The Resurrection of Steve*, Josh Wicks and Other Stuff I'm Not Going to Talk About

By now most of you are certainly aware that Hysterical Bedwetter..excuse me, I mean Football Mega-Expert Steven Cohen is threatening...damn, promising a new version of his late, lamented World Soccer Daily.

Not surprisingly, since that company is in trouble with the California Attorney General for various bits of malfeasance, his new show is called World Football Daily.

I can't tell you how excited and pleased I am about this development. Those legions of fans who pounded out all those teary-eyed missives about how their lives had become bereft of all meaning when Cohen went off the air will now have the opportunity to prove how much they desperately need Steverino to give them a purpose in life by ponying up for a subscription.

As Steve his own self is saying, his goal - indeed, his Holy Mission - is to present a “revolutionary” way of presenting football conversation, by creating what will be an “interconnected world town hall meeting every day”.

"It is our intent to change the way football is discussed by bringing a football show of the people, for the people and by the people straight to the people."

What all this ridiculous babble and Lincoln-paraphrasing actually means is anyone's guess. Anyone who's been around the internet for more than 20 minutes has heard all of this "We're breaking new ground, creating a new paradigm, revolutionary boldness" BS a dozen times and, of course it's never anything of the sort.

What it boils down to is still a couple of guys talking about soccer. Which is fine by me and, probably, a lot of other people.

As long as he leaves the paranoid ranting about being under attack from the forces of International Freemasonry or whatever else he can come up with out of the equation and sticks to whining about Chelsea and calling Landon Donovan a poof, he'll be fine.

Assuming of course that all of you who loudly proclaimed your love for him are willing to put your money where your mouths are.

One thing is certain: since there will be snow on the hills of Hell before I send Cohen dime one, this is probably the last time I'll ever mention him.

There are plenty of photographers running around out there these days. (and honestly: do we really need seven or eight thousand badly dressed guys packed behind the sign boards like Japanese commuters, holding three foot long Canon lenses and furiously snapping 500 virtually identical shots of Clarence Goodson ball watching? They ought to demand that you photo-cover 10 or 15 MLS games before you can get USSF credentials, just to prove that you're serious)

Anybody can take a good picture these days. Hit the auto shutter, snap 50 frames in 20 seconds, do that 20 times a game and then search through the computer file until you find that you accidentally took one that doesn't suck: voila! You're a sports photographer. Mom will be so proud.

Then there are a few guys with actual talent who can take terrific pictures on a regular basis without having to fill up a hard drive the size of Utah.

Then there's Andy Mead, who not only doesn't dress like he gets a discount at WalMart but can also work in that almost-vanished art form: the photo essay.

And since some of you undoubtedly missed it, I'll provide a tease (like we say in the business) and then a link. Don't thank me. It's what I'm here for.


Maybe it's just me but the deal that sent Ugo Ihelmu to DFC from the Raps in return for Drew Moore, a draft pick and a (reportedly) big pile of allocation money is something of a head scratcher.

Not simply because Moor is a devoted Dallas FC guy and a fan favorite on a team that has but darn few loyalists and even fewer actual fans - EXCELLENT INTERVIEW HERE from the indispensable Buzz Carrick (and seriously: did his parents actually name him Buzz, or does he call himself that to avoid using his real name, something like Howard or Melvin or Lance?) - but because, let's be honest, whatever you think about Ihelmu, he ain't gonna fix what's wrong in Dallas as much as all the stuff they gave up to get him.

Which brings us to something else which I hope you didn't miss: the "LETTER TO CLARK HUNT" written by die hard Dallas fan Dustin Christman.

This ain't some whinyassed Torontonite who's been to a couple dozen games now and wants Mo Johnstons head on a spike because he's outraged that they don't have so many trophies lying around that they're using the less attractive ones for door stops or giving them away on "Take a Trophy Night".

This is an actual fan who has been waiting one hell of a long time for the team to do something which makes sense. And he's had enough.

