Listening to a Shimmering Dream
As night spreads her starry blanket on me
I shut my shifty eyes to see
A sparkling river under glistening skies
Among magic marshmallow trees and golden ryes
Amidst the fluttering of wings she sensuously sings
The little girl with the sun in her eyes
She had crimson cheeks and gold in her hair
And a sparkling jar of honey she said I could share
And I lay with others to listen to her songs
With deer and antelopes with squiggly horns
With Captain Milky and the gingerbread man
And the Chinese guy with a quaint hand fan
I felt then I wanted to run
And tell the story to the orange sun
Faster and higher said the droplets in my veins
So quick I drowned out the bells in my brains
Well a smiling cloud then said to me
You run away from what you wished would be
So I open my eyes to find a glowing night
High on a cliff over the Arab sea
With a multitude moving to a torrent of sound
And the lights…
Lights were supposed to brighten my ground
And lead me home by getting rid of the dark
But all they do is call me to stay
And confuse me on this circular path
What I need to do is now in sight
I will not lose if I do not fight
I needn’t search, they’ll find me
And loosen these luminous knots
Ill just follow till I can find
The paradise I left behind
And tell the bustling ride to stop
Near the girl
The girl who tasted like a raindrop.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Monday, July 17, 2006
The Adventure at Malshej Ghat
Pre Trip Blues:
Hemant mailed one day saying that he wants to spend his birthday in Bombay. More specifically in a place called Malshej Ghat, which according to him was just an hour and half from Mumbai, blah blah, 3600 mts above sea level, blah blah, etc, etc. He also said that he will be stopping over at Goa to gear up for this small trip of ours. That was the sweetest thing that he could tell me. So the orders were placed by one and all for whatever they might require. But then circumstances, god knows who makes them up, but yes, circumstances made all my good friends drop out one by one. Dal said that he had to study and Herman said that he had no money. This cheesed me off a bit because whenever I make the plans it never materializes, no matter how hard I try. So in the end it so happened that Hemant and me were the only people who went.
So on D-day Hemant reached Lokmanya Tilak Terminus and gave me a call, “Dude where the f@#* are you. I have only 50 bucks on me. Get some money and your arse to Bandra. That’s the only place I know in Bombay!!”
Wow! I thought to myself. So there I was with a lot of explaining to do when my mom asked me where exactly I was going with the huge bag and my cheque book. The huge bag contained my 2.1 speakers that would provide the only entertainment out there and the of course the cheque book was our only means of getting to our desired destination.
Finally we left from Bandra, catching a train to Dadar and then changing over to the central line to catch a train to Kalyan. From Kalyan we had to take a rickety, old State Transport (S.T.) bus only to dump it an hour later because our legs were paining from the standing. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere we stuck out our hands and a considerate and drunk truck driver gave us a lift till the top of the mountain. Thank god he did that coz the view on either side was so breath taking that we thought we died and went to heaven. If ever there was a heaven in Maharashtra, I guess it would be here.
Finally after paying the driver 40 bucks and a peg of whiskey, we got off at the M.T.D.C. resort only to be driven away by the dearth of rooms. So we took a small trek after finding a few locals, who acted as our guides, and ended up at a homely lodge called the 'Nisarga Lodge'. It was situated in a picturesque part of the ghats, surrounded by lush green valleys. After eating some local food the inevitable took place. At 2100 hours our trip began.
