Riverside Hooligans

You might be a soccer fan if... (Top 25 signs)

2011-08-14T00:07:00.001-04:00

By Jim T. Ryan, Senior Soccer Hooligan

I was thinking, there are many things that distinguish soccer fans from other sports fans. Don't worry, this might be funny even if you're not a soccer fan.

So here's the Top 25 things that you might look for if you think you or someone you know may be afflicted with this obsession. You might be a soccer fan if... (Channel Jeff Foxworthy)

25. Your excitement over a "header" amuses your friends.

24. You've said: "Only girls wear pads."
23. For you, "studs up" is not the all-male review your grandmother went to, but an act of justice.
22. You're the only American who cares about Boxing Day.
21. You know nutmeg is more than just a spice.
20. Your wardrobe has more Adidas gear than designer brands.
19. Your favorite Stallone and World War II movie also stars Michael Caine and Pele as prisoners of war.
18. Ties have nothing to do with office attire.
17. Size 5 balls are the norm.
16. Juggling balls doesn't involve the hands.
15. Galaxy and Cosmos have nothing to do with astronomy.
14. You enjoy wearing your nation's flag as a cape.
13. You think vuvuzelas are the greatest sound ever.
12. You're capable of doing it for 90 minutes.
11. Your neighbors think you're English because of the types of curse words you scream at the TV.
10. You wear scarves in 95-degree July weather.
9. You get angry stares at the sports bar when you change the channel.
8. You can say football and not be talking about the NFL.
7. Every four years you plan your summer vacations to be a month long.
6. None of your favorite athletes have beer guts.
5. When someone drops something, you try to catch it with your feet.
4. You can watch Spanish-language television without knowing Spanish.
3. Arsenal is not a cache of military weapons, ManU isn't a college and Barca isn't a lounge chair.
2. "Doing the double" is not a bathroom code.
1. "DP status" gets you thinking about Major League Soccer salary cap strategy, not multi-partner sex.

Long live the Beautiful Game, and all the Hooligans that love it.

Looking for America: Catharsis

2011-05-05T23:00:00.001-04:00

By Jim T. Ryan, Hooligan-in-Chief

Flight 93 Memorial, Shanksville, Pa. Oct. 2010/JTR

Sunday and Monday, May 1 and May 2, 2011: Essentially, this was a two-day-long orgasm for Americans -- a cool shot of cathartic serotonin, releasing a decade-old anxiety.

It's not every Sunday evening you hear fireworks at 11 p.m. My initial thought was that one of my fine neighbors in Dauphin had a little too much to drink and found the left-over bottle rockets from Independence Day...

I wasn't far off...

Osama bin Laden -- the most-wanted terrorist in the world responsible for the planning and support for the September 11, 2001 attacks on New York City, Washington, D.C. and for a fourth plane that went down in a field in Pennsylvania -- killed by Navy Seals in a raid in a Pakistani suburb.*

For some of us, the sad truth is that we didn't know what had happened until the next morning. Or hours later. "Bronco" sent me a text message at 11:12 p.m., Sunday. It read:

"Holy shit they got osama"

I missed the text and didn't see another from "Bloody" that said: "U cant be sleeping! Bin laden is dead!!!"

Funny part was that I fell asleep watching a soccer game and I actually heard the second text come through at 1:19 as I was crawling into bed. Unfortunately, I ignored it until morning. That's when I saw the first text.

Suddenly, I had wished I'd turned the channel instead of going to bed.

But that didn't dampen the immense flame inside, dancing and jumping like a little leprechaun with evil glee. I wanted to sing and cheer. But I just couldn't. No real spiritual or philosophical reason. More like a deadening of the nerve endings.

Catharsis...that's what you saw in the images of people cheering in the street. A fraternity brother of mine that was in the Navy during this last decade called it "the best news conference ever" before joining a hundred people in the streets of Bloomsburg.

I don't find anything wrong with celebrating a victory but I also understand the compulsion for restraint.

Now we're sobering up from our orgy of patriotic exuberance. It's a time to turn pro, to push aside pettiness, at least for the sake of a common goal to find serious answers to complex and deadly problems. Sure we'll disagree about a great many things as Americans, but we all share a common desire for our friends, family, countrymen to live in peace.

Flight 93 crash site, memorial construction. Oct. 2010/JTR

If we're to achieve that together, it requires at the bare minimum a restraint on our impulses to slander and cannibalize each other for personal gain.

Let's be united for a while longer, save the partisan bullshit for next year. Let's take stock of how far we've come over these last 10 years, the price it's cost in blood and plan for something better.

We owe that to those who died. We owe that to those who swear that with their own life it'll never happen again. We owe that to our children, that they will not know the sorrow we know, that they will not die for our transgressions.

* This was modified to correct the number of planes on Sept. 11. There were four: two in New York, one in D.C. and the fourth that crashed in Pa. My apologies for the mistake.

The Toothless Dog

2011-04-10T11:12:00.000-04:00

By Jim T. Ryan, Hooligan-in-Chief

Watching the latest battle over the federal budget made me realize the Republicans don't really have a fix on their own position within the power struggle that is Washington, D.C.

It's kind of like watching a toothless dog gnaw at the ankles of a cow, unaware that as soon as the cow gets pissed, it's going to stomp the dog's head into a pile of flesh and bone.

I never really expected the Republicans to shutdown the government. And it seems the Democrats called their bluff too. Hell, after all, the Dems already burned tens of billions from the federal budget and the GOP wanted more anyway. In particular, they were trying to fight their favored social battles in a dollars and cents game.


An Iraq patrol returns to base amid a sand storm. Photo/Josh Crisp

Say what you will about the morality of the abortion issue, or distaste for the Democratic solution to the ascendant spiral of health care costs and ambiguity of whether "Obamacare" will work. But when the federal budget is a money game that includes a deck with three war cards, it was a safe bet the GOP wasn't going to win social fights at the expense of soldier pay.

I'd go a step further to say considering they continued to demand social policy-backed spending cuts down to the wire, holding the process hostage after already winning face-saving spending cuts, illustrates a callous disregard for soldiers and their families. But, I can let that slide for now because its done and over with and ultimately the GOP came to realize they had much less power in Washington than they once assumed. In fact, I'll give them credit for coming to their senses and striking a deal when the diehards on the far right have been so adamant about not compromising.

But now where are we? Simply put: Election 2012.

The fact is the Republicans only received enough votes in 2010 to win half of Congress, the House of Representatives, ultimately the weaker of the two houses because representatives have to run for reelection every two years. Senators: only every six years. So now, they have a lot more people angry at them for holding up a budget process needlessly in the face of three wars, for partisan reasons, after already getting big cuts. It just makes them look politically greedy at the beginning of an election cycle for half of Congress and the Presidency.

That's not the smartest gamble you could make. Had the GOP succeeded, they would've looked like champions to the Glenn Beck, Tea Party, Sarah Palin base, but the reality was they were never going to win social fights in a budget process.

In fact, that's a brutal truth the Democrats realized after coming back to power in both houses of Congress in 2006. They had originally hoped they could force both a pullout and a defunding of the Iraq War, but when it came budget time enough moderates and conservatives within the party bucked leadership and voted to keep this thing going. Sure, they made life difficult for President Bush in those last two years, but they knew they couldn't win by closing the war chest. It would inevitably be called a "vote against the troops."


Speaker of the House John Boehner

So, the Demo-dogs backed away from the cow and concentrated on what they needed: a pack leader as President and preventing the pack from losing both dens of Congress. It worked for four years. If Republican House Speaker John Boehner is able to keep a leash on his yapping pack, it's likely that's their aim in 2012...no duh, right.

Either way, this latest budget fight was a serious miscalculation of both their power and influence in Washington, but also in the public. It was clear very early from forums such as Facebook that liberals and conservatives alike wanted Congress to hammer out a deal on time and avoid a shutdown. Both parties will shoulder blame, but not as much as Republicans who took the hardline that they were willing to shutdown the government in the midst of three wars. Not good if men and women serving in military uniform have to borrow money from family to buy groceries, medicine or pay rent.

You certainly don't win votes by telling a soldier or their family that you'll gamble their food and medical money for an ideological fight among Congressional politicians whose larger pay (with less risk) is secure either way.

That gets you a cow's hoof to the brain.

I-78 Soccer: Harrisburg to Harrison

2011-04-08T00:42:00.000-04:00

By Jim T. Ryan, Hooligan-in-Chief

All roads lead to the New York metro area, especially those that start with Harrisburg soccer.

The Harrisburg City Islanders soccer club may be aligned with MLS's Philadelphia Union, but the ties to the New York Red Bulls continue to pop up, like dandelions in early summer.

Of course the most notable was Danny Cepero, the Islanders goalkeeper that transitioned to RBNY and helped the Red Bulls reach the 2008 MLS Cup. He became one of the only goalkeepers in MLS history to score a goal on a free kick against Columbus Crew in the second to last game of the season. In 2010, Cepero came back down I-78 and I-81 to return in goal for Harrisburg. He was briefly reunited with his NY teammates when the two teams played each other in the U.S. Open Cup that summer.

The latest example is also in the area of goalkeeping. RBNY on April 7 named Todd Hoffard its newest goalkeeping coach. Hoffard was at one time the goalkeeping coach for the City Islanders, but goes to Red Bull Arena in Harrison from Temple University where he was the goal coach for the women's team there.

I can only hope that this latest (sort of) I-78 trade yields lucrative results for the Red Bulls as Cepero's trade did in 2008. That year, Cepero got the starting nod in goal right before the playoffs in October when goal frontman Jon Conway was suspended 10 games for testing positive for banned performance enhancing substances. NY made it to the final for the first time in its history, but lost to Columbus Crew 3-1.

I'd prefer it if all roads led to a RBNY cup title. If City Islanders' castoffs can help them do that, then so be it.

Looking for America: The Tea Party failed to slaughter The Beast

2011-02-12T01:09:00.000-05:00

By Jim T. Ryan, Hooligan-in-Chief

As I wandered around western Pennsylvania in October, I remembered the November general election lurked around the corner like a wolverine crouched next to a tree, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting rabbit and rip into its flesh.

After Dr. Bronco and I left the Denny's in Greensburg, I thought to myself: I'll listen, even through this hangover fog, a fly on a beer glass.

Every where we went -- that shitty little diner, the morbidly deserted streets of Latrobe, a bar in Punxsutawney -- people babbled about politics, like babies incapable of producing coherent sentences. They were angry Tea Partiers, conservative "blue-dog" union types, grungy 30-somethings realizing their dream of a slackers paradise died when the coffee house job wasn't going to pay the bills.

Everyone had some kind of bitch about the Obama administration, Congress, Republicans, Democrats, liberals, conservatives, and the list drones on. Ninety-five percent of the time their facts were wrong. I don't care if you don't like the national direction or particular politicians, but don't get your facts from anyone that throws around the words "socialist" and "Nazi" with the same frequency I guzzle beer.

That didn't matter come November. Fueled by frustration over a sluggish economy for which no one has a magic pill, voters decided they'd overturn Congress. The Tea Party claimed a massive victory and media outlets everywhere -- conservative and liberal -- trumpeted them for grabbing the American Beast by the testicles and yanking.

What they forgot is...The Beast bites back.

The Tea Party was able to elect several "mavericks" to Congress. However, the majority of wins went to traditional rank-and-file Republicans, so the House of Representatives flipped back for the next two years. The Senate remained relatively unchanged and still in Democratic control.

So little had changed in the grand political scheme, or with the cheap hacks running Congress, that it reminded me of the day I formally entered The Beast's lair, rolled up my sleeves and prepared to be eviscerated by its claws.

In 1995, I turned 18 years old and soon after registered to vote. I wanted to cast my first ballot in the 1996 contest that pitted President Bill Clinton against Senator Bob Dole. Clinton won convincingly, proving the U.S. had moved past the "Greatest Generation" for its formal leadership, even if our grandfathers remained important behind the scenes of national politics. I voted for Dole. I've regretted it ever since, mainly because I regarded that first vote as a throw-away.

The day I registered, I walked into the Pike County administration building and started up the stairs to the election bureau. Descending was a rotund aging man in glasses. If I had tripped him, he would have rolled through the doors and smashed the sheriff's deputy in the lobby in a grizzly scene of flab and bone.

"Excuse me, sir, where's the Bureau of Elections?" I asked.
"Top of the stairs, through the doors, right turn and its the first office on the left...Say, are you registering to vote?"
"Yes," I replied, but inside I began wishing I had punched myself.
"Well, do you believe government has an obligation to help the people?" the man asked. I answered affirmative, but didn't elaborate. "Well, then! You should register Democrat!" he beamed.
"I can't say I like everything Democrats do or say," I told him. "Like gun control. I might register Independent."
"Well, the important thing is that you register and vote, son. But remember, you won't get to vote in primaries. Have a nice day."

I moved on, but something about the primary comment grated me. I pushed it back, instead thinking about whether I could bed a girl I knew...regular thought process stuff for 18-year-old men.

On the next flight of stairs, I encountered a tall, balding, skinny man. He looked as if someone lashed together two saplings and dropped a pale helmet on top. "Where you headed, son?"

What the fuck? I thought. Does every geriatric bastard in this county have to know where I'm going? Do I look suspicious? Are they on guard? Do they KNOW???

Bureau of Elections, I said. He pointed me to the door above and asked me why I was going there. I told him.

"How are you going to register? What do you believe in? Do you believe in small government?" he asked. "Then you should register Republican!"

He barely gave me time to answer...I told him I was not a Republican. I disliked the party's constant pandering to religious zealots who are not content to worship their God unless they can make everyone else a second-class citizen. I was going to register Independent, I said.

"Oh, don't do that. You won't be able to vote in primaries. You'll be giving away half your vote," he said.

I registered Independent. Later, I realized the Republicans and Democrats worry less about whether you join them, than if you're in the oppositions, the Independents, Greens, Libertarians, Tea, Bull Moose...The Freaks. Minority parties have been locked out of the democratic process by the hustlers in the Big Two with the lie that our republic must be a two-party system. It doesn't; the U.S. Constitution prescribes no such nonsense.

The primary give-away myth only holds true if you have no one to vote for in the primary. More states in recent decades have adopted open primaries, in which registered voters cast ballots for any party. A primary runoff system, with a level field for all parties, is the next logical evolution.

That's the problem today. The Big Two parties face no real competition, so they're content and complacent like fatted hogs with no incentive for ideas beyond wallowing in their own shit. And Americans buy it out of desperation.

If Americans truly want to break the glass jaw of American politics, like Mike Tyson stomping some water-weighted opponent, they'd work for primary runoffs in their states. Likely, those third parties will lose more than they win, but at least it would be a fair fight.

Until such time, no movement can claim to have shaken up the political system. It will take more than slogans and anger to change our politics, to satiate the appetite of the American Beast.

Looking for America: Through tunnels and blue eyes

2010-12-31T02:00:00.001-05:00

Editor's Note: It's been more than two months since my friend "Dr. Bronco" and I took a road trip around western Pa. with no real preset destination, only an objective to "look for America." This is the journey through his eyes. The tardiness of this post is entirely my fault. ~JTR

Through tunnels and blue eyes
Written by Dr. Bronco, Contributing Wandering Hooligan

Sometimes when your soul needs a little kick start, spontaneity can be the best medicine. I'm not saying that anything was broken, but a spur of the moment road trip with your best bud is sure to fix whats ailing. So that's what we did. I never intended for the trip to be some type of therapy, but the truth is, I'm glad it was.

I find driving very relaxing to begin with and usually find time beyond the stop signs to clear my head and reset. This trip would be no different and was apparent soon enough as we cruised west on the turnpike. We were heading towards Somerset, Pa., along the most revered toll road in the country, straight into the mouth of the Appalachians (a.k.a the mountain tunnels). Somerset is where I spent my first memories. I only remember the one year of kindergarten I spent there, but it is what I consider to be the beginning of my life as I know it.

It's odd how memories of old are dictated by the actions of today. It's always reassuring to know that you'll be able to find a pleasant memory to pick you up if needed. That power is human kind's greatest defense mechanism against itself. I was glad to be there and glad to leave.

We headed down the road to Shanksville to visit the Flight 93 Memorial. The memorial is a vast field with the laurel highlands as a backstop. As touching as it was to see the heroes on that flight forever memorialized in the heart of Pennsylvania, it was also a buzz kill. It's hard to grasp the reality that this serene setting held the final act to the worst day in recent American history.

