World Cupocalypse

It happened.

The apocalypse.

The end times.

The scorched Earth scenario.

No, not the release of Justin Bieber's new album.

No, not LeBron announcing he wants to be the Toni Kukoc to Wade and Bosh's Jordan and Pippen in Miami.

Worse.

Tori, my wife and long standing Editor-in-Chief of the JBorhood, whose soccer knowledge consists of the fact that "some hot Portuguese dude" (Cristiano Ronaldo) has a set of abdominal muscles off of which she'd like to enjoy a picnic dinner, won the 2010 JBorhood World Cup Extravaganza.

This means, of course, that Tori won a JBorhood pick-off contest before I did.

(The horror! The horror!)

To be fair, the expressed purpose of JBorhood contests is "to prove, once and for all, that pluck, verve, and luck, will triumph over knowledge, experience, an understanding of the basic rules of sports, extraordinary good looks, and an amazing set of dimples every time." Yet, I find very little comfort in my prophetic wisdom (or my extraordinary good looks and amazing set of dimples, for that matter). I'm upset and embarrassed.

I've become the LeBron James of JBorhood competitions.

I do the most research. I have the most inside knowledge. Heck, I based my March Madness predictions on advanced computer simulations this year. I routinely fare well in the opening rounds and have led the pack numerous times. But, I can't seem to get over the hump. I can't come through in the clutch. Every year, tournament after tournament, I watch someone else win while I sit at home, deserving, but unrewarded.

And now Tori won.

The same Tori that spent less time filling out her entire bracket than I did figuring out who would win the first round match-up between Italy and Cameroon (neither of whom advanced past the group stage, I might add).

The same Tori that picked Chile to knock off Brazil in the first round.

The same Tori that picked the United States to make it to the World Cup Finals.

(Of course, also the same Tori that picked the Netherlands, Germany, and Spain to make it to the semi-finals.)

Now, I'm faced with my own mortality. My legacy is at stake. With every tournament, the group of participants grows larger and larger, making it harder and harder to win. I'm dealing with the very real possibility that I may never win a JBorhood competition.

So, what do I do? It is time for me to make "The Decision". Should I leave the JBorhood behind and join a more successful blog, one with expert prognosticators and championship pedigree? Should I string you along, waffle back and forth and turn my thought process into an overblown media circus? Should I leak tidbits to the Honolulu Star-Advertiser and the Honolulu Weekly? Should I take my proverbial talents to the proverbial South Beach?

Of course not.

Only a coward and a sissy would do that.

Win or lose, I'm with the JBorhood for life, the Charles Barkley of the JBorhood instead of the LeBron James. I may be a narcissistic, self-obsessed megalomaniac, but I'm not an douche.

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Now let's hand out some awards!

Triple Crown Award: WonderGeek3000 (Tori)

Tori had the best team name (WonderGeek3000), the best pick in the tournament (she was the only person that had Netherlands in the semi-finals), and scored the most points.

A clean sweep of the major awards. A Perfect 10.

This comes on the heels of Tori picking East Tennessee State to upset #1 seed Kentucky in the first round of the 2010 NCAA tournament and Morehead State to win the NCAA Tournament in 2009. It would be less of an upset if Stephen Baldwin won the Oscars for Best Picture, Best Actor, and Best Director in 2011 for reprising his role as Doyle Johnson in a sequel to Bio-Dome. (I don't know what's worse, the shame of losing to Tori or the fact that I'm Pauly Shore in that comparison.)

I liked it better when she picked Morehead.


Horseshoes, Hand Gernades, and American Off-Sides Penalties Award: fuBballer beth calls it! (Beth)

Beth was close to winning the JBorhood World Cup Extravaganza. Really close.

In fact, the entire tournament hinged on the game between Germany and Spain. If Germany won, Beth won. If Spain won, Tori won. It was that simple.

