Yet oftentimes fate conspires against them, just as it does against us. And we often overreact; we cross the line between discerning fan and hateful lunatic. And that’s why the Scott Baio Anti-Defamation League has obtained an immediate order from a magistrate judge that compels you to cease ridiculing Player W.

Still, how did it come to this?

Player W was quite the youth soccer prospect! The entire country was abuzz as Player W shone brightly at the World Cup tournament for youths his age. Player W smiled, Player W dribbled quite well, Player W even scored timely goals. All the major clubs wanted his signature, but Player W chose a team where he could break the starting eleven and “get games.” We deemed this a prudent move by Player W. Game experience would help him develop, we reasoned.

Yet Player W, after only a handful of bright seasons at up and coming club, then signed for established and legitimate contender club. You were at first excited – surely big club would push Player W to a new level of greatness. The coaches, the teammates, the competition – everything lined up for excellence. You were sad when Player W did not immediately start, but figured he had to bide his time, pay his dues, impress the coach, and earn the respect of teammates. His time would come, we thought.

Weeks turned months turned to years. Our attention drifted elsewhere. When the World Cup came around and he got called up, you had forgotten that he was even alive. Really? You thought. Folks considered Player W to be a mercenary. People said he only cared about getting paid. Pundits questioned his love of the sport. The bright and dashing young boy had grown into a man, but outside of our eyesight. The scarecrows’ feet left track marks on the side of his face, but we hadn’t seen him kick a ball in ages.

As the magistrate’s order makes clear, the term “mercenary” is in fact a criminal term and thus per se libelous slander. The terms “wanker” and “hack” are negative, but generally do not give rise to a similar claim. Thus, the scope of the order does not prevent you from calling Player W either of those terms. However, the Scott Baio Anti-Defamation League (SBADL) strongly urges you to reconsider your choice of words. Things have changed.

Player W has left large & contender club for a mid-sized team. Player W is playing soccer regularly. Player W has even put in a few decent performances. Player W is already acutely aware of the missteps and pitfalls of his past. Player W has lost his youth, and doesn’t need or deserve to be reminded of it at every turn.

Thus, the SBADL expects your full compliance with the magistrate’s order. They also hope that, before the next derisory comment, you will think about your own life’s mistakes and the pitfalls of fate. Player W deserves just as much empathy.

Elliott’s soccer eBook, An Illustrated Guide to Soccer & Spanish, is on sale for under $5 at Amazon for a limited time. Check it out here.

For various reasons, the pasillos between Barcelona and Real Madrid have been few and far apart. The two teams normally race neck-and-neck until late into the La Liga season, and thus have already played one another twice before the champion is determined mathematically. Thus, their consistent duopoly in accumulating points prevents either one from having to honor the other.

Except, of course, for a few remarkable seasons.

1988: a Fond Farewell to the Quinta del Buitre

In 1988, a glorious era was coming to a close for Real Madrid. The club’s cantera had produced a fine crop of star players. Key players included the Quinta del Buitre (“The Vulture’s Cohort”): Emilio Butragueno, nicknamed el Buitre (“The Vulture”), Manolo Sanchis, Martin Vazquez, Michel, and Miguel Pardeza. Spearheading the attack was Mexican legend Hugo Sanchez. The team played an aggressive and physical game – think Mourinho’s tackling meets Pep’s pressing high up the pitch. The team won five La Ligas, two UEFA Cups, and Hugol won 5 pichichis as the top scorer in the league.

On April 30th, 1988, at the Nou Camp, Barcelona’s players formed a pasillo to greet the La Liga champions onto the field. In terms of the actual game, Buitre didn’t feature in Madrid’s team, Dutchman Leo Beenhakker was Real’s coach, and Barcelona won 2-0 thanks to a goal from Englishman Gary Lineker and an own-goal by Manolo Sanchis.  Still, though, it was a bitter taste for Cules – they had won a battle but lost the war.

In the grand scheme of things, though, invisible plates had started to shift. Real’s team dominated domestically, but never managed to win the Champion’s League. The bright and bustling Quinta del Buitre increasingly showed signs of age, while Johan Cruyff would soon return to Barcelona and re-make the roster in his brilliant image. For Real Madrid, the pasillo was a parting wave to a generation adored by blanquillos. Barcelona may have la Masia, but Real also lived a successful period thanks to a fertile cantera (“Youth academy”). In a few years time, though, the tables would turn definitively.