So it goes, and so do we as we drove off to Greensburg, PA. Sometime after 4 p.m., we stop at a covered bridge along the way, which i believe to be the highlight of the trip. It was in the middle of nowhere and was down this old dirt road. It was by far the most spontaneous decision we made and was the essential reason for our trip: finding the unexpected. We took some pictures and moved on down Route 30 singing loud.

When we got to Greensburg it soon hit us how spoiled we were with our choices of night life by living in Harrisburg. We argued about where to stay but finally settled on the Hampton. All I cared about was that I didn't encounter bed bugs, and I'm glad to report that the hotel passed the test. However, their water pressure sucked. Apparently, there was only one place to eat in town, right across the street from the only place to drink in town. So we did. It was a run down place but was roomy and quaint. The bar was filled with cougars who had to be home by 10 p.m. so they could relieve their babysitters or divorced fathers who didn't have custody this weekend. The cougars were showing as much cleavage as possible without revealing stretch marks and the man's hands were as tough as the machines they worked on.

It was the perfect slice of Americana we were looking for. No watered down shit for us, we wanted the real deal. But all bars close and we all must sleep. So we did. The following morning I found myself sitting at the smallest Denny's ever with two plates of food in front of me as my partner in crime went MIA in the parking lot for a good half hour, presumably to puke. After realizing that eating was not a viable option he took up a steady diet of cigarettes and coffee.

Next stop, the hippy-fest in Latrobe to grab some fresh tie-die and then off to Punxsutawney, Pa., to see Pennsylvania's most famous gopher, Phil. Once we got to Punxsy, we knew right away that the only thing this town had going for it was this gopher. It was also not as nice as depicted in the movie “Groundhog Day.” The townies were quick to point out that none of that movie was actually filmed there. It was quaint none-the-less and filled our thirst for something different.

But nothing was different. Every establishment held the same clientele as the last. All looking for a quick fix to their hardships, just like us.

That's when it hit me. This whole trip was a glimpse into a life of what might have been and still might one day be. At that moment, I was glad to have the company of a friend and we were looking forward to going home. The long trip home didn't take long enough. We played harmonica horribly and sang along to the radio at the top of our lungs. The mountains of central Pennsylvania are absolutely breathtaking when they're blossoming in the beautiful fall colors. The trees looked as if they were a paint by number my son had done. And the sky was done from the same pallet of my daughter's baby blue eyes.

Sometimes I think we should look at the world through those eyes. I think we'd see that things aren't actually that bad and that with a little help from our imaginations and each other, life is worth enjoying. This trip represented the innocence that they possess and that we once did. Back when you could rule the world from your back yard as long as you were home by dark.

So that's what we did. We ruled our backyard. But most importantly, we were home before dark.

Fresh fruit on its way

2010-11-01T23:18:00.000-04:00

We should have some new posts, or fresh fruit if you will, hitting the blog in the next several days.

Tomorrow - It's election day. I plan to vote and hopefully you do, too. Well, after you've gone into the ballot booth totally confused and come out apprehensive, sit down to read the latest installment of Riverside Hooligans' "Looking for America." My perspective on the voting process, what I heard as a fly on the wall during my road trip and where I think we're headed over the next several years.

There are more to come, including guest columns from some friends and more on relationships from me.

Check back tomorrow to follow my journey around western Pennsylvania.

Cheers.
JTR, Hooligan-in-Chief

Looking for America: I can't find the words

2010-10-27T23:44:00.000-04:00

By Jim T. Ryan, Wandering Hooligan

It's been two weeks since my friend and I embarked on our road trip "to find America."

In all honesty, what we found was some killer hangovers and western Pennsylvania. But if you're planning a spontaneous road trip and you never venture beyond your state in a three-day period, it doesn't necessarily mean you didn't find a slice of America, one small photo album in an archive of what constitutes the "Land of the Free, Home of the Brave."

I've taken so long to write anything because, honestly, I wasn't sure what to write. I couldn't find the words to accurately describe our journey. On one level, it was merely a booze-fueled weekend of guys being guys.

But on another level, we saw how America has changed since the days when we were small. The journey was a slide show of the past 25 years, encapsulating key moments in time for us, our nation.

View Larger Map

We saw interesting weather, spectacular scenery, several groundhogs and night clubs in small towns where you'd expect to be dealt a whopping dose of country music, yet found yourself blasted with the latest dance music at decibel levels likely to cause ear cancer. And we found evidence that no matter how authoritarian our often conservative society tries to be, it will never silence the rebel, the scofflaw, the pirate, the young and irreverent souls looking to carve their name into the landscape.

We even heard many grumblings about politics of the day and saw a man who stood like a statue at the Flight 93 crash site near Shanksville. He babbled non-stop to anyone within earshot about the dedication to marking the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001 in the area. I wondered then if he would be quiet long enough for me to listen to the wind.

In some places, I felt moved. In others, I felt at peace. Still others, I felt nothing.

I guess that's America. I'd like to believe that I'd be moved and inspired by every place in my homeland.

But the truth is sometimes you're just numb...or about to vomit as you peer out through your aviator shades in a Denny's on a tasteless excuse for a breakfast, and a room of people whose buzzing, stupid conversations are driving a white-hot nail into your brain.

But that's America.

The Road Trip Check List

2010-10-14T23:51:00.002-04:00

By Jim T. Ryan, Wandering Hooligan

Even the most random, spontaneous road trip should be done right.

That means harking back to my days of 100-mile canoe trips and merit badges at summer camp by following the old Boy Scout Motto: Be Prepared.

So here's a check list for my road trip and other useful things thrown in that any good road trip should include:

10. Rubber ducks - OK, I freely admit I'm going to use this trip to do some research for a story I'm writing for the Central Penn Business Journal. Been talking with a tech entrepreneur who's starting a viral, social media marketing company. The rubber ducks or "Thingies" are a prototype test of a website where you can find businesses in your city or around the world by tracking these ducks. I'm going to toss some of these Thingies out into the world and see where they end up, for the sake of serious journalism...and fun! Note: This photo is of a generic rubber duck.

9. Harmonica - Every good road-weary soul should have a musical instrument to pass the time around a camp fire or while watching a sunset over a bleak stretch of highway.

8. Jumper cables - If you leave the headlights on and come out the next morning to a dead car, you don't want to wait around for the next person to drive by with jumper cables. You just want to ask the person next to you to give you a jump. Back on the road in no time!

7. Cell phone/charger - Mostly for emergencies, but it doesn't hurt to check in with the family to let them know you're not in a ditch. Plus, you want a non-bulky camera and web access handy to post embarrassing photos of your buddy on Facebook.

6. Flask - I do not advocate drinking and driving. However, it's nice to have a nip of warm whiskey on your walk back to the motel after the bars close or to that house party you got invited to.

5. Pocket knife/Zippo - No traveler should be without them. A knife is a multi-use tool that could save your life, or simply allow you to cut an apple while watching the sun rise over some spectacular mountain landscape. A Zippo will light your friend's cigarette, or a camp fire if needed.

4. Journal and pen/pencil - I'm a writer. I don't go anywhere without my tools of the trade.

3. Glow sticks - If you get invited to a rave party, you're prepared to fit in at a moment's notice. If you have to walk in the dark because your car broke down, you'll be able to see each other and others will see you.

2. Cash - A good time takes money. Any road trip can be done on the cheap, but you need to eat and drink and sleep in a reasonably clean and comfortable bed. It all costs money. Plus, if you get in a jam, it's a hell of a lot easier to give someone some greenbacks to help you than to convince them you'll tap an ATM after they help you.

1. A good friend - You can travel on your own if you want. It certainly makes a statement about your independence and self reliance, but who's going to have your back? Who's going to remember that good time when you're old? Me, I'll take someone to share the experience. Besides, who will help you tell tall tales when you return!

And with that, I bid you farewell. What essentials would you bring on a road trip?

2010-10-14T13:37:00.001-04:00

Check back later TONIGHT for the official ROAD TRIP CHECK LIST!

The Ever-Evolving Road Trip

2010-10-11T18:14:00.001-04:00

By Jim T. Ryan, Hooligan-in-Chief

My trusted road trip friend -- we'll call him Dr. Bronco -- and I have changed our plans again. We've come to the conclusion that we're in such need of spontaneity, that we're abandoning the roll of the die altogether.

Nothing except us will decide what we do this weekend. 36 hours of experiencing America is the theme of our road trip now. No itineraries. No expectations. No rules. We're going to drive and find America, or what's left of it.

I can't help recall Simon & Garfunkel's "America," as I write this: They've all gone to look for America!

Or maybe we're just looking for our youth again as our 30s march on and we come to the sad realization that soon it will be the next generation's turn to "Look for America." Maybe we just want to relive our Glory Days, those rough nights of alcohol and cigarettes in our 20s when we rarely planned a weekend or a week or a month or a year with much care other than to ask: can we buy food today? Is the rent overdue? Do we have enough for a party?

And when the job ran out and you only had $50 left in the bank, it made perfect sense to stretch it to the max and go completely off the maps with debauchery and carelessness in the dim hope that at the end of the ride, you'd be that much closer to a solution. Or at least be numb enough to care less about whether your chosen solution was what everyone thought was the right solution.

Anyway, Dr. Bronco and I are off to find some small portion of our America.

Here's to the open road and finding the true soul and demons of the land we love.

Damn you, Drew Carey

2010-10-09T00:14:00.000-04:00

By Jim T. Ryan, Hooligan-in-Chief

Damn you, Drew Carey!

Your suave pitches about the endearing qualities of Cleveland had me sold. And then I realized I could not afford a weekend in your lavish city.

This is what happens when you have a life that revolves around the schedules of others and try to "plan" a weekend getaway.

I had my hopes set on visiting Cleveland next weekend and tried miserably to live by another plan, another schedule. And then a friend pointed out that the hotel I had booked had reports of bed bugs...and it was in an unsavory part of town.

My biggest problem is that with children, and work schedules and recreational sports schedules and family schedules and scheduled interviews and scheduled TV time and schedules, schedules, schedules...I have forgotten how to take a risk.

What I really needed was spontaneity. So instead of scheduling an expensive trip to Cleveland, a trusted road trip buddy and I have decided to literally roll the die and go where fate takes us. We will assign rather random cities to numbers on a die, roll it, and where it lands, that's where our car will take us. We'll live by our wits, at least for a weekend. And then its back on schedule.

Never underestimate the ability of spontaneity and chaos and chance to cut through the stress of schedules.

Here's to the open road and what adventures fate might throw our way!

Bittersweet ‘moment in time’ for U.S. Soccer fan

2010-08-19T23:25:00.000-04:00

Written by Pete Strella, Hooligans contributor

“There it is…the moment…deep, deep, deep into the match!” proclaimed ESPN commentator Ian Darke during a replay of Landon Donovan’s epic game-winning goal against Algeria in the FIFA World Cup.

Darke, whose poetic and honest commentary outshined even the play on the field, had been saying in his British accent that the U.S. needed “a moment in time” on several occasions during the buildup to the “golden” goal.

The U.S. delivered this moment, and what followed was nationwide rejoice as thrilling as any celebration I’ve experienced as a U.S. Soccer fan.

In fact, the persistent U.S. side delivered several unforgettable moments in South Africa:

Clint Dempsey’s routine but heady shot at Robert Green, which the English goalkeeper handled as though it were a rolling skunk. The resulting goal led to a critical 1-1 draw against England. Let’s not forget the sick moves Dempsey dished out before uncorking the shot.
Michael Bradley’s streaking run and laser half-volley equalizer that capped a thrilling second-half comeback draw against Slovenia. This game also featured Donovan’s point-blank, top-shelf rocket. And there was more…
Maurice Edu’s apparent game-winner against Slovenia that was unjustly called off by referee Korman Coulibaly. As if America - or the world for that matter - needed any more conspiracy theories.

That’s a pretty sweet lineup of moments…so why do I get bitter-beer face every time I think about America’s performance in the 2010 World Cup?

I wanted to write about this sooner, but didn’t want the emotion of a bad loss leading to a knee jerk reaction like those so prevalent in today’s 24-hour news cycle. No, I wanted to let it fester and marinate…to see if I could calm the ugly rage with time. After six weeks, it’s still there.

Simply put, we blew it against Ghana in the Round of 16. The table was set for a run into the semi-finals, which would have been the best U.S. World Cup performance in the 80 years.

Ninety-nine times out of 100, America’s elite Goalkeeper Tim Howard saves the near-post shot that led to Ghana’s first goal. Also, U.S. Coach Bob Bradley made a crushing mistake in starting Ricardo Clark instead of Benny Feilhaber, who proved to be a difference maker against Algeria. Clark’s poor performance led to an early substitution, one the U.S. desperately needed but didn’t have available late in the match.

Yes, Ghana was more athletic, but they were very beatable. Nothing irritates me more than a missed opportunity. This opportunity was sent well over the cross bar.

So in the days after the U.S. team was sent home from South Africa, I couldn’t shake the bittersweet feeling I had as I saw Donovan and Coach Bradley on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart. The conversation was all positive, mostly centered on the goal against Algeria, but I even sensed that Donovan and Bradley were a bit disappointed that they didn’t achieve more. Either that or extremely tired from the long flight home.

If they truly feel disappointed, it’s entirely appropriate. World Cup soccer is not like the NFL or NBA. You can’t simply take the spring or summer off and get right back to it…you have to wait four years…just like you do when you elect a bad president.

If soccer is to provide our country with more memorable moments, the U.S. team must overcome – yes I said overcome - what happened in South Africa today and make it their mission not to suffer a letdown in Brazil in 2014. The U.S. has advanced to the "Round of 16" three times in my life – 1994, 2002 and 2010. What followed the ’94 and ‘02 cups were early exits and bitter disappointment in 1998 and 2006. Will it happen again in 2014? I sure hope not. If the U.S. wants to be a true worldwide threat, it can’t happen again.

I admit, I’m a bit delusional in my hope that the U.S. will win a World Cup in my lifetime. The reason I want it so bad: As a soccer fan, nothing would please more than being able to tell the world, “We beat you at the sport you obsess over and we don’t even really care about.” It would be inarguable proof that we have the best athletes in the world and more than make up for recent international disappointments in U.S. baseball and basketball.

For me, it would be the ultimate “moment in time.”

Pete Strella lives in Lower Paxton Township, Dauphin County, with his wife, Rachel. Since 2004, Pete has written professionally for companies and news outlets, covering local government, business and sports.

New business is social business

2010-08-15T21:19:00.000-04:00

Written by Rachel Strella, Hooligans contributor

Social media can be daunting to some folks, especially the idea of conducting business this way. Let’s face it: it’s one more thing to learn, to set-up, to maintain and interact with.

I admit the words "social media" made me cringe at first. I had finally reached a point in marketing, in which I felt comfortable with all the online tools that are necessary such as e-mail and websites. I did have a Facebook page, but I wasn’t using it for business purposes.

Once I started a business page for my boss, I found it was really easy to set-up and it was fun to see who would become a fan. I figured I may as well create a Twitter and a LinkedIn page. Creating all of these was less painful than I imagined … it's like learning a foreign language: once you have mastered one, you can apply those lessons to other languages and each new language becomes easier.

Quickly, I discovered that I preferred to be on my business pages more than my personal pages. I am still not sure why. Maybe I had more to offer and could connect to a wider audience. Either way, I enjoyed it and was excited to tell others, and thus, help them learn to use social media.

That's why I started Central PA Webster – to help others use social media, especially to grow their business.

Social media is really just an extension of what you should already be doing: building relationships. Most of us in business already have a social network – we just need to transform that network to social media. Take the time to connect online with people you already have in your social circle.

This is vital for getting started.

Then, determine your goals. What are they: Stay in front of clients? Maintain customer loyalty? Sell a new product? Reach a bigger audience? Most of my clients say all of the above, but it’s important to start out with one or two small goals for getting started. I suggest starting with the goal of maintaining customer loyalty. And that’s something they can do by connecting with those you already know.

Next, offer the value message. Write something profound, useful, or intriguing. Write something your customers will consider valuable and even pass on through their social media networks... Another quick tip: use a teaser and link it to your website for more information. Dually important is engaging in others’ posts. Take the time to read, comment, and get a conversation going like you would in a live networking event. To sum it up use this formula from Tom H.C. Anderson, owner of Anderson Analytics, “Engage rather than sell … Work as a co-creator, not a marketer.”