The Trip:
Can’t say much here, can I? It’s different for everyone. I was told that the first time, and it holds true every time I’ve done it. This time I started off in Goa at a rave, with my surroundings turning around and the walls moving back and forth and all this while changing color. There was a purple and a violet and green and pink. There I was moving among strings floating around. The walls were moving into me by now and I knew I was doomed. Doomed to have another trip for sure. All I could hear was screaming, reptiles abounding. Only to realize, it was the rain that was lashing into the window and the figures were nothing but the peeling plaster of the walls. Then as I was about to lie down, Hemant comes in to roll a joint and starts complaining about how he needs alcohol to kick off his trip. We pufed up and then he left me to lay back and fade away into my own wilderness. Trance was still playing the background, a few drunken guys in the neighboring rooms were getting louder than the music. I went to check it out and found Hemant really happy as they had what he was craving for --- ALCOHOL. It doesn’t matter where it comes from as long as it’s there. Thats when it began: I started puking everything that i had inside. Was it the people we had just met or the food or something else, still remains a mystery. That triggered a chain reaction among the drunken people too. After half an hour, I was feling much better, where as the other's weren't. Kicking myself for having come out I enter back into my liar to lie absolutely still before repeating the entire sequence of events agin. At this point I thaught I was in some dream. In the middle I went out to check out the weather and chill out along with it. That's when I found Hemant standing bare chested braving or should I say fighting the rain and the wind and the cold and whatever he was feeling at that time. Hope he writes down his account of that night soon so that I can post that up too out here (I also want to do a sort of research on other people's trips). Yeah, one more point worth mentioning: It was Hemant’s b’day that night. Our last J was smoked around the time when image image 5 was clicked, where the two of us struggling to hold that sweatshirt in place for the snap. I don't know why Hemant was so persistant in doing just that. The pic's come out pretty neat for that situation. That was also the time when we decided to stay awake for sunrise and click a few pics. The trip doesn't end there but goes onto 0930 when I decided to venture out back into reality .The rest has to be imagined folks because I ain't that good a writer (if that wasn't obvious by now) to put everything I saw and felt down. All I can say is that my trip ended with a strong urge and desire for my innerself to be in Barcelona. I don't know why that happened or if I'll ever get there but that feeling was very strong.
There are a few pics put up and some more will be put up soon, I promise. And these pics ARE definately worth more than a thousand words for us.
Image 2: To have or not have was never the question.
Image 3: Wasted! totally wasted! (I also feel the need to wax!)
Image 4: Two men totally lost. One excited at the prospect. The other wondering what the fuck was he doing out there.
Image 5: 'Manipal - Inspired by Dope' The place where it all started. Fuck knows when's it gonna end.
Post Trip Hues:
Hemant wanted me to stay awake till sunrise but suddenly our roles reversed. He fell asleep and I couldn’t even though my entire trip was spent hallucinating on the bed. “You must live your life to the fullest!” cried out the drunk from the other room, whom we had actually help get to his room the previous night. Giving him the thumbs up and a fake grin I proceeded to see the sunrise while Hemant snored away in the room. Then I realized that there was the World Cup Finals that night and we were a good distance away from TV and beer. So I woke Hemant up, asked the room service to get us breakfast and then bid adieu to the lodge and it’s inhabitants. It was around 10 when we left the lodge and when we caught the S.T. bus back it was around 12. Two hours of walking among the waterfalls, drunken men of all shapes and sizes had got us very tired. I was woken up with a jolt, and found out that we had reached Murbad, a place that was just an hour away from Kalyan. But just when our bus entered the depot, there was news that the Shiv Sainiks had created ‘dangal’ (riots in Marathi) in most parts of Mumbai. So here we stranded with 1000 (or maybe more – who bothers counting) other passengers, all held at ransom by hoodlums who play themselves into the hands of politicians. Finally after 4 hours of waiting and cursing, we set out again, our co-passengers in obvious fear and panic. The only 2 people chilling out were Hemant and me. Reached home at 2130 hours took a bath, ate some of mommy’s cooking and immediately set out to watch Italy trounce France’s ass on penalties. That’s another adventure, maybe not worth writing about. For now, just hoping you guys liked this one.
Image 6: Still Buzzing. Still wondering.
Image 7: "I am the lizard King. Yet I can't do everything."
Hemant mailed one day saying that he wants to spend his birthday in Bombay. More specifically in a place called Malshej Ghat, which according to him was just an hour and half from Mumbai, blah blah, 3600 mts above sea level, blah blah, etc, etc. He also said that he will be stopping over at Goa to gear up for this small trip of ours. That was the sweetest thing that he could tell me. So the orders were placed by one and all for whatever they might require. But then circumstances, god knows who makes them up, but yes, circumstances made all my good friends drop out one by one. Dal said that he had to study and Herman said that he had no money. This cheesed me off a bit because whenever I make the plans it never materializes, no matter how hard I try. So in the end it so happened that Hemant and me were the only people who went.
