Crazy World of Football

Your chance to be naked in a football stadium!

Mr Mad — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 16:57:00 GMT

On May 11, as the Premier League draws to a doubtlessly dizzying denouement, there will be more than a few arses on show.

No, not the fine representatives of the Greatest League On Earth; in Vienna’s Ernst Happel Stadion, 2,008 people will be going butt-naked and having their picture taken.

Before you start booking your flights to Austria – in itself, an unusual experience for Brits this summer – it’s not some kind of mad exhibitionist orgy. The revered playground of Strauss and Mozart demands a cultural hook for such an event, and of course wherever there’s naked flesh, there’s a photographer nearby fumbling with his lens-cap and taking ‘arty’ shots.

In this case, yer man with the zoom lens is Spencer Tunick, an American artist with previous in this field – he’s spent the last 20 years photographing hundreds of people with their swingers in the breeze.

Having worked his way up through single nudes at bus stops and scores of them at a school in Dulwich – calm down, Daily Mail readers, it wasn’t like that – he became (in)famous for large-scale arrangements of public nakedness from Melbourne to Montreal to Mexico City, this last attracting a record 18,000 people to bare their wares in the capital city’s principal square.

That’s about the average attendance at the JJB Stadium, but with not a pocket between them to hold their Uncle Joe’s Mint Balls. He’s also persuaded hundreds of Geordies to wander around Newcastle city centre at 4am wearing nothing but a smile, presumably on this occasion without help from the brown ale. But is it art?

Thousands of Mexicans. Not a single sombrero.

"A body is a living entity,” gushes Mr T (not that one). “It represents life, freedom, sensuality. A body is always beautiful to me. In my group works, the only difference is how far people can go if it rains, snows etc.”

But why Austria, and why now (well, May 11)? The eagle-eyed will have noted that 2,008 isn’t a round number, but it is the year we’re in. And this summer Vienna is a host city for some international football tournament or other, apparently co-hosted with Switzerland (a curious co-host, considering they’ve spent so long declaring their independence and neutrality).

Accordingly, Tunick has been commissioned by culture vultures Osterreich Am Ball [Austria has the Ball] to mark the occasion with a nice piccie, or, as he puts it, “to capture and combine the spirit of sports, the grand sweeping waves of stadium architecture and the abstract relation of the human form to modern structures.” And some bollies and boobies, obviously.

Interested? Sign up here.

Details are sketchy at the moment, except that each participant will be asked to bring a football – which could come in handy for covering your modesty in case of a last-minute embarrassment attack. However, it’s made very plain that unlike football, this is no spectator sport: only participants will be allowed inside the stadium.

So if you want to be in the snaps, you must be out of your slacks. And for one of the more interesting experiences you can have inside a football stadium, it might well be worth it. Let’s be honest, it can’t be any worse than watching the Sky Sports cameras lovingly zoom in for grisly close-ups of the agonised features of Gary Megson, Steve Coppell or Avram Grant.

Bulking up with the Dalai Lama of the MLS

Mr Mad — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 20:00:00 GMT

Footballer’s blogs are a peculiar business.

Back when Crazy World was a lad, information about your favourite player was thin on the ground. The best you could hope for in the seventies and eighties was the odd Q&A in Match, in which you’d find out that your hero was married to a woman called Joan and disliked rude people. Insightful it wasn’t.

These days, quite the opposite is true. The internet has provided us with numerous websites run by dedicated fans or media organisations, packed with the most astonishing minutiae of players lives, from their literary preferences (“I don’t read books” says Andrew Johnson) to their pets (Dirk Kuyt apparently has a rabbit called Trigger).

Most of them, it has to be said, aren’t worth bothering with. The blogs are dictated down phone lines by bored players to bored journalists, or collated by anoraks, and are chock-full of the usual bleeding obvious platitudes about being over the moon following the latest win.

Strangely, the one time they do get interesting is when a time-rich, laptop-toting player decides to actually write it themselves.

Things really took off with Aki Riihilahti’s wonderfully random web diary, in which the former Crystal Palace midfield maestro discussed life, the universe and everything with all the gusto of a Selhurst Park Hunter S. Thompson colliding with Karl Pilkington.