1991: the Dream Team Draws First Blood

It did not take Johan Cruyff long to turn Barcelona into winners. He signed several fantastic foreign players, such as Ronald Koeman and Michael Laudrup. The Dream Team also featured several star Spanish players, like Josep Guardiola, Jose Mari Bakerao, and Txiki Begiristain. Their first title was a Copa del Rey in 1990, and they then won four consecutive La Ligas from 1991 to 1994. The Dream team’s most famous moment, though, was their European Cup victory in 1992 at Wembley. An iconic image for all Cules is Ronald Koeman’s celebratory hug -  shirtless, he jumped into the arms of a nearby assistant, overcome with joy. He had scored the Cup-winning goal with one of his trademark free kicks.

In June 1991, the sky was the limit for Barcelona. The roster brimmed with talent, and the Copa del Rey and recent La Liga had instilled in Cruyff’s side the confidence of a champion. The Dutchman’s trench coat on the sideline was a calming presence. Josep Guardiola was the metronome in midfield. Ronald Koeman, nicknamed the Floquet de Neu after the Barcelona Zoo’s albino gorilla, provided long-range passing from the center back position. Michael Laudrup was a fluid midfielder that created goals almost at will.

Cruyff’s team reflected his cerebral approach to the game – they confidently passed sideways and backwards, snaking the ball around the field. On that hot summer day in June, Real, playing at home, formed a pasillo to greet the Champions onto the Bernabeu field. The merengues, coached by Radomir Antic, played a cautious game, nicked a goal from Adolfo Aldana, and miraculously managed a clean sheet. Still, the writing was on the wall – a new era of Barcelona dominance was merely beginning.

2008: the Second Salvo of the Dutch Dynamos

Many Barcelona fans love to reminisce about Ronaldinho’s smile & Frank Rijkaard’s stylish locks, but gloss over their nasty divorce from the club. After Barcelona’s 4-0 loss to Milan in the 1994 European Cup, the team fell into a bit of a tailspin by their standards. A decade later, Rijkaard righted the ship, Dinho turned on the style points, and the team returned to European glory in 2006. Yet problems arose soon thereafter.

Ronaldinho’s love for the nightlife soon turned into a lack of motivation. On the field, his lengthy dribbling runs turned into extended walk-abouts. He fell out with Rijkaard, but no ready replacement existed. Brazilian play-maker Deco also went on a mysterious and extended injury leave. Many speculated that the departure of iron-fisted Henk Ten Cate had left the laid back Dutchman with no respected enforcer. As the late Gary Speed said, “hard work beats talent that doesn’t work hard.” The Cules oozed talent but lacked dedication. Barcelona soon shipped Dinho to AC Milan and Frank left the club in 2008.

Given the duopoly of La Liga, when one club struggles, the other profits. Real capitalized on Barcelona’s dip to win consecutive La Ligas. For the first title, Real Madrid hired Italian disciplinarian Fabio Capello to bring order to a talented but rowdy roster. He immediately dropped Beckham, and regularly played two holding midfielders: veteran Brazilian Emerson and fiercely combative Mahamadou Diarra. Up front, Ruud and Raul formed a thunder & lightning partnership. Real won La Liga with brutal efficiency, but Capello was sacked for lacking style.

That summer, the club brought in Dutch coach Bernd Schuster, and also Dutch players Arjen Robben and Wesley Schneijder. With a creative play-maker and dynamic winger, they won La Liga handily. On May 7, 2008, Barcelona formed a pasillo to welcome the champions onto the Bernabeu field. Unlike past pasillo-clasicos, the champions actually won the game. Real dominated Barcelona to the tune of 4-1. Still, despite a roster of very good players, uneasiness permeated the blanquillo fan base. Two consecutive La Ligas was a decent run for any team. Except Real Madrid.

Pep Guardiola would soon take over Barcelona, leading them to great success, and that May 7th game probably remains the sweetest taste in a merengue mouth since.

Elliott’s soccer eBook, An Illustrated Guide to Soccer & Spanish, is available on the Amazon Kindle for only $5.99. Check out a free preview here.

Just like in the case of Player Y.

Do you remember when Player Y scored that wonder goal against heated rival in his senior team debut? Sure, Player Y had scored quite a few goals at the youth level – an ungodly amount, truth be told – but nobody anticipated he would put his best foot so far forward so fast. It seemed like all the Angels had congregated on a single cloud, leaned down toward the Earth, extended their fingers to his forehead, and touched Player Y with an infinite amount of talent.