So on D-day Hemant reached Lokmanya Tilak Terminus and gave me a call, “Dude where the f@#* are you. I have only 50 bucks on me. Get some money and your arse to Bandra. That’s the only place I know in Bombay!!”
Wow! I thought to myself. So there I was with a lot of explaining to do when my mom asked me where exactly I was going with the huge bag and my cheque book. The huge bag contained my 2.1 speakers that would provide the only entertainment out there and the of course the cheque book was our only means of getting to our desired destination.
Finally we left from Bandra, catching a train to Dadar and then changing over to the central line to catch a train to Kalyan. From Kalyan we had to take a rickety, old State Transport (S.T.) bus only to dump it an hour later because our legs were paining from the standing. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere we stuck out our hands and a considerate and drunk truck driver gave us a lift till the top of the mountain. Thank god he did that coz the view on either side was so breath taking that we thought we died and went to heaven. If ever there was a heaven in Maharashtra, I guess it would be here.
Finally after paying the driver 40 bucks and a peg of whiskey, we got off at the M.T.D.C. resort only to be driven away by the dearth of rooms. So we took a small trek after finding a few locals, who acted as our guides, and ended up at a homely lodge called the 'Nisarga Lodge'. It was situated in a picturesque part of the ghats, surrounded by lush green valleys. After eating some local food the inevitable took place. At 2100 hours our trip began.
The Trip:
Can’t say much here, can I? It’s different for everyone. I was told that the first time, and it holds true every time I’ve done it. This time I started off in Goa at a rave, with my surroundings turning around and the walls moving back and forth and all this while changing color. There was a purple and a violet and green and pink. There I was moving among strings floating around. The walls were moving into me by now and I knew I was doomed. Doomed to have another trip for sure. All I could hear was screaming, reptiles abounding. Only to realize, it was the rain that was lashing into the window and the figures were nothing but the peeling plaster of the walls. Then as I was about to lie down, Hemant comes in to roll a joint and starts complaining about how he needs alcohol to kick off his trip. We pufed up and then he left me to lay back and fade away into my own wilderness. Trance was still playing the background, a few drunken guys in the neighboring rooms were getting louder than the music. I went to check it out and found Hemant really happy as they had what he was craving for --- ALCOHOL. It doesn’t matter where it comes from as long as it’s there. Thats when it began: I started puking everything that i had inside. Was it the people we had just met or the food or something else, still remains a mystery. That triggered a chain reaction among the drunken people too. After half an hour, I was feling much better, where as the other's weren't. Kicking myself for having come out I enter back into my liar to lie absolutely still before repeating the entire sequence of events agin. At this point I thaught I was in some dream. In the middle I went out to check out the weather and chill out along with it. That's when I found Hemant standing bare chested braving or should I say fighting the rain and the wind and the cold and whatever he was feeling at that time. Hope he writes down his account of that night soon so that I can post that up too out here (I also want to do a sort of research on other people's trips). Yeah, one more point worth mentioning: It was Hemant’s b’day that night. Our last J was smoked around the time when image image 5 was clicked, where the two of us struggling to hold that sweatshirt in place for the snap. I don't know why Hemant was so persistant in doing just that. The pic's come out pretty neat for that situation. That was also the time when we decided to stay awake for sunrise and click a few pics. The trip doesn't end there but goes onto 0930 when I decided to venture out back into reality .The rest has to be imagined folks because I ain't that good a writer (if that wasn't obvious by now) to put everything I saw and felt down. All I can say is that my trip ended with a strong urge and desire for my innerself to be in Barcelona. I don't know why that happened or if I'll ever get there but that feeling was very strong.
There are a few pics put up and some more will be put up soon, I promise. And these pics ARE definately worth more than a thousand words for us.
Image 2: To have or not have was never the question.
Image 3: Wasted! totally wasted! (I also feel the need to wax!)
Image 4: Two men totally lost. One excited at the prospect. The other wondering what the fuck was he doing out there.
Image 5: 'Manipal - Inspired by Dope' The place where it all started. Fuck knows when's it gonna end.
