my morning meds today, and I am thinking of not taking them and just taking my Inderall (for high blood-pressure) and Klonopin (anti-anxiety) at dinner time, and of course my Seroquel tonight at bed time.

So that's my day so far, feel free to share it with everyone since my personal business is apparently yours now too. Tell DJ Anthony I said hello, but I doubt you guys exchanged personal info, so call him at the radio station later.

Everyone else -- we can get through this together with you guys or without you guys. I could care less, but Kristin would prefer that we get through this with you guys...so mind your own business, you have NO FUCKING IDEA what this is like to live through day to day, you have NO FUCKING IDEA what the truth is, and stop judging because Lord knows there are a lot more skeletons in y'alls closets than there are in mine.



...and that's all that matters.

Amazing New Music

The CD is dead. With that, everything now is singles. The top 100 on iTunes is all pop, one-hit wonders. Flo Rida...seriously?

Album sales are at the lowest point they have been at in the history of the recording industry, and record labels are crying poor. So, it's hard to find great albums, but please do yourself a favor and download Amos Lee's new album "Last Days at the Lodge." It's pretty near flawless.

While you're banging around iTunes, check out his other two albums, they're also phenomenal.

P.S -- Why do people like this "I Kissed a Girl" song? GO AWAY

I am aching for a road trip -- if you can get to Kitchener, Ontario tomorrow, holler at me.

The All-Star Game

Jason Varitek in the All-Star Game is a disgrace.

Here are his "all-star stats":

Batting Average .219
On-Base Percentage .301
Slugging Percentage .360

What a fucking joke.

Hancock

People's expectations are WAYY too high. Hancock gets 3 out of 4 stars in the newspaper, but thre review says it didn't match expectations. Well -- ya gave it 3/4, that's pretty good...

Dudes in the bathroom after the movie too. Always the best indicator of whether a movie did the job or not, saying "it was good but I expected more."

That word's invention is the death of civilization. BUT.

You just said the movie was good brother!!!! Why do you have to qualify, AND, what the hell were you expecting? It had a ridiculous amount of cool CGI, incredibly funny scenes, violence, and a scene that made you feel, for five seconds, like you knew what it might be like to wake up next to to Charlize Theron.

$9.00 is making people expect The Godfather every time out. Hancock was good. It entertained the hell out of me for 2 hours, it made me laugh out loud, had me say "wow" at some of the effects, and I walked out feeling justified for choosing that flick over a couple of other ones (see Baby's Mama).

It's definitely the kind of movie that you need to see in the theaters, so go see it, it's entertaining, Will Smith is the man, Charlize Theron is the perfect female specimen, and you'll laugh. It won't change your world, but it beats the hell out of Adam Sandler character-acting.

Dollar Beer Night in Erie, PA

Spontaneous road trips are my thing. We've established this by now. So, laying around on a Monday, with Kristin having the day off and Lil' Rubby in town, we gotta do something cool. I bumped around on the internet a little bit and saw that Erie was home, and yeah, that's awesome with them being the AA affiliate of my Tigers and all, but there was a hell of a lot more reason to go to Erie on a Monday than that.

At first I thought it was a mis-print or somebody messing around. The site said Mondays in Erie's Jerry Uht park are "Buck Night." Reserve tickets are 3 bucks, and ridiculously, 12-ounce beers and hot dogs are a dollar. ONE DOLLAR.

We got to Erie in 90 minutes, messed around at their mall, then went to find the ballpark, which, for a AA stadium, is reallllllly nice. The sight-lines are terrific, it's clean and modern and smack dab in the middle of a neighborhood.

We got our first two beers (any beer too, not just one particular kind), and went up to the rightfield picnic pavilion to grab our one dollar dogs, drink our beers. and relax before the game. It was a crisp night, with the doubt of rain always hanging over head, but it was solid. A nice break from 90 degrees.

In the picnic pavilion a guy from a local radio station came up and asked us if we wanted to throw out the first pitch. We were like "hell yes," so he had us fill out entry forms to see who would win the "honor." It was deader than dead, so we were pretty sure our three entries were the only ones they had...We felt confident one of us was going to be chosen...Thank God for all of us they chose the only one who actually cares about the SeaWolves and the Tigers organization...yours truly.


...us with the aforementioned "guy from local Erie radio station."

So I was jacked up, but also four beers deep at this point. I might add, four beers deep on Klonopin and Cymbalta, a fairly empty stomach, and wearing sandals. Two other kids went out with me, they were terrible, the one kid did his best Steve Blass impression, while the other one had the personality of Mike Mussina (sorry -- inside joke ).


...is this heaven? No, it's Erie, Pennsylvania on a Monday night.

My first pitch was as shoddy as this pic (both results of dollar beer night). I got it there, but bounced it deep in the left-handed hitters batter's box but my catcher, Erie pitcher Casey Fein, scooped it. On the way off the mound I lost my left sandal briefly and felt like an ass, but Casey gave me props for getting it to him in sandals. I threw out the first pitch at a Erie SeaWolves game!!! Flippin' amazing!!! As corny as it sounds, it was kind of like a dream of mine that came true. As much as I LOVE baseball, and the fact that it was one of the Tigers' affiliates...It was amazing.



The game was really a well-played game too. It came down to the final pitch, Erie had a chance for a walk-off, but it wasn't to be. I would say between the three of us we came close to killing 20 beers, 9 hot dogs, and making really good friends with the people around us. The one kid, Jackson (6 years old), was a pistol, and we were trying so hard to get him a ball all game. His parents left without him getting a chance to say goodbye to us, so his uncle brought him all the way back to the seats just so he could say good-bye to us. It was so freaking cute that I melted a lil' and ended up giving him my first-pitch ball.