Big Hearts and Brass Tacks: Official Match Statement for The Mighty PTFC vs. Colorado Rapids

How a maestro sees the pitch. (PHOTO:  Craig Mitchelldyer-Portland Timbers)

How a maestro sees the pitch. (PHOTO: Craig Mitchelldyer-Portland Timbers)

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Gavin’s Back Office
Beneath Providence Park
Rose City, Cascadia

Official Match Statement PORvCOL  League Match

Dear Major League Soccer,

The ups and downs are always part of the pursuit of happiness. Even after you’d piss and moan and pour vinegar on the wounds of discontent over something as minimal as not noticing a crumb on a freshly dusted table or leaving a water streak on the silverware set that was a gift from your demented uncle, I’d still cherish the moments when our perspectives met, however fleeting, like the time we fell into a giggling pile of childish laughter while sweeping the remnants of your Godmother’s china that you’d thrown against the wall in a fit of unmitigated frustration.

It was those times, when the absurdity of it all was just overbearing to the point of insanity, that our shells would crack and we’d just let moments be what they were. That was us giggling in a jagged pile of broken memories, laughing our heads off that we’d brought ourselves to such times.

Didn’t things used to work? Hadn’t the year of comfort and highs that far outnumbered the lows of uncontrolled smashings been real? Who changed?

I think the answer is we both did.

You got better.

We tried to get better by outsmarting ourselves.

Things got worse.

You see the pattern. We did then, when you bent down to help me sweep the splintered blue outlines of what was once a plate you’d inherited and we smacked heads and grabbed at them in pain and glared at each other as if one of us was to blame when neither of us were. We had no choice then but to drop down and squeal at the delight of realizing it didn’t have to be so hard.

The constant push for perfection will always lead humanity to try the inevitable. From trying to make a wounded relationship thrive to making the wrong choices when trying to improve by changing a system that just needs some improving. It’s not that there is virtue in idleness or the stale smell of contentment should keep us still and never evolving, it is just that sometimes, to find what works best, we have to go back to what worked to begin with.

And that’s what the Timbers did last Friday when we told you and the Rapids to go fuck yourselves.

At it’s very core and even without Caleb’s diabolical double Argentine substitution that gave us the boost to take all points after having none, this was the 2013 Timbers the league had grown to love and grown to mitigate. 529 passes, 82% accuracy, and 62% possession. With 12 shots, 6 on target, and 2 goals, this is Possession with Purpose. After being behind from the unlucky circumstances of set pieces and their ever nefarious ways to strike daggers into the sails catching winds, we were down 1-0. But this was big hearts, brass balls, back to brass tacks Timbers and we would not be thwarted.

And it was only right that after peppering the field with salty passes and stalwart tackles our equalizing goal came from a sequence of Arsenal-esque buildup that saw every Timber sans Ricketts and O’Rourke touch the ball from the back line to the front to Jewsbury’s sumptuous ball and Cousin Maxi finishing with the featherlite touch of being born of a nation where beautiful football is a breath you breathe from the moment of birth.

From the speculative jabbings beginning from Ridgewell to Chara to La Gata to Chara. The casual roll from left to right to left of the ball before finding Mikey lurking on the touch-line. From there a flash; La Gata finding Valeri and Valeri’s sideflick to Nagbe and the pinpoint finding of Will near the box. And then Will, displaying the very essence of “patience is a virtue”, holding up for the slightest of moments, and seeing the Salty Dog pushing forward laying a threading pass to find him at full clip and the rest is for dreams.

Dreams that include an icing on a cake of three points fit for a King of Cascadia.

Valeri’s game winner created from nothing and born on the wings of a South American phoenix. A typical Chara, who had bossed it all night, finding our Maestro who was painting a masterpiece. His shot and goal is one of the greatest goals I’ve ever seen live. 28 or 30 yards it doesn’t matter. He stroked it with genius, knuckleballing its deadweight with a curving venom that left the keeper snake-bit and the upper 90 sidenetting rippling.

A full team performance and a needed win. A team that brushed the field with passes like butter and found a rhythm we had once known but had forgotten the beat.

The day was seized but what still awaits is if the page was turned on that day.

Are we passed breaking things or just laughing on the floor in the middle of it all?

Love,

BOG

BOG Tea Leaves: Week Twenty

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Thrice the Iron Lion roared.
Thrice and once the Hedge Don snored.
Twitter cries, ’tis time, ’tis time.
Round about the league we go.

Round about the league we go.
Some teams play friendlies for fun.
Some teams play games that must be won.
Days and weeks now ten and five.
Halfway through but hardly there.
At the red line the world stares.

Double, double toil and trouble.
Who lifts the cup from out this rubble?