Post Trip Hues:
Hemant wanted me to stay awake till sunrise but suddenly our roles reversed. He fell asleep and I couldn’t even though my entire trip was spent hallucinating on the bed. “You must live your life to the fullest!” cried out the drunk from the other room, whom we had actually help get to his room the previous night. Giving him the thumbs up and a fake grin I proceeded to see the sunrise while Hemant snored away in the room. Then I realized that there was the World Cup Finals that night and we were a good distance away from TV and beer. So I woke Hemant up, asked the room service to get us breakfast and then bid adieu to the lodge and it’s inhabitants. It was around 10 when we left the lodge and when we caught the S.T. bus back it was around 12. Two hours of walking among the waterfalls, drunken men of all shapes and sizes had got us very tired. I was woken up with a jolt, and found out that we had reached Murbad, a place that was just an hour away from Kalyan. But just when our bus entered the depot, there was news that the Shiv Sainiks had created ‘dangal’ (riots in Marathi) in most parts of Mumbai. So here we stranded with 1000 (or maybe more – who bothers counting) other passengers, all held at ransom by hoodlums who play themselves into the hands of politicians. Finally after 4 hours of waiting and cursing, we set out again, our co-passengers in obvious fear and panic. The only 2 people chilling out were Hemant and me. Reached home at 2130 hours took a bath, ate some of mommy’s cooking and immediately set out to watch Italy trounce France’s ass on penalties. That’s another adventure, maybe not worth writing about. For now, just hoping you guys liked this one.
Image 6: Still Buzzing. Still wondering.
Image 7: "I am the lizard King. Yet I can't do everything."
Friday, July 14, 2006
Poem Of The Week # 4
Escape
I'm waiting for you
to go Insane.
No excuses, no reasons,
No cold Rain
Leave aside hunger
Leave aside pain
Don't look at me in wonder
Come , join in the game
Go Insane.
In my world there are no boundaries
In my world I am King
All my battles end in victories
In my world I own everything
The lights I see are blinding
Constant ringing in my brain
Take a peak, put your head outside
The window on a crazy train
Go Insane.
Lose control of your senses
Wonder, "What is the time?"
The time is now to leave behind
whatever you didn't find.
Do what you want to do
see what you want to see
and Listen to NOBODY.
Don't fight what's coming over you
Enjoy the untamed
All else will have to wait for you
Or fuck themselves
You're not to blame
See your mind fly away
Feel a burning flame
Of the rules we'll make a mockery
Lets all , go insane
I'm waiting for you to join me
I'm waiting for you
To go insane
I'm waiting for you
to go Insane.
No excuses, no reasons,
No cold Rain
Leave aside hunger
Leave aside pain
Don't look at me in wonder
Come , join in the game
Go Insane.
In my world there are no boundaries
In my world I am King
All my battles end in victories
In my world I own everything
The lights I see are blinding
Constant ringing in my brain
Take a peak, put your head outside
The window on a crazy train
Go Insane.
Lose control of your senses
Wonder, "What is the time?"
The time is now to leave behind
whatever you didn't find.
Do what you want to do
see what you want to see
and Listen to NOBODY.
Don't fight what's coming over you
Enjoy the untamed
All else will have to wait for you
Or fuck themselves
You're not to blame
See your mind fly away
Feel a burning flame
Of the rules we'll make a mockery
Lets all , go insane
I'm waiting for you to join me
I'm waiting for you
To go insane
Monday, July 10, 2006
Finally....someone who thinks like me..!!!
My Mom and Dad
My mom and my dad are not what they seem.
Their dull appearance is part of their scheme.
I know of their plans. I know their techniques.
My parents are outer space alien freaks!
My mom and my dad are not what they seem.
Their dull appearance is part of their scheme.
I know of their plans. I know their techniques.
My parents are outer space alien freaks!
They landed on earth in spaceships humongous.
Posing as grownups, they now walk among us.
My parents deny this, but I know the truth.
They're here to enslave me and spoil my youth.
Early each morning, as the sun rises,
Mom and dad put on their earthling disguises.
I knew right away their masks weren't legit.
Their faces are lined - they sag and don't fit.
The earth's gravity makes them sluggish and slow.
They say not to run, wherever I go.
They live by the clock.
They're slaves to routines.
They work the year 'round. They're almost machines.
They deny that TV and fried food have much worth.
