animated marginalia

Thanks for your vote of confidence at least in my person if not in my people. See, your problem is that your Asian mind won't allow you to think like an Italian, and thus, you can't appreciate them or their bizarre (and sometimes corrupt) society. However, once you allow the chaos to reign (I mean, really, a government only lasts an average of a couple months before it's overthrown), you may begin to see the beauty in their sense of drama, their factions, and their ability, despite it all, to survive as a successful nation. It couldn't work anywhere else.

So, yes, they may add a bit of flair to their futbol and may be "embroiled in scandal and corruption," but somehow, they might just win. And that's why you have to love them. Italy somehow manages to come out on top. I'm not saying it makes sense - quite the contrary - but allowing it to not add up is how you learn to appreciate them.

Regardless, you have to admit that the footage of Roma at the Circo Massimo was rather moving...

...until the Gates of Hell opened. After that, a lot of the charm dissipated.

Oh, I must of missed the footage of the Vatican.

The Pope did say that he won either way. I guess we all just didn't understand what he meant. M. Luther's prophecy fulfilled. The mark of the beast shall be the 4-5-1.

Damn the dirty Italians. I almost rooted for Portugal today, just so the Final would be a somewhat interesting matchup of the two most whiny, dramatic, overexaggerating, diving floppers that I've seen. Their antics blemish the beautiful game.

I absolutely agree with Luther. It's impossible for me to respect or like the Italians due to the significant role of flopping and diving in their game. In fact, their theatrics are so ridiculous that I have difficulty feeling sorry for them if they are genuinely injured. After all, how would you know? They're dirty, through and through. So, I must go for the far more honest and hard working (if a little less exciting) Zidane and Henry.

no, you don't understand, Italians just have a really, really low pain threshold.

Rebekah, remember that Asian minds understood Italian ones for a brief moment in the 1940's. Or, at least until the Italians changed their minds and their government...

Really, all the flopping makes for something like a super fresh Italian sushi bar.

Compared to previous major tournaments, and Serie A on the whole, Italian flopping is remarkably low. The penalty vs. Australia was close, but about as debatable as the one Henry won today. I've watched each of Italy's matches this Cup and I don't think they've 'earned' the label of floppers/divers or resorted to an extraordinary amount of antics. And they're not even close to being as annoying as that one team we keep playing intramurals lately...

I lost my last shred of respect for Henry when he fell over after Puyol nudged him in the chest...and contributed to the GWG for France. He's got remarkable skill, but he whines an incredible amount about his own team, and the hypocrisy when he collapsed against Puyol rubs me raw. I like Zizou, but not nearly as much as Cannavaro, who's playing superb football. I root for the Azzurri Sunday. Take that, Chattanooga people.

All Italians are greasy divers.
Cannavaro has no hair. If he has no hair, then he cannot be greasy. If he is not greasy, he must not be Italian.
Thus, I may enjoy watching Cannavaro.

Statistics don't lie. (Thanks, Cassel-information).

Also, I've realized that when I'm completely honest with myself, it's not really about the kind of football anyone is playing. This is the freaking World Cup, and I want to cheer for something bigger. I want to cheer for a victory that will cause a developing country to erupt into a too-rare party, a war to cease, or reconciliation to occur. But, instead, I get to choose between France or Italy. Bah.

This is not the World Cup of which Bono spoke.

Weren't you cheering for the U.S.? or was it Germany...?

I've been trying to determine why I've become so fond of the Italians (other than the fact that Morris is sexually attracted to them, and I like to see my friends happy). Then I read today's Bill Simmons bit on the Cup, and I had my reason:

Everyone makes fun of the flopping, and it is hideous, but it's also funny as hell. These guys drop like they were gunned down by a sniper, then they roll around for 10 seconds in absolute agony, heroically hop up and limp around to "shake it off," and within 30 seconds they're running full speed again. Even Ric Flair didn't sell pain so well.

We may argue over whether the Italians are the most egregious practitioners of the flop, but they are without question the funniest. When they fall down, they look like the victims of a back-alley mugging -- victims that somehow know exactly where the nearest ref is standing. They are gloriously, shamelessly tawdry. I'm pretty sure that one of them was yellow-carded this week for falling down when no one was around him. (The reason for this behavior is actually fairly simple: the Azzurri rely on a conservative offensive scheme that requires a considerable amount of free and corner kicks to create any scoring opportunities.) They implement a slave morality, a perpetual victimization, into their strategy. They win by losing. And there's something both clever and ridiculous about it. It's sort of endearing in its sordor.

So rooting for the Italians, in closing, is like rooting for Fredo in the second Godfather. But who else are you going to pull for?

David Hirshey makes my case with far more eloquence here.

The more I think about this, the more I am convinced that the Azzurri are simply the best footballers I have seen in this Cup. They win with suberb, stifling defense and clever manipulation of the doltish referees. They play the most energetic brand of ball this side of the Argentinians. And perhaps most importantly, they have not relied upon the supremely unfair crutch of post-overtime shootouts to advance.

No, they are not lovable. But the Italians do not need your love. They do not even want your love. They want to grind you into a paste and wipe your effluvia onto the pitch.

I have no idea why I am writing about this. I don't even like soccer very much. High time to return to my Ian McEwan novels and other things that matter to my soul.

But remember my words when the Italians kick French ass on Sunday.

Ah, mesh, I think you've hit upon it now in passing. The Italians play soccer like a Nietzschian language game. I like clever, or honest, or beautiful, but not Nietzsche. Machavelli's grave just flowered.

I knew the French would find a way to defeat themselves... at least they don't have to worry about Lance beating them again this year in the Tour. That might be a little too much for their socialist hearts to bear....

Incidentally... Machiavelli is my hero.