But God had other plans. Defenses caught onto his direct approach. Player Y never quite mastered the art of passing to teammates or shooting from distance. Defenses backed off and, with no space to run into, Player Y plodded aimlessly instead of plowing through opponents. He ended his first season with a double digit tally of goals, but April and May were barren months. Still, we held out hope.

Then came the injuries. Toes. Knees. Ankles. Metatarsals. Despite being only twenty something, his body mirrored an American car at the 150,000 mile mark. Some cruel devil had prematurely spun Player Y’s body’s odometer during his sleep, and the tires couldn’t stand the slightest of kicks. He handled the recovery poorly. He blamed his team’s medical staff. he lashed out at reporters who questioned his commitment. As the limelight veered away from him, he struggled in the shadows.

Player Y eventually moved to a foreign league. Then, after a few years, he returned to a quality European league but signed for a mid-table club. He never warmed up to his peripheral role as club ambassador/elder statesman/super sub. He scored some goals in worthless cup matches, but was restricted to five minute run-abouts in games even remotely important. His mind melted. He cut his hair. Crow’s feet appeared on the side of his face overnight. He talked about maybe coaching someday.

Yet in an old chest in the attic of your parents’ house, Player Y’s poster rests. Mothballs ward off intruders, paper turns yellow, and dust gathers, but his smiling face recalls a fall full of possibilities and a spring of discontent. Your heart beats, your eyelids flutter, but your mouth inadvertently emits a sigh and a cough. Whoa.

Images: Copyright NBC Broadcasting, Inc.

We can never turn back the pages of history to correct the sinking popularity of acting genius Gerard Depardieu. We can never re-write the critical reviews which widely panned Green Card, perhaps the greatest and most accurate immigrant love story of all time. But we can draw your attention to the fact that Gerard, after a personal request, did provide the dubbed French voice of John Travolta in the 1981 film Blowout. You probably didn’t know that before. And now you do. And that’s an important first step.

In terms of soccer, many steps need to be taken. Thus, we have formed a society to sing the praises of players who likewise will be or have been slighted by history. And today we sing the prose equivalent of a melancholic tune for X Player.

Remember when we were young, and X player was just starting his career? Nobody really fathomed just how fantastic X player would be. In fact, very few people even knew of X player. Then X Player got a call up to the national team, and he had that really memorable game in a World Cup Qualifier at home against small-developing country-nation. Sigh. Then, all of a sudden X Player was all over the sports periodicals. But you and I knew first. We had the poster in our wall months before sports periodical featured X Player on their cover. It’s still there. The poster that is.

From that moment on, X Player rode a wave of confidence at small club and scored some great goals. And in January of that ever important “turning-the-corner year” he was signed by  big club. However, X Player rubbed the manager the wrong way. X Player kinda struggled to adapt to being a medium-sized fish in a big pond. X Player rode too much pine at first for his liking. We saw more of X Player in the poster on our wall than on the television. We were sad.

But then big club fired the manager. Big club failed to win any meaningful trophies, and it was all the manager’s fault. Big club hired a new manager with new ideas and novel tactics and who wanted a whole new attitude. During pre-season, we watched the new attitude big club play friendlies in America and Asia. And X Player scored a ton of goals, especially against the internationally respected & feared Columbus Crew. Our heads floated. Expectations soared.

X Player played several fruitful seasons for big club, scoring some big goals but also evolving into a dependable two-way player. Big club never won the league, but did win a handful of cups and consistently qualified for European competition. Eventually, a younger and cockier player forced X Player out. X player lingered for a few seasons as a veteran-locker-room-guy, but you could see the disappointment in his eyes every time he didn’t start. He hated watching games from the bench. In his token ten-minute cameo appearances he looked lost, lost like a deer in front of an oncoming semi at night.

X Player may now be retired and spending time with his wife and kids, but he will always live on in our hearts. X Player may never have his name etched in stone on the Acropolis, but it shall appear in these hallowed online pages of the Gerard Depardieu Society Historical Re-Collection Archives. And it shall remain here for all eternity or when we stop paying server hosting fees, whichever comes first.

What is your favorite moment from X Player’s storied career? Really? I, of course, also recall that moment, but personally prefer an earlier moment from a game you might not have seen due to your being an inferior fan. The moment’s significance was probably lost on you, due also to you being an inferior fan. But it’s okay – reading this blog is an important first step to being a less inferior fan.

And we will always share our love of X Player, even if my love and appreciation are superior on several levels.

Elliott’s soccer eBook, An Illustrated Guide to Soccer & Spanish, is available on the Amazon Kindle for only $5.99. Check out a free sample here.

