Welcome to TV Party, a weekly segment where we preview ten of the week’s most exciting match-ups in college football so you know when to grab some beer and ignore the outside world.
The jumbotron at Bank of America Stadium flashed to a crowd scene in the middle of the match. Once people realized they were on the massive, newly built video screen, they flashed their Liverpool and AC Milan paraphernalia. One man, wearing a black polo and white pants, decided to take the opportunity to take his hat off to show the insignia that was on it’s side. It was an image associated with the other kind of football.
“Steelers?!” A child behind me screamed in disgust. “Doesn’t he know this is a football game?”
Where the hell am I?
It’s August, and there are only 27 more days until the first college football kickoff between Abilene Christian and Georgia State. With the 2014-2015 season upon us, many of those warm, fuzzy sentiments about the sport will descend upon our emotions and remind us that yes, Saturdays in the fall are the best. Yet, tradition in college football is not without its strange bedfellow of chaos. There are certain notable tweaks to the structure of naming a champion, as well as who is coaching where. In an effort to get you, dear reader, ready for the season, I have rounded up all the nuggets that I have deemed important. If you’re into preseason statistical analysis about your rooting interests’ chances at glory, please read SBNation’s Bill Connelly. Otherwise, welcome to my roundup of necessary college football information.
The setting for the World Cup’s final scene
Thread count – high
Commission – high
Hourly rates – high
a minute of your time? forget about it
The line above is from Parquet Courts’ “Master of My Craft,” the first song from their “formal” 2012 debut, Light Up Gold. The song is a smart ass take on why anyone in their position cannot be bothered by street teams trying to peddle political ideology or social change via flyers and “quick surveys.” I know what it’s like to be in their position. Four years ago, I was also stoned, starving and making my way down M Street in Georgetown as the know-it-all with a grand, post-grad scheme. On our way back to the student apartments, we were approached by a young woman who, like one of the antagonists from Parquet Courts’ ode to slackerism, was carrying a clipboard and a pile of paper. “Wanna know what’s sexy?” she asked, her question simultaneously rhetorical and seductive. “Politics,” she said, as she handed me an informational slip from a non-profit I didn’t care to remember. A trash can was nearby. “No,” I chuckled with my friends as I balled the piece of paper up and crammed it into the trash can sitting within earshot of the young woman and her fellow street teamers. This was the same summer that I also shrugged my shoulders with the same passive indifference at the USMNT’s loss to Ghana. “Well, at least we have more money than their country,” I said reductively and offensively as I walked away from the Black Stars’ celebration. I gave soccer all the thought and consideration that I gave the woman’s curbside elevator pitch about her organization’s efforts.
Tim Howard, a portrait
The 2014 FIFA World Cup is here, and I have a novice’s degree of knowledge as to what’s happening, as well as a small amount of sentimentality for the event. This is me traversing through work, drunken weekends, and Spotify with the World Cup either in the fore or background
Monday, June 30th
I wasn’t really interested in how France – Nigeria, or Algeria versus Germany for that matter, was going to play out. It seemed inconceivable to think that the two African teams would be able to put up a fight against two European powers that were at the top of their rank. So I ignored the matches, which were mostly scoreless affairs until the final minutes. There were plenty of moments when Karim Benzema and Thomas Müller could have knocked in shots to put their opponents in utter despair but some cosmic force was unwilling to give these two teams an easy victory. France would ultimately run away with the game in the final minutes while Germany required extra time in order to advance. Based on both performances, I would say that both teams acted a little entitled throughout the entirety. It would have been interesting if Nigeria and Algeria would have scored, and I wasn’t in the middle of closing financial reports, but, alas, such is life.
Staving off the insurrection.
The 2014 FIFA World Cup is here, and I have a novice’s degree of knowledge as to what’s happening, as well as a small amount of sentimentality for the event. This is me traversing through work, drunken weekends, and Spotify with the World Cup either in the fore or background
Saturday, June 28th
“So, is his name really Hulk?” I asked Blog Lord Rory Masterson as I stared at the back of the vibrant yellow jersey on the Brazilian strong man.
“No, it’s just a nickname,” Rory told me, as the officials called back a goal due to an offside position.