For those of you who came in late, I think that the single biggest mistake any MLS team ever made - and there's one hell of a hot competition for THAT title - was what I call "The Great Dallas Fan Flush" when they moved a team with a pretty strong and loyal (and multicultural) fan base out to the boondocks to play in possibly the single worst soccer venue on this or any other planet, Dragon Stadium.

It was an abomination. Not only did no one want to go there but even watching games there on TV was an exercise in visual agony.

Then they get PHP built, expected everyone to come hopping back and seem to be stunned when they didn't. Imagine that.

I'm not sure whether HSG selling that team is the answer - and I doubt if there's much chance of it happening anyway - but someone needs to do something and no, hiring poor old Schellas Hyndman wasn't what I had in mind.

Hyndman is like the crazy old uncle you invite to Thanksgiving dinner. You don't mind being kind to the old duff but you do so wish he didn't have that musty smell.

I usually don't make a point of linking to really bad articles unless the purpose is to ridicule the terminally stupid - like, say, Duane Rollins** - but I'M MAKING AN EXCEPTION in this case because the topic is an interesting one, namely Ranking MLS Head Coaches from Top to Bottom.

(That's not to imply that Hyndman or Kreis is a bottom. Different topic.)

Of course after last night's Night of the Living Fat Man in RFK (featuing the amazing disappearing career of Josh Wicks) people are strewing palm fronds in the path of his badly overloaded donkey and proclaiming Sigi the King of the Coaches, a title which Bruce Arena, among others, may have something to say about before it's all said any done.

Personally, since nobody asked, I'd rate them:


With incompletes for Williams and Vermes and a special dispensation for Chris Cummins since coaching a team that Mo Johnston put together - great move dumping Conor Casey for that super valuable third rounder, Mo - isn't really a fair test.

It isn't so much that MLS HAS ISSUED JAIR MARRUFO A PUBLIC SLAPDOWN that's the salient point, (or that Michael Kennedy needs to get off the couch and put down the Crunchy Cheetos.)

Rather, the embarassing thing for MLS is that Marrufo was considered the league's best referee last season.

So either the guys' doctor put him on a course of Stupid Pills ("Ask your doctor if Stupidia is right for you") or they really didn't know what the hell they were talking about.

Thinking Marrufo is a model referee - and the truly sad thing is that one of the four "permanent, full-time referees" which MLS pays to do nothing but work for them has been, essentially, suspended - calls the league's ability to recognize decent officiating into serious question, doesn't it?

I'm just asking.

Speaking of asking: Did Josh Wicks get into someone else's supply of Stupidia?

At the time I thought there was some doubt about whether stomping that little weasel Freddie Montero was intentional - hell, give me half a chance and I might be tempted to give him a shot too - or whether it was a combination of a clumsy misstep and not looking where he was going.

But it appears that he really did it on purpose. Beyond belief.

And he's lucky that was a USSF match or his screaming, threatening and physical contact with Prus would get him a nice long time out from Commissioner Donny.

Frankly, if I was DC, I'd go ahead and suspend him anyway. Surely there's something in the standard player contract about this kind of situation. Something like the "Being a Complete Asshole" clause or something.

Finally via duNord, come THIS PIECE ABOUT THE CHOICE OF RIO TINTO as the venue for the upcoming El Salvador quallie.

I've never heard of the writer before and I do think at least one of his suggested alternate venues is simply absurd, he makes some very valid points. Yeah OK, so they keep puttin Mexico into Columbus which, at this point, is so far up into that team's psyche you'd need a team of miners to dig it out. But with all due respect to Salt lake and the wonderful stadium they've built out there, it's simply the wrong place for this match.

* Boy, you just can't get quality titles like this over at

** Duane: Since whenever I say something about you, you fire off a complaint to the management, I've installed what I call the "Rollins Crybaby" on my computer. Whenever I use your name the program automatically generates a long sobbing pile of drivel, whining about what a big old poopieface I am, directly to the administrators, thus saving you the trouble. You're welcome pal. My pleasure.