Once you have a solid list of clients, you can work on another goal, which may be growing your list. Some quick tips:

Every time you attend a networking event and collect business cards, hop online and ask those people to connect
Check local newspapers for people you may want to add
Check the list of new people with your current clients and ask to connect with them

Be sure to remind these folks of who you are and why you want to connect with them. Make sure you have business contacts for a business account and avoid connecting with just anybody.

Cam Balzer, vice president of marketing at community-centered, online apparel store Threadless, explained it well in an American Business Women's Association blog.

“The secret isn’t growing a huge fan base,” Balzer said. “We have 100,000 Facebook fans, but those fans have all come to us organically. We believe the more organic the growth, the more loyal the fans, the more likely they will be repeat customers."

Be sure to post messages daily. Set small goals and create a daily checklist of social media websites you plan to view. Start by setting aside a half-hour a day to focus on social media. Try to enjoy reading and writing on the site – be creative and have fun with it.

Once you are enjoying your interaction and growing your business, social media will become a little less daunting.

Rachel Strella is the owner of Central PA Webster, an internet marketing and branding company with a focus on social media. She has a communications degree from Penn State and has spent the past five years in sales and marketing positions throughout south central Pennsylvania. Email Rachel at centralpawebster@hotmail.com.

Beauty and the boudoir camera

2010-08-04T00:09:00.000-04:00

Written by Diane Kovach, Hooligans contributor

Yesterday, I commented to someone that I felt boudoir photography – images capturing regular women in sexy or intimate poses – was important, almost a mission.

Until I had my own session recently (that story will be its own post someday), I’m not sure boudoir sessions had much value to me. And yet, you simply feel beautiful when its all over. Whatever your reasons might be for wanting to feel beautiful, for yourself, for someone special and to celebrate something….Do what makes you feel beautiful!

First though, you’ll want to feel comfortable with your photographer. Search the web, ask your friends and look around. Take a look at several websites and make sure that you like the images that you see, that you’re not offended, turned off or grossed out by them (yes, that can truly happen!). If you tend to be a little shy, make email contact with the person you feel most comfortable with. Make sure you feel comfortable with your photographer’s gender. Yes…in this case it can make a huge difference. Once you’ve made the initial contact, you’ll probably be asked to make two appointments: one for a consultation and one for your photo shoot.

Before you go to your consult, make a list of the things you love about your body. Be honest with yourself. If you like the way your hair curls around your face, that’s good! Focus on the positives but it’s OK to make a short list of things you’re really worried about. Take the list with you and be completely honest with your photographer.

They’ll guide you, generally, through what to expect, but they also want to get to know you. Be yourself as much as possible. Be honest with photographers about your style and your personality and the things that are important to you in life. Be honest and tell us about your goals for your session. Do you want one great image to print and hang on your wall? Do you want a variety of images that are vastly different to create an album for someone special? How open are you with your body? All these things are good to consider. If you want alluring images, but not nudes, tell us. Most of the time, there is nothing you can say that will offend your photographer.

So what will you expect during the session? That’s where it gets a little tricky to write about. Each photographer does things differently. Some start out with some sexy, fully-clothed images shortly after you walk into the studio (or location) and some will visit with you while you have your hair and makeup professionally done.

After that, chances are you’ll do a fair amount of posing. No matter how natural an image looks, sadly, it is still posed. I have a real problem with that word, because I’m one who hates to be posed and stiff. Be warned….you may come out with a new appreciation for a model’s endurance!!

But you know what else? I’d almost bet my last dollar that you’ll also come out feeling like a new person…like one of the most beautiful people to walk the earth. Am I being cheesy? Nope. I went into my own session with a million apprehensions…almost called and canceled the night before. But, I’m really glad that I went, that I drove to the studio and went through with it. I think I drove the entire way home feeling like a supermodel and with a smile on my face.

My point is, if you want or need to feel terrific about yourself, ignore the excuses. Sure, many of us could stand to lose a pound or two. Maybe we’re just starting a new chapter of life and feel like we’re too busy. How much would you spend on that single outfit that makes you feel fabulous? Take a friend, take a bottle of wine, take some music that you enjoy and take that outfit that makes you feel terrific and just do it. As someone who’s been on both sides of the lens, you won’t regret it!

Diane Kovach is a photographer from Palmyra, Pa. She owns DB Impressions, a photographic studio specializing in boudoir, family/kids and high school seniors. Kovach is a green freak and gadget junkie, yet likes to get away from it all with her family a few times each year. She is passionate about perfecting her craft and making others aware of the different charities available through photography. Email Kovach at diane@dbimpressions.com.

Riverside Hooligans

2010-08-02T20:24:00.000-04:00

As the title of this post implies, Riverside Hooligan will be adding the writings, photography and video of other talented individuals from the south central Pennsylvania region in coming weeks.

As such, the blog's title will change to Riverside Hooligans.

Some posts you can expect in coming days and weeks will include a look at the new world of business in the age of social media. We know--it's a much-talked-about subject, and there's a bit of hype surrounding it. However, some of that hype is deserved. We'll get the perspective from a young entrepreneur who has fashioned social media into business and is helping others do the same thing.

As always here at Hooligan, we like sports...a lot...OK, maybe a little too much. So, we'll have a blogger dissect the state of U.S. Men's National Team soccer. Where do the "heart attack kids" go from here? What do they have to accomplish in the next World Cup?

We'll also begin talking more about love and sex and their intersection from both the male and female perspectives. We'll hear from a professional photographer about why boudoir photography is important, how it can be done tastefully and what one should expect from a photo session.

We'll also talk about some easy ways that guys can help rekindle the relationship with their female partners. Man-up, boys...this will involve scented lotions, feet and mutual exercise. The rewards are well worth the minimal effort. I can hear the rusty gears of your imaginations through the Internets.

And as always, we'll be seeking your feedback. We want to know what you think. The Hooligan is an open forum. We sling some mud sometimes, and we're not above taking a rocky mud ball to the eye. So, please, let us know what you think about Riverside Hooligans.

Cheers,
JTR, Hooligan-in-Chief

Party on...I mean, off...damn!

2010-07-17T19:34:00.001-04:00

OK, I know I said I was taking a break. And I will. But there's a necessity for one more blog before I hit the sand and surf.

No one likes a party like me. I've been to some strange ones. Parties where guys are dressed like girls. Parties that are a constant make-out session for everyone present. Dance parties. Heaven and Hell parties. Halloween parties. Wedding parties. Parties where at least one sex act happens in a closet, and a few upstairs in the rooms.

Christmas parties that end in beer brawls. Beer parties that end in Christmas brawls (wait, can that be right?). Parties where two individuals lose a beer-pong game (and a bet) and have to run around the house and down to the main street sans clothing, only to have their clothes stolen and be locked out of the house. Responsible parties know who they are.

Parties where no one sleeps and instead welcome the sun to a raised beer can and the groggy realization that you have to be at least semi-functional in about two hours. And then the professor slams a book on your desk, causing you to nearly shit yourself.

I've been to graduation parties, too. Today, I'm missing one of those. Sorry, Amy. Congratulations.

But sometimes, there's just no party for a soccer dad. Especially not when your youngest is running a fever only 15 hours before you're supposed to depart for a week-long vacation at the beach. Nope, those are the times when your party involves a bubble bath, constant temperature checks, Elmo and Tylenol

Nope, no party for me tonight. Just dad duties. It's cool. There's always another party on the horizon.

What crazy parties have you been to? What crazy parties have you missed and why? Let me know via email or in responses below. Cheers, and party on.

Surfside Hooligan

2010-07-16T19:58:00.000-04:00

I'll be taking a brief break from writing on this blog while my family and I are vacationing at the beach.

I spend a lot of time staring at a computer screen for my job as a reporter and I need a reprieve from computers and lengthy, eye-melting Internet sessions. At this rate, I'll go blind and half brain-dead within 10 years from reading company emails and press releases during the day, and "News of the Weird" sections of online newspapers and media aggregation sites at night.

Facebook will likely finish me off...must reply to cute kitten photo...iiiigggghhhhh...

That's not to say I won't be writing. I will, but I'll be going old school for about a week. That's right, I'll be using a pen and paper. Most of my writing will be journal related. I've been keeping a personal journal since I was 17 years old. Today, it encompasses 10 notebooks of various sizes. I'm about to finish up the 10th book and then I'll start the 11th in a leather-bound journal my wife bought me for Christmas.

However, I also promise to come up with some good ideas for blogs when I return from my ocean adventure. See you in about a week!

Cheers,
Surfside Hooligan

Imperfect Me: Scar tissue tales

2010-07-15T01:27:00.000-04:00

Every time I look at a photo of myself, or glance in a mirror, I'm reminded of bloody high school soccer games. My left upper arm reminds me of my first full-time job at a newspaper, the Pike County Dispatch in Milford, Pa.

Even if every scar in my life isn't a happy memory, I love them and wouldn't trade any for the world. They are my memories, short snapshots of moments that defined my life.

Many people look at their scars and see imperfection -- a blemish they want to erase from their life forever. I'm sure there are some scars caused by emotional and physical pain too grotesque for any happy memory. But most people thankfully will never know the truly painful ones.

Here's a list of all the scars I have and how I got them:

Right wrist - Like many kids, I loved to climb trees. When my family moved into my grandfather's house, about the time I was 9 years old, there was a tall pine tree in the yard. My brother and I used to climb through the bushy, sticky limbs to the top (only about 12 feet off the ground) and jump. Lower limbs occasionally snapped off. One time, I jumped catching my wrist about 2 inches from my palm on a broken, jagged limb. When I landed, my wrist was bleeding and was on fire. It healed, but there lies a jagged patch of twisted skin to remind me to clear the lower limbs when jumping from trees.

Left hand - About half an inch from my thumb is a small white line, a scar that looks like a surgeon's cut that I received while carelessly playing with a razor blade at my parents home in Milford, one late night while listening to music on the radio in middle school. Careful with razor blades. They cut stuff.

Left hand - I have a tear-shaped scar half an inch from the razor scar after I burned myself with melted nylon. I was melting the end of a rope when a burning drop landed on my hand. No matter how much I waved my hand it didn't come off until it cooled, leaving a small blister that scarred. Careful when melting nylon rope. It sucks if it gets on your skin.

Small knuckle, right hand - In 1995, I traveled to Minnesota with the my soccer club, Hudson Valley Storm, to compete in the Schwans USA Cup, one of the largest youth tournaments in the western hemisphere. The team took third place in the U-18 division, a rather prestigious honor.

However, I wasn't there to witness it, or play in the game or most of the tournament. My fifteen minutes of fame came in the first game we played. Coach sent me in as a right wing. On my third run up the field, I was fighting off a defender, turned the corner and delivered a decent cross just as the defender bodied up and sent me sprawling to the pitch. No big deal, that's soccer. My right arm shot out to brace myself, and when I landed, a pain shot through my hand.

I got to my knees and looked at my hand. My small finger was pointing back toward me even though the other fingers were closed in a fist. I doubled back over onto the ground. I knew it was broken the minute I looked at it. The finger broke right after the hand knuckle. My coach didn't believe me until I made a fist and pointed the broken finger at him. "Oohhh!" he said with a chuckle. I walked off the field and was golf-carted to the medical office where someone reset the finger and splinted it. I flew back home a day later to have surgery, necessary because the finger had twisted. It was a long night flight by myself with an hour layover in Chicago. Only good part was the sympathy and attention I got from the female flight attendants - one older motherly type and two younger hotties.

The surgery involved drilling a small hole through my bones and sliding a steel wire in to hold them in place.I spent the rest of the summer juggling soccer balls and riding my Boogie board with a plastic bag over my arm. The finger works, but a small round scar and slight indentation are barely visible on my knuckle.

Back of my head - My hair masks it, but when I was about 11 years old, I got a bloody rock-filled cut on my head from the road in front of our house. I was riding my bike after everyone had piled leaves at the road side. I tried riding through a large pile, only to find that the leaves clogged up the wheels and chain, sending me flying over my handle bars and landing on my back with a thud. Seeing stars, I popped up and ran home, crying. I got a slight concussion and my father picked rocks out of my scalp for half an hour, drenching my head with peroxide. I never tried to ride my bike through leaves again, until years later when I received a mountain bike as a graduation present. The forest floor was only slightly softer on my landing, but at least I was wearing a helmet.

My Nose - My nose holds two imperfections from one event. I think it was my freshman year in high school soccer when I got hit by a freight train in mid air and broke my nose. Like many other sports, adrenaline takes over in soccer and concern for your own bodily harm is erased by the notion that you can win! That means even the short guy can go up for a head ball and sometimes win it.

After the game, my father smiled and threw his arm around my shoulder. "You know," he said, "Every Ryan man has broken their nose at least once." Skiing accidents, boxing, soccer, football...you name it, we've probably broken our noses -- and many other bones -- doing it.

"So you want to get it fixed?" my dad asked. "How do they fix a broken nose?" I asked. I already knew how they fixed collar bones. Broke one of those in seventh grade soccer. Worst bone in your body to break. Sleeping hurts, walking hurts, showering hurts, and setting it is excruciating as they grab the two ends and push and pull them back into place through your skin.

"They put metal rods in your nose and move it around until its straight again," my dad said. "No thanks," I said. "It's staying broken." And so it did. Today, I have a scar on the bridge and a crooked, curved nose. This is one of my favorite scars. With it, I officially became as boneheaded as the rest of the men in my family.

My right knee - I have a 4-inch scar on my right knee after receiving 18 stitches for a gash from metal bleachers. I slipped off them while walking down after putting on my soccer boots. One of the dumbest things I ever did. The string of profanity I let loose that day still hangs over the Hudson River. The doctor said I was lucky because the white showing at one corner was a ligament that narrowly escaped being severed. Had I cut, it would have required surgery and months of rehabilitation. Even today, people ask if I had knee surgery when they see the scar. No, I answer. But I'm thinking brain surgery to correct stupid would be good.

My tattoo, left upper arm - By far my favorite scar. A tattoo shop in Pike County gave me my first inking as part of a story I was writing about its grand opening. The pattern is a bird, wings raised above its head with the Chinese symbol for "Love." It is a key pillar in my spiritual beliefs. I chose the character because it looked like a small fire. Appropriate considering that's what love and passion are: fires that burn in our soul. All things are possible through love. All we need is love. All else can grow from that.

Ink in skin is one of the sexiest scars a person can have. It demonstrates that you're willing to make your life and your body your own. It's not a scar of unintended circumstances. It's a scar of decision, or even of impulse. Either way, it's yours forever. A blemish you've chosen in free will.

Your body and all its imperfections are unique to you, whether by accident or choice. Share them as you see fit. Correct and alter them if it will lift your soul. But first, try as best as humanly possible to own those imperfections. They are what make you beautiful to those who love you most.

Red Bulls, Brainy Octopi and Other Soccer Notes

2010-07-11T12:34:00.001-04:00

Good afternoon. Here's a few soccer notes before today's World Cup final. After today, I'll probably start writing about some other subject matter to take a break from soccer.

New York Red Bulls - New York soccer is about to explode onto the media map this week. Sure it was nice to take home the rivalry trophy, the Atlantic Cup, on Saturday by finishing the season series against DC with a tie. But I'm in agreement with published reports from other bloggers, fans, journalists and players that a 0-0 tie against the last place team in Major League Soccer is not good enough. NY dominated the game and came close multiple times in the first half, but just couldn't find the back of the net. Refereeing was inconsistent at best and poor at worst. Referees have to stop calling touch-and-dive fouls for one team, then completely ignoring fouls when the other team actually gets an elbow to the head in the box right in front of the ref. I counted at least two penalty kicks that should have been given to New York, including a rather egregious hand ball in the box in the first half.

OK, the point at home wasn't pretty, but New York Red Bulls are about to get Thierry Henry on July 15, a tremendous addition to the team's stable of strikers. The only question I have is: Who does the team unload from its growing list of strikers? Juan Pablo Angel isn't going anywhere, obviously. Mac Kandji just got healthy and saw second half time against DC. Unlikely he'll be jettisoned. John Wolyniec is a fan favorite, a Staten Island native and a workhorse off the bench. Not seeing him going anywhere else at 32 years old. Salou Ibrahim is another story. He's been lackluster in his starts for NY, just not living up to his potential. When the trade window opens, look for a possible trade of Ibrahim to free up cash for midfield and defensive acquisitions.