1962 World Cup Quarterfinal: England vs. Brazil & the “Pretty Woman Pup”

Chile hosted this World Cup, eventually won by a great Brazil side featuring both Pele and Garrincha. In the quarterfinals, though, the England and Brazil game was interrupted by a young black Labrador. The Lab managed to elude several players, until England player Jimmy Greaves got down on all fours and lured the pup close enough to grab. Jimmy got hold of the dog, but the puppy urinated all over the Englishman.

Then, to make matters worse, Pele and Garrincha figuratively took the piss out of England 3 goals to 1. Regardless, Garrincha ended up with the pitch invasion dog as his pet. Ruy Castro, in Garrincha: The Triumph & Tragedy of Brazil’s Forgotten Footballing Hero, explained that the referee took the dog and raffled it off to the Brazilian squad.

1991 Copa Libertadores Final: Boca Jr.s’ goalie meets a law & order canine.

Chilean super club Colo-Colo faced a daunting task in the second leg of the semi-finals of the Copa Libertadores: they had lost the first leg away to Boca Jrs. by 1-0. But could they become the first Chilean club side in history to advance to the final of South America’s top club competition? Yes. They ended up winning 3-1.

But the scars run much deeper. During the inevitable pitch invasion by elated Chilean fans, the police kept tabs on….Boca Jrs players. Ron, one of the police dogs, nipped the Boca Jrs. keeper Carlos Navarro Montoya in the rear-end. Carlos was nicknamed “el mono”, and Ron became famous around Chile as “el perro que mordio un mono.” Colo Colo fans erected a statute in his honor and there is a Facebook page dedicated to his legacy.

Still, recent history has been less kind to pooches on the pitch. While Garrincha adopted the dog that peed on the Englishman and Colo Colo fans celebrated Ron, recent Copa Americas have been plagued by stray dog sightings. Like a shooting star, these sightings enrich the atmosphere of the event yet leave us begging for more. Here are some recent ones….

2004 Copa America: Mexico vs. Ecuador – “The Inevitable”

We saw this one coming. Peru has ceviche, delicious ceviches, but also thousands of dog bites and dog attacks each year. In a group stage game between Mexico and Ecuador, which el Tri won 2-1, the Miguel Grau Stadium of Piura witnessed a slightly less shocking event: a canine pitch invasion.

Many have already forgotten Adolfo Bautista’s game-winning goal that ensured Mexico’s classification for the next round. Quite a few recall Mexico’s earlier shocking victory 1-0 over Argentina. But nobody will forget this glorious mutt’s carefree attitude, tongue waving as if to say “Michael Jordan don’t have jack on me.”

2011 Copa America: Brazil vs. Venezuela – “The Cultured Canine”

Tango. Borges. Julio Sosa. Carlos Gardel. Astor Piazolla. Patito Feo. El Obelisco. Argentina has offered so much to the cultural enrichment of the world, that everybody held high expectations for the 2011 Copa America. Despite the the rioting at the Monumental less than a week before the tournament, everybody knew that Argentina would put on a show. We just didn’t know how soon.

In the very first round of play, a canine invaded the pitch during the Brazil-Venezuela game. The dog managed to attract the attention of both Julio Cesar, Daniel Alves, and Venezuela’s goalkeeper. Impressive.

We begin with your puzzled, fundamental question: after Best, Pele, Maradonna, why Davids? I have two questions for you, dear reader. Would you ask a chameleon his true color? Is a Zebra black with white stripes, or vice versa? Edgar Davids’ career captivated me for one simple reason – I could never pin him as a ballwinner with the occasional nice pass, nor the attacking midfielder who tracked back consistently. Rather, Edgar’s identity shifted course like an underwater river in the face of subtly moving tectonic plates – he was what his team needed him to be, when they needed him to be it. Often, his identity depended on the match.

With the flowing dreadlocks and protective goggles due to glaucoma, Edgar Davids may be the most recognizable footballer of the nineties this side of Alexi Lalas. Edgar began his career at Ajax, where, nicknamed “the Pitbull” by Louis Van Gaal, he won three Dutch domestic titles.

Davids also had success on the European stage. Ajax won the UEFA Cup in 1992, and went to back-to-back Champions league finals in 1995 and 1996. In 1995, they took home the trophy, but 1996 was unquestionably a lowpoint for the high flying Dutchman. Entrusted to take the opening penalty kick, Davids failed to convert his effort.

