Hollywood Also Loves a Sequel. Just Saying.

While we wait on word from Dan, some random thoughts. David & Victoria Inc. got a "Hollywood ending".

We know this because every last hack sportswriter in the universe is telling us so this morning and who are we to argue?

Of course if that battery that someone tossed at Becks in the waning moments of the match had cut a huge gash across his forehead that required nine stitches and soaked the front of his Galaxy shirt in blood, it would have been more like the ending of a Rambo movie ("Murdoch! I'm coming... for YOU!") than Cohiba Don would have preferred but on the other hand he's been around the block enough times to know that there's no such thing as bad publicity.

And if he momentarily forgot, Posh was hanging around there someplace and she'd surely remind him. She practically invented the concept.

And isn't it lovely that their 13 year old "made" the Galaxy Academy roster? Of course, if the kid couldn't walk from the sofa to the fridge without tripping over himself he'd still have "made" the roster if that was what the Beckhams wanted.

Hell, he'd have made the senior roster and suited up last night if that was Sir David's desire. (Getting ahead of myself, perhaps, but when you're a world famous sports star and one of your best pals is going to be King of England one of these days, well, you do the math. Doesn't matter if Liz or her idiot offspring Chuck and his lovely bride Seabiscuit give him a K or not; Bill will toss him one 20 seconds after they drop the crown on his oddly shaped head.)

Anyway, not much to say about the game itself, really, although it was nice of all those Houston fans to endure 390 hours on a bus so they could provide some atmosphere before churlishly tossing crap at the King of the World on a global TV feed.

Very Euro.

Not to belabor that point though; whoever it was tossing that crap came closer to hitting their target than anyone on the Dynamo did in 90 minutes of trying. I'm a big Adam Moffat fan, truly, but when your entire offense revolves around a guy who got picked up off of the USL 2 Cleveland Steamers, going up against THE THREE GREATEST PLAYERS IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE is just too much of a hurdle.

(An entire game and only one damned corner kick, at a crucial time, and Moffat can't keep it in bounds? Seriously?)

It's interesting that both here and abroad this morning, while Beckham is the lead, Landon Donovan is getting tons of ink (or pixels or whatever; work with me here) too.

He's most certainly not David Beckham - nobody is - but he's getting all the respect that he's due.

As for the game, a classic it wasn't, but both teams - and, to be fair, LA in particular - played some significant stretches of pretty decent soccer all things considered.

I must say that I cannot for the life of me understand what the deal is with the Home Depot pitch, however(a website in the UK this morning helpfully provided the pronunciation: "DEE - poh").

Is it really that hard to grow grass in Southern California, even if the song that says it "Never Rains" there is a lie perpetrated by the same tourism department that runs those offensive "come on out and be as cool as us" TV ads?

A little precipitation isn't supposed to make your turf disintegrate like beer soaked crepe paper at a Redneck picnic.

On a minor historical note, has there ever been a league championship match anywhere on Earth where the exact same guy was going to get handed the trophy regardless of who won?

Yes, the Gals salary roster seems to run neck-and-neck with the national debt while Houston's is closer to the night shift budget at In and Out Burger, but a 1-0 loss without Brad Davis and with Cameron hobbling around like Peg Leg O'Toole half the night, if I'm the guy shelling out the ten million dollar difference in paycheck heft I'd be asking some serious questions this morning.

Although whatever they're paying Adam Christman he ought to give it back. With THE THREE GREATEST PLAYERS IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD working their asses off to get his nickel-and-dime self the ball in scoring position he couldn't find the net with a team of bloodhounds and a GPS taped to his wrist.

I know lots of guys who are able to function just fine a day or two after their wife squeezes out a litter. It was nice of John Harkes to keep telling us about it - a simple "Mazel tov" would have sufficed - but John thinks anything worth saying is worth repeating 37 times.

Anyway, so LA has the Cup along with their rainfall for the entire year, Cohiba Don got an early Christmas present and Sir David has every media outlet on the globe talking about what his future plans are.

Sounds like LA got hit with the Perfect Storm.