Burlaki on the Thames

I realize this morning that my attempt at congratulating my Red Sox fan friends (I can name only a couple off the top my head, anyway) last year has had a desired effect for at least this year: Boston is not going to the World Series this time around.

But I don’t know if I don’t feel worse at the thought that the Rays may be wearing the crown in several days’ time. At least, with the Sox, it was a respectably storied franchise that beat - or did better than - my Yankees. But a team who’s never even had a winning record before now possibly winning it all is hard to stomach when balanced against the Yanks’ recent postseason ineptitude.

Well, Philadelphia is practically in New Jersey. Go Phillies, then!

I catch glimpses of Olympic Games here or there on TV, but I look up results and commentary online regularly. Some of the assorted thoughts, below the fold.
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I did watch a couple of hours of Olympics today, and at some point it hit me: BBC shows them commercial-free, except for one or two promotional clips of upcoming BBC programs. Add in the fact that the multi-screen option allows me to pick from among several concurrent feeds on a single channel, and I am almost ready to forgive BBC being the reason for the abominable TV license.

How’s NBC treating American viewers these Games?

The Olympic opening ceremony is about to start, and I realize that for the first time since I became actively aware of the wonderful medium of television I will not be watching Olympic Games that much.

It’s not because I’ve always felt it was an irresponsible acquiescence to award the Games to an oppressive regime. (I already vented about it once.) I still feel that way, but I also feel that boycotting the Games, whether from participation standpoint or watching standpoint, is downright pointless.

It’s not because I find watching delayed coverage less exciting than the live one. I do, but it did not keep me away from enjoying Games held in Seoul or Sydney or elsewhere not in my timezone. (And let’s keep aside any discussion about the past atrocious coverages of the various Games by NBC.)

It’s not because I am always a bit conflicted whether to root for the country of my birth or the country that I love. With both of them always among the strongest contenders for the overall athletic supremacy, - as reflected in the medal counts - the mixed feelings are always there, but I truly normally manage to resolve them - by rooting for both, when possible, of course.

It’s simply because Olympics is one sporting event that I always enjoy watching together with Natasha. And for the next two weeks, we are going to be either on our holiday (surely, not much of the TV time is budgeted as part of that) or apart while I stay on my own in London. Some might say that I have a perfect opportunity to veg out in front of the TV - and I will certainly attempt to try it over the weekend - but it’s just not the same for me to watch the Olympics in solitude.

The damn Games are making me feel more lonely!

[upd] I find it a bit spooky that my Olympic rant linked to above was posted on 07/07/07, while this one appeared on 08/08/08. I’m guessing I have to schedule some Olympic-related discussion for September 9th of the next year…

In most sports that I follow, besides rooting for a favorite home team, I have individual favorite players, whose teams transitively get my allegiance as well. For instance, I’ve been partial in the past to the Detroit Red Wings because of all the Russian players on their roster or the Utah Jazz while John Stockton was playing.

I started following American football in mid-nineties, right around the time that Brett Favre came into his own as one of the best players in the NFL. I liked the way he visibly enjoyed playing, so much so that he quickly became my favorite football player. I’ve always since said that I root for the Green Bay Packers. But I do have a requisite home team that I root for as well, the New York Jets. And to my utter delight, I learn today that my hands-down favorite player is coming to play for my home team.

Wow! I don’t think this has ever happened to me before. Alex Rodriguez to the Yankees does not really count - that was the best player in the game coming to my home team, rather than my most favorite (despite all of Rodriguez’s personal achievements, he has never merited as much esteem in my eyes as Derek Jeter).

I’m all aflutter (although you hopefully would not notice that by observing me just now).

By the way, Kostyan, sleep easy. I no longer despise the Chicago Bears

As unpredictable as football can be, the football gods rarely insist on throwing their weight behind an illogical outcome, Greece’s triumph at the last championships notwithstanding. Today, we have a well-deserving champion.

The Spanish team was not the only one that went through the tournament unbeaten (the unfortunate Croatians were knocked out in the quarterfinals without having lost a game in the course of play), and they did not manage to win all of their games (they beat Italy on penalties, which is the mechanism to decide who advances, but not who wins the game, IMHO), but they were the only team who was better than the opposition in every game they played. They played fast, skilled and attractive style up and down the field. They beat only one team emphatically - twice! - but don’t let the minimal margins of victory fool you: Only somewhat misplaced generosity with their finishing prevented the Spaniards from running up scores on their other opponents the way they did against Russia.

There was never a doubt of who would win in any of the contests involving Spain. In the final, the Germans had one moment early in the game that failed to develop into a proper chance, and then just one single shot on goal that could have been counted as a half-chance. The Spaniards could have easily scored a handful. In the end, a brilliant pass from Xavi (who clearly earned his “Player of the Tournament” honors with his overall display over the course of the campaign) and a no less brilliant and determined effort from Fernando Torres produced the winning goal that sent Spain to their first major trophy in 44 years.

