It is a widely-accepted quasi-fact that I loves me the soccer. Love it. Can’t get enough of it. Stupid for it. Pick whatever vaguely sexual metaphor you like and apply it to me and soccer and you will get the idea.

Because the quality of what is offered from our fair shores rarely strays out of the “meh” zone, I – and many others like me – get my fix by turning to soccer of the European variety, and most specifically the English Premier League. It’s like television or disgusting animal entrails euphemistically called “pudding”: if you want the really good stuff, you gotta go to England.

But I was still born and raised in this country, and my conception of professional sports was formed from watching them over here. When you start watching the EPL this mental framework leads to a slight disconnect when you realize that the English way of looking at sports is completely fucking insane. If you think too long about the differences you will slowly go mad, your brain eaten away by little gremlins that say “would you like a cup of tea?” while they devour your neurons.

There are a thousand little things, and most of them are terminology issues that you quickly assimilate like a second language. You learn that the standings are “the table,” that the game is played at a “ground” and not a stadium, and that the referee is actually a “wanker.” Other than that, you get used to singing profane songs while watching sporting events – “Fly Eagles Fly” has got nothing on “The Wanky Tottenham Hotspur” – and eventually getting up at 6AM on a Saturday to go to a bar to watch grown men kick a ball around on TV will become your new normal.

Two of these quirks, however, are so massive that they drive American sports fans – this one, at least – quite mad.

1) “History”

In the entire cosmology of sports, there is no single element more irrelevant to an individual contest than history. And this is in a world with things like DIPS, “quality starts,” and the save, the only statistic in which the phase of the moon is actually one of the deciding factors. English commentators and fans love to blather about history. Seriously. One of the popular songs sung against Chelsea fans actually has a line “you ain’t got no history.” It is beyond idiotic. It puts idiotic to shame. Idiotic cannot hold a brain-draining candle to the notion that history is a factor in whether your team is good or not.

To put it in context, a soccer fan COUGH Liverpool COUGH talking about their team’s brilliant “history” and/or/vis a vis your team’s lack thereof is roughly equivalent to a Jets fan claiming that they are – RIGHT NOW – better than, say, the Eagles because did you fucking SEE us in Super Bowl III? We kicked ASS twenty years before I was born!

I mean, if Jets fans weren’t charity cases as things stand now, can you imagine if they talked like that? They’d be euthanized to protect the future from their genes.

The fact that past glories, however many and varied, have absolutely no bearing on what’s going on down on a field right now is a completely alien concept to fans like this. What I eat for dinner five time zones away has about as much effect on Arsenal v. Newcastle as the history of the two teams, though in fairness there is very little anywhere that can have a positive effect on Newcastle.

Now it’s true that there are historical elements of soccer that are definite indicators of quality – Chelsea’s 85-game home streak without a loss, Real Madrid’s 943,000 trophies, Newcastle’s 53-year trophyless streak – but when Aston Villa plays Swansea in the FA Cup and we are told that Swansea hasn’t won at Villa Park since that famous day in 1941 blah blah blah yackity schmackity, it means absolutely jack shit unless we’re going to call in Herbert West, Reanimator to turn the guys who actually played that game into zombies and send THEM out on the pitch. If that were the case I might actually toss a ten-spot on Swansea at 14-1, but until something out of HP Lovecraft is involved please shut the almighty fuck up about history.

2) “Mind Games”

Can you imagine that, let’s say, the day before Patriots-Colts in the AFC Championship, Bill Belichick was asked at a press conference what he thought of the Colts and his answer was:

“Well, you know what, the Colts fucking blow. I swear to god Peyton Manning is such an assmonkey, it really makes me sick. Who the fuck do they think they are, anway? Look at them. Their guards are undersized, their safeties couldn’t bring down a figure skater, their linebackers are older than my grandmother, and I’m pretty sure Tony Dungy once sprained his back trying to suck his own cock.”

Okay, maybe Belichick isn’t the most unrealistic example in this specific case but imagine, like, Mike Tomlin saying that (after he heals from the two black eyes, swollen lip, and fractured coccyx Jim Johnson just gave him). The press would go BERSERK. ESPN would run it on a non-stop loop for weeks. He’d get fired 5 minutes later and Goodell would probably toss him in a re-education camp for good measure.

In the Premier League managers say shit just like this EVERY WEEK.

And instead of calling them crazy people, the press just labels it as “mind games” – I’m serious, that’s the exact phrase they use – and goes on to tell us what happened when Manchester United played Preston North End in 1902 and of what great import that is to their match tomorrow. It transcends insanity.