Scratch that – he failed in absolutely miserable fashion. His stutter steps failed to unbalance the keeper, his eyes broadcasted his shot, his effort lacked pace, and, to top it off, was struck right at the goalie. See for yourself…

His miss was the first domino in a wave of nerves as Ajax folded and Juventus claimed the crown. Davids would soon move to Italy and sign for AC Milan. However, due to limited playing time, in the winter of 1997, he would transfer to the Old Lady.

Lippi would call Davids his “one man engine room,” and Juventus would win the Serie A titles in 1998, 2002, and 2003. Still, it was not all roses. Davids tested positive for a performance enhancing drug in 2001 and served a suspension. In 2003, his Juventus would face AC Milan in the final of the Champions League. The game would go 120 minutes without a goal, but the Rossoneri would prevail in spotkicks. Once again for Edgar, it was a sad case of seeing the summit on a clear day, but only arriving just out of reach.

Edgar was loaned to Barcelona for the 2004 season, and encountered a team that was a pale shadow of its former self. Still, the Pitbull, Ronaldinho, and Javier Saviola, under the tutelage of Frank Rijkaard, finished second in La Liga that season and ushered in a renaissance.

But Edgar would play no part in the coming trophy triumphs. Instead, after his one year loan ended, Juventus shipped him to purgatory – Inter Milan. He failed to stake out a starting place, and soon was transferred to a league ideally suited to his physical style of play: the Premiership. There was just one problem: the Pit Bull was no longer a pup.

He played a strong supporting role in the Spurs consecutive 5th season places, but failed to dazzle and currently finds himself in the malebolgic realm of Qattar and MLS offers. A man of fierce tackling but quiet dignity, he has elected to remain club less.

But the story of Edgar cannot and should not end with only his playing exploits. As the sentinel face of Nike’s entry into footballing territory, Davids graced our TV screens in various forms, some good, some…not so good. While I am not categorically opposed to basketball-soccer crossovers, Good Heavens this ad turned out poor…

Does anybody else think Edgar Davids could find stiffer athletic competition than a bunch of part time-And 1-dreamers? And they probably had little-to-no soccer experience. Still, the Dutchman had silky footskills and his dreads and tackles paved the path for a certain blossoming Brazilinho.

When we view Alfredo Di Stefano in his current state at public events, we are reminded that the uncompromising currents of time leave no shore untouched. Di Stefano, the “Golden Arrow” from Argentina, was once the physical embodiment of footballing perfection. His tandem with Puskas inspired fear, respect, and admiration around the world. And the two of them led Real Madrid to unparalleled heights of glory.

The darkest chapter of Di Stefano’s career was the opening page. At the time of his signing, Franco ruled Spain with an iron fist and put in place machinations to ensure his centrally based Real Madrid got preferential treatment when possible. Initially, Di Stefano was recruited by Barcelona, but the Catalan side soon backed down. Exactly how or why remains a mystery, but even the dark fog of such inauspicious beginnings could not cloud his entire career.

Di Stefano’s career stats put modern footballers to shame. The Golden Arrow scored 216 goals in 282 league matches, a great strike rate and best for second all time on Real Madrid’s hall of fame (after Raul). He also formed a lethal strike partnership with Ferenc Puskas. The two of them combined like pasta and marinara sauce, producing stunning goals from moments of individual and intuitive brilliance.

While Di Stefano favored his right foot for shooting (and scored the majority of his goal low and to the keeper’s left), he was the original two-footed dribbler. He also used both sides of both feet, and his experimentation with heel passes set the stage for later taconitos. In sum, he was an innovator on the field who dazzled defenses and fans with pivots, feints, and incredible balance.

While Puskas had the shooting preferences of a stationary sniper, Di Stefano was a gracefully stampeding commando, seemingly able to pull the strigger at any angle in full stride. And his shots on the trot were no (fat) Ronaldo far post toe pokes – they usually carried enough mustard to cover a Big Mac.

And the trophy case? I think you mean “cases”. He won the European championship in 5 consecutive seasons, 8 La Liga titles, and the Pichichi top scorer crown 5 times.

This is my favorite Di Stefano homage video – you will enjoy it even if you don’t speak Spanish.

For all the fuss over modern players switching countries, Di Stefano played for Argentina, Colombia, and Spain. While his national team(s) success never reached his blanquillo heights, he did win a South American championship with Argentina. He never participated in a World Cup.

After his playing days, Di Stefano had successful spells coaching Boca Jrs. and River Plate, winning titles with both teams but in different decades. He also managed Valencia to a La Liga title.

