Un Capitaine perdu

So, Zizou lost his cool, France lost a player, and le Bleu lost the World Cup....

OK, maybe it's not quite that simple.

But almost.

I actually thought this was a great match. Zidane's early penalty kick (on what some might see as a questionable foul) put France up early, but the Italians quickly equalized and the entire game seemed to open up considerably as a result of those early goals. Both sides certainly had plenty of chances, but Italy's excellent defense and goalkeeping continued to be the story of this World Cup. And the difference.

Actually ended up watching the match at a cafe out in Sommerville rather than trying to make my way back in to the North End, where thousands of people gathered at Government Center to watch the match. Italy was definitely the local favorite, so I tried not to cheer too loudly for the French side.

And now it's history...except for the one unanswered question. What the hell did Marco Materazzi say to Zidane in the first place? Apparently neither of them are talking now. Apparently they both feel that enough has been said already. And on that note, what more can I possibly add?

The Beautiful Game

Family obligations and the holidays have kept me out of the gym and off the court for a couple of weeks now -- well, that and the fact that my regular pick-up game won't start up again until October, and there's been an all-day kid's basketball camp at the gym where I routinely work out and shoot around. I'm a little disgusted with myself really; gained four pounds over the Fourth of July weekend, and I'm already a good 20% over my desired "playing weight." But how do you say "no" to a cold beer and a grilled bratwurst?

Meanwhile I've also been watching with great envy these final few rounds of the World Cup. Soccer (or as it is more properly known, REAL football...) might be thought of as one of the original ancestors of Basketball -- perhaps the earliest and simplest expression of a games whose variations include not only hoops, but hockey, lacrosse, water polo and the rest: two teams, two goals and a ball (or ball-like equivalent) and then some sort of "gimmick." You play it on ice wearing skates. You play it while swimming. In basketball the basic innovation was to move the game indoors and hang the goal ten feet above the floor. But the genius of football (that is,, REAL football) is that you aren't allowed to use your hands...you have to use your feet instead. That's it. The only essential equipment you need is a ball, and even that can be improvised. The game is simplicity itself. And therein lies its beauty.

At its best, a well-played soccer match combines all the beauty of basketball -- the athleticism, the constant movement and improvisation -- with the excitement of a well-pitched baseball game. It's better than poetry in motion: it is pure play itself. I've been a little disappointed with how tightly this World Cup has been officiated: way too many Yellow Cards in my opinion, and I hate to see anything decided solely by penalties. The human interest of Zinedine Zidane's retirement makes France the sentimental favorite in my house. But since I'm planning to watch the final at a sports cafe in Boston's North End, I may have to keep my sentiments to myself.

And I also need to find the motivation to overcome my own workout lethargy, and get back into a regular routine again. I always do better when I have a routine. And, of course, a goal to shoot for....