Song: “Philosophy” by Ben Folds Five

Image: Sky Sports

With these can’t miss Champions League predictions.

1 ) A team that is not a champion of its domestic league will win the Champions League.

The FA Cup does not count.

2 ) The EPL will vote this year’s Champions League as the best ever.

Then the EPL will vote the EPL voting record as the best ever. What a fucking amazing year.

3 ) The champion of the Champions League will be decided by a playoff, not a league format.

Regular season? Ha.

4 ) Players suspended for misbehavior in a prior match will not play key roles.

Stop holding your breath.

5 ) If the first half is different from the second half, a match report titled “A Tale of Two Halves” will appear.

You will vomit.

6 ) If the game is decided by penalty kicks, a pundit will say the word “cruel.”

You will feel a vomit reflex.

7 ) You may hear the Champions League anthem more than once.

You will feel a very strong vomit reflex.

8 ) Phillip Lahm is not going to grow any taller.

I hate to break the bad news.

9 ) Players and coaches for at least two Spanish clubs will think “I could have won that.”

Even though, in fact, they did not.

10 ) Pele will predict that this year’s Champions League final will win the World Cup.

And who can fault him?

Elliott is kickstartering for his second book, Real Madrid & Barcelona: the Making of a Rivalry. Help him raise $1,000 by June 6 by visiting here.

Ebooks do not magically appear. When I first started to write “An Illustrated Guide,” the novelty and fun of self-publishing filled me with energy. All the little setbacks were miniature hurdles for me to jump with ease. Then, last month, I filed my taxes. What did I find out? Well, after adding up a few too many 1099-miscs, it dawned on me: I am being way too straight with Uncle Sam. Also, publishing a soccer eBook takes some cash. Sadly, with a modest paying real life job and two kids, the upfront cash for this second eBook is not available. I was going to sell blood and potentially other, more lucrative, bodily fluids, but my better half put her foot down. Turner plasma shall stay within the Turner family. Needy blood transfusion patients be damned!

There is, however, still hope.

Here’s where you come in. I am Kickstartering for the $1,000 that an eBook needs to exist. Yes, I need your help to raise $1,000 by June 6. These funds will cover original artwork by Erik Ebeling, tech stuff (ePub/Mobi conversion), legal stuff (ISBN & Copyright), and other necessary & boring publishing crap that adds up. We’ve crafted some pretty cool rewards, including an Advanced Copy of the book for $15, a PDF-ePub-MOBI bundle of An Illustrated Guide for $10, a Real Madrid jersey SIGNED BY JUNITO for big spenders, and some signed original prints for ballers. Unfortunately, Dr. Dre was on tour with a hologram and unable to donate any custom Ferenc Puskas “Ghostface Playa” signature headphones. We are just as disappointed as you are.

For the curious at heart, the new book, titled “Real Madrid & Barcelona: the Making of a Rivalry,” will cover the history of Real Madrid & Barcelona from 1899 until 1999. It will go decade by decade and analyze important players, coaches, games, moments, and developments. It will also add political and economic background to illuminate the motives and actions of key individuals. Erik Ebeling has agreed to do the artwork, while (phonetically) Ell-e-o-t-t Turner, me, shall pen the words. No, I don’t actually use a pen. I type on an ergonomic keyboard. But you know what I mean. I’m a lifelong Real Madrid fan, but have loads of respect for Barcelona. I promise balance and honesty in addressing both teams. The Cules have a great history as both a sporting and political institution. I even waxed about recent board room brawls at the Run of Play.

Here’s the ubiquitous “get pumped about this project” video that I made for Kickstarter. I’m pretty confident that my use of a sample from Massive Attack qualifies as fair use under US law, but put the video on Youtube in case Kickstarter doesn’t share my expansive legal perspective:

So, check out the Kickstarter page here and, if you dare, pre-order a copy to support the cause, get your hands on a Real Madrid jersey signed by Junito, or splash the cash to get a full deck of playing cards of the forthcoming illustrations. And you thought your beta MTG Black Lotus was hot shit! Neerrrrrd alerrrrrrrt.

Once again, get more details and/or show your support here. Pretty please. You know it’s more productive than trolling Pottermore and tracking down Dark Knight Rises plot spoilers.