Di Stefano admitted that Diego Maradonna had superior technical skills, although Dieguito asserted that “I don’t know if I was a better player than Pelé, but I can say without any doubt that di Stéfano was better than Pelé.” I place Pele and Diego above Di Stefano, but he and George Best occupy a second pedestal for mortals with feet touched by the divine.

]]> http://www.futfanatico.com/2009/12/08/great-and-not-great-alfredo-di-stefano/feed/ 3 http://www.futfanatico.com/2009/12/01/great-and-not-great-eric-cantona/ http://www.futfanatico.com/2009/12/01/great-and-not-great-eric-cantona/#comments Tue, 01 Dec 2009 13:18:02 +0000 Elliott http://futfanatico.com/?p=1899 Continue reading →]]> Like George Best, Eric Cantona made his name at Manchester United as a gifted yet volatile winger with a pension for uttering quotable phrases. While Eric never equaled the individual exploits of Best, he did write his own chapter as a fan favorite.He also won several trophies and ushered in a new era of Manchester United dominance.

Like all heroes though, he had an Achille’s heel. Cantona’s temper got him into trouble, but his quick tongue almost always disarmed the most stern of sensible defenses. His career lowpoint was a highpoint was a lowpoint. And gave way to one of King Eric’s most infamous quotes. Eric the King? A stretch. But most definitely Eric the Infinitely Quotable.

When Eric came to Manchester United, the Red Devils were a far cry from the current trophy-laden kings of England. He had won titles in France. He also had played a supporting role in Leed’s Premiership  campaign before being signed by Sir Alex for the modest fee of 1.2 million pounds.

The Scot knew of the frenchman’s history, including bustups with teammates at Montpellier of the French first division. Eric had fallen out with the chairman at Marseille, yet made the move to England on the basis of advice from his psychoanalyst. Still, for every quirk, Eric had an infectious cockiness to his personality and play. It was a calculated gamble, and one that paid rich dividends.

Cantona’s first memorable performance in a red shirt came away against Spurs in the 92-93 season, when he scored a goal and also created a dizzying array of changes for teammates. Still, his mercurial form mirrored his volatile temperament. In a rematch against Leeds, he spat at a fan and was fined.

Still, United went on to win the inaugural Premiership trophy. They also won the title in 1994, although for all his trophies, Cantona continued to display a contempt for disciplinary rules and regulations. He was sent off various times in his United career, although the creme de la kicking-creme occurred in 1995.

Against Crystal Palace, Cantona took issue with some physical defending and launched a savage revenge kick on a defender. He was dutifully shown red, but as he walked off the pitch, a taunting fan got under his skin. Cantona’s reaction? Anything but kingly…

While most players would duck out before the game’s completion, Cantona had a love/hate relationship cultivated with the media. On the one hand, he basked in the camera’s flashing affections. On the other hand, he got annoyed. And never more so when he uttered…

Eric’s remark left the journalists amused and tongue-tied. He also never softened his stance, later remarking in life that his fondest memory was “kicking that hooligan.” Still, despite the modern day image of Cantona “the recalcitrant media cowboy”, we shouldn’t forget his footballing skills.

Eric won over the hearts of Manchester United fans with his renegade attitude, neat flicks, and mesmerizing goals. While mercurial, Eric’s strongest trait was an acute awareness of the opposing goalkeeper. Unlike Best or Pele, Cantona rarely daringly dribbled into a bee’s hive, but his calculated chips from distance surprised and embarrassed many a goalkeeper.

Cantona served a 9 month ban from football, but Sir Alex stood by the mercurial Frenchman. And his faith was rewarded in that memorable 95-96 season. United trailed Newcastle by 10 points at Christmas, but Cantona provided the goalscoring edge for a youthful United side that claimed the Premiership title.

His redemption came full circle in the FA Cup final, when Cantona captained United to a memorable victory over Liverpool. Cantona scored the match winner in spectacular volley, catching David James off his line after a corner kick….

The following year, Cantona captained United to another EPL title. However, the Frenchman felt his time had come, and announced his retirement from the game at age 30. He dabbled in the media, landing a part in the film Elizabeth and doing those atrocious jogabonito commercials. Although the demon chest-crushing commercial was acceptable.

Recently, in the wake of France’s qualification, Cantona criticized Henry not so much for his handball, but for attempting to comfort an Irish player afterward. Cantona boldly stated that if he had been that Irish player, a physical affray would have ensued. And  given the king’s checkered past, few would doubt him.

Writing a piece on George Best is both a rite of passage and a baptism of fire. On the one hand, the iconic star provides plenty of fodder on and off the field. From his spectacular goals to pop-star status to losing battle with alcoholism, the facts jump off the screen. On the other hand, anybody who is not nobody knows something cooler about George Best than you and will make sure to flaunt it.