The Finn, now plying his trade at Djurgardens IF, famously claimed he’d been very popular at junior school because of his ability to stand on his head for over two minutes.

He revealed a philosophical side, claiming: "sure, I cry and feel pain about football results, but the view of an old man grieving next to his wife’s coffin is real pain.”

And he had a unique talent for a metaphor. “Injuries are like ketchup,” pondered Aki once. “First there is long quiet period, but then suddenly there comes out a big wave of ***.”

Next was Moritz Volz, a German so wilfully wacky that we’re surprised he doesn’t take to the pitch in a collapsible clown car, wearing a revolving bow tie.

His blog is here, but all you need to really know about the Teutonic crackpot’s philosophy is contained in this FourFourTwo interview, where the Fulham defender reveals his near-fanatical dedication to David Hasselhoff.

However, this week a new blogger was brought to Crazy World’s attention who could conceivably be the most interesting of the lot: Joe Cannon of San Jose Earthquakes. His latest effort is a two thousand-word tract about breakfasts.

It all started when big Joe, the Earthquake’s ginormous stopper, was running late for training, not leaving enough time to prepare his usual oatmeal.

“I thought about my favorite smoothie in the world,” salivates the former MLS Goalkeeper of the Year. “The gift that keeps giving, the dessert of the morning, the perfect blend of taste, nutrition and substance. I was thinking about the ‘HULK’.”

The HULK, it transpires, is 20z of goodness containing weight gain, butter pecan ice cream, bananas, egg protein, soy protein, milk, carbohydrate mix, vanilla, wheat germ, turbinado, and honey.

“I, Joe Cannon, put my name and reputation behind this,” states Joe solemnly.

However, upon arriving at the purveyors of the HULK, Smoothie King, Joe gets a shock. The store is to be shut down this week. He isn’t happy. “I felt cheated, slapped in the face, and disrespected.”

“Each of us have a "HULK" in our lives. To some it’s their wives, to others it’s their soccer team. The "HULK" is symbolic to all of us, to remind us that there are things in this life which are fighting for.”

Cannon is now spearheading a campaign to save the San Jose store. “The chances are slim that I can help rescue Smoothie King, but I have to try.”

He adds: “Life is not about the result, but the journey,” a wonderful philosophy that is in keeping with the teachings of the Dalai Lama, but at odds with the thought of most football folk who, conversely, are just happy with the three points even though we didn’t play as well as we know we can.

Whichever school of thought you’re in, it makes a refreshing change from the norm. Crazy World will certainly be reading Joe's ramblings every week. And next time we’re stateside, our skinny ass is getting bulked up on one of these

Violence is Golden, and Sophie Dahl naked

Mr Mad — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 16:50:00 GMT

A-G!

G-R-O!

A-G-R-O!

Aggro!

Ah, the illiterate, lumpen chanting of Crazy World’s youth. We’d like to say that we’ve grown up and moved on since then. But that would be a rotten lie.

And we bet you haven’t, either. Be honest now: is there anything better than witnessing mindless violence on the football field?

Yes, yes, we’d run a mile and cower in a corner if we saw any real, Danny Dyer-endorsed “naughtiness”, of course.

And players who fight are a disgrace, bad role models for kids, and should be locked up with the key thrown away etc.

But let’s face it: when David Coleman popped up on the telly before the infamous ‘62 World Cup Battle of Santiago between Chile and Italy and declared that what we were about to witness was “the most appalling, disgusting and disgraceful exhibition, possibly in the history of the game”, how many people do you think turned off, appalled?

And how many do you reckon turned and bellowed: “Quick! Kids! Grandma! You’ve gotta see this! It’s going off on the telly!”

It’s a bit like when The Daily Mail gets on its extra-lofty high horse about, say, Sophie Dahl appearing naked in a perfume advert, then prints a whopping great picture of it just so all us decent citizens can be absolutely disgusted. (Remind yourself here. Crazy World’s virgin eyes were stunned and offended, naturally).

So. Five players getting sent off in the Bogota derby match in which Millonarios beat La Equidad 2-1 this week was right up our bloodthirsty street.