They cannot be human. They're not of this earth.
cannot escape their alien gaze,
And they're warping my mind with their alien ways.
For sinister plots, this one is a gem.
They're bringing me up to turn me into them!
-- Bill Watterson
Friday, July 07, 2006
Poem of the Week # 3
Beautiful Mother, Tormented Child
Does mindless noise emit from pure melody?
Can beautiful love cause wretched agony?
What would a strong burly oak spread below?
Soothing Shade,
Or desperate darkness.
Does bitter fruit spring from a plant looked after?
Then how am I yours?
Beautiful Mother, Tormented Child
To your lustrous hope I bring dark despair,
To undying faith I give unerring deceit,
To sweet mutterings, growling refusal.
Am I still yours?
Beautiful Mother, Tormented Child
The road you pave has many pretty turns,
I cannot wait even if your heart burns
Starry lights and a velvet sky
Your roads are rough
I can’t walk, I’ll fly.
My spotless moon, my house of ivory
I’ll keep you in a distant memory.
Beautiful Mother, Tormented Child
Can I come back and tell you my fears?
My own thoughts bring me tears
My spotless moon is black throughout
Every move is filled with doubt
A sultry sun burns my wing
I can’t fly,
I’m falling…….
Can I still ask you to pick up pieces?
A shattered dream, a selfish Jesus
Will blurred vision spin a fresh destiny?
Would wrinkled hands still sculpt a happy story?
Beautiful Mother, Tormented Child.
Does mindless noise emit from pure melody?
Can beautiful love cause wretched agony?
What would a strong burly oak spread below?
Soothing Shade,
Or desperate darkness.
Does bitter fruit spring from a plant looked after?
Then how am I yours?
Beautiful Mother, Tormented Child
To your lustrous hope I bring dark despair,
To undying faith I give unerring deceit,
To sweet mutterings, growling refusal.
Am I still yours?
Beautiful Mother, Tormented Child
The road you pave has many pretty turns,
I cannot wait even if your heart burns
Starry lights and a velvet sky
Your roads are rough
I can’t walk, I’ll fly.
My spotless moon, my house of ivory
I’ll keep you in a distant memory.
Beautiful Mother, Tormented Child
Can I come back and tell you my fears?
My own thoughts bring me tears
My spotless moon is black throughout
Every move is filled with doubt
A sultry sun burns my wing
I can’t fly,
I’m falling…….
Can I still ask you to pick up pieces?
A shattered dream, a selfish Jesus
Will blurred vision spin a fresh destiny?
Would wrinkled hands still sculpt a happy story?
Beautiful Mother, Tormented Child.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
S.C.O.F.F. Analysis: Quarter's & Semi's
Quarter 3: England 1 v Portugal 3
I’m sure all English fans would agree by now. It’s a relief this team is out. I’ve never been a supporter of the English but they usually displayed a lot of grit and spirit in precious competitions. Will never forget the Owen goal against Argentina in 98 and the way they fought the German’s in a losing cause in 90. This team quite frankly was a disgrace. Badly coached, over-hyped and definitely more intent on off field celebrity. Its unfortunate that they’ll now come up with an excuse to how Rooney was unfairly sent off. My question why was he on the field in the first place. He maybe tomorrows superstar but you don’t win the world cup because of 1 half fit player. All the hype had to go to his head and he’s pushed himself and England out of their misery. It’s unfortunate the likes of Terry, Stevie G, Rio and the Coles who actually have the ability to live up to the hype, are out. Portugal’s Figo showed class and age don’t have any connection. While Ronaldo finally decided to play for the team came up with the goods. Yeah the diving etc. has surely given the conspiracy theorist some more ammo but face it guys this kid can play.
S.C.O.F.F Man of the Match: The Portuguese had a lot of good displays but the way Ricardo scared the famed Englishmen in the penalties has to give him the prize. Special mention of Owen Hargreaves on the English side.
S.C.O.F.F Moron of the Match: Wayne Rooney closely beats out Beckham. C’mon Becks we know you’re a sissy. Why don’t you start a talk show about emotional hardships of the metro-sexuals? Leave the football to the real men.