Germany entered the match-up as the hottest team in the tournament, fresh off a 4-1 shellacking of England and a 4-0 pasting of Argentina. Spain, on the other hand, narrowly snuck by Portugal and Paraguay to make it to the semi-finals. Germany had won 3 World Cups. Spain had won 0. Germany looked like the best team in the tournament. Spain, well… didn't.

The game was scoreless throughout and looking like it might go into extra time, but in the 73rd minute, Spanish defender Carlos Puyol, the ugliest man in the World Cup, headed a corner kick in to the back of the German net, securing the win for Spain and Tori.

Beth's consolation prize? An 11th place finish due to the weighted scoring system that gave an absurd amount of points to people who picked Spain in the semi-finals.

Nice work, Beth. Sadly, close enough only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and American soccer players getting called for off-sides.


Ignorance is Bliss Award: Die Stunde ist ausgefalen (Nick)

Die Stunde ist ausgefalen sounds like a really cool, bad-ass foreign team name, the perfect intimidating worldly moniker for a World Cup pool.

Of course, when I put the name in Google it spit out the translation: "The class was canceled."

I liked it better when I didn't know.


Drunken Bridesmaid Award: ESPANA DOS MIL DIEZ (Mike Opp)

I don't know why or how Mike became a fan of Spain.

Maybe it's his unadulterated love of Sangria. Maybe it's his borderline creepy crush on Selma Hayek. Maybe it's the fact that watching Vicky Cristina Barcelona was, in his words, "the most sublime two hours of my life". (He didn't actually say this, but I'm pretty sure he would.)

Regardless, he threw his heart and soul behind the Spanish soccer team. When Holland's Nigel de Jong karate kicked Spain's Xabi Alonso in the World Cup final, Mike texted me "I hope Holland blows up." When Spain scored to take the lead, Mike texted me "Um…tsjei@ieuxj". (It's hard to text when you're jumping around your apartment, screaming like a seven year old girl.)

So, normally, Mike would been upset that he was only a Brazil victory over Holland away from winning the title, except it's tough to be mad when you're on a week long sangria bender.

Viva Espana, indeed.


My other pool is a Ferrari Award: AlmightyJ (Justin)

Yes, I finished fourteenth out of seventeen. Yes, I scored barely a third of Tori's winning score. Yes, I failed to win, again.

But..

I also entered a friend's World Cup pool (fellow participant Jake aka C'mon Luxembourg!) with different picks, including Spain winning it all and I did better. Much better.

In fact, I did better than anyone else in the pool.

That's right; I won.

I won a completely different and unrelated pool with no prize and no way to validate my claim of winning other than a link to a congratulatory tweet from the league organizer (http://twitter.com/jwolman/status/18317354336), but I still won.

Take that, Tori.

(Now let's move along before any of you ask whether my other bracket actually scored more points than Tori.)


My Other Pool is a more expensive Ferrari Award: Fly (Jason)

Rumor has it there was some other World Cup pool in which a few family members participated.

Rumor also has it that Jason won.

But then, you can't believe everything you read.


My Respect Award: Da Goatt (Jordan)

Jordan loves Spain (for reasons similar to Mike, I presume) and he loves his country. As a man of principal, Jordan picked both those teams to win all their games, with the United States bowing out to Spain in the semis and the Spaniards winning it all.

In another family pool (the one I will neither confirm, nor deny whether Jason won), which allowed participants to update their picks up until game time, Jordan again picked the United States and Spain to win all their games. Heading into the finals Jordan trailed only one person (whom I will neither confirm, nor deny was Jason), but a correct pick in the final match, coupled with an incorrect pick by said unsubstantiated tournament leader would give Jordan the title. Spain was the clear favorite. It was a virtual certainty that the person whom I will neither… ok, this is getting stupid. It was Jason. He won. I said it. Are you happy? It was a virtual certainty that Jason would pick Spain. Even then, knowing the Netherlands were his only chance to win, Jordan picked Spain.