Images: Real Madrid, Barcelona

Song: Massive Attack, “Teardrop”

And you? Well, North American ostrich, I have bad news. You belong to a very confused, defensive, and at times reprehensible nativist community. Allow me to explain why myself and European soccer are better than you and MLS. The evidence will astound you.

Most European soccer snobs never give MLS a chance. I acknowledge this. Those folks are either total fools or have incredibly good supernatural instincts. However, I have given MLS more than a hundred chances to win over my heart. I have gone to games. I have followed teams. I have followed entire seasons. However, every time MLS starts to find a place in my heart, it trips over its own two feet. Each time MLS approaches respectability, a hideous adolescent error undoes all the prior smoothness.

For example, about a year ago, I took my son to see a Sporting KC game at the new Livestrong Park. Without a doubt, the accommodations were quite posh. However, about ten minutes into the game, a serious snafu happened. I called over the roaming vendor and asked for a simple food item that is a staple in all world class European venues: a banana. To my shock, he said: “Sorry sir, we don’t sell bananas.” I was flabbergasted. Pretzels. Peanuts. Popcorn. Hotdogs. Hamburgers. They were all for sale. But no bananas.

“What are we supposed to throw at the minority players when they touch the ball,” I inquired. He offered no response. Red-faced, I insisted on speaking with his manager. I tried to give Sporting KC the benefit of the doubt: perhaps a supplier had played hardball on banana prices in the offseason. Maybe they had freezer problems and the recent batch went bad. None. Of. The. Above. The manager said Sporting KC never offered bananas, but he would take our suggestion into account. Tsk tsk.

I’m still shocked that they simply do not sell bananas at Sporting KC games. However, Sporting KC is not alone. I did some digging, and I’ve heard they don’t sell any bananas at any MLS games. Not even the stray plantain or two. Nor much fruit for that matter. No wonder childhood obesity ravages North America. This would never happen in Europe, were ultras basically place a banana in your hand and guide you arm as you throw it at a player. So much for “credibility.”

Slightly changing topics to atrocities of the beverage kind, I did like the variety of beers being sold at the Livestrong Park. However, the wine offered was appalling both in terms of quantity and quality. Based on a sniff test, the house wine was a Merlot of the cheap Australian variety (not even California!). I dared not take a sip, and the vendor couldn’t even tell me the year of the Cabernet Sauvignon. Sacre bleu! In the apparel store, they did offer a nice range of scarves, but had no size small berets. Can you believe it? As if all fans of soccer had Neanderthal-sized North American skulls. Uff. The fabric also felt of cheap acrylic fiber, not crocheted cotton (as used in berets sold at most upper tier European grounds).

However, none of these sins stack up to the worst stadium experience yet. The restrooms. At halftime, my young son had to go to the bathroom. However, he had the urge for number two, so naturally we looked for a properly equipped restroom. We walked the entire length of the stadium, but did not find a single bathroom…with a properly enclosed bidet. Not one.Granted, I understand that bidets are a bit expensive. However, surely one or two wouldn’t break the bank. Thus, my little boy had to resort to cleaning himself with paper like an orphan. Shameful.

To make matters worse, we soon thereafter did find a most unusual bidet. It was elevated much too high, even for an adult! It also shot out cold water with no handle to adjust the temperature! And, the worst part, it was very much in the public. Still, I tried to stay positive. My little boy dropped his strousers, I lifted him up with one arm and turned on the bidet with the other, and….the police arrived. Stadium security tried to tell me that the bidet was actually a fountain! A fountain? Where’s the statute of Adonis or at least Ananke? This a Dikembe Mutombo vanity bidet that needs a layer of paint, I protested. Eventually, my little boy and I returned to our seats. I promised that as soon as we got home, he could sit on the bidet as long as he wanted. Still, the little bugger squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. I can’t blame him.

So, there you have it. MLS is the total backwaters of the soccer world. It certainly has its charms, just as the Congo River offers brilliant panoramic views when guerrilla forces aren’t shooting AK-47′s at one another. I could definitely see myself watching and enjoying some sort of “MLS: Survivor” TV program, at least for a half a season. However, until they provide nutritious projectiles and resolve the outstanding issues with the beret, cabernet, and bidet, don’t expect to see me or my son at a game anytime soon. I’ll just stick to Piers Morgan most Saturday mornings, thank you very much.