Speaking of acquisitions, Red Bulls Sporting Director Eric Soler said before Saturday's game that the team is close to signing a third designated player to boost the midfield. However, the team is pursuing a defensive midfielder. The rumors are beginning to swirl, but there's no definitive front-runner for that spot just yet.

World Cup Final - I'm favoring the Netherlands, but Paul the German Octopus has picked Spain. I'm now doubtful of Paul's abilities because this experiment lacks a control. Paul has been picking the winner of Germany's games for so long that I wonder if the octopus just went with a familiar flag, or if he really is a soccer aficionado that rivals the best analysts in the sport.

Either way, soccer fans are about to be treated to a tremendous match between two great teams. And a rare one at that: the final features two teams that have never won it, meaning a new country will be entered into the winner's circle of the world's most coveted trophy. In its history, only seven countries have won the World Cup with Brazil and Italy leading the pack with 5 and 4 wins, respectively. Germany has won three times, Argentina and Uruguay have won twice each, and England and France have each won once. So for the Dutch and the Spanish, there is not bigger day than July 11, 2010.

If you're lucky enough to be in these countries today, you're about to be treated to one of the biggest parties of all time before and during the game. If you're in the winning country, you are going to have trouble sleeping for the next 48 hours as drunken revelry, vuvuzelas and all sorts of other debauchery erupt around you in an orgy of elation.

Maybe some day, the United States will get to have that party. Our best placement in the World Cup was third place back in 1930. If we can get that far, if we can finish in the top eight in 2002, if we can take second place in the Confederations Cup, if we can beat Spain, then yes the United States someday can win a World Cup. It's a long and treacherous road between here and there, but it's a ride I wouldn't miss for the world.

2010-06-29T17:43:00.001-04:00

Nice...Red Bulls bus just pulled onto City Island...I think. :)

Two teams, but only one supporter

2010-06-28T22:02:00.000-04:00

I've played soccer all my life.

I don't ever remember a day when there wasn't a ball at my feet. Even my dogs played soccer, including my current furry companion, Hunter, who barks at me constantly if I don't throw his soccer ball to the fence for him to chase, retrieve and then refuse to give back to me to throw again. He might have something to teach some soccer players about possession.

Tomorrow, I'll travel the short distance to City Island here in Harrisburg to watch the City Islanders take on my beloved New York Red Bulls. I wish I could say I was torn between the team from my adopted home city and the team from America's largest metro area. I'm not.

Soccer as a spectator sport goes back equally far for me. I remember following my dad to soccer practice at his high school, watching intently as he instructed goalkeepers in proper angle cutting, outfield players on how to strike a ball out of mid air, and proper defensive positioning to delay, delay, delay an advancing attacker.

By the time I was playing in recreational leagues in elementary and middle school, my brother and I were instructing the other kids on not "beehiving" the ball. Although, it was kind of fun letting them beehive because when the ball popped free to us, we'd streak up the field and score goals, while naive sideline parents wondered still why the Ryan boys weren't trying to "boot" the ball like the rest of the kids.

Those were the days when you couldn't watch soccer on TV in the U.S. I had to stare at posters of Dutch superstar Ruud Gullit, knowing that under those dreadlocks was someone good, but not quite grasping how good. Then in 1996, my senior year of high school, came Major League Soccer, the first truly top-flight professional soccer league in the U.S. since the old North American Soccer League folded in 1984.

I was hooked, an immediate supporter of the New York/New Jersey MetroStars. We went to nearly every home game in Giants Stadium that year. I lived in northeast Pennsylvania, but the closest gem of a city was New York. We all looked to it with awe and love, the way a child kisses its mother with his eyes. Today, many of the people I knew in high school live and work in New York. My paths took me elsewhere.

Later, the MetroStars were bought and renamed, but soccer fans are loyal until the day they die. No changing teams for me. So here I am, a Red Bull New York fan living in Harrisburg, Pa. Any other time of the year, I would support and wish Harrisburg good luck in its endeavors.

But when lower-level teams meet the big Bulls in the U.S. Open Cup, my loyalties will not be divided. Red Bulls -- also affectionately referred to as "Metro" -- are my team. So, I say my prayers for the night:

Dear Soccer Gods, let the Red Bulls dispatch the City Islanders quickly and swiftly tomorrow. Any score that has New York winning is good, but let's aim for a thrashing...Oooo! And fair refereeing, please. Can't forget that one.

Go Red Bulls!

No more excuses, FIFA

2010-06-27T23:27:00.000-04:00

The time for excuses has passed.

FIFA, world soccer's governing body, has for too long rejected any and all avenues that would assist referees in the proper calls on goals. FIFA has turned down instant video review. It has turned down goal-line technology.

An idea has even been floated that there should be a goal-line referee at each end of the field. Rejected.

After watching the atrocities suffered by Mexico and England today, there is no doubt in my mind that FIFA needs to change.

Argentina's Carlos Tevez scored a goal where he was at least two or three yards offsides. The goal was allowed, erroneously. Mexico lost 3 - 1. England's Frank Lampard rifled a shot from the 18-yard line that struck the crossbar, bounced down into the goal by at least a yard, was grabbed by Germany's keeper and none of the four referees saw what every fan in and outside the stadium saw: a goal not counted, erroneously.

In qualifying, France's Thierry Henry used his hand deliberately to control a ball in the box, passed to a teammate who scored. The goal contributes to Ireland's failure to qualify for the World Cup. Not only should the goal not have been counted, but Henry should have been given a red card and France should have played down a man.

The United States had more than one goal erroneously called back for phantom fouls and offsides calls that were not offsides. And there are countless other examples of piss-poor refereeing. The game needs to be changed to preserve the integrity of the sport. Goal reviews, technology, something has to be done.

Soccer has been changed in the modern era. The back-pass rule was instituted after the 1990 World Cup to prevent teams from wasting time by passing back to the keeper, who then would pick it up and waste the clock. In 1992, FIFA instituted the back-pass rule to prevent this. Now if you pass to the keeper using the feet, he cannot pick up the ball to waste time.

It worked. The game has become more offensive minded. The integrity of the game was preserved. The same can be true with goal reviews, technology or goal refs. It will help preserve the integrity of the game, not slow it down.

No more excuses FIFA. Grow up and admit your inaction is stripping teams of what they've rightfully earned.

Adventures in World Cup DVRing

2010-06-24T22:32:00.006-04:00

Beer...check.

Five-goal World Cup soccer match on replay... check...

Cat...check...wait...Missy, stop drinking my beer. Get your own. Good luck with the refrigerator door.

Wow. Italy is really crashing out of this World Cup in style. Or rather, they crashed out of this world cup in style.

At first, they took some legitimate knocks from Slovakia, who came out into this game like a circus bear, taunted for years. Then unleashed. The Slovaks tore threw everything in their path, pitch and Italians alike.

So I understand why the Italians started diving. But the Slovaks switched their strategy quickly and just played football. It worked. The goal energized them early, boosted their confidence and made them believe. The Italians were decimated. The first goal destroyed any confidence in the essential fairness of grit and determination in this beautiful game. Every team gets tough breaks, but those that draw energy from the experience will survive another day.

Oooo! Just saw the gash to Slovakia's No. 6, midfielder Zdenko STRBA. What a tackle and a tremendous injury to have! He goes back on! Little gauze, some athletic tape and STRBA plays on after a 4- or 5-inch gash to his left knee. Surely he'll get stitches at half time. Or will he?

I had a similar injury when I played soccer in high school. Only thing is, my injury was caused by my own stupidity, not the sharks-tooth studs of an opponent's boot. Preparing for a match with my traveling club team, the Hudson Valley Storm, I decided (perilously) to lace up my boots at the top of a five-foot bleacher. It had rained earlier in the day. The metal was wet. You can do the math, but I fell while walking off the side. The aluminum edge sliced through my right knee creating a 4-inch gash.

The blood covered my hand when I removed it to look at the injury. A tornado of expletives and 18 stitches later, I was good as new. Minus my pride.

Man, that hurt. And as soon as the stitches came out several weeks later, I slapped some liquid skin and a bandage over it and was back playing. A part of me wishes I had taped up the knee and played that day. But it was probably best to get the tetanus shot and the stitches.

So hats off to STRBA for showing the kind of guts that Italy lacked in the first half of this game. And that's from someone that wanted Italy to win. Kind of hard not to when you grew up in a family where people still spoke Italian from time to time, or intermingled it with English. I love hearing that bubbly, jingle-jangle of two languages.

And now some play-acting from Slovakia's goalkeeper, too? Ridiculous. Italy was doing enough of that themselves. This game is becoming an absurd display of theatrics. And there it is, the final whistle. The Italians will not be greeted kindly when they get home.

That does it. I need another beer...no, you cannot not have one, Missy...Nor you, Hunter.

[Post Script: The Italians did indeed return home to a villain's welcome. One right-wing Italian politician even decided to use the football team's plight as a crass launching point for his own headline-grabbing, blaming the team's poor showing on immigration...as in the Italian Serie A league didn't have enough Italians in it and the foreigners are the ones winning championships and that's why the national team can't win. It's an awfully stupid argument and a stretch, considering Italy has won four World Cups, including in 2006.]

A quick thought before work

2010-06-16T08:07:00.001-04:00

It's been a long time since I wrote much on this blog. Basically, just haven't had the time. However, I did figure out that I can update this more often now that I have a super-sweet cell phone with full HTML web browser, touch screen, etc. The only thing my phone doesn't do is transform and fight Decepticons.

We'll give it a go.

If no one's noticed, the FIFA World Cup is underway. Most of the games have been entertaining, but the scoring has been low, with the exception of Germany's 4-0 trashing of Australia. Quieted all of Germany's critics and was by far the most commanding performance of the tournament's opening round, thus far. I actually expected a similar result from the Brazil-North Korea game, but the North Koreans played a very strict defensive style and were able to snuff out the Brazilian attack rather quickly on a number of occasions.

The North Koreans demonstrated once again that oppressed people play boring soccer. There were flashes of brilliance, like the goal. Outstanding goal, but too little too late. When the North Koreans ran, their upper torsos looked stiff, like they were trying to run while standing at attention. I have a sad feeling that it will be a long time before North Korea is able to compete seriously in soccer. First, the country needs food, liberty, democracy, free enterprise and no more Kim Jong-il.

For more on the depressing situation of the North Korean people, check out the New York Times' series here.

2010-06-15T20:33:00.001-04:00

Just realized how I can spend exta time writing for my blog...you'll have to visit the Riverside Hooligan to read more. ;) Display Name:
Hooligan
Phone Number:
256447

My Top 10

2009-12-18T21:57:00.000-05:00

I was thinking the other day about this subject: my top life-defining moments.

What does that mean? Does an event have to be supremely profound for it to define a part of your soul? Or can it be fun, painful, mundane?

I think all such events contribute to your life in one way or another. Here's my list of the top 10 experiences of my life..so far:

10. MetroStars/Red Bulls games - If there was ever anything to teach patience and devotion, it's being a fan of Major League Soccer's New York franchise. Since 1996 I've seen many losses, yet I still spend the $30 and tank of gas to see games in Giants Stadium. Looking forward to the new stadium opening in 2010.

9. World Cup 1994 - I've never before seen a spectacle like the World Cup. No other sporting event compares to the month-long, beer-soaked, blood-boiling insanity that is the World Cup. I think I heard people arguing over tactics, their favorite players and worst villians in 60 different languages, countless dialects of English, and maybe one or two guys speaking Klingon! When the Irish beat the Italians in Giants Stadium, the Swamp was a sea of green, singing, dancing bodies. The Irish came in force, supported by their American brethren in the New York area. I really hope we get the cup in 2018.

8. France and Spain - The countries opened my eyes to the vast possibilities that exist for life on this little rock we call Earth. Riding the train from Paris to Madrid was an incredible slideshow of scenery. And it caused me to readjust my perception of my place in the world. It also excited me -- just imagine the places and people I have yet to see in my life!

7. Cliff jumping with my brother - There is a set of cliffs on the Delaware River above Matamoras, Pa., that boaters and locals jump off during the scorching summer months. My brother and I also found this a great place to cool down. Those lazy summer days brought my brother and I a little closer together. It didn't prevent the occasional fistfight between us, though.

6. Backpacking the Appalachian Trail - I've backpacked two 30-mile treks on the AT, first in the Harriman section of New York and second south from High Point, New Jersey during my years in the Boy Scouts. These were spectacular opportunities to look out onto America from the tops of mountains. If you're thinking it's callous that this tops cliff jumping, don't worry. My brother knows he was on these journey's with me, too.

5. My 100-Miler Badge - Of all my accomplishments in the Boy Scouts, this one I'm particularly proud of. We paddled the Upper Delaware Scenic River from Hancock to Port Jervis, NY. Then we paddled up the Neversink River. This journey included rock climbing in the Shawangunk Mtns. as well as cave exploring nearby. In a way the cold, upper Delaware River mingled with my blood and soul. I still drive the scenic road above the river from time to time, just to peer down, a little like the eagles that fly overhead. And sometimes, I think I can see the part of me I left behind.

4. Loss of my virginity - There's not much to say about this one. How much can you say about five minutes in your life? But what little I can say is that I got a speeding ticket in my girlfriend's car on my way to that event. I estimated: the sooner we got back to her house, the sooner I would get lucky. This wasn't the definitive moment of manhood, but I thought it was at the time.

3. 11th grade American literature class - For so many years, I'd learned about English...well...from the English point of view. At least in literature. Or it was text book grammar and spelling. But this was the first time a teacher made me see that we have something truly special in the American literary movement. From Washington Irving to Melville, Poe to Thoreau, to Hemingway and beyond. That class inspired me to become a writer.

2. My marriage - I was told after the vows were said, rings and kisses exchanged, that "It takes a big man to cry at his own wedding." Yes, I cried that day. They were tears of joy because I had found someone that I knew I could spend the rest of my life with. I don't know about that whole "big man" thing. I never subscribed to the notion that men should hide their emotions, act as if they're made of stone. I'd rather be known as a crying human being than an inanimate, emotionally devoid lump of rock. There are times when you are overwhelmed by the joy and pain inside. Holding back will only serve to tear open the fragile human heart in your chest, or maybe harden it against the world, chilling your soul. I hope nothing ever does that to me.

1. The births of my sons - I guess it's cliched to list this as a defining moment in one's life. I've heard it a million times before. Some people are too bubbly and saccharin with this. But it's true. It did change my life. Not in the way people think. There's people who think that having children should make me reject certain beliefs, styles of music, etc. Having children only added to who I am. You shouldn't become a different person; you should become a deeper person. My sons made me see life different, but most importantly they made me a happy man.

World Cup 2010: Games set, now we wait

2009-12-05T13:00:00.005-05:00

So the draw is taken and the U.S. knows who will be its opponents in the opening stages of World Cup 2010.

I like the draw we got in Group C on Friday: England, Algeria and Slovenia.

Finally, a fair draw that pits us against good teams, but gives us an edge. Clearly, the Old Motherland will be our biggest challenge, but American soccer fans usually love any chance to stick it to England.

Of course, that depends on our ability to stifle David Beckham and keep Wayne Rooney under wraps. And by under wraps, I mean keeping the ball away from his feet anywhere near the penalty box.

According to FIFA statistics, the U.S.'s W-L record against England is 2-8 and they've outscored us 38-9. But, that doesn't mean a U.S. win is out of the question. Today's American team with stars like Jozy Altidore, Landon Donovan, Carlos Bocanegra and Clint Dempsey, is far better than teams of the past. And the English know it. Beckham knows it first hand; he plays alongside Donovan at the Galaxy and has seen the striking power of Altidore when the youngster was with the NY Red Bulls. And with Dempsey's goal scoring prowess in the EPL, he'll be a marked man come June.

If Dempsey's fire continues and Altidore gets hot around June, the U.S.'s WC opponents will have a lot to handle.

Algeria and Slovenia are different stories. Probably few American fans would recognize names on those teams, compared to the star power on the English national team. But if anyone thinks Algeria and Slovenia will be push overs, they're sorely mistaken.

There's no head-to-head statistics to go off; the U.S. has never played either team, according to FIFA.

But Slovenia and Algeria have nothing to lose in this World Cup. England and the U.S. have everything to prove. The English need to prove that their 1966 World Cup victory was not a fluke and the nation that created and spread this game can once again hold high its most-glittering trophy.

