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Bogan Krkic posted:

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Shrapnig posted:

Let me share some unique Barcelona soccer experience with you, in this very thread, because you are missing the subtlety. Instead of following the ball, follow the off ball movement. Look for triangles to appear, dissolve and then reappear right before your eyes. Watch as player's heads swivel to find the man making the run for the second pass, not the first. Watch the tight control and decision making. Don't appreciate the pass that was made, appreciate the pass that wasn't because it was more difficult and less likely to be successful.

Watch the instant pressure applied once the ball is lost. Appreciate the monumental patience and discipline required to maintain possession without making foolish passes for long stretches. Realize that they are making things that are incredibly difficult to do both physically and tactically look so easy that it becomes boring.

Or you can just say lol Barcelona matches are boring and hate them.

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jyrka posted:

Did we ever find out if a plane could take off off a giant treadmill?

St Louis Fox posted:

This is my first post on Foxes Talk, though I have followed the forum for ages. I apologize for the prolixity of what follows. I live in the USA and I I have been trying to explain to my American friends why this season is so extraordinary. Older LCFC fans may (or may not!) enjoy this:

If some of my American (and perhaps some of my British) friends find my obsession with the Mighty Foxes (aka Leicester City FC) puzzlingly wearisome, here's a short explanation.

I have followed the Foxes, off and on, since I was a young lad, and my father took me (somewhat grudgingly, and after much nagging on my part -- he was a rugger man) to watch them play in the last game of the 1968 season... a meaningless nil - nil draw with Stoke City. But I was hooked.

I didn't much like Leicester as a place. Still, It was where I grew up. Sent away to school at the age of thirteen (to a Northern school where rugger was fetishized), I found myself surrounded by "chaps" who, if they had any interest in football, veered towards Leeds Utd, Manchester City, or Newcastle. Confessing to supporting an unfashionable East Midlands team was a bit like outing oneself as a lover of Proust or Wilde, when everyone else was reading Nevil Shute or (for the intellectuals) Tolkien.

Following "Citeh" in the 1970s and early 80s was pretty grim. I had formed an alliance with three other devotees, and we would meet on the terraces at Filbert Street (Leicester's dowdy, but atmospheric ground) on Saturday afternoons (Spion Kop, Pen 3) to sing and chant for a team which (briefly) had a hint of 70s glam-rock pizzaz. But they never actually won anything.

It was an extremely violent period in English football. I recall being chased through the backstreets of various English cities: Luton, Coventry, Manchester, Sheffield (an afternoon which ended up in the Royal Infirmary for one of my friends), Birmingham, Nottingham, Derby. The worst was visiting London, where a trip to Stamford Bridge (Chelsea) or Highbury (Arsenal) or (worst of all) The Den (Millwall) was essentially a life-threatening experience. Knowing that all Leicester fans would be heading home via St. Pancras station, London hooligans would wait to ambush us on the Circle Line... but we were never sure at which tube station we'd be surprised.

The era is summed up for me in a song which used to be chanted in the Leicester Kop (from My Fair Lady):
Hand Grenade and a walking stick,
Piece of lead and a building brick,
One Forest Fan to Kick....
... now wouldn't it be lovely?

Well, no not really. But that's written with hindsight.At the time,I loved it. Not a participant (I'm a physical coward), but a testosterone-fuelled teenager, nevertheless, I think I was more into the voyeurism of 70's football culture. Indeed, my musical tastes were neither skinhead nor suedhead, but retro-hippy / proggish. ELP and King Crimson rather than ska or (though I secretly admired them) Slade. But Slade were from Birmingham (or was it Wolverhampton?). The only rock band who were out for LCFC were Family... who I still think are magical.

I was pleased to leave Leicester when I was eighteen, to spend the next ten years living in London. But I had (and still have) strong family ties to the area. And I always warm to the sound of an East Midlands accent -- an accent that was drummed out of me as a child. Whenever Leicester were playing in London, I usually managed to to watch them. But I was a bit older and wiser now. Football was an opiate of the working classes (hah!). In the ghastly 80s, surely, the future lay in Marxism and Structuralism? What did Althusser, Barthes, or Derrida have to say about Leicester's crappy league performances (though kudos to Karl Miller. at UCL, with whom I used to talk (Scottish) football). I had learned a new language and football didn't really form part of the lexicon.

And yet... wherever I found myself (Scotland (twice), Ireland, the South Coast of England, and now the USA) I always, on a Sunday morning, turned through whatever Sunday paper was available. How had Citeh done? A dismal loss, or a draw was the usual outcome.

So... football is tribal. English football perfectly represents (I'd argue) Benedict Anderson's notion of Imagined Communities with the emphasis on "imagined." There haven't been many really good books on football (though there are exceptions: Brian Glanville's (now unread) masterpiece: "The Rise of Gerry Logan," Tim Parks's "A Season with Verona," and, of course, David Peace's superb "The Damned United" and "Red or Dead" (in which Leicester have an unlikely starring role)). As for Nick Hornby...he's an Arsenal supporter.

But... this season....

At the start of this (2015-16) football (soccer) season, the English bookies, William Hill, were offering odds of 5,000-1 against LCFC winning the premiership. Now with 7 games to go, they sit on top of the Premier league, 5 points ahead of Tottenham Hotspur ("Spurs" a North London side). In the early 1960s Spurs were a power in the land. They haven't won much since. Leicester, by contrast, have never won anything of significance in their 134 year history.

Here are some bets you can place (legally in the UK, but not, apparently, in the US) with William Hill at odds of 5,000-1:

• Elvis is found alive.
• Yeti or Loch Ness Monster is proven to exist.
• Christmas is the warmest day of the year in England.
• Kanye West and Kim Kardashian name their next child Sinner.
• Kim Kardashian becomes the U.S. president in 2020.
• Barack Obama plays cricket for England after he leaves Oval Office.

When I was a teenager, standing on the Kop at Filbert Street, I used to wonder at the middle-aged guys around me who were so passionate about a game played by lads who were twenty or thirty years younger than they were. "But you're past it," I used to think. That was the arrogance of youth. Now, I understand things better. Our lives (as we get older) tend not to have too much which is magical about them. We are not (necessarily) disappointed. But we love a story.. a fairy tale... and this past thirty odd weeks has been a fairy tale, what ever the final outcome.

Go (as we say in America) Foxes!

JFairfax posted:

African AIDS cum posted:

This is not bad. Kinda sweet.

Bovril Delight posted:

There is no way I am reading all of that

Healbot posted:

I read all of that. It was nice and not necessarily in the right thread.

Gigi Galli posted:

Agree, seems a bit masturbatory but it's an oldish dude who grew up in England a long time ago and has been following his up until now shithouse team for decades.