Song Credit: “The Conductor” by The Faint

Image Credit: IMGUR (via Reddit)

FEBRUARY 26, 2012

Yes, I have kept my New Year’s Resolution to not speak poorly of Mr. Manager. Sometimes, it’s pretty easy. A friend will call and ask how work is going, and I will just mumble and change the subject. Other times, I’ll just remain silent until he or she gets the hint. However, sometimes it’s hard. There’s this class of people called journalists. They ask questions. I give answers. Then, they ask even more questions. So, I’m sad to say, I recently got cornered and quasi-broke my resolution.

I gave an interview. I did my best to tactfully avoid the loaded subject of me and Mr. Manager, but a remark about “watching us lose from the bench” escaped my lips. Still, even after hearing it a few times, I thought it sounded tasteful. I also tiptoed around the recent visit of Jose Mourinho to London. Did I send smiley faced texts to Jose? Yes. I’m still new at emoticons, but Jose will always make me feel I can’t help it, I’m only human.

During his trip, I did ring him and remind him about the good old days at the Bridge. I even told him that Paolo Ferreira is still around, and that we’ve gotten some really nice and new elliptical machines in the fitness center. I invited him for a walk, but he declined. And that just made me want to walk beside him on an elliptical machine in the Bridge fitness center even more. Jose has a way with people, what can I say? Still, as long as Mr. Manager is my manager, I shall try to respect him.

NOTE ADDED March 2, 2012

David Luiz-er just maybe has replaced that mean-spirited Kalou as my least favorite teammate. Yes, his hair is cool, but he kinda sorta loves the current coach. He also talked some smack about my tactful interview. I honestly remarked that Mr. Manager and I were not on the best of terms, but David said that everybody needs to respect the manager. I do respect managers. Gus Hiddink is amazing. Avram Grant was decent. Big Phil was excellent at darts. Carlo earned my esteem after a double winning season. From those examples, you can see my long history of respecting lots of managers.

I’m not the one with the respect problem. And I am so mad I could pull out David’s hair at the next training session, but he’ll probably be injured and puttering on an elliptical next to Paolo Ferreira. If David is the future and I am a relic from the past, then I hope the present never ends. I hope the present goes back in time to the past, so that I can be the present and the future is not needed. The future sucks.

MARCH 4, 2012

Parting is such sweet sorrow. Today, Roman Abramovich decided to fire Andre Villas-Boas. Thus, my New Year’s resolution to not speak poorly about my manager no longer applies – he is no longer my manager. I am ecstatic that Abramovich finally listened to me, Terry, and Drogba. After all, many villages in ancient times relied on the wisdom of wise village elders. If you look around the locker room, Juan Mata isn’t old enough to shave and David Luiz may or may not be old enough to vote. He’s also an idiot. JT, Drogs, and I are the village elders. And Mr. Gopher had to go.

Why? Because we simply couldn’t win. We were frequently out-managed during key games. We tried to help him manage, but he wouldn’t listen. He insisted on under-managing and not starting me every single game. He even refused to play me when I was injured. It was tactical suicide. So adios Senor Gopher. Don’t let the door hit you on your way back to Portugal.

The best news is that the caretaker manager is an assistant who really gets along well with us, and by us, I mean JT, Drogs and me. I smell a major turn-around in the works. Roberto Di Matteo is “da man.” Mark my words.

MARCH 7, 2012

I didn’t play today, but it didn’t matter. Di Matteo talked to Drogs and me apart, and he said “The FA Cup is worthless. I want you fit for the Champions League tie.” I was shocked. The past manager, Mr. Gopher, would normally keep his lineups a secret up until before kick-off. Then, if you were mad at not getting picked and tried to approach him, he would shriek like a banshee and shrug his shoulders. This “talking to players” tactic seems pretty solid, and I seem to recall Carlo and Gus doing similar things.

I recall one particular time when Carlo didn’t pick me for an FA Cup game and I got really mad. He put his arm around my shoulder, and he said “I know you’re mad, I know you bleed Chelsea blue, but I can’t risk your phenomenal talent in a game this unimportant. After all, you are the greatest English midfielder of all time and this lowly team will probably try to injure you. We need you in a safe place, like sitting on a wood bench or maybe in a comfy queen-sized water bed in a padded room.”

