For folks as sick of the club/country debate as much as they are of friendlies, here’s a handful of enjoyable soccer links. Do read them.

AVB faces the axe at Chelsea, and somebody said the name “Rafa Benitez.” I heard the word, didn’t recognize it, but immediately giggled uncontrollably. Then I remembered: he’s that coach turned blogger. Well, I did some investigating and revealed some new dirt on Mr. Goattee – his site is doing well, and has just signed a star columnist you may have heard of. (Fisted Away)

The Run of Play is now in exile at Tumblr because Brian realized that code-by-hand sites, no matter how gorgeously beautiful, correlate 100% with early onset arthritis. And Tumblr is pretty sweet. I visited the new digs and spitted out a few incoherent sounds that try to make a coherent statement about Serie Arrggghh. (Run of Play In Exile)

For you history buffs and stadium porn addicts, I’ve just gotten into a new site that will tickle your fancy. It hops around Iberia and also back in time to present pics and stats on Spanish soccer stadiums. Enjoy. (Estadios de Espana)

Out of the ashes of Unprofessional Foul, a new quirky site has popped up: 4-5-2. For some goofy takes on the news-of-the-day, I highly recommend it. They mock yet also respect Frank Lampard, therefore I can respect them. It’s a fine line we all must walk. (Four Five Two)

Pictures are cool. So are graphs. However, the soccersphere has gotten a bit stale with excel charts and the same old chalkboard. Unless, of course, you’ve glanced at some of the amazing images coming out of Bootiful Game. Be sure to cover your iPad with a slobber-proof bib. (Bootiful Game)

For some hysterical and topical Onion-esque articles, I rate quite highly the Gaffer. They seamlessly mix in politics without offending anyone. Unless, of course, they are worth offending. (The Gaffer)

I don’t want to point any fingers, but you’ve kinda dropped the ball in at least two ways. First, you haven’t subscribed to the Classical’s RSS feed. Do so here. Now. Second, you aren’t following the Classical on twitter. Do so here.

If fashion is your thing, then you have to check out the amazing t-shirts at 3Nil. They are the perfect gift for that somebody special in your life: you. (3 Nil)

Lastly, AFR found some pretty amazing footy artwork. Think Guernica meets Marco Borriello. IN COLOR! (A Football Report)

No e-reader? No problem! Elliott’s eBook, An Illustrated Guide to Soccer & Spanish, is available at GoodReads for only $5.99. Just click here.

Zlatan’s year at Barcelona was the most disappointing 21 goal campaign in history. The reason was simple: square pegs, no matter what the quality of wood, will never fit into a circular hole. For all his individual brilliance, Zlatan struggled to fit into the cohesive Catalan attack. But his return to the Serie A with AC Milan has shown that when the Swedish striker is given free reign to play by himself against the opposition, he is unstoppable. Why, you may ask?

There are several reasons, but, simply put, Zlatan physically plays in the Serie A, but spiritually exists in a league of his own making.

At Barcelona, where possession dominance is mandatory and diagonal movement a must, Zlatan was doomed to struggle. The Catalans construct a cacophony of creative chances with short passes to feet. They first slowly stretch and then surgically dissect defenses. This approach requires all the offensive players to move in sync. In this land of choreographed movement, the Swede stood out like the chubby girl in a third grade ballet production.

Yet Zlatan is not a chubby girl in third grade. And soccer is not a ballet production. At AC Milan, he has found his role – the soloist. Zlatan is no drummer, constantly banging and beating in sync with a bassist. Zlatan is no guitarist, his fingers nimbly plucking between solos and choruses. At times he appears a singer, especially when “bad mood” Zlatan shows up. But, at his heart, Zlatan is a saxophonist. Like John Coltrane, the background beat and bass melt out of your consciousness after hearing the first brilliant note. Pirlo? Robinho? Just hoof it to Zlat!

For his all his individual brilliance and the calcio resurrection, Zlatan still at times appears the right man in the wrong sport. One could envision the tall & lanky Swede at the top of a half pipe, trading trash talk with Shaun White before McTwisting into the frigid Colorado sky. Zlatan would be a power-server in the men’s tennis game, giving Andy Roddick a run for his money and then out-scowling Djovokic in the Aussie open final.

In the curious bio-dome of Italian football, Zlatan is a professional wrestler surrounded by aging athletes. With the interpersonal skills of the undertaker, the arm strength of Hulk Hogan, and the bipolar intensity of the Ultimate Warrior, he instantly breathes immediate life into an attack with a brilliant turn. And then deflates it will a misplayed pass or ill advised shot. Yet for every odd time he’s pinned, his opponent fears a folding chair body-slam the next time the two tango.

Zlat’s game is anti-Barcelona intellectual; the creative process, the impulsiveness, the spontaneity is the end in-and-of-itself. If David Villa can stand between central defenders, patiently counting off the seconds in await of Xavi’s inch perfect pass, Zlat will run down any half decent aerial pass over 35 feet. He’s basically the best English Premiership Player that is a) not English and b) Has never played in England.

History proves this. In Jose Mourinho’s first season at Inter, the bulking Swede carried Mancini’s leftover mercenaries to Serie A glory. He was crowned capocannoniere at season’s end. How did Mou repay Zlat for his services? He shipped him to Barcelona. Then, in the Champions League tie against Barca, Mou said Inter had improved by subtraction. Subtraction of Ibra. And, of course, Mou spied on a secret Pep-Ibra sideline chat. To the delight of all.

Of course, before the sale to Barca, Mou burned bridges with the Swede in perhaps the greatest schadenfraude soccer moment of the last decade. Inter had clinched the Serie A title before the last game of 08-09 season, so naturally the players celebrated the evening before the game. Zlat, presumably hungover, pleaded to be substituted off.  Mourinho, looking to forever end any prospect of a positive relationship, proceeded to sub off three players. One of the subs, Figo off to applause, kinda made sense. But the third sub, to the disgust of Ibra, smacked of bitter disdain – Mou subbed off the goalie for another goalie.

Despite the Mourinho and Barcelona snubs, Ibrahimovic has found his form and a welcoming home at Milan. Zlatan’s quick feet cause problems, but his most impressive weapon is the long-distance shot. If he were a Russian Csar, he would be “Zlat the Impaler” and his cavalry would carry the sharpest of spears. AC Milan fans fawn over his goal against Lecce, and Juventus fans will never forget his thunder strike vs. Benfica.

Since the retirement of Henrik Larsson, he has become the de facto face of Swedish soccer. As a child of immigrants, did he usher in a new era of multi-racial understanding? No. He’s just Zlat. Sweden failing to qualify for the 2010 World Cup also hurt the storyline, but Zlat continues to fill his trophy-case with annual “Best Swedish Player” awards. And, even ignoring the revoked Juventus Serie A titles, his success at club level speaks for itself.

So why, with all his accomplishments, do you feel unease or even dislike for Zlat? Are you victim to the intellectual monopoly of the Barcelona-collectivist-ideal, with no appreciation for dazzling individual play? Does he not fit on your assembly line of ten foot passes? Conversely, is Zlatan Ibrahimovic the Howard Roark of the individualist revolution, a flawed architect carrying the weight of those too silent to speak up?

I think you dislike Ibrahimovic because he kinda looks like a rooster. But nobody can deny that this Serie A season he’s been the cock of the wok.

Image Credits: Getty, AP

Digital Image Impressions: the very talented Erik Ebeling. Check out his other works and mad graphic design skills at ErikEbelingArt.com