Quarter 4: France 1 v Brazil 0
The old adage stands true. 11 stars don’t make a team. France had a purpose and the fire to win this game. The likes of Thuram and Viera showed that class is permanent while Zizou reminded us that he is the best player of his generation. Feel sorry for Ronaldinho who had a bad Cup but I’d blame it on the coach’s insistence to play him and Kaka together which crowded both of them out. And will someone please tell Ronaldo to get a different life if he’s not interested in football. The guy must have been a hero sometime ago but it’s well and truly yesterday. Some things never change. Who exactly was supposed to be marking Henry when he scored? Well it’s Brazil. They don’t defend. Defending is for mortals.
S.C.O.F.F Man of the Match: Zinedine Zidane. The maestro is back. Not for long though. This probably is one final slap in the face for all those who think anyone else who played football over the past few years can be compared to him. Ronnie is his successor but the old man still can teach the new kid a few lessons.
S.C.O.F.F Moron of the Match: He says we love to hate him and that he’s unfairly criticized. Look at your contribution this WC Ronaldo.3 goals against weakling opposition and those too could have been scored by amateur wheel chair footballers.
Semi-Final 1: Italy 2 Germany 0
Definitely no one deserved to lose this one. Germany spurred on by a 60000+ crowd took time but came strongly at the Italians. The Italians though look to be trying to erase the negative image of their football hit right back. Led by the imperious captain Canna, who I think is the front runner for the Golden Ball this time. The Italians allowed the German’s just 2 shots on target while creating 10 for themselves and also hitting the post twice. Credit to the young Mertesacker and Metzelder who looked brilliant defending for Germany. I think it was won in the midfield though were Pirlo aided by his trusty sidekick Gattuso were absolutely everywhere Ballack and co. tried to go. Italy knew they had to win it on the pitch after seeing the German penalties against Argentina. They ended up with 4 strikers on field and the goal came from a left back who was in the opposition penalty area for a corner. Pirlo played an immaculate pass that was met with a stupendous first time finish by Grosso. The goal that broke the German wall, Del Piero finally showed his fabled finishing prowess on a counter soon after when the Germans left everyone forward. A game worthy of the final. Unfortunately one team had to say goodbye.
S.C.O.F.F Man of the Match: Lot of great performances but Buffon kept Italy in it with a sensational save right at the end. That made the difference in the end.
S.C.O.F.F Moron of the Match: The German team behaved admirably during and after the game but some of the German fans came out screaming that the Italians didn’t deserve to win and that they’d root against them in the finals. Real class guys.
Semi-Final 2: France 1 v Portugal 0
We knew this would be the final game for one of the two original Galacticos. Unfortunately the game descended into a series of fouls and dives all over the pitch. Another game has been decided on a controversial penalty and another losing team complains that they were not given a PK. I guess its time for everyone to grow up and realize its part of the game. If the referee does his best at separating the dives from the fouls that’s more than we can ask for. France looked tired after the exploits against Brazil. With Zizou nowhere close to his best and Henry just up there for nuisance value the French had to depend on Gallas, Thuram and Makalele to clean u any possible mess which they did admirably. The Portuguese ought to learn that if they keep falling to the ground even if an opponent just breathes on them their bound to lose decisions n the long run. France will surely pull up their socks and we hope for a cracker of a finale.
S.C.O.F.F Man of the Match: Liliam Thuram. He’s one of the greatest defenders of his time. A real rock at the back today.
S.C.O.F.F Moron of the Match: Pauleta. If Portugal had a classy striker this game was theirs.
I’m sure all English fans would agree by now. It’s a relief this team is out. I’ve never been a supporter of the English but they usually displayed a lot of grit and spirit in precious competitions. Will never forget the Owen goal against Argentina in 98 and the way they fought the German’s in a losing cause in 90. This team quite frankly was a disgrace. Badly coached, over-hyped and definitely more intent on off field celebrity. Its unfortunate that they’ll now come up with an excuse to how Rooney was unfairly sent off. My question why was he on the field in the first place. He maybe tomorrows superstar but you don’t win the world cup because of 1 half fit player. All the hype had to go to his head and he’s pushed himself and England out of their misery. It’s unfortunate the likes of Terry, Stevie G, Rio and the Coles who actually have the ability to live up to the hype, are out. Portugal’s Figo showed class and age don’t have any connection. While Ronaldo finally decided to play for the team came up with the goods. Yeah the diving etc. has surely given the conspiracy theorist some more ammo but face it guys this kid can play.