Well, Carlo didn’t use those exact words, but the message was clear: I am not playing, but still important. That’s much better than “F you, go sign somewhere in China.” Speaking of which -I still have no clue where Anelka is. And he owes me five quid for a bet we made in November!

MARCH 15, 2012

I need to learn a “super happy” emoticon to describe what I feel right now. The caretaker manager started JT, Drogba, Essien, and me against Napoli, and it was just like old times: we won 4:1, and we advanced! I even managed to flex my forearms and point at places for teammates to run for 90 minutes plus additional time. I’m still icing my forearms, especially after celebrating my amazing penalty kick goal. It was a Lampard special. Usually, goalies pick a side and dive before I hit the ball, so I’ve been powering them down the middle for a few years. And it worked like a charm.

I did get a bit tired and dizzy from walking for that long a period of time, but my forearms were too weak to even make that “please sub me out” gesture. Instead, I did my best to use my intimidating glare to melt the will of the other team. Tackling with your feet is nice, but tackling with your mind is the mark of greatness. My brain went in studs up from the opening whistle and never let up.

NOTE ADDED MARCH 16, 2012

David Luiz-er strikes again. I don’t get the guy – who is foolish enough to support a sacked manager? It’s like voting for Caesar in the 43 BC Roman elections. Hello, newsflash – stabbed, dead, and long gone! Get on with it already! I don’t know why, but I do remember he and Villas-Boas always speaking in Portuguese, even though both are conversant in English. I was suspicious, and distinctly recall hearing them say “Bo Say” several times. I don’t know who this Bo character is, but I never got on well with AVB and am starting to dislike Luiz even more so. Kalou-ser may steal my diary at inopportune times, but he doesn’t brown-nose fired coaches. Respect.

MARCH 18, 2012

I didn’t play today, but it doesn’t matter. Fernando Torres bagged a brace and we advanced in the FA Cup. The caretaker coach also picked the scrubs, err subs, err “secondary” players. I was so happy for them! Plus, if we make the final, then I will probably get to play despite not contributing to reaching the final. And who doesn’t like a free ride?

The sky is the limit with this side, and I feel light as a thirty year old whenever I take to the field. Not even painful memories of Mr. Manager can stop me! The future for Chelsea couldn’t be brighter!

More importantly, I have documented a few memorable hipster quotes relating to the footy interwebs. Of course, names, dates, and locations are not revealed to protect the innocent. Enjoy!

“Yeah, I’m just glad his tumblr is getting more views. I’ve been following it since, like 2009.”

“Messi will break the guy’s record, but could he do it while studying medicine? That’s the  question.”

“I liked Napoli when they were in Serie C1, but they lost that spark in Serie B.”

“Better team to never win anything of import: the 2006 Villareal team that lost to Arsenal in the CL semifinals on a saved Riquelme penalty kick, or every single Arsenal team since?”

“Cristiano Ronaldo. Cristiano Ronaldo?”

“He’s delving into some weird literary bullshit for a soccer blog. Too much Finnegan, not enough wake.”

“You like Marcelo Bielsa? How original.”

“I felt the song selection for the podcast opening sequence screamed ‘trying too hard.’”

“Manchester United….Manchester City. The Europa league has lost all credibility.”

“Me? Follow the Bundesliga? Maybe two years ago.”

“How can you not love Stoke???!!! OMG we’re not having this conversation! SMH.”

“Cristiano Ronaldo. Cristiano Ronaldo.”

“Naw man, I didn’t catch the game. I’ve kinda been getting into cricket.”

“The constant 404 errors are part of the charm. ”

“Dude, where’d you find an azulgrana colored fedora? Rockin!”

“I miss the undiscovered cave feel of the MLS games at football stadia.”

“I liked Messi pre-growth hormone at Newell’s. Now he’ s tastelessly 1st World.”

“If you just give the Singapore First Division the devotion of a Sigur Ros album, you’ll never go back to the EPL.”

“I prefer his stuff at blogspot. I lost interest after the wordpress upgrade.”

“I want to like Borussia Dortmund, but I heard a rumor that the club doesn’t pay their graphic design summer interns.”

“Cristiano Ronaldo. Cristiano. Ronaldo.”

Get Elliott’s eBook, An Illustrated Guide to Soccer & Spanish, for your iPad, iPhone, and iPod Touch by clicking here.

