Lichtsteiner can't believe it and neither can I.
Just when you think you can get some distance from the fail and maybe even go on with your life, they do something wonderful and before you know it, you're forgiving them and letting them move back in with their ugly sofa, even though you know in
Zebras: What? *BELCH!*
DB : *sigh*
So here they are with their low-hanging pants and backwards baseball caps and they flex their biceps and do some idiot new skateboard trick* and say "Aw, come on baby. You know you're my girl." And here I am tripping over their stinky gym shoes, doing their laundry, and fetching stuff from the fridge, loving every minute of it and hating myself for loving it.
*Was "cool" once, but may no longer be cool. I'm old. Please substitute updated imagery if necessary.
Gigi was back and so was his form. The defense hung him out to dry once or twice, but he was up to it, because he's Gigi.
Grosso started at left back--AGAIN--and he didn't do anything too horrible. He did spend a lot of time watching Laziale do stuff while wearing this expression on his face:
Hernanez seems to have Grosso scared shitless.
Zarate not so much.
For some reason, Not Ciro put Leo on the bench, so Barza started in the center.
He's not perfect, but he's actually pretty good.
Giorgio was back in the center where he belongs. Amen.
He and his fellow defenders pretty much shut down the Laziale attack all night.
Well, they got a few good shots off, but most of their finishing was crap.
We've missed him so much.
Sergio, Sergio, show us your fabulous Calabrian abs.
Not that he's my new boyfriend or anything. I just imagine he's got some awfully fine abs under there.
Yes, Giorgio, you have awesome abs too.
LDN put Marcolino in at right back instead of Sorensen. He got a card inside the first minute of the match, the idiot, but after that, he didn't do too badly. Brazzo--I know! BRAZZO!--came in for the last quarter. Neither of them got any photos.
Albertino brought his ruby slippers to the match and busily pranced around showing them off.
He also did some very important defending in the back right corner when the right backs went missing.
And his game face was rather fierce, as opposed to frightened and lost.
Perhaps you've noticed already, but most of these photos are really photos of Floccari.
Those shoes again...
DB pounds fists on desk and demands Sergio's abs! Sergio's abs! Sergio's abs! Albertino does not deliver. Boo.
Sergio and Melo.
For some reason, I've been thinking a lot about Melo's idiot red card against Parma in January. I'm still angry about that. Dumbass.
Here's Sergio showing the ref that there was indeed contact as shown by the fact that someone nearly took his shoe off. He didn't get the call. But he showed us all how flexible he is.
Zarate didn't have much either. Not a good night for pouty.
Not a great night for Mitra either
Pobrecito was largely starved for service.
As usual, though, he worked it.
And there was this lovely little exchange with Nando.
So pretty in the air.
So pretty on the ground.
ADP: wonders What's all this with the hairball? I thought I was the pretty one. Has she noticed my hair is thinning? What can I do to keep her from finding out?
Speaking of work.
And of not having the best night.
The old man can't bail them out every match, after all.
Don't be such a baby, sweetheart. You know you're the only one. Those younger boys with hair mean, ummmm, not as much to me as you do. Mwah!
Milos gave us a lot of things we've seen before, getting double-teamed and herded into the corner on long runs, and getting photographed with Bummer! written all over his face.
He also gave us something entirely new.
Counts Matuzalem's fingers to make sure Milos isn't sucking on any of them. That would be fine during Alone Time, but gross in public.
Shite! Of all the people whose abs we don't want to see.....
One of Milos' new tricks was--get this---defense! In minute 37, I kid you not, Milos was in the box defending a Lazio set piece, which is shocking enough, and he went up for a header, and he beat his man too!
New trick number two: at least one photo in which he appears to have vaguely badass qualities.
New trick number three: Hm. I suppose I better start at the beginning.
Once upon a time, there was a maddeningly inconsistent roman midfielder called Pepe. He was loathed and loved, sometimes all at once, because he couldn't make a choice between sucking and being good. This meant the tifosi couldn't make a choice either, because once they believed he sucked irrevocably, he would do something to earn respect and gratitude.
Most of the time, Pepe's action photos made him look like a terrible, terrible football player. To wit:
What the fuck was that? Also, he really wasn't so attractive as a bald, but he was a sheep and kept getting himself sheared because everyone else did and he was too insecure to be his own man. Once in a while, he'd grow the hair out, but as soon as it got to a reasonable length and he started looking like himself, he got sheared again. He was pathetically hungry for love and he attached himself to il captiano like a leech or a ramora or a leechora. Il capitano's greatness did not rub off on him and he remained lonely and way uncool.
One day, he was hanging around on the football pitch watching the cool guys play when, in the 87th minute, the ball came in his direction, so he took a left-footed shot and scored a goal.
Everyone was very surprised, but not Pepe, because he was Number One.
Pepe was so happy, he ran and ran.
He ran by himself.
He ran with Loooca, the Green-Eyed Gorilla of Love.
He ran past il captiano.
Alas, he could not celebrate forever, as the match still had three minutes to go plus extra time. So he walked back, blowing kisses into the sky for his cat Fifi, who was in kitty heaven.
And he reminded everyone that he was Number
He showed everyone his butterflies and he raised his arms and commanded the waters to part, which was very confusing to everyone. But he still had someone left to see.
It wasn't il capitano. It was the Serbian Arrow. Pepe searched the pitch until he found him. Then, with longing in his eyes, he went towards Milos.
ADP: I'm not sure what's about to happen here, but I know I want no part of it.
And with all the love of the world burning in his eyes, he found his Milos, who then performed his new trick number three:
At last! Pepe had found someone to love him.
And then Milos rubbed Pepe's bald head,
...and they lived happily ever after. The End.
It was a pretty sweet goal, especially because it came so late in the match. I savored the euphoria for about a minute and a half, and then I had a Dread Thought: This match feels like it's been won. That means some terrible fuckup is about to happen.
But it didn't. The whistle blew and the match was over and Juventus won.
The Zebes all gathered for a celebratory scrum, starters, subs, and benchwarmers alike. And LDN, of course, who has his best chance of getting lucky when he can grope people anonymously in a scrum.
Oh my. That cutie on the far left is too adorable to be Grygera, and anyway Grygera wasn't there. That must be Manuel Giandonato and his new and improved hair cut. Yummy! Juve is growing some very handsome primavera.
Please take note that the only one with his shirt off is Milos, the palest and scrawniest of them all. Moreover, he traded jerseys with Kozak, whose next move is probably to build a sturdy Milos-sized box for his new idol.
Right. Were you repulsed before? The brace yourself. It's about to happen again.
Pepe: MILOS! Il mio amore! Come let us make delicious and succulent love in the grass and be together always!
Milos (NB: Milos is obviously the alpha in this pair. *boggle*): Hush, my sweet one. Not in front of everyone.
Milos: Meet me in the shower in two minutes
Pepe: I'm already hard.
Do you want the upshot? Think carefully before you answer. The upshot can only give you hope and hope can only lead to disappointment and pain.
OK, the upshot: Udinese is sinking like a stone and Roma have lost DDR and Protz to suspension for the rest of the year. Juventus is three points out of Europe and--get this--FOUR points out of Champions League with nine points left at stake.
Next match is, oh fuck, home. To the effing donkeys. On Monday. Again.
No comments:
Post a Comment