The U.S. has to prove that its runner-up finish to Brazil in the Confederations Cup -- and defeat of No. 2 ranked Spain to get to the final -- was not a fluke either. The national team gained great respect for turning around its dismal performance in the opening round of the Confed Cup, and going up 2-0 on Brazil before eventually losing.

Slovenia and Algeria are out to prove that their hard-fought entry into the World Cup finals was worth it. So, come June, look for this to be one of the high-profile groups. It's not the Group of Death, but it's likely to be one of the most entertaining with two established teams coming back to prominence and two quality upstarts looking to make their mark.

The 2010 FIFA World Cup kicks off June 11 with host South Africa taking on Mexico. Group C's action kicks off June 12 with the U.S. facing England.

Damn it. It's only December...this is going to be the longest 6 months of my life.

And so the season of stupidity begins

2009-11-29T23:47:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving was a lot of fun. Probably the best part was watching 11 children, all but 2 who are under the age of 15, running around my parents' house playing with toys and soccer balls on the front lawn.

Friday and Saturday, my father and I decorated the house and outside evergreen tree with Christmas lights. I look forward to the Christmas season, with more feasts and decorations and merriment. But...

The worst part: the season of stupidity is officially underway.

I say that because every year I'm bombarded with endless numbers of people who apparently don't know how to say, "Thank you. Same to you."

My father and I made a trip to the hardware store to buy some extra LED lights and a few miscellaneous items. We also picked up some hunting supplies for deer season. As usual, he had to stop at the tobacco store to buy some cigars.

We went in. I tried to ignore the Confederate flag hanging outside and the prominently placed Sarah Palin cardboard stand-up poster. The store itself was clean with a vast array of cigars, tobaccos, pipes, cutters and ash trays. The owner was a personable fellow and under most circumstances is probably easy to get along with.

Conversation was light and I kept mostly to myself. Aside from his collection of Star Wars action figures tucked safely away somewhere, we probably have little in common. The owner looked like he was going to jump out of his skin, shit himself, do an Exorcist style head spin and drop dead of a heart attack when my father told him I'm a journalist. He had that kind of fear in his eyes, like he'd met the enemy and the monster was scarier than he dreamt in his nightmares.

Anyway, with the exchange of money for goods concluded, we made our way to the door. My father said "Merry Christmas" to the owner and I followed suit with my standard "Happy Holidays." Here's the exchange that followed:

"No, no, no. We don't say that here. It's Merry F-ing Christmas and Happy New Year!"

"OK," I said. "Then Merry F-ing Christmas." And I left.

I hate this exchange every time I have it. It proves how rude, ignorant and snotty some people can be even during the time for peace on earth, goodwill toward mankind.

First, I don't give a shit about political correctness. I do care about being nice to people where possible. If you get pissed that I said Happy Holidays, then you're stupid for the below reasons:

1. My greeting has nothing to do with what you want to hear. The only thing important here is that I was nice enough to wish you well at this time of year. It's not you, it's me. And I wanted to say "Happy Holidays." So deal with it.

2. From late November to early January there are at the (Christian) minimum three holidays in the U.S.: Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year. Count them, three (3), which makes the greeting "Happy Holidays" (plural) more than acceptable in all references.

3. Christianity is not the only religion or culture in the United States celebrating a holiday at this time of year. And being that my first question when I meet someone is not "What religion are you?", I'd rather just be general in my greetings so that I can express well-wishings to people I meet, no matter who they are.

4. Lastly, none of this matters. If you're sulking, waiting around to fire off a snide comment or correction at a person who simply wished you a happy holiday, then you're an asshole and don't deserve a happy holiday, no matter what holiday that may be. You deserve to get a stocking full of pig shit and five raging tooth infections that require massive amounts of drilling.

In other words, grow up and get over yourself. Your perceived dominance of a preferred religion is a joke.

I think from now on when someone corrects me like that, I'll wish them a Reflective Ramadan, Happy Hanakuh and a Happy Chinese New Year, just for good measure.

I wonder if that will elicit the desired Exorcist demon head-spin?

With luck, it will. That would make my holidays happy.

Turkeys and skunks

2009-11-25T22:22:00.004-05:00

The bags are packed. The boys are sleeping peacefully dreaming of turkeys and mountains of mashed potatoes. And tomorrow we'll drive three hours to stuff ourselves with all the trimmings of the American Thanksgiving feast.

And here I am tapping away on this laptop while the Pittsburgh Penguins systematically dismantle the Montreal Canadiens.

The only thing missing is cold weather. It's so much like a rainy spring night, that I've spotted the green tops of my irises starting to peek out of the flower beds around the house.

With any luck, it's about 10 degrees colder in Pike County, Pa. But I'm expecting just as much rain.

I'm looking forward to the trip, but I can't help having thoughts that this will be my first Thanksgiving without my grandfather, who died last April.

It will be strange to look to the other end of the table and not see his face there, scowling from time to time at the political discussions around the table. It will be difficult not to see him looking sleepy, wanting to excuse himself to go watch the Detroit Lions lose to Team X.

I'll miss his stories about visiting Alaska, or the last submarine vets' reunion. Hell, I already miss his stories about cramped diesel subs crossing the Atlantic. I can't think about Key West, Fla. without thinking about the abandoned submarine pens that jet ski tour guides take visitors to see. My grandfather was stationed in Key West for a time following World War II.

I miss stories about him and his cousins getting into trouble with the police and teachers and parents when they were young. There's one that ends with a cow and a superficial gun shot wound.

Or the one about my grandfather's pet skunks when he was kid. My grandfather rescued them as infants after their mother died and raised them. The skunks followed him around everywhere because he was their surrogate mother. One day, a kid decided he would pick on my grandfather for the skunk smell. That was a bad decision. The skunks attacked the way they know how...spraying the bully from head to toe. My grandfather got the last laugh.

Even after years of lost opportunity to bond with my grandfather -- and the horrendous feeling that there was more to him that I'll never know -- the things I miss the most are his smile and his laugh.

The smile was sheepish most times, but always followed with a playfully shaking fist and the thin threat to "poke you in the nose." The laugh was always genuine and he would talk through it, continuing to throw in the last few phrases of a story that made you laugh twice as hard as when you thought the punchline was coming.

There's no replacing someone you love. Their smile and laugh are unique, like the pungent stink of a skunk.

CONCACAF backs US bid to host World Cup

2009-11-24T22:28:00.001-05:00

CONCACAF, the governing body for soccer in North and Central America and the Caribbean, has thrown its support behind the United States' bid to host either the 2018 or 2022 World Cups. That's a big vote of confidence.

It's excellent news for any sports fan in this country, but particularly if you're a soccer fan.

Even if you're not a soccer devotee as I am, you should experience the World Cup at least once in your life. The atmosphere, the sport, the drama and the party is unparalleled.

I went to every game at Giants Stadium in New Jersey in 1994 and it's one of my prized life experiences, right up there with the birth of my kids. No joke.

I remember watching Ireland beat Italy 1-0. I was sitting behind the goal when Ray Houghton scored. Suddenly, the massive blob of green-wearing people all around me exploded into such exuberance that anyone would be swept up as if by some beer-soaked tornado. The Dubliner sitting next to me threw his arms around me and we danced for no other reason than a man put a ball into a net. I was occasionally splashed by his beer, but that's all part of the fun, isn't it?

I remember the joy on my father's face when the package with our tickets arrived. His expression was the joy you'd expect when a 17-year-old gets the family car keys for the first unsupervised drive. Next time, I'll get to take my sons to their first World Cup. That sends chills down my vertebrae. I wonder what my expression will be when the tickets arrive?

The '94 World Cup in the U.S. was a great success and the next time will be even better because Americans will be prepared ...

Or at least we think so. You're never quite prepared for the spectacle that is The World Cup.

But surprises are all part of the fun, aren't they?

New Mexico's Lambert is NOT a victim

2009-11-14T10:44:00.006-05:00

I usually write about something and move on, but once again people that know nothing about soccer are pretending to know something about soccer.

Latest case: a criminal investigator and consultant to CBS's 48 Hours Mystery is wrongfully analyzing the video of University of New Mexico defender Elizabeth Lambert thrashing around the field like a shark out of water and then he claims she was a victim on the field and of sexism. That's bull-crap.

The consultant is Paul Ciolino and considering he doesn't get the facts right about the Lambert video in his blog, I question his analysis in areas he actually knows about.

First - The infamous take down by hair. Mr. Ciolino got it 100 percent wrong. No. 21, Shumway, is not grabbing Lambert's crotch, as he maintains. Her hand grabs Lambert's shorts on the leg. I'm surprised a "skilled investigator" can't tell the difference between a woman's vagina and her leg.

Second - As others have mentioned, there's no sexism here. Had Lambert's transgressions happened in a men's game, those of us in the soccer world would have expected the perpetrator to be ejected from the game with at least two yellow cards, but certainly a straight red is warranted. Zidane was given a red for the headbutt in the 2006 World Cup final. No sexism here, just crappy refereeing.

Third - LAMBERT IS A COLLEGE SOCCER PLAYER, not a professional. This violence is unacceptable in any level of a game. But America suffers from the blurred line between college athletics and professional athletics. Hence comparisons to the 2006 World Cup are like comparing apples to golden eggs.

Fourth - The only politically correct lynch mobs out to get Lambert are the ones that don't know crap about soccer, which funny enough also accounts for the people defending her based on piss-poor analysis of the evidence. Lambert is not a victim here.

Fifth - The other players in this game were not angels, which is why the continued focus on Lambert and whether or not she received fair treatment is absurd. None of the women in this game got fair treatment because the referees allowed this game to continue on without repercussions to either team for their fouls.

The Lambert case is not a case of the wrongfully accused who needs to be set free. This is a case of the law (the referees) not doing their job in the first place.

Lambert's punishment was fair: suspended indefinitely. Now, where are the punishments for everyone else in this game? Referees? Probably not going to happen. Referees are rarely punished for their mistakes, even ones as heinous as this. Coaches? Coaches? They could have benched her. See my previous post on this subject.

Additional punishments have yet to be handed down. In that regard, Lambert has become the scapegoat, allowing all others to go unpunished. And that is wrong.

The real crime is that the Mountain West Conference, the schools, the refereeing association and the NCAA are going to sweep this under the rug because screw-ups of this magnitude don't earn money for colleges, the conferences and NCAA.

However, trophies at any price do make money.

"Houston, we have water on the moon"

2009-11-13T22:01:00.015-05:00

On Friday, NASA announced the success of its October mission to analyze lunar soils for water particles. LCROSS found about 25 gallons of water in the one crater of the moon.

These days, we have much more sophisticated equipment than the astronauts of 1969 who first set foot on the moon. So NASA just crashed two man-made satellites into Earth's natural satellite.

Poof! You get a mile-high cloud of dust, a truly interesting scientific discovery and weeks of complaining from people who would rather save $5o than buy a microscope for a high school.

I had friends on Facebook who complained about NASA's experiment as a waste of money and the $79 million they spent should be put into Social Security to "save it." I politely explained to my friend that the cost of the NASA satellites was probably only a fraction of what the agency needs to make progress in space exploration and scientific discovery. In addition, I noted that $79 million will not save Social Security, but the SS contributions from worker paychecks at companies that build satellites and the instruments that go into them, probably will help Social Security a little...only a little.

If you're worried about the cost, review this Popular Mechanics story illustrating how this mission was actually inexpensive and a model for future missions.

Then there are folks who are always naysayers and make up stories about how NASA knew it failed 2 seconds after the satellites crashed...right, because the hundreds of pages of data beamed back to earth can be analyzed in 2 seconds. I find that hard to believe.

NASA has made mistakes before. But I have a feeling too many Americans are getting their news from talk shows and pundits instead of journalists. I'll admit, I have a personal bias here: I'm a journalist. But journalists are paid to collect information from multiple sources and report the news of that information.

Talk show hosts and pundits are paid to boost ratings through deliberate bias. They're paid to give their opinions, not to approach information from a deliberate neutrality. Too many people are perturbed by hearing news which they don't like, so they tune out; or more accurately they tune into radio or television which gives them only the side of the story they want to hear.

I've come under fire for being a purveyor of negative news a time or two in my career. You find information, you tell people what you found and what it means to them. Inevitably, there will be someone who thinks you should only report the happy, non-controversial story that helps them with their cause.

Sorry, that's not my job...you want the advertising department two doors down.

Fabricated stories of a failure were good to naysayers because it justified their "government should spend no money at all" posture. On the other hand, former moonwalker Buzz Aldrin makes a good point: finding water doesn't necessarily mean there should be an overreaction that justifies years and billions of dollars of additional exploration.

The one question that has to be asked is: What would such an expense provide us scientifically? A greater understanding of our closest heavenly body? Would it significantly catapult our understanding of our universe? I don't know.

Me, I say understanding our world and universe is a good thing. And somehow, I keep thinking about the people who work in factories that make computer chips, solar panels, electronics or metal casings and wires for satellites that crash into the moon. That person working on the assembly line in one of those factories was probably pretty proud that his or her work contributed to a major scientific study.

Our economy could use more factories with workers producing satellites.

Now there's something to tell the grandchildren about. Especially considering America needs students to be inspired by scientific discover.

There are pundits that bemoan America's lagging status behind other countries in science and technology education, yet fail to see how satellites and lunar exploration qualify as an opportunity to improve that position.

I'm baffled at that logic and reason...probably because such punditry is neither logical nor reasonable.

Coaches, referees, players culpable for soccer violence

2009-11-07T14:58:00.005-05:00

Wow! That was my first response when I saw the highlights this morning of Thursday's soccer match between the women's teams of the University of New Mexico and Brigham Young University.

Once you see the video, you'll notice New Mexico's Elizabeth Lambert (15) is responsible for some heinous fouls in this game and deserves the indefinite suspension she received Friday from UNM.

However, the UNM coach and the four referees at this game also are culpable.

The hair yank, the take down, the trip, the vicious slide tackle all could have been prevented if the referees had done their job on the very first foul involving BYU's Carlee Payne and Ms. Lambert.

Payne gave an elbow to Lambert's gut. Lambert responded by quasi-punching Payne in the back.

Had the referees issued red cards to both Lambert and Payne for that transgression, the other incidents never would have happened. I've seen red cards issued for much less and been on the receiving end of a few myself. Lambert's and Payne's actions were clearly deserving of immediate ejections. But none came; heck, not even a yellow. Wow.

Even if they missed that exchange, there was ample opportunity to show Lambert the dressing room for the other incidents, but she received only a yellow for a late-game trip. Then she had the audacity to argue the call? Wow.

I would make the case that the UNM coach equally is to blame. While these athletes are adults, the coach has an immediate responsibility to wrangle in the wild mares when they've gone astray. UNM's coach should have benched Lambert immediately after the hair incident. No victory is worth allowing a player to put another in immediate and serious risk of injury through intentional violence.

The victim of that attack, Kassidy Shumway, appears to be making "oh-come-on" faces to the referee immediately before she's dragged down by her locks. Again, Lambert should have been ejected immediately for that.

Mountain West Conference says it is still investigating the matter. BYU's athletic director applauded New Mexico's decision to suspend Lambert. Ms. Lambert apologized. Is that enough?

This was an unacceptable game on many levels and deserves serious action from Mountain West and refereeing associations. Lambert should not be the only one to serve a suspension.

Are coaches and referees culpable in the games they're a part of when players go bad?

Picking up trash and nature's religion

2009-10-06T21:47:00.018-04:00

I've been attempting to take my 3-year-old son on little adventures form time to time for some father-son bonding.

Back in the spring, I took him fishing. But, we caught no fish. I guess that's the way it goes sometimes.

On Sunday, I took Aidan hiking in Boyd Big Tree Preserve Conservation Area, one of Pennsylvania's newest state parks. It's a nice area with some beautifully tall trees, easy trails that wind around the north side of Blue Mountain in Dauphin County and periodic bird calls dancing over your head.

Aidan also liked the fact that we were snacking in the woods. I had to remind him not to pick up sticks -- you never know where a snake might lurk -- but he did well most of the day, even with hiking up the hills. We never made it to the top of the mountain. That might have been too much for a 3-year-old on his first hike.

In these moments I have with my son, I'm trying to pass on my religion to him. It's a reverence that I learned long ago in quite walks in the woods with my father.

When people speak about religion, they talk about synagogues, mosques and churches -- buildings. They talk about statues, complex spiteful deities and books written thousands of years ago by people who understood very little about the world around them, much less about how to treat each other.