S.C.O.F.F Man of the Match: The Portuguese had a lot of good displays but the way Ricardo scared the famed Englishmen in the penalties has to give him the prize. Special mention of Owen Hargreaves on the English side.
S.C.O.F.F Moron of the Match: Wayne Rooney closely beats out Beckham. C’mon Becks we know you’re a sissy. Why don’t you start a talk show about emotional hardships of the metro-sexuals? Leave the football to the real men.
Quarter 4: France 1 v Brazil 0
The old adage stands true. 11 stars don’t make a team. France had a purpose and the fire to win this game. The likes of Thuram and Viera showed that class is permanent while Zizou reminded us that he is the best player of his generation. Feel sorry for Ronaldinho who had a bad Cup but I’d blame it on the coach’s insistence to play him and Kaka together which crowded both of them out. And will someone please tell Ronaldo to get a different life if he’s not interested in football. The guy must have been a hero sometime ago but it’s well and truly yesterday. Some things never change. Who exactly was supposed to be marking Henry when he scored? Well it’s Brazil. They don’t defend. Defending is for mortals.
S.C.O.F.F Man of the Match: Zinedine Zidane. The maestro is back. Not for long though. This probably is one final slap in the face for all those who think anyone else who played football over the past few years can be compared to him. Ronnie is his successor but the old man still can teach the new kid a few lessons.
S.C.O.F.F Moron of the Match: He says we love to hate him and that he’s unfairly criticized. Look at your contribution this WC Ronaldo.3 goals against weakling opposition and those too could have been scored by amateur wheel chair footballers.
Semi-Final 1: Italy 2 Germany 0
Definitely no one deserved to lose this one. Germany spurred on by a 60000+ crowd took time but came strongly at the Italians. The Italians though look to be trying to erase the negative image of their football hit right back. Led by the imperious captain Canna, who I think is the front runner for the Golden Ball this time. The Italians allowed the German’s just 2 shots on target while creating 10 for themselves and also hitting the post twice. Credit to the young Mertesacker and Metzelder who looked brilliant defending for Germany. I think it was won in the midfield though were Pirlo aided by his trusty sidekick Gattuso were absolutely everywhere Ballack and co. tried to go. Italy knew they had to win it on the pitch after seeing the German penalties against Argentina. They ended up with 4 strikers on field and the goal came from a left back who was in the opposition penalty area for a corner. Pirlo played an immaculate pass that was met with a stupendous first time finish by Grosso. The goal that broke the German wall, Del Piero finally showed his fabled finishing prowess on a counter soon after when the Germans left everyone forward. A game worthy of the final. Unfortunately one team had to say goodbye.
S.C.O.F.F Man of the Match: Lot of great performances but Buffon kept Italy in it with a sensational save right at the end. That made the difference in the end.
S.C.O.F.F Moron of the Match: The German team behaved admirably during and after the game but some of the German fans came out screaming that the Italians didn’t deserve to win and that they’d root against them in the finals. Real class guys.
Semi-Final 2: France 1 v Portugal 0
We knew this would be the final game for one of the two original Galacticos. Unfortunately the game descended into a series of fouls and dives all over the pitch. Another game has been decided on a controversial penalty and another losing team complains that they were not given a PK. I guess its time for everyone to grow up and realize its part of the game. If the referee does his best at separating the dives from the fouls that’s more than we can ask for. France looked tired after the exploits against Brazil. With Zizou nowhere close to his best and Henry just up there for nuisance value the French had to depend on Gallas, Thuram and Makalele to clean u any possible mess which they did admirably. The Portuguese ought to learn that if they keep falling to the ground even if an opponent just breathes on them their bound to lose decisions n the long run. France will surely pull up their socks and we hope for a cracker of a finale.
S.C.O.F.F Man of the Match: Liliam Thuram. He’s one of the greatest defenders of his time. A real rock at the back today.
S.C.O.F.F Moron of the Match: Pauleta. If Portugal had a classy striker this game was theirs.
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