Now don’t get me wrong, behind closed doors I’m sure coaches in any sport in this country trash talk other teams. But you don’t slam the other guy in public. You express nothing but respect and admiration for your opponent and heap praise on them, even if you’re Joe Paterno and you’re “playing” Temple that week (and he did, I heard his press conference). That’s the kind of thing you learn in fucking high school. To publicly run down your opponents is so startlingly unprofessional I’m still blown away when they do it, and I just advocated a eugenics program to eliminate Jets fans for Chrissakes.

Yet this is a common practice over there. You actually have to go to classes for a year and get a fucking LICENSE to manage a Premiership team, and “don’t slam the other guy in the papers” apparently isn’t part of the curriculum. It boggles the mind.

Then again, this is a country that eats the parts of animals even Native Americans couldn’t find a use for, so prion diseases are probably a lot more common.

As I am slowly stewed in the cauldron of misery that is being an Eagles fan, today I take some heart in the fact that the Birds are taking on the Rams, who had (in terms of points allowed, at least) the second-worst defense in the NFL last year. They gave it up more than the DOLPHINS, and those poor bastards only won one game.

The best part is that this is an IMPROVEMENT for St. Louis. Back in the bright halcyon days of Warner, Faulk, Bruce, Holt, and those other guys, Mike Martz basically realized “hey, if I can score 45 points a game I don’t even need to PLAY defense.” And for the most part they did not, and we salute them for their bravery in essentially abandoning 50% or so of football.

In celebration of the full-fledged return of the NFL and the beginning of the Brian Westbrook Countdown To Injury And With It The End Of The Eagles Season, let’s take a look at some other historically awful defenses.

L.A. Galaxy, 2008

It is said by some that soccer is a dumb game. These people are wrong and stupid, unless their only exposure to soccer is watching the display of hapless shenaniganery that is the Galaxy D. If that is the exceedingly unlikely case than yes, what you are watching is, in fact, both wrong AND stupid. They managed to broadcast their genre-defining ineptitude on national television a few weeks back when they played Chicago on the ESPN Thursday night game and a group of so-called professional soccer players were run ragged by a 36-year old who was barely a year off having a small explosive device go off inside his knee and a guy who, quite tellingly, has scored half of his career MLS goals against Los Angeles.

Don’t get me wrong. I loves me the B-Mac. But Brian McBride is not exactly the height of human physical potential any more. Talented though he may be, Brian McBride is one slow-ass motherfucker. You’re sitting there reading this on a Sunday morning, sipping your coffee and hoping you’ll be completely awake before the games start and you are, at this moment, as fast as Brian McBride. You would probably bag two or three goals were you to end up in a game against the Galaxy.

Kentucky Men’s Basketball, March 28, 1992

Yeah, you played well for 39 minutes and 57.9 seconds. Unfortunately, a college basketball game is, in fact, 40 minutes long.

I would have loved to hear the huddle talk before this one. “Let’s see, Grant Hill is on the inbounds, don’t have to worry about him… hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s cover everybody! I mean, there’s a CHANCE they won’t try and get it to the 6’11″ guy, right?”

You go through all that shit to beat Duke and then you fuck it up in the last 0.08% of the game. For shame, Kentucky Wildcats. For shame.

On the plus side, you did give me and my friends a ton of enjoyment when we spent every free moment for a solid week afterwards in our high school gym trying to replicate Laettner’s shot. I don’t think anyone ever did, but then again none of us were on the Dream Team either. Also I went to a snooty prep school so we were all probably wearing wingtips too.

Newcastle United, eternally

Here’s another great idea in the history of sports. Let’s take Shay Given, who by any account is a very, very good goalkeeper, and then put a bunch of fucking sock monkeys in front of him and call it a defense, thus insuring that we will lose all the time because our world-class keeper has to make 453 saves every game. Also we will let opposing forwards just run into him like a Ferrari and tear his bowels into small pieces.

Some might argue this point, and to those sad chowderheads I have two words: Titus Bramble.

What, still arguing? Here’s two more words: Jean-Alain Boumsong.

A word of advice: if one of your defenders was once voted “Worst Player In The Premiership,” your defense is pretty bad.

Nazi Germany, 1944-1945

“Well, all right, boys! Well done all! We’ve conquered most of mainland Europe, we have tanks and barbed wire and machine guns and thousands upon thousands of troops covering every single intersection between Calais and St. Petersburg… looks to me like this war is WON, fellas! Break out the champagne! No, Strauss, you Bavarian dumbass, not that sparkling wine crap! CHAMPAGNE! The real thing! We didn’t conquer the damn province for nothing.