But I love this topic, this character, this legend, so please, if you know any cool quotes or facts, pretty please comment. Flaunt to your heart’s content. George Best is a treasure trove for all futfanaticos, a chest unfortunately kept under lock and key in comparison with other greats.

George Best was the “boy from Belfast,” the pop-star footballer before Posh Spice’s parents conceived of conceiving. George Best was the “fifth beatle,” the man with the thousand legs and a thousand and one moves. But above all, when sober, George Best was a charmer. In this interview where he announced his second (short-lived) retirement from football, his candor, dirt brown hair, and blueish-green eyes grab hold of you gaze and never let go.

A charmer off the field, Best also wove spells on it. He mesmerized female teenyboppers and defenders alike. He started his career with Manchester United under the tutelage of Matt Busby, where he led the Premiership in scoring for six straight seasons. Along the way, he picked up a handful of EPL championships and a European cup.

Matt Busby said of his star player – “He was able to use either foot. Sometimes it seemed he had six.” In Northern Ireland, the popular refrain goes “Maradonna good, Pele better, George Best.” The most important title of his club career came in the 1968 European Cup final against Benfica, in which United dominated the Lisbon-side. Here is a neat little goal…

The goal epitomizes all of Best’s best qualities as a player – two footed, excellent timing, and an uncanny awareness of the goalkeeper. My favorite aspect of George’s game was his shiftiness in the box, using a stutter step or shoulder-fake to send a keeper to his knees. And all at breakneck speed.

Here is my favorite compilation of Best goals. Pour a cup of coffee, turn down the volume on the video, and enjoy. And keep track of how many times he bamboozles the keeper with a shoulder or hip fake. Priceless.

For all the success Best had on the field, he jumped head-first into celebritydom. Yet a tension existed between Best the soccer player and Best the model. He once said, very tongue and cheek, “If I’d been born ugly, you’d never heard of Pele.” For a wonderful collection of magazine pics of Best the playboy, visit this OriginalWinger article.

After Busby’s retirement, Best’s attitude and playboy lifestyle created a carousel of managers. Nobody could focus his talents, and the unscheduled absences grated on the coaches and teammates alike. Eventually, he left the Red Devils for a short spell at Fulham. He then announced his premature retirement from the game.

Best did not stay retired for long, eventually moving to the North American Soccer League. Contrary to popular opinion, he did have a few productive season in the United States. He also scored a spectacular goal for the San Jose Earthquakes.

The Spanish word for a sharp cut is “enganchar.” And in that sequence, Best crowned himself king of the cut or “enganchon.” Granted, the Yank defending was poor, but he had done similar feats across the Atlantic. Despite continued professional success, his increasingly turbulent personal life soon eclipsed his sporting career. He eventually retired, but never fully left the public eye.

Rumors swirled about problems with substance abuse, and a series of drunken public appearances confirmed the obvious – Best had a drinking problem.

In 2001, he would undergo a life-saving liver transplant. Sadly, he would not seek treatment for his addiction and soon fell victim to the same vice. Three years later,  Best would ultimately succumb to liver failure.

The public outrage over the transplants reflect a gross oversimplification of alcoholism as autonomous choice. This Psychology Today article concisely sums up the scientific understanding – alcoholism is a disease like depression or ptsd, although Best must accept some responsibility for not seeking professional treatment. Sadly, the bottle also took a toll on his immediate family.

I will now stepdown from my pulpit. For all his vices and devices, Best provided moments of sheer footballing brilliance. He captivated and inspired the public eye, setting the stage for today’s generation of pop-star soccer players. He said of David Beckham “He (Beckham) cannot kick with his left foot, he cannot head a ball, he cannot tackle and he doesn’t score many goals. Apart from that he’s all right.”

Best did have kinder words for Cristiano Ronaldo. “There have been a few players described as the new George Best over the years, but this is the first time it’s been a compliment to me.” And sure enough, Ronaldo would be the one to break Best’s winger scoring record.

But what Best had which neither Beckham nor Ronaldo can offer was an uncanny wit and sarcasm. When asked to reflect on his career, Best remarked “I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered.”

Has any other player been so frustratingly brilliant as Zinedine Zidane? The Frenchman kept a quiet private life to his credit, but his transgressions on the pitch alternate between a rap sheet and a rhapsody. His feet could take down a 40 yard pass like a feather, yet in the blink of an eye bludgeon a Saudi player. Genius, yes. But deviant. Devlishly deviant.