This was small fry, however, compared to some of our favourites. The aggro connoisseur know there are many different sorts of brawl.

There’s your average, rather pathetic example: basically an embarrassing display of pushing and shoving in which nobody wants to get their precious face hurt, like this LA Galaxy vs Chivas match involving David Beckham and somebody called Buddle.

Then there’s your proper ruckus, which incorporated actual physical pain, and should really lead to jail sentences and restraining orders. Try this South American melee, a schoolyard pagga if ever we’ve seen one.

And then there’s your festival of improvised Kung Fu, basically a small scale war, which only someone as unhinged as Maradona can inspire.

If that’s not enough for you, FourFourTwo.com have even found the 20 best dust-ups on Youtube for your delectation.

Just so you can remind yourself that there’s no place for this in football, and that lifetime bans should be issued all round, of course. Bloody outrage...

Axis Of Evil threatened by folk ballad

Mr Mad — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 16:15:00 GMT

Korea is rapidly becoming Crazy World’s favourite war-torn peninsula.

Following news last week that its footballers were deliberately dislocating their shoulders to get out of military service, North and South Korea are now at loggerheads over which national anthems and flags will be used when the two countries meet in a World Cup qualifier next month.

The Northerners, who fans of the impending apocalypse will remember are led by deranged lunatic Kim Jong-il (brilliantly, although perhaps not very accurately, parodied in Team America: World Police), want to share a joint flag and anthem – a jaunty folk ballad sung widely in both countries and rebranded cleverly by a team of marketing consultants as the “United Korean Anthem.”

The Southerners disagree, and demand that they use their own identifying standard and ditty.

It’s not the first time they've had a bit of a bicker.

The countries are still technically at war, with each state’s constitution declaring that their government is legitimate ruler of the whole peninsula, but they’ve been on ceasefire since 1953.

Crazy World advises caution: wars have kicked off over less when football is concerned. Just ask Honduras or El Salvador, who fought for six days in 1969 after national tensions bubbled over following rioting at an international match.

Anyway, it's surely better to remember both peoples as an enthusiastic bunch who have enriched several World Cups. First there was the North Koreans, who wooed Teesiders by beating Italy 1-0 at Ayresome Park during World Cup 1966.

They then faced Portugal in the quarter-final, and, with 50,000 Smoggies roaring them on with huge chants of “Ko-re-a”, stormed into a seemingly unassailable 3-0 lead. They were, alas, pegged back by four Eusebio goals, but the English were impressed.

“They came from the other side of the world as 1000-1 no-hopers,” tromboned the Daily Mirror. “They leave world football wondering how far they will advance."

Not very far at all, was the answer. As the North gradually cut itself off from the world, they never qualified again.

It was left to their pals in the South to carry the area's footballing hopes. Their crowning moment was hosting the 2002 World Cup, jointly and highly successfully, with Japan.

The South Korea fans, it turned out, were absolutely berserk, with their co-ordinated outfits, wild-eyed fanaticism and highly choreographed chants. It was like something out of Nazi Germany – but in a nice way, y’know.

They were even impressive here in England. Crazy World found itself in a boozer in New Malden, Surrey (home to Britain’s largest Korean population) during the World Cup 2006, and this was the scene that unfolded when the Reds popped a goal past Togo. The noise was akin to a fire at Battersea Dogs Home.

Batshit mental, maybe, but those Koreans were polite, too. “I was in here last week for the England match last week, and drunk fans were spitting on me,” sighed a local copper on duty that afternoon. “These people are lovely. They keep offering me sushi.”

Anyway. Whatever happens in Pyongyang on March 26, we’re guessing it won’t be boring. Watch this space...

Indecent proposals and Drogba binbags: Africa's still crazy

Mr Mad — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 10:14:00 GMT

It’s tricky to comment on the African Cup of Nations without descending into cliché. You just had to listen to the patronising babble spouted by pretty much every TV commentator during the tournament.

You couldn’t watch a game without being subjected to predictable talk about the stars “playing the game with a smile on their face”, teams that were “physically impressive, but tactically naïve” and laughter about "eccentric" goalkeepers, not to mention the “spectacular rhythm and colour around the ground”.