Sunday, July 27

Vancouver Whitecaps Football Club vs. Football Club Dallas #VANvDAL

Listen all and listen now.
Sacrifice a sacred cow.
Look to sky and look to ground.
Flop on down and flop around.
Get a grip and give and go.
Unleash the spigot let it flow.
Things are looking less than good.
For either team has more than should.
2-1 Whitecaps

Saturday, July 26

Toronto Football Club vs. Sporting Kansas City #TORvSKC

Eastern battle of telling tattles.
An broach of corn and mounted rattles.
Kansas fried and deep dish done.
Bradley come to ruin the fun.
Fee and fie and Defoe is dumb.
Retorting here like an Englishman’s bum.
Take your time to watch this match.
Who’s the best of the chicken’s scratch.
3-1 Toronto

New England Revolution vs. Columbus Crew #NEvCLB

A piss of yak and ticky tack.
A pinch of pain on the sack.
A telling tale of how how to fail.
How to never or seldom prevail.
Two old teams with dusty dreams.
Success unwound along the seams.
Falling down and stumbling on.
Numbness when the feeling’s gone.
2-2 DRAW

Friday, July 25

Colorado Rapids vs. Club Deportivo Chivas United States of America #COLvCHV

A vapid team of Rapids.
A team of roguish goat kids.
A pinch of elevation flu.
A team with nothing left to prove.
The West is neither lost nor won.
Upon the hides of our tables scum.
Torres score a goal or two or none.
Just make this match one that’s not won.
2-2 DRAW

Thursday, July 24

Real Salt Lake vs. Impact de Montreal #RSLvMTL

Diamonds don’t last forever.
And midfields are made to tether.
To pivot and push and pull the plot.
To give and go and give what’s got.
The battle won’t be won or lost.
By dazzling play or balls when crossed.
To seize the day and make the bed.
A team’s goalkeep must stand on head.

2-1 Real

Wednesday, July 23

San Jose Earthquakes vs. Chicago Fire #SJvCHI

Lenhart’s butt is feeling hurt.
He spent some time in Jersey dirt.
But for the sake of being curt.
If he was cold don’t give him a shirt.
Hope is lost on bullying trolls.
Dark Magic Mike can feed on their souls.
He’s got to lift Fire from the coals.
And scrape together some meaningful goals.
3-2 Fire

BOG Tea Leaves: Week Nineteen

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Thrice the Iron Lion roared.
Thrice and once the Hedge Don snored.
Twitter cries, ’tis time, ’tis time.
Round about the league we go.

Round about the league we go.
Almost time for all star breaks.
Almost time to raise the stakes.
Days and weeks now ten and six.
Times are tight and tables too.
A race is on between too few.

Double, double toil and trouble.
Who lifts the cup from out this rubble?

Sunday, July 20

District of Columbia United vs. Club Deportivo Chivas United States of America #DCvCHv

The goats are hot on the trot.
Losing games they are not.
DC are a whisper in the wind.
Risen angels from their sins.
Torres knifes the ones who care.
DC beats the ones they dare.
Could be the game of the week.
The earth inherited by these meek.
1-0 Chivas

Saturday, July 19

Sporting Kansas City vs. Los Angeles Galaxy #SKCvLA

Kansas City sitting pretty.
LA back to nitty gritty.
Neither does much with much flair.
Both have stars with receding hair.
Drop a Landon in a bucket.
Tell Colin to go fuck it.
Keane could score and Dwyer too.
But defense shines like you do a shoe.
1-1 DRAW

Red Bull New York vs. San Jose Earthquakes #NYvSJ

New York is inconsistent at their best.
And in this fact I do not jest.
They lost away to lesser teams.
They’ve got the talent but not the means.
Henry can turn your head on a dime.
And BWP scores goals time after time.
SJ lacks a counter bag of tricks.
With tactics like a bag of dicks.
3-1 Red Bull

Columbus Crew vs. Impact de Montreal #CLBvMTL

A battle for who is not the worst.
A battle to see which manager’s cursed.
Bump and grind and grind and bump.
A Ping pong ball from Forrest Gump.
Montreal aren’t real at all.
And Columbus cannot stop their fall.
Content to exist on fringes of good.
Mediocrity is parity’ hood.
1-0 Impact

Chicago Fire vs. Philadelphia Union #CHIvPHI

Dark Magic Mike is back in play.
And happiness and kittens he’s here to slay.
And dash the hopes of hapless Union.
And rip asunder their grand delusion.
Philly thinks they’ve broken form.
They scored some goals against their norm.
But time for Fire to make a run.
And help my friends experience fun.
3-1 Fire

Football Club Dallas vs. New England Revolution #DALvNE

When the time for time has come.
And dust it settles in the setting sun.
The ruins of England of the New.
Will be told for generations to rue.
The brashness of youth in anarchy.
A back line formed no one can see.
Picked apart by brutish thugs.
Head back East squashed like bugs.
3-0 Dallas