Zinedine Zidane, known as “Zizou,” the French-born son of Algerian immigrants, plied his trade in France and Italy, making his name at Juventus, where his dizzying roulettes dazzled the catenaccio faithful. And his play for the French (les bleus) captivated a nation and a world.

In the World Cup final of 1998, at the Stade de France in Paris, Zidane, at the modest age of 26, carried the weight of a nation on his shoulders. France had never won the World Cup. Yet here they were, at home, in the final against the most successful national team in the history of the sport: Brazil. From the present, we view the past as preordained, prewritten, predestined. That night in Paris, Zizou made history.

France beat Brazil 3-0 with two goals from Zidane. Granted, both goals came courtesy of slack marking on setpieces, but Zizou had the composure to carefully remove the wrapping paper from the gift. How many lesser men would have skied their pointblank headers?

Still, the victory could not wash away the stains of his stomp against Saudi Arabia.

The world had its footballing genius, but he was tightly wound. Zidane´s vision and touch cloaked a hidden talent - balance. For Zizou, balance was more than equilibrium – it was aggression. His famous roulette often began as a hipcheck against opposing defenders – freezing them a split second as he slid past them.

In 2000, Zidane would lead France to European glory over Italy. While Terezeguet got the gamewinning goal, Zizou box-to-box performance earned accolades galore.

Zidane, like Pele and Maradonna, possessed the quality to make every other player on his team better – he could dominate a match without taking a single shot on goal. Madrid, in the first Galacticos era, could hardly write a big enough check to sign him, setting a world transfer record at the time.

Zidane would replay Perez with the sweetest of volleys – a moment of brilliance in an otherwise messy of a match. And Real would crown themselves king of Europe.

Due to injury, Zidane played no part in France´s disasterous first round exit from the World Cup in 2002. Zidane would return to win La Liga with Madrid in 2003, but eventually the galactico´s experiment would implode. In 2006, Zizou announced his retirement from football after the World Cup.

Things started poorly – Zidane was suspended for the last group stage match due to yellow cards, but France still qualified for the knockout rounds with a 2-0 victory over Togo. In the outrounds, a determined and rested Zidane returned to reclaim his throne. In style.

Against Spain, Zizou capitalized a 3-1 comeback by wrongfooting world class defender Carlos Puyol and  goalkeeper Casillas. Cheeky? Yes, by the boatloads.

In the quarterfinals, Zidane and France faced a familiar foe: Brazil. Still, it was the verdeamarela who left the field mesmerized by Zidane, whom Pele called a “magician” for his performance. France won 1-0, with a Henry goal assisted by Zidane. But that doesn´t tell half the story…

Have you ever stopped to ask: what if Hans Solo had never returned to shoot down Darth Vader´s ship and enable Luke to blow up the original Death Star? Or better yet, do you remember the anticipation which filled your heart and mind upon seeing the first Star Wars Prequel trailer? And then the dread, when, ten minutes into the film, you realized Jajar was not going anywere?

Dashed hopes. Broken dreams. Rarely can you point to the exact moment when a player declines, rarely is the fall so precipitous. Yet Zizou played the part of McBeth, setting the stage for a Greek drama where Achilles shoots his own heel.

France eaked by a physical Portugal side and traded blows with Italy in the final. After a 1-1 end to regulation, the two sides appeared destined for penalty kicks until a Zidane header forced a brilliant reaction save from Buffon. Could France when it? Just when your hopes raised up, a moment of insanity followed…

Italy would win on penalty kicks, with David Trezeguet hitting the post. After the match, the media feasted on Materazzi. The presshounds latched onto the tatooed Italian central defender – the tagline read “what did he say to provoke Zidane?” Provoke. Taunt. The reaction could not be Zidane´s fault, could it?

The media speculated that Materazzi insulted Zidane with an ethnic slur, but the Italian cleared (?) his name with a run-of-the-mill sister insult. Despite the terrible ending, Zidane was voted player of the tournament. Zidane apologized to “the children,” but never reconciled with Materazzi.

Zidane has done charity work in Algeria and currently has a consultant (read: PR monkey in suit) position at Madrid. He has speculated as to becoming technical director, but fails to meet the job description – yelling at Perez that he´s spending too much money and then dodging various airborne objects such as chairs and/or plates.

Despite his current humble trappings, Zidane´s career left a dizzying mix of manic highs and soul crushing lows. And I count myself grateful for having seen it, breathed it, and lived it as it happened.