pastiche

To act without clear understanding; To form habits without investigation; To follow a path all one’s life without knowing where it really leads; Such is the behavior of the multitude -
Meng-Tse (370 BC)

No way Jose II 

For the sports cognoscenti, there are marquee moments that define every competition.
Not those boringly repetitive, anti-climatic trophy ceremonies; but those instants, when the course of the struggle is altered and the final outcome set.
For Ali versus Foreman in Zaire, it was a quick combination on the fifth- a short left and a huge right that send the spray flying from Foreman’s face – the kind of punch that resembles quick bank interest; For Michael Jordan and the 1991 Bulls-  it was an MJ drive down the lane in Game 2; when the man elevated for a right-handed dunk and mid-air, switched and dunked with his left, as the hapless Magic-led Lakers looked on; In the 1997 Masters, it was a shot – a 15 foot birdie putt that had green jacket written all over it, at ‘Amen Corner’ that set Tiger Woods suddenly 6 shots clear of the rest of the pack; For Liverpool at the 2005 Champions League, it was Vladimar Smicer, coming out of an indifferent season to smash in a wonder volley and bring Liverpool within shouting distance of the rampaging Rossoneri.
Last night again, in the semi-final game; there was not one, but several marquee moments – and most of them centred around Liverpool’s talismanic Captain (surely the best English player of his generation) Steven Gerrard.
Once I saw Gerrard surging forward irresistibly, tackling hard and making the kind of heroic 30-feet passes that coaches only dream of, but sometime never see in a lifetime; I realised Liverpool had the bit between their teeth and we were going to have an “Anfield” night.
Liverpool played like recent champions, like old money who had been there; seen and done it.
Chelsea, on the other hand were tentative, clumsy and unsure; every bit like any other nouveau-riche, upstart, social-wannabee at an important civic function.

It is always interesting to see the unreconstructed peasant in Jose Mourinho – its shows in his clownishly surly style at interviews; but it shows even more in defeat – the man actually looks ashen.
Well what I can say; money can’t buy you love – or for that matter, football excellence (ask Paul McCartney and Real Madrid) – and Jose had better get used to the fact that the only trophy in London this year will be the teeny, weeny, itsy bitsy Carling Cup.



Message to OBJ
“You have sat too long here for any good you have been doing. Depart, I say, and let us have done with you.
In the name of God, go.”
Oliver Cromwell to Olusegun Obasanjo and the Long Parliament, 1649.