If Jordan were LeBron James he would have stayed in Cleveland, told the general manager to fire all the players and played 1 v 5 for the 2010-2011 season.

He wouldn't win, but damn it, you'd respect him.

Congratulations, Jordan. You have my respect (award).


Failed Irony Award: C'mon Luxembourg! (Jake)

When Jake created his quippy nickname, he most likely intended it to be ironic. A feigned show of support for a small country that failed to make the World Cup would make his eventual triumph seem that much more glorious in contrast.

Of course, then the games started and Jake watched as his four semi-finalist picks -- England, Brazil, Argentina, and Portugal -- won a combined two games in the knockout rounds of the tournament.

But, Jake's efforts were not completely in vain. If he hadn't chosen his tragically non-ironic nickname, I wouldn't have learned that the official name of Luxembourg is the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg.

Now we're all winners.


Lunch Is On Me Award: CaptainHwnPete (Peter)

I will neither confirm, nor deny whether Peter actually made the picks that gave him a third place finish. I will, however, suggest that he take my Mom out to lunch.


Fuel for Marital Discord Award: HMDS0CCER (Dad)

I will neither confirm, nor deny whether my Dad actually made the picks that made him finish in last place, with only 11.5 games correct and a grand total of 29 points. I will, however, suggest that my Mom give him a nice long back massage and an apology.


No, really, I made Peter's picks Award: 120Bambi (Mom)

Sure you did, Mom. Sure you did.

;)


God Bless Weighted Scoring Award: Forza Azzuri, (Hayes)

Hayes only picked 13.5 games right. (Fourth from the bottom in total correct picks)

Hayes picked France, Denmark, Italy, and the United States to make it to the quarter-finals.

Hayes picked England, Brazil, and Argentina to make it to the semi-finals.

Of course, Hayes also picked Spain to win it all, meaning he finished fifth overall due to the weighted scoring system, which gives as many points for picking the eventual winner as it does for picking every single team that advanced out of the group stage.

If the scoring system ever comes up for a vote, I think I know what Hayes would choose.


President of the Anti-Weighted Scoring Fan Club Award: BOOTLEG (Chris)

Chris picked 17.5 games right. (Second only to Tori.)

Chris picked the Netherlands, Spain, Germany and Argentina to make it to the quarter-finals.

Chris picked Germany and Spain to make it to the semi-finals.

Of course, Chris also picked England to make it to the semis and Portugal to win it all, meaning he finished an uninspiring seventh in the final rankings (behind Hayes, I might add) due to the weighted scoring system, which gives as many points for picking the eventual winner as it does for picking every single team that advanced out of the group stage.

If the scoring system ever comes up for a vote, I think I know what Chris would choose.


Truth in Advertising Award: Mercurlz (Shane)

When I asked Shane to enter the tournament, he said "Dude, I don't know anything about soccer." I told him not to worry and assured him that a lack of soccer knowledge would not preclude him from enjoying a modicum of success in the pool.

Shane finished in a tie for fifteenth (out of 17).

Sorry, Shane. You were right. I was wrong.


For Lack of a Better Award: tiffers (Tiff)

Tiff picked 16 games correctly, astutely tabbed Germany and Spain in the semi-finals, and finished a respectable eighth place.

I got nothing.


Maltesian Historical Society Award: qormi (R. Ericson)

Up until now, I have personally known every person who participated in a JBorhood pickoff extravaganza. But, in what can only be characterized as a sure indication that the popularity of the JBorhood is growing at a staggering, exponential rate, a mysterious "R. Ericson" joined the World Cup Extravaganza.

I don't know any Ericsons, let alone any R. Ericsons, and certainly not one who refers to themself as "qormi". For that matter, what the deuce is qormi, or is it a qormi? Wikipedia suggests that "Qormi (also known as Citta Pino) is a city Malta with a population of 16,576, which makes it the third largest locality in Malta." Also, and perhaps more to the point, Wikipedia tells me that the city has a soccer team, Qormi F.C. that participates in the Malta Football Association and is arch rivals with the Zebbug Rangers. Even better, Qormi F.C. employs players named "Chucks Nwoko" (or as I've taken to calling him just this second, the Nigerian Chuck Norris) and "Chima Dozie" (which I believe is a prominent strain of Northern California cannabis).