The Germans were a flawed team, especially on defense, producing a dominating display only in their opening game against the inferior Polish team, and then being worthy of a win only against Portugal in the quarters. But you have to tip your hat to them: Somehow, by the skin of their teeth, Germany seemingly always finds a way to figure among the contenders.

All in all, it was a grand and entertaining tournament. Too bad that it appears unlikely that I’ll have another chance to follow a World Cup or a Euro Championships this closely in the foreseeable future.

On a side note, I watched the final over a plate of fine cheese and wine. A bit unorthodox, I admit, but no less enjoyable.

Bookmakers are no slouches: We’ve got a Germany - Spain final.

Spain pretty much pasted Russia in the second half, winning in more than convincing fashion. The Russians played as I expected them to play in the previous game, i.e. reasonably well but worse than the opponents. The first half actually ended up scoreless in a fairly even contest, with both teams creating several half-chances. After the interval, though, only one team continued playing. Arshavin was invisible, the rest of the Russian team was far from impressive, and the Spaniards scored three very nice goals. My Arsenal favorite, Cesc Fabregas, was at his best, directing Spanish attack.

In the earlier semifinal, Germany was outplayed for most of the game by the scrappy Turkish team, but showed an amazing prowess in exploiting the few mistakes that the Turks made on defense. Turkey actually opened scoring for the first time in their five matches, but the Germans equalized pretty quickly, and the lively game then proceeded without serious threats but with discernible territorial advantage for the Turks as if towards the extra time. True to his form, though, the Turkish goalie blundered at some point, and otherwise ineffective Miroslav Klose scored on an excellent header. Turkey, of course, did not run out of its escape magic, scoring a goal seemingly out of nowhere four minutes from the end of regulation. But that was still the final gasp for them, as Germany managed to get back into the lead with an excellent passing display that led to a point-blank strike from Philip Lahm, who had a remarkably bad game at fullback otherwise. The Turks could not respond as they did against Croatia…

I have already admitted that I am a not very good pundit, but in the end, the team that I remarked on having put in the strongest claim after the first round of games in the top half of the bracket (Germany) and the team that was one of the most impressive in the bottom half (Spain) ended up advancing to the ultimate game. I should have stopped with my analysis then - and would be able to take a lot of credit for being clairvoyant…

After four quarterfinal games of Euro Championships, I suddenly feel that, although I considered myself reasonably knowledgeable about the Beautiful Game for all my life, I have, in fact, very little understanding of it. Or some aspects of it, at least. There were stunning reversals of form, dumb coaching decisions, plenty of missed of opportunities, and of the four group winners - who all, as you recall, won their respective groups with a game to spare and rested their first teams in the last group round - only one managed not to lose in the quarterfinal. Three games went to extra time, two of those were decided by penalty kicks, and the one game that ended after 90 minutes was actually the most evenly contested.

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A good live football match every night at a convenient viewing time. Heaven! I do not think I will ever have a chance like this again…

I have watched only a half of games after the first round of group play, but still, that’s all together 16 matches out of possible 24. Only 7 more left, which I am sure I will all see in live broadcast.

So, what does it look like at the quarterfinal stage?

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As I mentioned on a number of occasions, I am a horrible golfer. I am capable of adequate displays of skills - and I hope you all understand what I mean by adequate - but not for any length of time, which summarily produces double-par-or-worse outcomes in any given round of play. It’s a hard game to master even with regular practice (and I play too irregularly, unfortunately).

I also maintain a view that golf is the hardest individual sport to win at. Not to become good at (which I already admitted is hard in itself). But to win at. Golf may be comparatively not too demanding a sport from the athleticism perspective (as opposed to, say, tennis), but winning a golf tournament means outperforming a hundred of other people at the same time over the course of several days, without being able to affect their scores (in tennis, you have to be better than only 7 opponents one at a time while directly fighting each - I am not saying that it is easy, just that the magnitude of the opposition is on a different level).

Which makes Tiger’s continuing success all the more amazing.

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To the envy of many, I am sure, I have watched every single game of the European Championships in its entirety thus far. Live, too, with only one 30-minute-delay PVR-enabled exception. In other words, at the conclusion of the first round of group play, I have seen each of the 16 teams in action exactly once. At the top of the draw, both Portugal and Germany looked confident and solid. Their respective opponents, Turkey and Poland, started out well enough, especially the Turks, but simply did not have enough talent to compete. The supposed second-best teams in these two groups, the Czechs and the Croats, looked utterly unconvincing in scraping out minimal wins against lesser opposition, Austria and Switzerland, respectively, who were supposed to be hopefully outclassed but compensated with heart and effort for what they lacked in ability.