No more.

AVB arrived at Chelsea from Porto, just like Jose. However, he brought some baggage. He’s about the same age as Lampard, but instead of talking IRAs, MASH re-runs, and contentious local county commissioner elections, they don’t really get on. AVB’s briefcase included neat charts of high pressing Porto tactics. But this equation applied to the aging legs of the Blues resulted in blown offside traps and tap-in goals, not trophies. AVB eventually bent his principles and the Blues sulked back to their counterattacking ways. They strung together some wins. The spotlight strayed elsewhere.

Now, though, the Portuguese finds himself under attack again. Rumors percolate that some players don’t want to follow his lead. Nicolas Anelka cried about being on the bench. Alex left for PSG. Of course, players regularly gripe about playing time and leave big clubs. If Nicolas Anelka was not complaining, then I would be terrified and worried. Anelka exhales complaints like you and I exhale air. However, rifts need a firm and steady hand to smooth them over. AVB’s Blues are in the Champions League knockout round, unlike Liverpool, Manchester United, and Manchester City. Arsenal are headed for an early exit. So why can’t he play the “prioritizing competitions” card?

Personality. Thin skin. Insecurity. Rough edges. Explanations abound. I think that AVB really and truly expects an objective lens from the press. Deep down, he believes that he can use facts to convince individuals of another opinion. In sum, his worldview reflects that of an idealistic 14 year old. I could see AVB canvassing door-to-door and registering people to vote, a smile on his face and a memorized script of “Why Juan Mata Will Lead the Blues to Glory in Two Years” that he repeats ad nauseam infinitum. However, not all share his worldview. Similar facts can support different conclusions. This has not dawned on him. And his easily shaken confidence may be his downfall.

Unless, of course, he’s deflecting blame from his players and thereby protecting them. Anybody with two eyes can see that Fernando Torres and the aging Didier Drogba are not lighting the world afire. John Terry has lost two steps, David Luiz is good for an error a game, and Gary Cahill cannot play four positions at one game. Ivanovic was, is, and never will be 90 minutes fit. Yet rather than let his players take it on the chin, AVB cries, moans, and screams to the press about the press. It is either an ingenuous and underhanded way to keep the spotlight off his players, or he’s auditioning for the Chelsea axed coaches media martyrdom hall of fame.

I haven’t seen a soccer coach come under such heavy fire since the end days of Rafa Benitez at Liverpool. Today, King Kenny enjoys a solid spine left behind by the Spaniard. And therein lies the sad irony of all revolutions – most revolutionaries rarely live to see them fulfilled. Napoli tore the Blues to threads and won 3-1. And I’m glad. A defiant Chelsea win and we’d miss out on more Schadenfraude spectacle – let the AVB “Owners Believe in Me” media circus continue.

I feel for Andre in so much as I felt sorry for Hamlet. Yeah, the situation kinda sucks, but at some point you run out of pity for a man that receives professional guidance from his murdered father’s ghost.

UEFA’s Financial Fair Play is no different. A recent report shows over half of European soccer clubs uncomfortably in the red. What’s worse is that the “Jones effect” is in full swing – like an obnoxiously new rich gated community in a tax haven exurb, the top clubs spend and abuse credit to compete with one another to win. Obviously, not all debt is bad. To use a person analogy, many professionals rely on student loans to advance themselves and their families. However, the UEFA report shows more shady car dealers than doctors. More disparagingly, Platini, the lapboy of Blatter, does not instill fear. Imagine him in a batsuit, leaping from a rooftop into a dark alleyway to punch a mugger. However, after landing a dainty single blow, he buckles over and is gassed for air.

We tried a special Supporters’ Trust (FCDSTT) to stem debt, but it failed. UEFA needs a hero. Justice needs a face. And I believe it should be Pepe.

I start with two ironclad premises: (1) that justice requires force and (2) Pepe would easily defeat Bane, the antagonist in Batman comics and the forthcoming DKR film. I say both with certainty. As background, in the comics, Bane frees prior bad guys from jail that then battle and tire down Batman, and then Bane breaks Batman’s back. Pepe, however, would cut through Arkham Asylum like Azrael with a lightsaber. The Scrarecrow needs special gas to drive victims crazy. Pepe, from the long and proud line of f’ugly Brazilian born soccer players, needs only to smile & wink in order to melt your eyes to their sockets. The Joker would try to trap Pepe in a prisoner’s dilemma between saving one innocent or another, but halfway through the dialogue Pepe would probably stamp the Joker’s hand, face, and crotch, and then sarcastically applaud the real life police force.