I don't know what any of that means, nor am I any closer to solving the mystery of R. Ericson, but I learned more about Malta in the last 15 minutes than I knew in my entire life and if that's not award worthy, I don't know what is.


Nothing Beats Making Fun of the English Award: holensdale20 (Shaun)

Shaun correctly picked fifteen games, including picking Spain to make the finals for a total of 60 points and a respectable ninth place finish.

Nothing to write home about, but nothing to lampoon either.

However, Shaun doesn't need a fancy JBorhood award. Shaun received a far greater gift during the tournament: Shaun got to enjoy the United States's opening round 1-1 "win" over the British in a bar full of Englishmen.

No one does self-loathing like the English. Berating themselves is a national pastime. They embrace it with a religious fervor. They simultaneously latch on to an attitude of smug national superiority and assured fatalism better than anyone in the world. Each heart wrenching defeat makes them more confident in their manifest destiny and equally sure that the next eventual loss will occur in a more tragic manner than before, a self-fulling prophecy that always fulfills.

When England gave up an opening match goal to the United States on a goalie error that would embarrass a twelve year-old, no one was more upset or less surprised than the English.

And Shaun got to see it all.

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Thanks again for a great tournament. After handing out all the awards, I almost feel better about losing to someone who won the tournament based almost solely on her love of tapas. Almost.

See you in four years.

Bore Me like Beckham

This Saturday, David Beckham, Brian Ching and Landon Donovan lead their MLS teams against squads from Australia and Japan in a showcase of soccer talent unmatched in Hawaii since Pele and the New York Cosmos played on Oahu in the summer of 1977. The matches feature big stars and international players and, most importantly, provide the rare chance to watch live professional sports in the islands. As an erudite sports maven, I should be excited for the opportunity to witness the beautiful game in person, but, for some reason, I’m not.

In fact, I couldn’t care less.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m always excited when big time sports visit the islands and I’ve enjoyed talking about something other then football for a few days; I just have no interest in attending the games. I have a couple friends going on Saturday, who invited me to tag along, but, much to their surprise, I told them that I’d rather have my Saturday free. (In all fairness, they are only going because one has free tickets and the other is working for one of the teams.) This greatly surprised them and, frankly, surprised me because, in general, I’m a big fan of all sports, soccer included. In fact, I love the World Cup. I’m CRAZY about the World Cup. In my opinion, the World Cup is every bit as exciting as March Madness and the Super Bowl. Between the screaming, yelling, singing fans, the national pride, the world class athletes, the shoot outs, the convergence of sports and politics, and the head butts, I can make a strong case that the World Cup is the world’s greatest sporting event. And my soccer fandom does not stop there. I enjoy watching the occasional soccer match on television. In college (read: when I had access to free digital cable), I routinely viewed English Premier League games, tuned in to the occasional Seria A (the top flight Italian league) match and played my fair share of FIFA 2003. (Actually, I was better at FIFA 2003 then I have ever been at any other video game. I was, literally, unbeatable. It got so bad that I had to spot my friend Steve a certain number of beers that I would drink before playing. I finally peaked at 10, though not because he finally beat me – he didn’t – but because that’s when I wanted to puke more then play FIFA. Ah, college. Good times.)

It’s not that I don’t care about soccer. I just don’t care about this soccer.

I find it hard to get that excited about an exhibition match. Sydney FC finished their season two weeks ago, have just had a week long Hawaiian vacation and they’re supposed to care about a random game against a team from the United States with nothing on the line? The two MLS teams haven’t even started their seasons yet. They have only practiced together for two weeks and they’re supposed to play sharp? I’m sure Bryan Ching will go all out for the local fans, but otherwise, I expect all the teams to play spirited, but uninspiring games as they enjoy their time in the islands.