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A resident hawk attacked a local girl on a school trip to the Fenway Park.

The girl’s name?

Alexa Rodriguez!!!!

(And she was the only one attacked.)

The Sox Nation must have gone completely bonkers to train their wildlife to strike anyone who’s got any - however cursory - association with the Yankees.

You really cannot make this one up!

Because I live five hours ahead of the Eastern time zone, I cannot conceivably watch the late-night football games in their entirety. Let’s just say that I am not rabid enough a fan, and leave it at that. So for the second time in a row, I watched the first half of an important game until well after midnight, went to bed with the team that I was mildly rooting for unconvincingly ahead… and woke next morning to a Giant upset.

I admire how the Patriots put their team together (although I am disturbed by the on-going Spygate allegations) and I would have liked to witness an undefeated history - hence, my rooting in this Superbowl, - but I cannot help thinking that I personally have not seen their greatness this season: In every game of theirs that I chanced to watch, they produced a middling effort and squeaked by on stamina. The Giants, on the other hand, had an aura of destiny all over them in the last few weeks.

And - damn! - I had a stray thought before the game that putting some money on the Giants was a promising bet. Alas, I am not much into betting…

Oh well… Every time a New York team beats a Boston team, it is ultimately a happy occasion. Hope the Yankees take a hint…

 
[update at 4pm] I caught the fourth quarter replay while running on a treadmill at the gym, and I realize that at some point with less than two minutes to play, the Giants had in succession a near lost fumble, a near interception and then a near sack on third and long. The latter inexplicably turned into a circus catch by Tyree, which set the stage for another couple of botched plays, culminating with the touchdown on another third and long. Not exactly an emphatic performance, but perfectly in line with the resilient label.

The Patriots seemed to let it get away, further convincing me that their greatness was somewhat exaggerated.

Winter golf is actually not as bad as it sounds. If the skies are clear and there is no wind, then even freezing temperatures are tolerable. That is, if you wear layers…
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Remember this ESPN commercial that ran during the World Cup last year?

 
On any given Sunday these days, I proceed from watching one football to the other and back. I can’t help but notice how the environment dictates the primary watching habits. While the last few years of my sports fan life have been dominated by the American football (and baseball), I am now firmly engrossed again in football that only America calls soccer.
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So, the Red Sox won the World Series again. The next 86 years of the life of the Nation turned into just 3. Somebody, please, curse that team again, quick!

My dislike for the Sox stems not only from the fact that I support the Yankees, but also from the realization that for all their blustery talk about New York being “the Evil Empire” having accumulated all the high-priced mercenaries, it was actually Boston who had fewer homegrown regulars in recent years. In 2004, for instance, the only such player in their lineup was the altogether remarkable Trot Nixon, whereas the Yankees for years boasted the core group of Jeter, Pettitte, Posada, Willams, Rivera, just to name the obvious stars…

But coming back from 3-1 ALCS deficit to sweep the next seven games is almost as impressive as coming back from 3-0 ALCS deficit to sweep the next eight games. And that is something that I find hard imagining the Yanks of late do.

So, for the few of my acquaintances who are Sox fans, congratulations! May your twice-in-the-lifetime moment never become a third!

Now that the Yankees have ignominiously exited the stage yet again, I cannot understand all of the hubbub surrounding potential firing of Joe Torre. While he is certainly a great person, who holds especially dear place in Natasha’s heart as the keynote speaker at her college graduation (not really! - he was totally eclipsed by Larry King!), I think that Mr Torre is, at best, an average manager, just one lucky enough to have an enormous amount of talent at his disposal for his 12-year tenure.
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There is nothing quite like a classical music concert to take your mind off mundane happenstance, even if the first piece of the program is somewhat disturbing Also sprach Zarathustra, by Richard Strauss (which has been immortalized by Kubrick’s 2001: Space Odyssey, but is more likely to be associated with Что? Где? Когда? for most of my readers). It was followed by very enjoyable Sibelius’s Second Symphony, and then, for encore, two short energetic pieces that I have no recognition of.
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I felt quite pathetic that I stayed indoors for such a lovely day on Sunday, so I decided to do a bit better on Monday. This was the last pre-Christmas day off (with an oh-so-imaginative name of Summer Bank Holiday), and it was very tempting - sunny, fresh, not too hot…
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Becky’s school year is over. A bit more sleep in the morning for me until September (although I was foolish - that’s another word for professional - enough to agree to an 8:30am meeting on Monday, signaling to all those willing to notice that I no longer have the drive-daughter-to-school excuse to decline early meeting invites).

And if my American readers are a bit incredulous at the mid-July end of the school year, let me assure you that only going to a private school allows Becky to start her summer holidays this early. Poor Kimmy still has a week to go…
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