In sum, Pepe is the perfect tool of force to enforce UEFA Financial Fair Play.

Of course, this begs the question – does UEFA really want to enforce these rules?

Logistics would also be a dilemma. Obviously, as the anti-hero who enforces the law but does not abide by “due process” or “arrest warrants” or other major inconveniences for police, Pepe couldn’t be on the UEFA payroll per se. They could probably spare for a Pepe symbol, but may need to channel some funds via an offshore trust or Cayman bank account. They couldn’t give him any awards, but they could half-assed attempt to catch him but look the other way if they ever got close.

The results would be terrific. If anybody can bring an end to the coming backdoor old boys bogus business deals that will soon eviscerate Financial Fair Play, it’s Pepe. Did the Sheik’s Uncle’s business just agree to sponsor City in a record deal? Oh. Wait. Pepe dangled him from the top of the Burj Khalifa until he agreed to tear up the contract. Did City just agree to sign your club’s favorite player? Not so fast. Pepe broke his ACL, MCL, and even a metatarsl for good measure (while he lay prone on the camilla and was being carried off the field).

Of course, the boo birds will blow out of proportion Pepe’s pasts indiscretions. If anything, the time he’s sitting out and serving a suspension would be ideally utilized to enforce FFP provisions. Pepe would bring some needed sharp edges to the corners of the FFP paper tiger. Sure, once Pepe attains perfect 100% compliance then the absence of credit will dry up opportunities for advancement by middle class clubs, but that’s a problem for another day. For now, the bane of football’s existence is debt.

Granted, the greatest problem with European soccer clubs is preposterous labor costs. However, this may actually play to Pepe’s advantage. If he can just end the career of 3-4 players per team, then he could dramatically reduce payroll costs around La Liga and in the Champions League. There are less violent means, such as a salary cap and luxury tax, but that’s stuff for the UEFA folk, not the caped Pepe crusader. Like a heat-sinking missile, he will seek and destroy all potential debt and future FFP problems.

There are two simple facts: FFP needs teeth. And nobody can stamp out free-wheelers like Pepe. Thus, in our darkest hour, we should follow Alfred’s advice and turn to a man that we don’t fully understand.

“Take that, hand that was about to sign a contract at unsustainable wages! Justice!”

The Frank Lampard Appreciation Society proudly presents yet another chapter in the unedited, uncut version a of Frank Lampard’s diary from this season. Read at your own risk. Warning – this content may not be suitable for mature adults.

NOVEMBER 1, 2011

Genk. The word will forever haunt my nightmares. It seems like just yesterday JT was missing penalty kicks in finals and I was hugging him and reminding him that there would always be a tomorrow. That tomorrow is today. And I can look back at a long line of unhappy yesterdays. We tied Genk in the Champions League. And I didn’t start.

The manager continues to play tricks with my mind, what with the not starting me every game and not playing me every minute. In this game, Ramires scored an early goal, just as I told him to before the match, but then tragedy struck. We won a penalty kick, but our designated penalty kick taker was not on the field. Me. I did shout from the bench for David Luiz to take it, but I specifically instructed him to score. He did not. Then Genk scored. And then, surprise surprise, Mr. Gofer, our “manager,” subbed me in. Super Frank to the rescue. All I needed was a cape!

But even Super Frank needs more than a half hour to create magic. You can’t just grab David Copperfield out of a bus, hand him a hat and wand, and expect him to make the Statute of Liberty instantly disappear. That young Sturridge chap did well, though, and sent me a decent cross. However, he sent me a cross to my feet, not to my head as instructed. If he can just improve that and place a ball on my noggin, I harbor the hope we can turn things around. Assuming I start matches, that is.