I'm not teaching my son these things. I find them to be misguiding cults that separate man from the world by elevating him above all else. Such a ridiculous principal! Man as master! Ha! Laughable!

You need to see a polar bear or a tiger or a cougar only once to realize man is no master over nature. The illusions he creates by dominating nature are fleeting and ultimately will lead to his own misery and destruction.

No, nature is the true temple. God is present everywhere there. In the birds, the trees, the mountain, the rocks, the streams...yes, even in the poison ivy. Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor, right?

That's my belief. That's what I know. It's what fills my soul again when I drink of the intoxicating scents of earth and wood carried on the wind. It's real. No one had to demand that I feel this, demand that I worship this. No one threatened me with hell or damnation if I didn't walk in the forest. They only had to show me the wild for me to embrace the wild within me.

So, I'm trying to give my son that same experience. He was pretty amazed when I pointed out a big bullfrog hopping across some mud on the edge of a pond. He was happy sitting on a hill, eating a Charleston Chew with dad. That's a good start for a 3 year old.

And he was curious when I started picking up trash. A beer bottle, plastic bags, candy wrappers, broken glass, a whistle, a bullet, a plastic box for baby wipes, all polluting my temple because someone was too lazy to put their trash in their pocket and take it with them.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" I'm picking up trash. "Why?" Because we always pick up trash when we go hiking. "Because it's good for the environment?" Yes, but also so that the next person will have a better experience. "Oh. Why do people throw trash in the woods?"

I didn't know how to answer him. Sure, it's laziness, but would he understand that? It still makes no sense to me today why it's too much work for someone to put trash in a trash can. How can I explain that to my son? I guess that will take more thought than I have in me now.

But that trip reminded me of when I was a boy, hiking on the Appalachian Trail in lower New York State to a set of waterfalls where you could lay on your back in the moss and let God trickle over your head and chest and toes.

Fall days, I would follow close behind my father on his uncle's farm, past gnarled oaks and maples through the woods, just to have lunch and listen to birds. And then I'd bump into him as he stopped on the walk. There before him was a wrapper, or a foam cup. He'd pick it up quietly.

Then he'd turn to me. He was serious, but instructive and warm. "We always pick up trash when we find it in the woods."

Return of the Himmy

2009-09-26T10:56:00.003-04:00

Look who's back. Me, the Himmy.

Admittedly, I haven't written much on this blog for a while. Very busy with family and work and all that. Too late for excuses though.

If you're wondering where the nickname Himmy comes from, here's the abridged story.

When I was in college, I spent a lot of time sitting around a fraternity house swilling late-night malt beverages and watching television. Contrary to what many people think, not every night in a fraternity is some law-breaking, morals-crushing social aberration passed off as a party.

In the mid and late 1990s, you couldn't go to college and not at least have seen a few episodes of South Park, the animated series on Comedy Central that stuck its big toe into the eye of almost every group, politician and celebrity known to man. My personal favorites are the episodes with Saddam Hussein and the one with Osama Bin Laden that was modeled after old Bugs Bunny cartoons. Very funny stuff.

One South Park character is Timmy, a disabled boy confined to a wheel chair who can only say his own name -- ie, "Timmyyy!" Quite ingenious because it's the delivery of his name, the subtle inflections of his voice, that lets you know his mood, or his response to a question.

In attempting to recreate Timmy's hallmark myself, it ended up sounding more like, "Himmay!" So the boys started calling me Himmy. It stuck...even 10 years later.

But anyway. I'm back and will try to post here more regularly. Cheers for now.

A little bit of childhood

2009-08-18T23:23:00.000-04:00

The family and I visited Grandma and Poppy Ryan this past weekend.

Pack the bags, pack the car... wait, did we forget the fishing pole? ... Get the fishing pole, give the older boy a snack and pack the kids into the car too.

Are we ready? No. Why not? You forgot to turn off the pool pump. Damn.

OK, everything off. Kids in car - check. Bags - check. Fishing pole - check. Wife - check. Strange facial expression from wife - check.

And off we went...until we got 4 miles down the road only to realize the highways were jammed because of a Friday night concert in Hershey. No way around...trapped in traffic hell!

No, wait! An opening, an escape route! We circled back around using another highway and tried a different route. Blocked! More concert goers puffing on joints and singing along to overly loud music. Damn.

An hour after leaving, we had actually ended up back in our hometown, heading toward the third route that would take us farther up the Interstate via a very long and deserted back road. Success! No one on the road, so away we go. Only three more hours on the highway before we reached my parents house.

Then, just when I though my weekend of shuffling my children off on the grandparents was to begin, I was stymied by the federal economic stimulus package.

"This project funded by the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act," the sign said. And by project, it meant a 10-mile, one-hour line of traffic stretching from the south side of Wilkes-Barre to Scranton. Lovely, just lovely.

About halfway through my own personal stimulus-funded nightmare -- after realizing that a 3-hour drive would take 5 hours -- I started to think back to all the family drives when I was a kid that took way too long. All the vacations that we spent 2 hours sitting in highway traffic because a sports car skidded out in a freak rain storm halfway between New York and North Carolina.

I have become my parents. The realization wasn't as scary as I thought. In a way, it seemed like a fun thing to think about. After all, I have fond memories of those long drives, camping trips, and meandering roads that were scenic, but eventually lead nowhere. And i started to think about all the others that my family will take together. What adventures lurked just around the corner, I wondered?

Eventually, we did get through the traffic and had a great weekend. We went swimming at my Aunt Kathleen's and Uncle Dan's house. The 3-year-old tried his hand at being a duck, while I chased him with the alligator inflatable. Dive sticks shaped too similarly to the male genitalia were retrieved numerous times from the deep end. One careened off my skull as my son tried to throw it past me.

I was like some kind of dog, retrieving bones from the depths of a tiny ocean.

It seems my aunt was having memories of years ago, too. She commented to my father: "Oh, Johnny, the next generation."

Sunday, I brought home my baseball card collection and immediately started looking for those gems that might fetch at least a small amount of money at auction. For a brief few minutes, I felt like I was 12 again, arguing with friends about the "true" value of a Wade Boggs, Don Mattingly or Roger Clemens card.

For a few moments, I had a little bit of my childhood back. Even if so much has changed, at least there are memories that remain.

And many more memories yet to create.

Now, anyone interested in a 1987 Topps brand Roger Clemens card?

Hooligan's New Look

2009-08-09T02:50:00.000-04:00

I'm testing out a few changes at Hooligan.

First, I've changed the blog's format. I just wanted a change. The old format felt too narrow, like there was wasted space. That's hard for someone in newspapers to accept. White space is bad, especially if you want to maximize your profit.

That brings me to the other change. I've monetized the site through Google AdSense.

In a way, I feel like a sellout, but at the same time I'm not really sure I care. The good thing about AdSense is that they match ads with your blog's content. So, if you look closely enough, there's several advertisements for finding soccer camps. I'm OK with that.

I wonder if I start writing about sex, will the ads include links to adult magazines? I don't think that's how it works, but it could bring in ads for "male enhancement" products. I hope I never need one of those, but if you do and see the ad on Hooligan, feel free to click.

I'm not dillusional either. A check for thousands of dollars isn't going to arrive in the mail tomorrow, but a smaller one will arrive some day. But, I've placed my readers in front of advertisers so I guess there's some kind of cut that I'm entitled to. However small it may be.

I'll probably be playing around with the layout for the next several days. I'm not totally convinced I like the new aesthetics. I'm more worried about the color schemes and layout than the placement of ads.

Cheers ~JTR

Dust Storm Soldiers

2009-08-08T15:30:00.001-04:00

Photo/Josh Crisp

Hello all. I wanted to post this photo earlier with my previous entry. However, I had some trouble with pulling it from the Powerpoint presentation Josh sent several months ago. This is a patrol of U.S. soldiers returning to their desert base in Iraq during a late-night dust storm. I love this photo. It's eerie, commanding and gives us another glimpse of our treasured men and women abroad who sacrifice day in and day out.

Cheers to the soldiers. ~ JTR

Return of the Josh

2009-08-08T00:30:00.001-04:00

It's often frustrating as a writer to have so many responsibilities, like caring for my two small boys, making time to do the housework, repair the house, clean the pool, go to work, etc., etc., etc. I never get to write for myself as much as I'd like.

There's probably plenty of people who would tell me to "shut-the-hell-up, my life's 20 billion times harder than yours," but this post isn't about me saying, Wah, my life is so hard! Agreed, there are people who's problems are far worse than mine, their lives disrupted in so many more challenging ways.

Take, for example, my friend Josh Crisp. He returned home on Aug. 3 from a stint with the Army in Iraq helping to run communications at a desert outpost. From his photos, it looked like a scene out of Starship Troopers or the planet Tatooine in Star Wars. Maybe it's a little bit of both. He had to endure more than 9 months away from his family, had his newly acquired job forfeited and had to put on hold education at Penn State.

Josh and I graduated from Bloomsburg University in 2001, both with degrees in mass communications. He went the advertising route, I think (Josh correct me if I'm wrong), and I went journalism. We also were fraternity brothers, Josh joining two classes after me. We've remained close friends since 1997 due in part to our similar tastes in monster movies (we actually liked Cloverfield), as well as our inquisitive nature about the world around us.

Josh and I share a deep curiosity about metaphysics, religion, political theory and practice, music, philosophy and all sorts of other things. Unfortunately, he is not a soccer fan, but I'm working to convert him.

Many years ago, Josh, I and another friend embarked on a night-time quest. I was living in the Poconos and there's a well-known abandoned hotel that is rumored to be haunted. We figured we'd check it out. Daubed from head to toe in black and camouflage, we crept into the hotel and explored a bit, even going so far as to attempt to contact ghosts using a spirit board. We got nothing, other than a good fright when we first got into the hotel and the door slammed behind us from the wind. But, we were young and it was an adventure just for the sake of adventure.

Another time, in 2000 Josh, his girlfriend at the time and I made a trip from Bloomsburg to Ephrata, Lancaster County, to visit his parents. There was snow on the ground in January and clouds in the sky. A few flurries were falling, but we never expected a 100 percent white out as a mountain blizzard hit us while driving down Interstate 81. If we could see 2 feet in front of my car, that was good. Most of the time a white wall was only a foot from the car. We kept moving anyway, hazard lights on, at 25 miles per hour on a highway where speeds normally are 75-80 mph. But no one was driving that fast that night.

Josh also helped me invent this blog by giving me the idea to write about weird stuff, like zebra testicles. Sorry to disappoint, Josh, but I have not found too many weird things just yet. Maybe you can help with that.

It's good to have him back in the U.S. Josh lives in Danville, Pa., with his wife Katie.

Over the last year, his life has been more difficult than mine, for sure.

It's hard to do what you want, when life gets in the way. Obligations to family, obligations to country and other things always interrupt us from becoming a consistent blog writer or the next landscaping genius.

I guess you just plug along, take what life deals you and play the cards as best as possible. No point in worrying too much about what could have been, what should have been, or how horribly you got jilted in the deal.

I learned that from Josh. He's good at rolling with the punches. I'm more of a stress freak many times. Maybe that's why we remain good friends. Counter-balance.

OK for now. I've got more things to worry about.

2009-08-01T16:59:00.001-04:00

Getting in the pool with the boy. Time to play motor boat. Brrrrr!

2009-08-01T10:31:00.001-04:00

My buddy is home from Iraq! Will write more later.

2009-07-31T14:24:00.001-04:00

Rain rain don't go away. I'm liking you today, not some other day.

2009-07-26T17:51:00.001-04:00

Family and friends having fun in the pool. I'm grilling dinner. Cool.

Matadors, Gold Cups and Falls From Grace

2009-07-26T11:20:00.001-04:00

Red Bulls - Gets uglier every game and the coaching is so putrid that New York's opponents are like matadors, just taunting this team with a tiny red cape. And every time, lurking in the shadows of that cape is a massive, razor-sharp lance ready to pierce the heart of the bull -- that is, the heart of every New York soccer fan.

Juan Carlos Osorio should have been fired already. Any coach that thinks he has to use a different formation against every opponent is an idiot. The 4-5-1 is a tricky formation to play, even given the talents of lone striker Juan Pablo Angel. It's impossible for a team like RBNY to play a 1-striker system, when they're having problems with the basics of soccer, namely trapping, passing and dribbling the ball.

I was looking forward to the CONCACAF Champions League as a way for this team to redeem the season, but it's looking like that's a long-shot even given that New York will play W. Connection, a team that -- prior to New York's 12-game losing streak -- most analysts and fans would expect the Red Bulls to beat. I'm not holding my breath.

U.S. Men's National Team - Congrats to the Yanks. They'll play Mexico for the Gold Cup final today at 3 p.m. on Fox Soccer Channel. I really hope they put grass down in Giants Stadium for the final because artificial turf sucks. Especially at Giants Stadium, a venue that has never been properly maintained by the New Jersey Sports and Exposition Authority and that even the roaches hate.

I'm hoping a recent present hasn't jinxed my beloved countrymen. My mother-in-law took a vacation to Mexico recently and of course brought back gifts for everyone. My son received a sombrero and a Superman wrestling mask with cape that makes him look like Nacho Libre. I received a hand-painted shot glass and a Mexican National Team soccer jersey. Pretty sweet gifts.

Should be a great game no matter what. US-Mexico games never fail to entertain. Two great teams and countries vying for North American bragging rights. Can't wait.

Harrisburg City Islanders - Sorry to say my boys in blue from the Susquehanna River got knocked out of first place in USL-2 last night. Unfortunate, but I'm sure the Islanders will battle back and impress in the playoffs, even if they don't regain 1st. They've had a killer season. Cheers to you boys.

The Five Things I Hate the Most

2009-07-25T21:30:00.000-04:00

I've had some frustrating moments over the last couple weeks. To quote Kermit the Frog, "It's not easy bein' green."

And unfortunately, I've lashed out into cyber space like a rogue, splintered, jugular-puncturing baseball bat being launched into the infield on a check-swing line drive.

So, to clear my heart and mind, I figured I'd just list the Top Five Things I Hate the Most. Keep alert for objects leaving the field of play and enjoy my slightly bridled rage:

5 D.C. United - OK, I'm not really sure that a soccer team belongs on the list of things that I hate, considering I love the game of soccer. But, as a Red Bull New York fan, I'm obliged to loath D.C. United, New York's chief rival in Major League Soccer. Every time I see DC's crest, I want to vomit. So, they make the list at number five, but only that high because there are far worse things in life than a soccer team.

4 Political exaggeration - This pisses me off to no end, and ultimately it proves that the person exaggerating knows nothing about political ideologies. Calling George W. Bush a fascist or Barack Obama a communist is so far off the mark in terms of ideological analysis that its absurd, adds nothing to the landscape of political discussion in America, and shows how dumb you are.

3 Cable news pundits - # 4 leads me to these jerks. "Conservative" pundits are the most notable, but there's a few liberal ones too. The only difference is that Keith Oberman is funnier than Sean Hannity, but equally annoying when it comes to agitating situations that probably don't need piss and vinegar poured on them. For some reason, I just don't like pundits. Which is kind of funny because I guess blogs are a form of pundritry. Now I mildly feel like a hypocrit...OK, I'm over it.

2 Abusive personalities - If you think or feel that it's your god-given gift to put your hands on other people to "put them in their place," then I have news for you: Your a scumbag. If you believe that verbally belittling people to make yourself feel bigger or better is OK: Your a scumbag. If you do these things and never thought twice about it: Your a scumbag. And should you ever try such a thing to anyone I've ever known, you'll pay dearly. Particularly abusive "men." You're not men; you're childish, little-dicked scumbags.

1 Bigots - Hands down, the worst thing in human nature. Why someone would deliberately hate, or punish, or kill or maim or beat or segregate for such egotistic and self-absorbed reasons as race, sexual orientation, national origin, ethnicity, religion, language is beyond me. Bigotry puts all of humanity at risk of devolving into animals. If you find yourself using racial slurs, blaming a faceless group of people for all of life's ills, believing that they should be subjugated, killed or repressed, then you're a fuck-head. You're worse than an animal. You're dirt. The lowest of low. You don't belong in the human race.

2009-07-25T00:20:00.001-04:00

Drinkin in a bar, listening to Bruce Springsteen wondering where life went.