Houston Dynamo vs. Toronto Football Club #HOUvTOR

The league has passed Houston by the by.
Like Donovan their is no where left to hide.
Too quick and fast for the Dynamo dull.
Bottom of the league is not a lull.
Houston’s been on this path before.
For years and years and ever more.
Until they change from boring ball.
Their only throne is a bathroom stall.
2-0 Toronto

Real Salt Lake vs. Vancouver Whitecaps Football Club #RSLvVAN

Salty Lake in heat if summer.
Is the epitome of a real bummer.
A buzz kill road kill buzzard jail.
A place where teams go to fail.
Now their back to fuller strength.
And Whitecaps forms lack length.
Time to get it back on track.
Time for Vancouver to find some sack.
2-2 DRAW

Wednesday, July 16

Philadelphia Union vs. Red Bull New York #PHIvNY

A team made from the run off of the great.
Henry raises bars and he controls the fate.
Makes water from wine and goals from the air.
But for others he wishes the golden boot flair.
The Union have runoff from trying their luck.
You don’t expect wins and playoffs are a bust.
A win on the road for New York is a must.
Don’t want to fall behind a loaborious pace.
Don’t want the Union to steal your face.
2-1 Red Bulls

Columbus Crew vs. Sporting Kansas City #CLBvSKC

If the shoe fits wear it well.
If it doesn’t then cast a spell.
You gotta know when things are lost.
And things you’ve lost come at a cost.
But Columbus play with spine of toad.
And Sporting play with class of chode.
But one team’s better at being worse.
And Midwestern teams are long ball cursed.
1-1 DRAW

Toronto Football Club vs. Vancouver Whitecaps Football Club #TORvVAN

If no one’s around for a battle of Canucks.
Can those who are there actually give any fucks.
Is Bradley a general or a private fail.
When he was needed there was no wind in his sail.
But his Toronto team from the city of Mayor Crack
Is lofty enough to be held on his back.
Whereas Vancouver flip flop like nobody is home.
And Defoe shapes the match like knots through a comb.
4-2 Toronto

Los Angeles Galaxy vs. New England Revolution #LAvNE

Keane is keen to yank a chain.
And Landon has a heavy brain.
Both full of fluids oozed from shame.
Both petulant and rabid from the fame.
England of New are roustabouts.
Rag tag ninnies and a few good louts.
They can surprise or scalp at least.
Those whose claims must cease and desist.
1-0 Revolution

No Fan Is An Island: Official BOG Match Statement for Seattle Sounders FC vs. The Mighty PTFC

The struggle is the journey. (PHOTO:  Craig Mitchelldyer-Portland Timbers)

The struggle is the journey. (PHOTO: Craig Mitchelldyer-Portland Timbers)

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Gavin’s Back Office
Beneath Providence Park
Rose City, Cascadia

Official Match Statement SEAvPOR  League Match

Dear Major League Soccer,

I never thought it would feel this bad again. That the abject loss of expectation and unrequited love could creep slowly into the blossoming scar of our hearts and tear asunder a new and fresh wound of disappointment.

I haven’t felt this way since the spring we spent off the coast of Maine on a tiny island of solitude in the cabin someone’s parents owned. We were on the edge of the world. A palace of rocky meadows and pebbled shores all to ourselves. Each sunset would break the grey of the endlessly pounding surf into pastel oranges and pinks glistening on the algae clinging to the jagged shoreline.

Eating dinners from tins across from tea light candles fluttering in the constant Atlantic winds battering the island with the intent of making it disappear we’d chew, and drink wine from the bottle, and ponder, and chew, and open our mouths as if to say what was lingering in the air thicker than the salty spray of ocean only to continue chewing in silence. As the weeks went on the lumbering oak table seemed to stretch and you seemed further and further away in the chilly moments of our soundless dinners.

I’d expected this would save us. Without the distractions of the outside world interfering with our genuine enjoyment of each other we could reconnect. We could once again find whatever the fuck it was that had brought us there to right then on the edge of the continent. But as the nights wore on and the rains and the winds assailed us endlessly only to offer fleeting glimpses of a sun that I could hardly remember, I realized you weren’t going to open up and this had all been a terrible mistake and a horrible investment of money and time.

And I realized we’d been aiding and abetting our own saboteurs. We were on that island too soon in the spring, in a cabin full of the ghosts of summers past, with nothing to say and nothing to do but blame ourselves for the mundane tickings of our lives and the perpetual repeating of mistakes that are unavoidable to those that stumble through life content with what they have and never sacrificing it for what could be.

How many times can you tell me to not talk with only a glare of your eyes before I never speak again? How many times will I speak to the air at your face in a vain attempt to compel your attentions before you don’t hear anything anymore? How many more hours and days and years and centuries and eons will the merciless winds pummel this small clingy rock before it is just another pebble on the shores of Coney Island. How many more times can I keep trying to be good enough if all I end up with is a lonely walk in a stinging drizzle out to the bluffs overlooking the misty bay to kick stones into the nebulous ether where the rocks meet the waves?

