It was one of those matches people will remember where they watched it years from now. Somehow more than the 43,000 person Stamford Bridge capacity will say they were actually at the match. I won’t be one of those people even though I could and should have been there. The last time I missed games like this were Games 1 and 3 of the 2004 ALCS but we won’t discuss that now.
The second leg of the Champions League quarterfinal between Chelsea and Liverpool was a match for the ages. Chelsea came in with a comfortable 3-1 lead and a seemingly easy trip to the semifinals where they would face Barcelona after their first leg demolition of Bayern Munich. Liverpool came in needing to win 3-0 to advance. Anyone with a sense of history knows better than to count them out. Anyone who did was in for a series of mini-heart attacks. I’m pretty sure I lost years of my life watching this match and I’m a black man which means I’m done at 52 like an NFL lineman. Hypertension, high blood pressure, NYPD, crazy white boys. Something will get my ass. Rubbing Tussin on my chest will only help for so long.
The rundown: The worst of my fears were realized when Liverpool jumped out to a quick 2-0 lead. The chicken bones, rum and kwanzaa candles came out. One more goal and Liverpool would be through. The half ended with the visitors up 2-0. On the outside, I was a bit stressed but maintaining my cool. Inside, I was yelling “Lawd jesus, not like this!” I was so much of a stereotype that I could have been an extra in The Color Purple.
Chelsea responded at the start of the second half. Actually Pepe Reina gave a helping hand and made the score 2-1. Six minutes later, Alex equalized. 2-2 became 3-2. All was well and Chelsea was through again. Not so fast, my friend. Out of nowhere, Liverpool came right back and scored two in three minutes to make the score 4-3 in the 83rd minute. One more goal and 5-3 would be enough to take them through on aggregate. At this point, the cool left me and I was visibly shaken. If it were possible for a black man to go pale, it would have happened. Shell-shocked doesn’t begin to describe my slack-jawed appearance. Super Frank to the rescue. 4-4 in the 89th and that would be enough to see Chelsea through.
Sweating as though I played 90+ minutes, I praised every deity out there including Jobu, Jebus and Superman before remembering that Barcelona awaits Chelsea in the semifinals. Barca are unquestionably the team to beat in Champions League this year. However Chelsea’s form of late under Guus Hiddink gives even the most skeptical of supporters hope of getting to Rome.
Now for Arsenal on Saturday which I will also miss. I don’t know why I bother trying to go to live sporting events anymore. Saying that, let’s hope I can get my hands on some Chelsea-Barca tickets.
“I said, ‘What do you want to speak to me about?’ ” Chacon said. “He said, ‘We just want to talk to you.’ I said, ‘Anything you can say, you can say to me right here. I don’t want to go to the office.’ He looked at me, and I said, ‘There’s nothing for me to say to you guys.’ And I don’t think whatever they had to say to me they were going to make me happy. I didn’t want to get in a closed-room conversation.”
“I sat down to eat, and Ed Wade came to me and very sternly said, ‘You need to come with me to the office.’ I said, ‘For what? I don’t want to go to the office with you and Cooper.’ And I said, ‘You can tell me whatever you’ve got to tell me right here.’ He’s like, ‘Oh, you want me to tell you right here?’ And I said, ‘Yeah.’ I’m not yelling. I’m calm.”
“He started yelling and cussing,” Chacon said of Wade. “I’m sitting there, and I said to him very calmly, ‘Ed, you need to stop yelling at me. Then I stood up and said, ‘You better stop yelling at me.’ I stood up. He continued and was basically yelling and stuff and was like, ‘You need to (expletive) look in the mirror.’ So at that point I lost my cool, and I grabbed him by the neck and threw him to the ground. I jumped on top of him, because at that point I wanted to beat his (behind). Words were exchanged.”
Astros owner Drayton McLane told the team that Chacon won’t pitch for the Astros again.
“If you shoved a policeman down or any other public servant … can you imagine shoving a principal in a school? It was in full view of several players. Players pulled Chacon and restrained him. There’s absolutely no way…”
Since when are baseball GMs public servants? Mets fans are probably wishing Chacon played for them. There’s really no excuse for a physical attack under these circumstances unless physically provoked. However if things went down as described by Chacon and Wade did get in his face, we’re not saying he should have choked him but we understand. We know Spree feels us.
Two Dolphins stories together are like two Dolphins fans in the same place. Chris Rock once said, “Seeing two Dolphins fans in the same place is like seeing two Indians in the same place”. The shit just don’t happen. Just remember where you were when it happened.
What The Problem Is?
You have to wonder when David Boston’s dad is going to throw him out of the game or flag him for a 15 yard personal foul. Like sand through the hourglass, David Boston was arrested again.
Boston threw a cushion at his wife while she was holding the baby and pulled the phone cord out of the wall to prevent her from calling 911. He then barricaded himself in the house with a Bowflex and weapons provided by Tank Johnson … Ok maybe that last part didn’t happen but it’s only a matter of time.
Why I Go In And Out Of Comas All The Time
French toast please! Trent Green wants back in the game and hopefully he’ll get french toast to go along with the scrambled eggs in his head. He claims he has no symptoms from the hit he took on October 7.
The Miami Herald suggests that his full participation in practice and lack of symptoms suggests that Green may not have suffered a Grade 3 concussion. I think he’s just used to the symptoms and he thinks everything’s normal.
Who knows? Maybe he is fine to play. He’ll know it’s time to hang it up when he starts thinking and talking like Merrill Hoge. If he starts sending hate mail to Vince Young, he may be in need of an intervention.
By the way, let’s leave on a high note and laugh at the assclown that is Joey Porter. Here’s to 0-16.
Tiger Tiger Woods y’all hates him some cripples. Either that or he hates golf carts. Either way, Casey Martin’s not playing a round at Tiger’s new golf course anytime soon.
Tiger is designing his first golf course in the mountains of North Carolina near Asheville. This comes on the heels of the first year of his successful golf tournament the Chocolate City Classic officially known as the AT&T National. The course named The Cliffs of North Carolina will not allow carts “which Woods said was key to the deal”.
The 31-year-old said he will gradually grow his design business, selecting projects that fit within his crowded schedule.
But he pledged to come to the site as often as necessary to get the job done right.
“As you know, I’m kind of a perfectionist,” Woods said.
Tiger should talk to his boy Michael Jordan about showing up to the job. Maybe he’d keep jobs longer and not draft donkeys like Kwame Brown and Adam Morrison. Then again, Morrison does have a sweet ass molestache.