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON NOVEMBER 2, 2011

I am ever so upset. On the charter back from the Genk game, I wrote a nice note to Sturridge to compliment his performance, especially the part about passing the ball to me. I sat at the front of the charter, so I passed the note backwards in the hopes it would reach Sturridge at the back. And guess who intercepted it – KALOU. He grabbed it and opened it and read it to everybody. He even imitated my voice and sang “Danny & Frankie sitting in a tree.” I was so angry and also so embarrassed and so sad. Doesn’t he realize that people write and pass notes because they want to say something in private? I really hope we don’t re-sign him at the end of the year. He upsets team chemistry. And me.

NOVEMBER 5, 2011

I am ever so elated! I haven’t much to say because I normally only write in you when things go poorly, but today was marvelous. I started the game, played 90 minutes, and scored the winning goal! I vividly recall the moment. Ivanovic sent me a pass which made me happy, but then I realized the pass would be too low and miss my head, the fool! Instinctively, I closed my eyes, attempted to re-enter the womb, curled into the fetal position, tripped over my own shoes, and headed the ball into the net. It was glorious. I just hope Manager Gopher saw it and learned his lesson.

NOVEMBER 12, 2011

The good times keep rolling and I feel like nothing can stop me, not even Mr. Manager Gopher buzzkill. Well, you can’t stop true genius – you can only hope to not-start it. Or un-start it. Regardless, I am elated yet again! I captained England and we beat Spain! Scott Parker was man of the match, but many journalists overlooked a simple fact – he was only running to where I was pointing. Regardless, I also scored the goal, once again using my patented “no movement /ball bounces invitingly to forehead” approach. I am so so happy! Nothing could go wrong!

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON NOVEMBER 22, 2011

I’m sorry if you think that I’ve been avoiding you, but I’m really really sad. I’ve been too depressed to even pick up a pen. I was scoring goals and starting and the world was wonderful, but then the carpet got yanked form under my feet. We lost to Liverpool at home. I didn’t score a goal and my teammates didn’t give me good passes. It was miserable. Glen Johnson scored a late winner and I sprinted over to John Terry to tell him to not call Glen a black cunt. JT agreed, but asked if he could call him a brown cunt. I don’t think JT quite gets the point at times.

Sometimes I feel like all I have is you. And it breaks my heart.

NOVEMBER 23, 2011

Guten morgen! Even though my team’s season is in a tailspin, I am ever so happy. Why? Well, today I get to see my old friend, Michael, from Germany. We still talk from time-to-time by telephone about the good old days, back when we could stand in front of Essien, walk around, take speculative shots from distance, and occasionally head corner kicks. Michael is liking Germany and even sent me some lederhosen. He said that lots of teams in the bundesliga would love to sign me, and that in Germany, my first name would be “Fran”, not “Frank.” I am not making that last part up!

COMMENT ADDED BY FRANK ON NOVEMBER 24, 2011

I am sad. It was great to see Michael again, but we lost to his team, Barnyard Leavercusack, on another last second goal. The worst part is that I specifically told each defender not to give up a goal in the last ten minutes of the game! And what did they do? Yep. I also tried on the lederhosen, took a pic, and put it on my Google Plus profile for a spell as a joke. And guess who printed out a picture and taped it all over the locker room? KALOU. I hate him.

Worst yet, management got wind and I had to meet with the coach and GM. I had to profess my “commitment” to Chelsea, but nobody had to commit to me. I’ve really started to lose patience with Mr. Gopher Manager. I tried to talk tactics and drew a chalkboard of our team with lots of arrows pointing to my forehead and me standing near goal, but it was lost on him. Simpleton. I actually miss Avram Grant. And Gus Hiddink. And Carlos.

NOVEMBER 27, 2011

The downward spiral continues. I didn’t start yesterday and the manager told me the night before. I slept with the window open and a cold chill awoke me around 3am. I closed the window. I put on an extra layer of sailor pajamas. I got out a second comforter from the closet. I still felt a cold chill. I put on the lederhosen my friend Michael had sent me, but nothing worked. I lay awake, freezing. The day of the game, the team won 3-0, but I only played the last 20 minutes. In that time, I walked, I pointed, and I panted, but I felt the world spinning around me. I was lost in my own jersey, in my own stadium, and playing in the stadium I’ve called home for a decade.

I really hope I get an iPad 2 for Christmas to cheer me up. And a Bentley.

Digital image impression by Erik Ebeling. Check out his other artwork at ErikEbelingArt.com. He also did the excellent illustrations for our soccer eBook “An Illustrated Guide to Soccer & Spanish.”