2009-07-21T01:09:00.000-04:00

I think I'm going to have some fun with this new experiment of linking my phone and this blog. Hopefully I'll run across some interesting stuff out on the road that I can write about here, initially with my cell phone. Then I can elaborate later as I learn more and gain a better perspective on the situation.

I'm kind of curious what my initial response is to things and then what I have to say after thinking about it for a while. It'll be interesting to see the comparison, and it's something that works well with other Web sites. Facebook is good at this, allowing people to continue comparing what was first said with what followed through its wall-to-wall comment pages between friends.

However, all the social media sites have a limit to their post memories. Eventually, posts on Twitter and Facebook are forgotten and drift into the mist of the Internet's nether regions.

I think combining the immediacy of the 150-character message and the medium length of regular blog posts will be really interesting, especially when I see something strange, like some dude chasing a sheep down the road or an alien landing.

Used in conjunction with Twitter will also increase the number of mentions that Riverside Hooligan gets on the network, which is popping up in Google searches. That tells me now will be a good time to link my blog, social media sites and mobile phone, like an unstoppable freight train of nerdy writer power.

I'm disgusted with that last sentence. Horrible analogy.

Any way, that's all for tonight. We'll see how this works.

2009-07-21T00:37:00.001-04:00

Yes, i can now post text to my blog, www.riversidehooligan.blogspot.com, and @Twitter. Cool.

2009-07-21T00:23:00.001-04:00

Testing my ability to post text messages to my blog. Did work?

Exhausted

2009-07-16T23:33:00.004-04:00

I told myself I wasn't going to write tonight.

I'm exhausted. I've been driving since 11 a.m. Five stops, about 110 miles, a soccer game (loss), a non-relaxing MLS match, and a 3 year old who finds every possible way to drag his tiny little finger nails across every square inch of my last nerve.

My eyes are bleary -- my contacts are started to bother me -- and I'm sore from my big toe to my forehead.

Then I remembered that I love writing. Even when I'm tired, this is a mental joy. I'm too tired to enjoy it, but it's putting me at peace.

Funny how some things do that to you when least expect them.

I didn't want to read books to Aidan tonight, but I got one page in and there was a peace that washed through me. Not quite a tidal wave of emotion here, but just a release of restlessness and tension. I do like reading to Aidan (and Owen, though he's too little to get much from it). But there's that brief time when you think, I could just not do this tonight. But then I bite on the hook and there I am reading about Cricket and how he wants to be a rock star when he grows up, or about how Pooky (a pig) is sad and his mother can't guess why.

Maybe its the mind-numbing simplicity of children's books. Maybe that small part of me that had any resistance and protest left in him curled up and died. OK, maybe not, but it's a possibility.

Maybe fatherly duties are just as satisfying to my brain as writing.

Maybe ... maybe ...

Maybe I'm just exhausted...

Blood, sweat, passion and the art of being a jerk

2009-07-12T11:05:00.000-04:00

To all young soccer players out there...nay, all athletes...this is what sport is all about: PASSION, LOVE, DRIVE, INTENSITY, WORK ETHIC.

Mike Petke has played more games for New York metro-area soccer than any other professional. He was away for a while, but came back. He was always the most passionate member of the team for 5 years. He went into tackles like a freight train, getting ball if possible, man if necessary. He defended teammates wronged by corrupt referees. He gave blood for those same teammates, year in and year out.

So now that he's a veteran, he's not keeping quiet about losing and lack of heart. If you want to know how to live, take a hint from this guy. Well said, Mike. Well said.

To read Petke's full comments from a New York Post story go here.

No one likes being the jerk, but sometimes that's all there's left to do when you're the vet. I recently had a run in with one of my fellow players after our third loss in four games. Sickening part is that my soccer team was winning 2-0 at half, most of those games. After the fourth goal went in with about 8 minutes left in the game -- and after 3/4 of the game talking positive and keeping my teammates up, as well as playing through a knee injury -- I bludgeoned my keeper with a volley of criticism. "You could have kicked that one out!" I yelled.

To be fair, I was wrong to pick on him because the real problem was with the entire team. Walking to balls. Playing in silence. Failure to listen to positive direction. Just a general, oh well, I don't care type of attitude. Not to mention the players who signed up for this deal, only to find out they'll show for two games because they had prior commitments, leaving the team shorthanded.

That's the worst kind of tool. Make a decision. You commit to one thing and do it well, not 20 things and do them all half-assed.

Anyway, it's said. If you're an athlete at any level, play with passion. Want to win. Want to claw back, even if you only get a draw from it. LEARN HOW TO COMMUNICATE. LEARN HOW TO TAKE CRITICISM.

And then when its all said and done, leave your blood and ill-will on the field. Apologize to each other, shake hands and do it all again next week...

All the blood and sweat and pain and triumph and defeat, that's what makes life worth living.

Otherwise, you're just a mere spectator.

Random Soccer Notes

2009-07-11T11:35:00.002-04:00

Pennsylvania's Island Footballers

A big congratulations are in order to the Harrisburg City Islanders, the soccer team for Pennsylvania's capital. For the second time in three years, the Islanders made the quarterfinals of the U.S. O pen Cup by ending the run of an MLS team. And then, played a well-fought game against regional rivals D.C. United. Unfortunately, the DC scum ended Harrisburg's run, but not before the boys in blue held them to only two goals on some outstanding defensive grit and quick counter attacks.

I listened to the game on the radio, which isn't as enjoyable as say listening to baseball on radio, but it will do. DC dominated most of the match, but Harrisburg made the most of counter attacks, putting DC's keeper under some strenuous pressure, and eventually pulling back a goal in the second half.

Contrary to the jibes of DC fans, Harrisburg is not "just some 3rd tier club." USL's first and second divisions have put up some good numbers against MLS clubs in recent memory. It's not a coincidence that MLS has chosen to pilfer several clubs from USL, including Seattle Sounders, Portland Timbers and Vancouver. Portland and Vancouver will join MLS in 2011.

I've always thought that Harrisburg should make the move up to USL Div. 1, but the club's ownership has not taken the opportunity for promotion, despite it's 2007 D2 championship. It's looking good for Harrisburg to make a run at the D2 title again this year, too. But if they're going to do that, they'll need to stop losing to Crystal Palace Baltimore, currently in 4th place. Harrisburg could face Baltimore in the playoffs.

The Islanders have split the series against Baltimore, a game apiece with the goals even at 3 apiece. That means if Crystal gets into the playoffs, Harrisburg shouldn't write them off as an easy win.

Jeers to Red Bull New York and MLS

I'm thoroughly disgusted with Major League Soccer and the management of Red Bull New York today. Throughout MLS teams have found success in young, energetic talents, such as Seattle's Freddy Montero. But in New York, they continue to look at retired, older talents who's previous runs in MLS are of debatable quality.

The team did want to sign 20-year-old RBNY Academy product Dilly Duka to a contract, but MLS nixed the deal because Duka played for Rutgers before joining the academy. Why the hell that matters to MLS is beyond me. RBNY helped produce local talent and wants to sign that talent to a contract. Why would MLS have a problem with that?

MLS will say, "rules are rules," but the league has shown repeatedly that its willing to bend the rules if the price is right. Unless it's New York, then the modus operandi is hold the club to the strictest interpretation of the rules possible.

There's another problem here. New York has come under an intense firestorm of bad play, poor coaching decisions, and questionable trades that have left the club vulnerable to every sort of attack. Nothing is working. Every decision seems to lead to a new set of problems. And at last glance, nearly a third of the team is on the injured list.

I'm revising my To-Do List for Red Bull New York:

Fire Juan Carlos Osorio: I've had enough of this coach. He's been given ample opportunity and has fallen short on every occassion. Which brings me to another point. Osorio was on the coaching staff in 1999, New York's other disaster season. And if he was so good for Chicago, then why has Chicago continued to do well without him? Moot point, but just more ammunition against JCO. Sorry, maestro, but thanks for the playoff run last year and your services are no longer needed. Best of luck in your future pursuits.
Fire Sporting Director Jeff Agoos: Mr. Agoos may be a (soon-to-be) Hall of Famer, but his management decisions for RBNY over the last several years have been questionable. Certainly the trades over the last two seasons fall squarely on his shoulders as well as JCO's. Again, thank you Mr. Agoos for your services, but best of luck in future pursuits. The club would like to go in a new direction.
I have one cheer for RBNY, and that goes to Managing Director Erik Stover. Although he's partially responsible for the club's problems, he has kept Red Bull Arena nearly on schedule. Still, please find a better sporting director and coach.
Right the ship before heading to the CONCACAF play-in matches against W. Connection FC. Forget about the league. Last place will give RBNY a good draft pick. Don't trade that, unless Seattle's offering Montero in exchange. It's time for our deals to start meaning something other than "possibilities."

Cheers to the U.S. Men's National Team

I have nothing but cheers for the U.S. National Team. A close second place in the Confederations Cup, and only one game away from locking down a trip to the quarterfinals of the CONCACAF Gold Cup. Only opponent left is Haiti before the Stars and Stripes hits Philadelphia for the quarters.

Keep up the good work boys. A big cheer for Bob Bradley for repeatedly proving the naysayers wrong. Everyone that's ever lacked faith in your abilities has had to eat crow. Here's a short list: TV announcers, Alexi Lalas/MetroStars, world football critics, jealous second-rate coaches around U.S., and knee-jerk football fans on Twitter.

Good luck in the next game and round.

What are your thoughts on Harrisburg, New York and the National Team?

Bye, bye, bye...week

2009-07-07T19:00:00.001-04:00

Red Bull New York is getting its first bye-week of the season, which is probably a welcome break to a weary team showing its scars every time they snap at each other on the field for both major and minor infractions.

Of which, there are many. But I don't have to tell New York soccer fans that.

Somehow, I think the injury prone New York squad is probably welcoming the breather this week. So is this fan, who's tired of paying for MLS Direct Kick package to watch my squad get pummeled week after week after week from mistakes for which even middle-school-level players should be made to run laps.

One interesting development was posted on Soccer by Ives. Seems New York's good Austrian benefactors, Red Bull, have summoned sporting director Jeff Agoos and managing director Erik Stover to the Death Star for a tete-a-tete. Mr. Stover, Mr. Agoos, if you feel an invisible force squeezing your throat, I would be very concerned because it's not the tautness of your tie.

The conventional wisdom says that RBNY Coach Juan Carlos Osorio would be the first to go, along with some player changes that most analysts believe will get cut anyway.

I'll blame the players first. They're the ones on the field and hold primary responsibility for winning or losing. Even New York's best players have had a rough patch this season. Come on, Juan Pablo Angel with only 6 goals? Seriously? If he'd stay onsides more, he'd have more goals.

But ultimately, even after saying Red Bull didn't want to go for knee-jerk reactions, the coach is where the largest ax will fall. He preps the players. He OKs the trades. He has final say on the scouting reports.

The real question is, will it make a difference at this point? Most likely, not on a grand level. The league playoffs are a distant star-system without light-speed in the ships engines. The Open Cup was laser-blasted into oblivion with the loss to D.C.

The only saving grace would be to get somewhere in the CONCACAF Champions League. And by somewhere, I mean winning the whole damn thing. That's just about the only thing that would save this season from being a total waste.

OK, there's one other thing. Sign one hell of a designated player to a multi-year contract. I'm talking like Brazilian Kaka to a four-year deal that makes David Beckham's contract in LA look like a bush-league signing.

Holding breath...turning blue...

Damn it. I need a stiff drink just thinking about all this.

2009-07-05T18:22:00.004-04:00

OK, this is just a quick post to update this thing.

My family and my in-laws spent Independence Day weekend at Raystown Lake in Huntingdon County, Pa. It was quite relaxing to have no computer, no television and only a yo-yo to keep me busy between meals and play time with the kids.

Was good to see the U.S. National Team spanked Grenada 4-0. Four on the Fourth! Well done, boys!

Well, that's it for now. I'm back in Dauphin, Pa., and have to start dinner.

Cheers.

U.S. and the Confederations Cup

2009-06-26T22:30:00.003-04:00

On Sunday, the U.S. Men's National Team will play in the championship game of FIFA's Confederations Cup against the mighty Brazil. The Confederations Cup is a warm-up to soccer's pivotal tournament next year, the World Cup.

No one expected the U.S. to make it to this point, especially after our crushing defeats to Italy and Brazil during the group stage.

I was discussing this with my father last Saturday before we played Egypt on Sunday. He was not impressed -- like many other U.S. fans -- with the play and coaching decisions. That was before the U.S. handled Egypt to the tune of 3-0. When the U.S. won, my father sent me a text message saying simply: "ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE IN SOCCER."

I wrote back: "Don't say anything else yet. I'm watching on delay and not finished yet. Happy Fathers Day." I'd like to kiss the genius who invented DVR, allowing me to pause and record live TV.

My father's a true believer in everything soccer, from its potential to elevate the lowly, to the way it rewards grit and determination...and yes, that even miracles happen once in a while.

It was a miracle that the U.S. made it to the semifinals because Brazil had to beat Italy by 3 goals as well. The Brazilians held up their end of the bargain.

Then the second miracle happened on Wednesday. The U.S. defeated Spain 2-0. The game was the most popular trending topic on Twitter that afternoon and for the next 24 hours the entire world was gushing about the U.S. soccer squad. I think I saw a pig fly past my window at work on Thursday.

I guess anything is possible in soccer.

So now, we get a rematch with Brazil for the final. And between now and Sunday at 2:30 eastern U.S. time, the world will be judging the chance and probability of whether the North Americans can beat the South Americans. A couple years ago, this question would be absurd. Most serious soccer analysts would have written off the suggestion that the U.S.'s first team would have any chance of defeating the Brazilian first team.

The only other time we did it in a tournament was in the 1998 Gold Cup, the CONCACAF championship that featured Brazil as an invited team. But considering Jamaica also beat Brazil, many believe the Brazilians walked through the tournament, unworried of the outcome. I agree; After all, the Gold Cup is a North American, Caribbean and Central American tournament. Why would Brazil care?

This time, Brazil has to care. Pride is on the line. The Confederations Cup is a tournament of regional champions. Winning it means you're the best of the best. And no one wants to lose to a team they bested 3-0, only three games prior.

For the U.S., this is everything. They have all to prove, particularly that the first lose to Brazil in the tournament was an off-day fluke and that they can do better. Even if they do lose, holding Brazil to one goal will be a victory.

But that's not enough when you're an American playing the world's game. Winning carries with it a small measure of respect in a game most of the world would rather see us not play. Beating Spain garnered the U.S. a small nod. Now, we want to prove that we belong alongside the great footballing nations.

I think it's possible, but the U.S. squad will have to dig deep. Very deep. That means walking onto the field confident that they will control the game, that they will win.

Do that, and not just trophies will follow. Respect should, too.

Anything is possible in soccer.

Anniversaries and strange pet names

2009-06-20T13:18:00.003-04:00

Today is Mandey's and my anniversary. Five years married, nine years together, two kids, one beagle, two cats, two crabs, unknown numbers of goldfish, nine hamsters and a whole lot of love.

It's been the best decade of my life. Love you, babe. Looking forward to many more years together.

Speaking of all those pets got me thinking about some of their names. You've met Hunter and Missy already, but those are not the most unusual we've ever had. Here's a brief look back at some odd pets and names:

Missy - Our cat's full name is Mischief. The first couple weeks we had her, she ate the leaves of and then knocked over the jade plant my mother gave me. The plant grew from a clipping off the jade plant my parents have had since the year they were married. Today, that original is a small tree. Hopefully ours gets to that stage...GET AWAY FROM THAT PLANT, MISSY!

Pickle, the goldfish - Our 3-year old son, Aidan, named Pickle. Aidan has a great skill of sinking ping pong balls into goldfish bowls at county fairs like an NBA point guard sinking free-throws. We asked him the other night, "What do you want to name your fish?" Aidan looked at the fish on his dresser, tapped his chin with a finger and blurted one word: "Pickle!" And so, our latest goldfish was named for a brine-soaked cucumber.

Misterelli - This poor little hamster was the littlest of a litter and probably would have been killed by his siblings if we hadn't intervened. His testicles descended late and therefore we thought he was a girl. So we called him Missy. The next day, we noticed two furry balls dragging behind Missy... we laughed and decided he needed a better name. Misterelli was the best we could come up with. Misterelli outlived his siblings and parents at nearly 4 years. That's ancient for a hamster, who's life-span at the max is only 3 years.