“What? Americans? What Americans? Those lazy assholes aren’t gonna do a damn thing…

“Ah. Hm. I see. Yes. Well, er… Berlin, you say? Right this way, Mister Eisenhower.”

Imperial Navy, Battle of Endor, 4 ABY

Seriously, HOW DO YOU FUCK THIS UP? You are the Galactic Empire. You have Star Destroyers up the yin-yang. You have, by all accounts, an inexhaustible supply of cannon fodder in TIE Fighters alone, never mind stormtroopers. Yes, we know your soldiers (and probably your pilots) can’t hit the broad side of a barn with a basketball. That shouldn’t matter. You have a giant space station that BLOWS UP PLANETS, and you get your ass handed to you by Billy Dee, a talking squid, and some other kind of talking cephalopod.

How about a little discipline in the face of a technologically inferior enemy that you massively outnumber who can not, it should be noted, BLOW UP FUCKING PLANETS? Jesus, who are you guys, Newcastle? Your ships are Star Destroyers. That rolls off the tongue, don’t it? Ssssstarrrr Destroyyyyyyerssss. Your ships destroy stars. Their ships are named after letters. Do I want a ship that destroys stars, or the ship that yesterday’s episode of Sesame Street was brought to me by? Hmm. Tough choice. And still you manage to lose to these multi-culti douchebags. Sad.

(For the record, Admiral Ackbar is obviously the squid; I’m not sure what Nien Nunb is. An octopus, perhaps? Also it is worth noting that this is still my favorite sequence from any movie, ever. It is the Platonic ideal of Awesome.)

And so, the beginning of kickoff Sunday and another season of wishing Terry Bradshaw would somehow suffer some kind of tropical infection that would render him mute is almost upon us.

Against the Rams defense, a worthy addition to this pantheon, the Eagles are 9 point favorites. If you don’t recognize that as a sucker line, congratulations! You are not an Eagles fan. Man I wish I knew what that’s like. Must be sweet.

Where’s the laugh track when you need it? Everyone’s favorite family after the Cosbys and Seavers might be interested in buying Newcastle United.

Rumors are floating around that the Bin Laden family is interested in buying Newcastle United from current owner Mike Ashley. A Newcastle spokesman called the rumors “absolute nonsense”. What better way is there to differentiate yourself from your Arsenal-loving terrorist spawn than buying a second rate team with delusions of grandeur and no chance of success?

What’s there to say about Newcastle midfielder Joey Barton? He’s currently serving a six-month sentence for an assault outside of a Liverpool McDonalds. I don’t think his victim was lovin’ it.

If you lost count, Barton punched the guy 20 times. This wasn’t his first run-in with the law. We detailed his rap sheet last year when news broke of his beatdown of former Manchester City teammate Ousmane Dabo. He changed his plea and admitted assaulting Dabo in court yesterday.

Barton and Dabo confronted each other after a row during a training match, the court was told.

Dabo, 31, was said to have felt intimidated that Barton had invaded his personal space as he shouted and swore at him.

The Frenchman pushed his shoulder with both hands and Barton retaliated by punching him in the head, causing the Frenchman to fall over and lose consciousness.

Mr Vardon said several witnesses said Barton continued to punch Dabo while he lay on top of the player, who was in a dazed state.

One player, Georgios Samaras, said he had never seen such a violent incident on a training pitch in all his career, the prosecutor added.

Barton will be sentenced today. Hopefully he’ll rot in a cell with his degenerate brother who’s serving a 17-year sentence for participating in an ax murder. Not that I feel strongly about it or anything.

Very Big Club Newcastle United has fallen on hard times over the past couple years after finding domestic and European glory. Winning the Inter-Cities Fairs Cup in 1969 is a massive achievement. Have you won it? I didn’t think so.

Despite the lack of success on the pitch, Newcastle claims to have fans that will see the club through thick and thin. St. James Park is always filled to its 50,000+ capacity for every match by loyal and… What’s that? They give tickets away? Of course they do. All teams have corporate and family seats. What do you mean they’re not exactly corporate or family seats?

The BBC reports that Newcastle distributes four season tickets a year to recovering drug addicts as a way to “help them on the path to recovery”.

“The tickets are provided on the understanding that they are used, as part of a package of measures, to particularly help young people who have had substance misuse problems, and are making clear progress and showing a genuine commitment to living a normal, structured life.

“We thank the club for this generous gesture that goes a long way towards re-introducing people to a structured way of life.”

It’s not clear how going to a Newcastle match would help addicts adapt to living a sober life. Have you ever been to Newcastle? There’s nothing to do but drink and use drugs. Have you ever watched Newcastle play? It’ll make you want to drink and do drugs. Even when they’re not playing, they’re not setting a good example: