The New Republic

1) Pirlo is semi-divine. READ MORE >>

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Last year, the football editor of The Independent ran an article with a surprising headline: “Portugal ‘sells’ Ronaldo to Spain in £160m deal on national debt.” Less than ten days earlier, Portugal’s prime minister, José Sócrates, had resigned upon failing to enact a fourth round of austerity measures to make up a severe budget shortfall. READ MORE >>

They think it’s all over? It is now, thank God. I’ve waited for others to vent their spleen over my unfortunate country’s performance on Sunday. At least it was no surprise, and no one said we wuz robbed, because we wuzn’t. Truth to tell, England have never won a European championship or a World Cup except once and then they didn’t deserve to. Nobody who can remember 1966 (as I fear I can) and who has any feeling at all for the game would deny that Brazil were the best team that year. READ MORE >>

I miss Paul the Octopus. Who can I now challenge to a predict-off? I was right on all quarterfinal predictions, but unfortunately, that wasn’t much of an accomplishment. Paul the Octopus and Paul McCartney would have easily predicted the same winners. The level of teams was too disparate. England could have won the shootout, but, luckily, the Ashleys had other plans, and we were spared watching an England Germany semi where Merkel shakes her booty at least half a dozen times. READ MORE >>

Could there be a better final for this year’s Euro than Spain vs. Germany? One of the great joys of watching the Euro as an American is the ability to be unapologetically mercenary in my fandom. Germany vs. Portugal? I pick Germany because I can’t stand the smugness of Cristiano Ronaldo’s smile, and those young Germans seem like such good, wholesome guys. Germany vs. Greece? Can’t resist the geo-political underdog narrative, so Greece all the way. READ MORE >>

In 1975 I left the burning city of Beirut for the quiet insanity of England. To say that short, frail and wispy, 15-year-old me didn’t fit in would be such an understatement as to be a joke. I stuck out more in an English public school than I would have had I marched in a May Day parade with the Red Army in Moscow, or sashayed the Yves St Laurent catwalk with supermodels, or hunted seals with the Inuit, or—well, you get the idea. READ MORE >>

Bravo to Luke Dempsey and his brilliant blog post here on the dreaded 12 yards. Also bravo to Luke for not mentioning my own penalty kick flub, which (if my memory serves) helped cost him New York soccer glory. But while he had the grace to let it go unmentioned, I have never forgotten how, in a league championship game, my toe stubbed the turf as I swung my mighty leg forward, and the ball leapt forward several feet, then rolled slowly for a few more before halting far from goal. READ MORE >>

I am still reeling from the awfulness of England in the game against Italy. The greatness of Pirlo notwithstanding, Italy was/is not that good. Consider what the Italian team would have been like without his constant orchestration; consider how bad Balotelli was/is, ever eager to show the extent to which he is overrated. But Italy, such as it was, was all over England and the lads could not string two passes together for two hours or so. READ MORE >>

I want you to stop whatever you’re doing, and take a short walk. 12 strides, please, from anywhere to anywhere. Note the distance. For me, it’s here to sort of over there, but for you it might be something else: here-ish to kinda that spot, or even “where I was 12 strides ago to where I am now, looking back at where I was.” Whatever you choose, it isn’t very far, is it? Whatever your gait, it’s probably around 12 yards. Please remember the distance and we’ll continue. READ MORE >>