We were watching the Brazil – Chile match in a parking lot behind the Latta Arcade in downtown Charlotte. There was a large, white trailer parked behind a row of old, brick buildings that held the gigantic projection screen which a crowd of mostly Brazilian faithful watched with anxious eyes. I was surprised that there seemed to be a contingent of Brazilian ex-pats rather than Americans-turned-Brazilian fans. Then again, Charlotte is the second-largest banking city in the country.
There were a handful of Chile fans among the bright yellow and green. You could hear them every time Arturo Vidal failed to convert a goal. The Brazilian fans looked at them with ire after Chile would zip through defenders only to an provide unfulfilling play. There were groans on both sides as each team refused to give up a goal. For Brazil, it was a matter of the team winning on its home soil. For Chile, it was a chance at the unthinkable.
Jogi Loew and Jurgen Klinsmann, bruders
The 2014 FIFA World Cup is here, and I have a novice’s degree of knowledge as to what’s happening, as well as a small amount of sentimentality for the event. This is me traversing through work, drunken weekends, and Spotify with the World Cup either in the fore or background
Thursday, June 26th
Time. That’s the only thing that was in the US Men’s National Team’s favor when facing Group G. The USMNT was given the ‘Group of Death’ with three titanic opponents that would crush any hopes the US had for, at the most, making it to the semi-finals. There was the unconquerable Ghana and the soccer stardom of one of the world’s best in Cristiano Ronaldo and, by proxy, Portugal. Then, there was the polished, mechanical, engineered-to-kill creation known as Germany. It was only a matter of months before all three would send the US packing back to a place where the MLS failed to attract a million viewers for its championship game. American ‘soccer’ has no place here, they seemed to mock. The United States was given 270 minutes before the vultures would come to pick the remains.
Suajaws
The 2014 FIFA World Cup is here, and I have a novice’s degree of knowledge as to what’s happening, as well as a small amount of sentimentality for the event. This is me traversing through work, drunken weekends, and Spotify with the World Cup either in the fore or background
Tuesday, June 24th
Luis Suarez’s reputation as somewhat of a heel was revealed to me before I headed into the tournament with a wide-eyed freshness of the characters on each team. The Men in Blazers podcast hinted at this during their 2014 World Cup preview with references to Suarez’s previous biting incidents. I investigated this further after Suarez’s masterful, trolling performance of England where there is, in fact, a section dedicated to his previous misdeeds on the pitch. One of them occurred when he was playing in the Dutch league for a team known as Ajax where he dug his teeth into someone and received the nickname as the “Cannibal of Ajax”. This set the wheels in motion for Luis to land in Liverpool but even after a punishment for what was seen as a visceral, knee jerk reaction Suarez struck again in the English Premier League.
The Sum of All Fears
The 2014 FIFA World Cup is here, and I have a novice’s degree of knowledge as to what’s happening, as well as a small amount of sentimentality for the event. This is me traversing through work, drunken weekends, and Spotify with the World Cup either in the fore or background
Saturday, June 21st
I woke up on Saturday morning on the uncomfortable, green couch in my apartment. My throat was killing me and my head was heavy. I looked around the living room and two of my friends were both curled up in fetal positions on the floor. On the coffee table were three empty bottles of Pabst Blue Ribbon, an open bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, a barren pack of Camel Blues and the controller to my roommate’s Playstation 3. I lifted myself off of the couch then stared at the mess that lay in front of me. I thought it best to settle into this hangover by playing Grand Theft Auto V because, of course.
Troll God, Luis Suarez
The 2014 FIFA World Cup is here, and I have a novice’s degree of knowledge as to what’s happening, as well as a small amount of sentimentality for the event. This is me traversing through work, drunken weekends, and Spotify with the World Cup either in the fore or background
Thursday, June 19
There was a time in history when someone from England could tell you that the sun never sets on the British empire. The English who remember these times also hang portraits of Winston Churchill and like to talk a lot about Bobby Moore. These same people had the misfortune of watching Wayne Rooney, the most internationally recognizable player from their country, make a goal to equalize the game against Uruguay only to be one-upped by frequent 4chan user, Luis Suarez, in the 84th minute of the match. The dwindling minutes were a demonstration in desperation and keep away for a nation that is now depending upon Mario Balotelli to save them from the brink. The English now need a Dunkirk-like interference from another nation in order to be saved from utter destruction.
Tuesdays With Horry 