Author: SoccerMom

SoccerMom obsesses over FCB and this blog instead of grading papers, burning dinner and/or raising her small children. She blames a Spanish husband and easy access to Hispanic-targeted cable sports channels for her football addiction and consequent failure as a professor, housekeeper and mother.

December 7, 2011 / / Barcelona


Deep in the bowels of Morbor, the wicked sorcerer Mouron peers at a small black-and-white television set hooked up with frayed and smoldering cables to an ancient video-recording device, rewinding the squeaking bobbins and reviewing a tape. “It is a strange fate that we suffer so much fear over so small a thing,” he mutters, wringing his hands. “Such a little Leo thing.”

November 27, 2011 / / Nonsense

So, SoMa’s Barça babies are restless after being bested by the Burger Boys. Everybody under the blankie with hot cocoa and a cookie. (You can add a splash of whiskey in mine, Blitzen, thanks. You’ll find the flask in my Christmas stocking. Just remember to put the cigarettes back because I quit last year.)

November 14, 2011 / / Nonsense

Journalists and witnesses report that Real Madrid coach José Mourinho brought his daughter to meet international pop star Justin Bieber at his hotel last Friday. As the darkened car pulled into the hotel’s reception drive, a large number of Justin Bieber fans went crazy, believing their idol inside. The disappointed girls recognized Mourinho, but took heart in reassuring each other that they spotted Bieber’s girlfriend, Selena Gómez, in the back seat.*

November 8, 2011 / / Nonsense

Hello … Me? It’s weird to refer to yourself in the third person, but how do you do it in the first? And now I’m doing it in the second? Strange.

Anyhoo, since I am very famous for being rich and handsome as well as a great football player, my agent thinks it’s time for me to become even more rich and famous by writing my memoirs about my great footballing, and he says we can put my face on the cover so no one forgets how handsome I am either. Great idea, Me!

September 11, 2011 / / Nonsense

[For full BFB experience, open this link in a new tab.

Then return, with media playing, to present post.]

 “They’re sorry … so sorry.

Oh, this beautiful game can be so-o-o cruel.

And mistakes are part of the season bein’ young.

But ain’t no culé who likes the wrongs that’s been done.”

September 7, 2011 / / Nonsense

 

So, like Vic’s new kit? That forest green is nice. Kind of Robin Hood. I never went in for last season’s tiger sleeves. Remember when he had long hair, har har? Yeah, so … wait. What’s that next to the netting? What are those, advertisements? What’s that squiggly writing on ’em? And that … tree?  Right there on the pitch?!?

August 23, 2011 / / Nonsense

Act I: Da Meetin’

[The front office at the Bernabeu Stadium. Spring, 2010.]

José a.k.a. “Joe Moe” Mourinho: Don Fiorentino, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your office. And may your first signing of the season be a masculine, handsome, crack signing.

Fiorentino a.k.a. “Fifi” Pérez: You are welcome to my office, Senhor Mourinho. Please, tell me what I can do for you.

August 13, 2011 / / Nonsense

I read the news of the world today. Oh boy!

“There is only one signing left and you know who that is.”

Panic on the streets of London. Panic on the streets of Birmingham. Authorities scrambled to restore safety while the Beeb rushed to judgement. Was it consumerism? Opportunism? Or even … Social Network-ism? But your dogged BFBlogette always checks her sources.

“There is no news,” Arséne Wenger sighed. “If there is news, I promise I will give it.”

“If there is, you’ll have egg-custard on your face,” I said. “Word is you’ll be replaceable.”

“All the cemeteries are full of replaceable people,” he replied dourly.

August 9, 2011 / / Nonsense

Last night I watched the lamest horror movie. I won’t tell you the title because you will watch it and hate me and remove your BFB bookmark. It was about a radio wave that turned people into homicidal maniacs. The not-maniacs turned homicidal to protect themselves from the real maniacs, and everyone kept asking each other if they were maniacs. The code word was “crazy”: “Do you have the crazy? How do I know you’re not a crazy?” We think the script probably spelled it “crazie”.

May 18, 2011 / / Barcelona

As an American, I love television. When abroad, I consider it my patriotic duty to tune in and see what’s going down in the foreign street. I don’t mean Al-Jazeera or BBC. I mean tee-vee, the idiot box. And Spanish TV is as satisfying as a seven-layer SuperBowl salad: game shows, soap operas, even hip late-nite fare.

May 2, 2011 / / Barcelona
April 22, 2011 / / Barcelona

Real Madrid’s celebration of its first King’s Cup in 18 years also had its downside. Around 4:15 a.m., as the team bus arrived at the Cibeles Fountain, the heavy trophy escaped from Sergio Ramos’ hands. The Cup fell in front of the bus’ front wheels, which proceeded to run it over […] As workers picked up small pieces of the trophy from the asphalt, the broken cup was brought inside the bus and not shown to the fans any more.*

El País, April 21 2011.