Twist - This wasn't our pet, but that of my late fraternity brother Paul Monck. Paul died last year in a car accident. In 1998, the World Cup was on TV and I spent the summer at my fraternity house with three other brothers. It was great. Gasoline was something like 97 cents per gallon and Iron City Brewing Co. was unloading its IC Light Twist beer on a massive special: two cases for $10. We gutted a refrigerator to fill it with bottles and played beer pong all summer, ending the evenings with rousing sing-along sessions to Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel and Garth Brooks songs. We were the Friends in Low Places, Born in the USA, and the Piano Men. Monck decided we needed a mascot...every good clan needs a mascot. On the Twist bottles was a lizard, so Monck went to the pet store and bought an iguana. There was no disputing the obvious name, Twist. And so while we threw raucous beer parties to seduce sorority sisters and build our Animal House image, Twist lounged under a heat lamp, eating crickets and occasionally going for short walks on a leash. One day, under the care of someone who shall remain nameless, Twist got out of his cage and ran away, never to be heard from again. We only hope he's now the size of an alligator and eating small birds.

Cheers to all ye and thy furry, scaly companions.

Yeck! Beagle germs!

2009-06-16T22:28:00.004-04:00

On the couch in my living room a tri-colored monster is sleeping.

He stinks, from time to time. He barks at nothing. He howls at the beagle next door...at 11 p.m.

Beagles have no respect for the sleep schedule of you or your neighbors. Hunter Stockton Thompson Ryan is my beagle. He is my little monster.

As a puppy, he slept between us at night, my wife and I playing with his floppy ears. Those ears nearly dragged on the floor back then. When we brought him home, our cat Missy hissed and barely came near me for a week. And when she did, it was to bite my hand.

Missy would chase Hunter around the apartment until he stopped abruptly, ready to stand his ground.

That was a mistake.

Missy would stop for a few seconds, look away. And just when you thought Hunter was ready to take his rightful place as king of man's furry friends, that was when Missy would ball up her paw into a fist and punch Hunter in the snout two to three times. Hunter looked stunned, like some green boxer walking into a barrage of lead jabs from Mike Tyson. But soon, they'd be off again. This time Hunter in hot pursuit.

Hunter is obviously named for the late Hunter S. Thompson (link to Conan video), outlaw Gonzo journalist who's prose inspired nearly three generations of writers. Say what you will about Thompson's libertarian lifestyle and often-radical politics, but his ability to describe with such intrigue the places that most Americans don't dare go -- or acknowledge -- will forever etch him into the American psyche with other great writers.

Hunter the Beagle also goes where most people won't. Up until a couple weeks ago (Hunter is 4 years old) leaving the plastic kitchen trash can unguarded was a garbage dump waiting to happen. He would find a way to pull it over and eat anything in it: coffee grounds, egg shells, chicken bones, paper, foil wrappers, old chocolate and rancid bacon. You get the point.

The first Christmas we had Hunter, he ate small pieces of a crystal dolphin sculpture, after extracting it from the wrapping and box, like a surgeon cutting open only a small hole in the package's corner.

He's a monster, but I wouldn't trade him for all the money in the world. The incessant licking he does anytime your face is at his level is evidence enough for me that he means well...even when he's eating the garbage, or the carpet, or cat litter.

It's hard to replace the affection and loyalty of a dog. You're probably not going to let your bar buddy lick your face.

Then again, I don't know you.

I'm not 30 anymore

2009-06-14T23:44:00.000-04:00

My soccer team, G-Dub, went down in a bitter defeat Thursday night, 8-5 to the "Reds". G-Dub comes from the abbreviation for my brothers-in-law's high school Greenwood, or G-W, in Millerstown, Pa.

So, there's this recreational league in Millerstown that pits all of us over-the-hill yahoos against high school players and other aging teams in a reduced time, reduced field size game.

It's actually quite fun, but not when you're winning 4-3 and the other team comes from behind to win on 4 unanswered goals. Ugh.

Complete breakdown in our defensive strategy and the Reds just counter-attacked their way into the W column.

It didn't help much that I wrenched my knee in the 10th minute of the first half and was slowed up dramatically from then on. That, and I'm incredibly out of shape.

I start a daily workout routine Monday. Hopefully it'll help.

Next game will go better.

Life happens while making other plans

2009-06-09T01:06:00.003-04:00

I haven't had much chance to write lately. Lot of work around the house, new baby, lots of work at the Business Journal, etc., excuse, etc.

I have some time now because I'm watching TV while my son Owen -- less than 3 weeks old now -- sleeps in his rocker after a warm bottle and a diaper change.

I may only be 32 (in December), but when I was younger I never really envisioned myself tapping on a laptop computer while two young sons and a beautiful wife sleep in the house around me. I always thought I'd be that rambunctious young writer, traveling the world having minor adventures (and maybe a few major ones) and then blowing them out of proportion in some grand novel of intrigue. Thirty-two years old is still young in today's terms, so I guess I have plenty of time left in my career as a writer to do these things, but I can't help think some of that time is slipping away.

So many of my colleagues are young, single people traveling here and there, jetting off to Mexico to visit a girlfriend or shuffling into downtown Harrisburg to see some new rock band play at an alleyway bar where the floor is tacky with malt and the air smells of decaying yeast.

Many of the people I knew in college and high school have slid into the roles their parents led decades earlier. How many sons of mid-level businessmen, insurance agents and lawyers are now mid-level businessmen, insurance agents and lawyers? How many daughters of teachers now spin globes and chase rug rats around plastic coated classrooms?

I guess I didn't do that. My father is a teacher. My mother was a medical lab technician and phlebotomist (that's a person who takes your blood at a doctor's office). Here I am, a slowly aging writer who feels 10 years younger than his body is, yet unable to take advantage of that vigor due to some lazy and other very deliberate choices I made.

Then there are the friends who've died. There's no need to mince poetic wizardry around that truth. They're dead and gone from car accidents and drug overdoses, cancer and house fires. One day they were there, even if you hadn't seen them in 5, 6, 10 years. Then you wake up and they're gone. Some part of you probably knew the phone call was not going to be good news, but it never changes anything. The void is the same. You don't get them back.

And that's the place where you start wondering: How many years do I have left?

Then you take a swig of beer, tip-toe quietly over to your son and give him a kiss on the forehead.

That's where you forget about yourself, at least for the time being, and just plug along for them, those dozing angels. After all, someone has to watch over them. I guess this is my adventure for now.

New buddy at the bar

2009-06-05T18:56:00.003-04:00

Riverside Hooligan has added a drinking buddy, Amy Spangler Photography.

Amy is a colleague of mine at the Business Journal, and her photography is incredible. She's probably one of the most talented and entrepreneurial shutterbugs I know. She finds angles, colors and textures with her camera that make even the most mundane subjects look impressive.

And I'm not just saying that. I'm a photographer myself, but a lot my work is done through pure trial and error and there's few chances for me to duplicate a photo because I honestly don't remember how I did it.

Amy, on the other hand, has a consistency to her craft that can only be described a perfection.

So, checkout her blog for interesting photos, musings, cool links and all sorts of other stuff.

Cheers.

Cleaning up at the Keystone Press Awards

2009-05-31T08:44:00.000-04:00

Good morning.

I wanted to take a moment to say congratulations to my brethren at the Central Penn Business Journal. The journal took home the Sweepstakes Award last night at the Keystone Press Awards. We cleaned up in several categories, including online innovation. Great job everyone. I'm sure we'll continue to impress in the future.

I took home three awards: an honorable mention in general news for my story about the closing of the International Automotive Components Group (IAC) plant in Carlisle, Pa.; a second place award in online innovation for my story and video of the truckers' protest in Harrisburg; and first place for beat reporting on workforce developlment.

I surprised myself this year. Sometimes, you're so focused on getting the job done that you forget to see that which you've already done well.

I'll probably be posting a few more columns in the coming days. Cheers for now.

W needs new speech, jokes

2009-05-29T21:51:00.005-04:00

OK, I know it's not unusual for politicians to reuse the same speech and tweek a few key parts here and there.

But I assume big-name speakers, including former President George W. Bush, would take the opportunity to give interesting speeches drawing on unique experiences.

From this report in the New York Times, it looks as though Mr. Bush is recycling the same tired jokes and speeches from six months ago.

I reported on President Bush's visit to the U.S. Army War College in Carlisle, Pa., back in December for the Central Penn Business Journal. At the time, his jokes about missing rides on Airforce One, White House food and drawing inspiration from talking to service members and their families seemed typical and cliched, even if sincere.

But, since December, I have yet to hear original material from the former commander in chief. He regurgitated many themes and whole paragraphs from the War College speech in his farewell address. That night I said to my wife, "I've heard this before."

And I had. So when I read this NYT story, I was again surprised to see similar material.

What gives? Is the former president running out of things to talk about? Does he only have three souvenirs of his eight years in the White House? Airplanes, food and soldiers?

Granted, I'm sure the last one is important enough to mention time and time again -- my brother is Airborne and I talk about him all the time.

But, where's the detail, the experience, the inside scoop of a man cloaked in the title "Most Powerful Man in the World?"

Maybe it'll get better as Mr. Bush becomes more comfortable talking, but I'm doubtful considering he couldn't muster much originality in three speeches in six months with decades of practice.

What do you want to hear from the former president?

Is that reporter drunk?

2009-05-26T22:45:00.000-04:00

Given this study from England, it's no wonder that journalists get some strange looks. Thanks to Jeremy Long for sharing via Twitter.

Apparently, media professionals are the highest-percentage class of drinkers. I'm currently a reporter for the Central Penn Business Journal in Harrisburg, Pa. Knowing all the buggers I call colleagues, I'm not surprised.

This explains so much in the early days of my career, way before the Business Journal, including:

It wasn't the air/water in an early office giving me headaches, just a hangover.
On a positive, I got some nice columns out of all this.
Why I could understand what my cat, dog and hamsters were saying to me.
The many mysterious brown "water" stains that would appear on couches and rugs from time to time.
Pink elephants.
Angry girlfriend.
Marrying my fraternity brother's little sister.
Angry wife.
A laundry room that smelled like vomit, all too often.
Ability to name beers by taste...that's another positive.
Closets that periodically doubled as bathrooms.
Thinking $18,000 before taxes was a survivable income...wait, that preceded the drinking.
"Sure, I'll take 5 seconds of 40,000 volts of electricity."

Well, you get the point.

What strange and wonderful events in your life can you blame on alcohol?

Red Bull New York faced with Cosmic decisions

2009-05-26T14:30:00.000-04:00

I just finished watching the two-hour special about the New York Cosmos rise and fall on MSG network titled "Once in a Lifetime."

Great documentary about America's only soccer club to reach super-club status in the late 1970s, and then crash and burn along with the North American Soccer League in the mid-1980s. Red Bull New York is not the Cosmos.

However, considering Red Bull New York's current record (2-6-3) and this most recent report from Washington Post's Steven Goff about the club's coach, I'm starting to think the Red Bulls are in drastic need of the type of decisions that the Cosmos made in the mid-70s to elevate that team out of its doldrums.

New York needs a big-name midfielder to compliment its first designated player, Juan Pablo Angel. The team also needs a big-name defender to captain the back line and prevent costly mistakes such as the one against the Chicago Fire on Sunday.

If this was 1977, I'd say fly to Germany and see if Franz Beckenbauer is ready to come to America, but the Kaiser is retired.

If Red Bull can bring in a second DP and change NY's fortunes before the playoffs, or make an impressive showing in the CONCACAF Champions League, then Juan Carlos Osorio might be able to save his job.

Goff gets it right on another level. Red Bull Arena is opening next year and New York needs to bump-up the buzz and the attendance before next March. That means getting into the playoffs and winning at least the first series. Anything less will be very disappointing, both to fan morale and ticket sales.

So here's Osorio's checklist to revive the team and keep his job:

Sign second DP this season, preferably an attacking midfielder
Tighten up defense
Win (a lot of) games
Put people in the seats
Make playoffs and win opening series
Advance in Champions League

That's a lot to get done and I'm not optimistic. I guess we'll see what happens.

What do you think should be Osorio's priorities?

Coaching problems for NY soccer

2009-05-25T13:30:00.000-04:00

New York football (soccer) is in trouble.

Every day there's a new scandal, another loss, another coach walking the plank.

I have to admit, I haven't followed Women's Professional Soccer as much as I'd like to. I find the women's game interesting at times, but haven't had the time to keep up.

But, like I said above, everyday it's something new for New York football. Sky Blue, the New York-New Jersey franchise in WPS has fired its coach. They say suspended indefinitely, but that's the same as firing someone.

This reminds me of the Red Bulls, who've gone through enough coaches in the club's 13-year history to begin counting them on toes.

Hopefully, Sky Blue does not have the same sordid history as their older brothers Metrostars/Red Bull New York.

Party of Lincoln in Disarray

2009-05-25T12:30:00.000-04:00

Last Tuesday, I had the fortunate experience to listen to Jeb Bush -- brother of President George W. Bush and son of President George H.W. Bush -- and Tom Wolf, the former Pennsylvania Secretary of Revenue speak to the Manufacturers' Association of South Central Pennsylvania.

Bush, the former Governor of Florida, is better spoken than his brother.

But what really attracted my attention was his comments on the status of the Republican Party, which you'll recall is in a state of disarray.

There's too much "circular firing squad" mentality going around in the party these days, Bush said.

Circular firing squad seems to be a mis-characterization of what's going on though. More accurate would be a total purge of moderates from the party, as described in Rolling Stone's most recent National Affairs article from Tom Dickinson.

However, the moderate Republicans could stand a lesson from Army general and former U.S. Secretary of State Colin Powell: stand your ground, fire back at the right-wing nutjobs. That's been Powell's strategy, evidently unwilling to let the Republican Party sink further into the angry, reactionary politics of former Vice President Dick Cheney and radio wind-bag Rush Limbaugh.

Why anyone still cares what Rush Limbaugh and Dick Cheney have to say is beyond me, but it's evident there's a huge power struggle going on in the Republican Party and moderates are losing, or leaving the party to prevent losing big.

Jeb Bush said the other night he thought the "circular firing squad" was counterproductive, and he wanted to talk about new ideas to move the party and country forward. If he's serious about that, then his first priority should be saving the Party of Lincoln from people that lack any vision for change in America. Read: windbags and cave-dwelling freaks.

Good luck with that, Mr. Bush, Mr. Powell. For the sake of America's future, I hope moderates have enough amunition to win back the Grand Old Party.

Riverside Cliffs

2009-05-25T03:32:00.000-04:00

Variety. And zebra balls.

When I asked people to vote on Facebook for a theme to this blog, those were the only two replies I received. One was from a former editor of my college newspaper, The Voice, at Bloomsburg University of Pa. She suggested the variety.

My college friend currently serving a tour in Iraq as a communications grunt suggested the zebra genitalia.

Specifically, he wanted me to write about anything other than a serious soccer blog:

"...who wants to read a serious blog about a bunch of people kicking a zebra colored ball around. So maybe you could write about a bunch of people kicking a zebra in the balls. That would fall under travel, or comedy."

OK, so I'm convinced, to impress him, I'll need a zebra, a pair of size 7.5 Puma football (soccer) shoes and a rifle to shoot the zebra before kicking him. Because, let me tell you, if you kick any animal in the balls while alive, I have a feeling he'll proceed to kill you.

I'm not into being killed by a zebra kick. That's less dignified than being run over by a manure truck.

Anyway, so this will be a variety blog. The name, "RiversideHooligan," is a way to describe me. Most of my life, I've lived on the banks of two rivers: The Delaware River, running the border of eastern Pennsylvania with New York and New Jersey; and the Susquehanna River, which runs through the middle of Pennsylvania. My current home in Dauphin, Pa. overlooks the Susquehanna, as did Bloomsburg, about an hour and half north of here.

Water -- the element of life. It's played a big role in mine. And has provided more than just a geographic backdrop for my life. Water has helped define my life in some ways.

As for the "Hooligan," well, I guess I needed some kind of soccer reference. I'm a big fan, watching and playing whenever I can. So, yes, Josh you will have to periodically endure blog entries about soccer.

But overall, this blog should be enjoyable to almost anyone who finds themselves lost in the information jungles of the Internet. This blog is my column, my place to scribble all the stuff no one lets me write on a regular basis.

I guess thumbing your nose at the world is more than hooliganism; it's libertarian, which is a far greater thing to be.

Til next time.