They might as well have added “the dozy African blighters” to this pseudo-racist guff and be done with it.

Nevertheless, the Africans themselves cannot be entirely acquitted on the charge of bringing some of this on themselves by being extremely silly on a routine basis. And that, Crazy World Of Football believes, is something to be celebrated.

To recap the last couple of weeks, we’ve had Yakubu taking an unscheduled holiday after Nigeria were knocked out of the tournament, leaving David Moyes bug-eyed with rage (although come to think of it, when is Moyes not bug-eyed with rage?)

Then Nottingham Forest’s Junior Agogo was offered an 82-year old fan’s granddaughter by way of a reward for helping Ghana to the semi final (he politely declined where many a Premiership roaster may have waded in.)

Following this, news arrived that leading players from the tournament were to be immortalised on “refuse sacks” by Ghanaian company Trashy Bags: Didier Drogba, Salomon Kalou and Michael Essien are among the stars now getting lobbed in the bin.

Perhaps most insanely of all, there was the moment that Ghana and Reading’s Andre Bikey completely lost his marbles and attacked a paramedic trying to assist an injured Rigobert Song.

And of course, cruel laughter could be gleaned from Song’s own "tactically naïve" (ie crap) defending that helped hand Egypt the title on a platter.

This of course sparked colourful, rhythmic celebrations. Who are we kidding? They're madder than wet hens.

How Escape To Victory became reality

Mr Mad — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 18:22:00 GMT

Escape To Victory. Implausible, right? Well, on many levels, yes. There’s the bit where Sly Stallone slips out of the POW camp, is smuggled to Paris, contacts le Resistance, has a cheeky encounter with a smokin’ hot Parisian mademoiselle and then gets re-captured just so he can return to assist the prisoners’ fiendish plot.

Why didn’t everyone just slip out the camp and bugger off to the French capital for some illicit romance and a brioche, if it was so easy? Eh?

Then there’s the ludicrous bit where they decide not to escape down the magic tunnel despite being four goals down, star man Pele being unable to walk, and the fiendish Nazi eleven being intent on their certain death.

And, most mind-bogglingly incomprehensible of all, Stallone’s footballing abilities (“His goalkeeping was surreal,” fellow star John Wark once told FourFourTwo).

But if there’s one moment of this unadulterated cluster of cinematic gibberish that’s surprisingly close to the mark, it’s the bit where proper goalie Kevin O’Callaghan volunteers to get his arm snapped just so “Hatch” (Stallone) can get released from solitary confinement in time.

Why so? Shocking news this week filters through to the FourFourTwo news desk that 92 current and former South Korean soccer players have been indicted by their government for dodging military service by intentionally dislocating their shoulders.

Just as O’Callaghan allowed Michael Caine to rupture his limb to further the war effort, the crackers Koreans busted up their own bodies by “swinging their arms while holding heavy weights” and “having fellow players jump on their shoulders”.

The reason for such extreme methods? South Korean men must spend up to 24 months in the military as part of mandatory service in their 670,000-strong armed forces.

Not only can this have the unfortunate side-effect of getting you shot – South Korea is still officially at war with its northern neighbours, and while it’s all quiet at the moment, you never know with this Axis of Evil mob – but the duty can also hamper the careers of athletes.

Now the men, including 15 professional K-League players, face community service, and possibly even jail.

They deserve our sympathy.

After all, Bryan Robson once told FourFourTwo that a dislocated shoulder is “the most pain I’ve ever tolerated. With a shoulder injury you just can’t get rid of the pain, especially if the physio can’t get it back into place. It really, really hurts.”

Bear in mind that Robson was a man who used to shatter his fibia on a weekly basis and pop out his eyeballs just to amuse children – “I’ve broken legs, but they just go numb”, he scoffs – and we reckon the Korean government should ease up.

If these lads were willing to undergo a pain so extreme that it brought tears to the eyes of Robbo, just because they wanted to play football, not soldiers, we think they should let them. Someone get a copy of Sly’s greatest celluloid moment on DVD to Seoul, sharpish…