Let’s say you’re a professional soccer player in the United States. You don’t have groupies. You’re not famous. You don’t make a lot of money. There’s no media throng following you around or reporting on how you played. What’s more important to you, an exhibition match against some random team from Australia or Japan to start off the season or the beautiful babes and beaches of Waikiki? Did you even have to think about that?

That is not to say exhibition matches can’t be fun (I kept that sentence in specifically for it’s fabulous use of a double negative). I attended the Pro Bowl two weeks ago with my buddy and had a blast. But I had more fun drinking beer in the sun and watching the players trash talk each other then I did watching the game. Furthermore the game was on a Sunday afternoon, my wife was at work and I got a free ticket. If I had exerted less effort to watch the game, they would have played it in my living room. I suppose I could have a similarly enjoyable time at the soccer games this weekend, but too additional factors dampen my excitement over the games.

First of all, the games will be played at Aloha Stadium, which is, in my opinion, the worst international soccer venue in the world. (Ok, there’s probably some small patch of scorched earth in Cameroon that is worse, but not by much.) The playing surface is Astroturf, which causes the ball to skip around rather then roll and hurts like hell when you fall on it. Think giant tennis court as opposed to soccer field. Furthermore, in order to ensure proper drainage of the turf, the field bows outward, meaning the ball continues to roll even when no one kicks it. Finally, the field is only two thirds the size of a regular international field, because the converted football stadium lacks the size – mainly the width – to support a true international pitch (See, I know my soccer. I’m using cool British words like pitch.). This makes a huge difference in the quality of play because it vastly reduces the amount of free space with which the players have to work and true, beautiful soccer relies on open space. Space allows teams to spread the ball around and work an intricate passing attack, it allows gifted athletes to use their speed to their advantage and, most importantly, it provides attackers room to work with the ball. In short, space equals excitement. A small field allows defenses to crowd the space in front of the goal and diminish scoring opportunities. If a 1-0 game sounds like your idea of a good time then by all means this is your kind of soccer.

But, I can get over Aloha Stadium. If England was playing Brazil on Saturday I would have bought my tickets months ago. Heck, I’d watch England play Brazil on that patch of scorched earth in Cameroon. Sadly, David Beckham aside, the LA Galaxy is not the English national team and the Houston Dynamo is certainly no Brazil. The fact is, the MLS is still a second class soccer league. Actually, that’s being kind. The MLS is a third class soccer league. And it’s not like they brought in big name opponents like Manchester United, Chelsea, Barcelona or AC Milan. Sydney FC? Gamba Osaka? Gamba Osaka sounds more like pickled vegetables then a soccer team. (In fact, I’m pretty sure I had some Gamba Osaka at Shyrokiya the other day and it was kind of gross.) It would be great to watch David Beckham. It would be exciting to see Bryan Ching’s homecoming. But really, outside of those two players, nothing about the games excites me.

In baseball, one pitcher can make a game a must see event. Johan Santana could come and pitch for BYU-Hawaii and I’d drive to the North Shore to watch him. In basketball, the promise of one Kobe Bryant dunk or Steve Nash no-look pass is enough to put fans in the seats. In football, no matter how good the talent, you know you’ll see some hard hits and exciting moments. In soccer, on the other hand, true beauty rarely comes from individual talent. Rather, the beautiful game relies on the seamless fluid motion of an entire team working together. On those occasions when an unbelievable collection of talented athletes combine their unparalleled skill, fitness and jaw dropping teamwork, the result is magic. Great soccer is truly amazing. On the other hand, poor soccer, average soccer, even decent soccer is usually excruciatingly boring.

If they bring true top flight, high level soccer to Hawaii, I’ll be the first in line for tickets. Until then, wake me when the World Cup starts.