How many more times can I tell you to go fuck yourself before I myself am fucked?

Because we are surely fucking ourselves now. We are the squad lacking fitness. We are the individual players lacking the drive and perhaps the skill to match a passion that was burning inside of us a year ago. We are the supporters lacking sufficient clichés to continually harp on demonstrable faults in our game plans and tactics and performances.

We went into the match hoping for a result while being completely outmatched on the paper in our darkest and most secret minds. For the first 45 minutes we danced around the sleeping bear, looking for opportunities to poke it, but never looking like we were going to do what must be done if we are to alter the course of history. We didn’t need to sit back and poke we needed to bomb forward and stick the bear with the points of a dozen spears and end it’s retaliation before it has time to maul our faces and eat berries on the side of a deserted trail for dessert as our carcass steams in the Northwest air.

But we couldn’t do what had to be done because we aren’t what we think we are. We can’t weather a storm when only one defender shows up to play. We can’t kill a giant mammal without hunters who know where and when to strike the soft flesh of an enemy’s underbelly. We can’t control the knife’s edge of our midfield when the hilt is cracked and the blade rusty. Find me players who did more than Ricketts, Villafaña, and Valeri. Find me eight more players that can save our lives and our season. After 60 minutes they let the bear eat us.

At five loses I was planning a trip to an island so we could reconnect again. At six loses I’m once again walking the slippery path out to the edge of the bay and kicking pebbles into the mist just hoping something changes or at least the candles have burned down low enough that and I don’t have to watch you not talk to me anymore.

Sometimes it just gets so hard to stay positive when you have the same conversations with your peers and same debates with the inner workings of the mind. It gets so hard to see the forest for the Timbers. It gets hard to weigh if the end result will ever eclipse the unwavering and immense emotional investment poured into the bottomless bucket of club support. Do I come back each week because I want trophies, or playoff, or more wins, or do I come back each week because the struggle, whether tragic or euphoric, is what really pulls the heart-strings? Isn’t that why we spent a spring forcing ourselves to love the awkward moments of our separation?

Isn’t that why I’ll love a club that can’t love me back for the rest of this life?

I don’t know.

But dinner’s ready and we are almost out of candles.

Kisses,

BOG

NOA to Z: Player Ratings to C.R.E.A.M. to Victory (LAvPOR)

Look over there and over there. We be right here now. (PHOTO: Jayne Kamin-Oncea-USA TODAY Sports)

Look over there and over there. We be right here now. (PHOTO: Jayne Kamin-Oncea-USA TODAY Sports)

After each match, we’ll share thematic play(on-words)er ratings. Some words are words. Some words are magic. Some words shouldn’t be seen by anyone. Take it up with the OED if you can’t decide which word is what. 

It’s been awhile, stranger. 

But the Cup£™®©€$ rules everything around me.

C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

FIFA®™®€£$, FIFA®™®€£$’s bills, y’all.

LA Galaxy vs. The Mighty PTFC  7/4/14  2-2 (D)

GK Ricketts CONCACAFfy

Iron Lion shares his reggae juice with all regional national-team keepers who ask. And he keeps plenty around whenever he needs to shut down old Irishmen who can’t even lift him up. 

D Harrington BELGIUMption

So much in a tiny expectation. 

Come back from USMNT with reenergized skill and renewed spirit. Unfortunately, injury, touch, organization, and observation have let him down. Here’s to those lapses ending soon. We know he’s got it.

D O’Rourke (née O. Rourke) GREECEy greaser

The O stands for “Onlychoicewegotos,” and like all quality Greek men, RourkeyRourke knows how to be defensive as fuck. In his soul and his boots.

D McKenzie ITALYeeze nuts

Hair styled yet rather unfortunate. And unbalanced. Could’ve put in a better shift that would’ve seen the team through. Still, no bite marks are a plus.

D Villafana COSTA RICA suave

Such a consistent participant. Knows what to do and does it with a sense of calm and exquisite celebratory joy. 

Knock. Me. Out.

M Chara MEXICOalescent

Got away with one. Should’ve got away with another. Heartbreakers only bring us closer together.  

We’ll miss you in the 2nd shitty fishing village match.

M Valeri ARGENTINAllacious

You can’t help but love something that does the little things so well they turn into big things over and over. Salivate at its simplicity. Cherish the magic. Crave more.

M Johnson U.S.A. U.S.A. U.S.A. (repeat)

Decision making is up and down, but never ever doubt the intensity and commitment. I believe that we will play better when he believes that we can win.

F Nagbe FRANCEy pants

Run and weave and pass and open. Sometimes so much that you can forget to lean on the rich past of cups and ricockulous goals in order to dominate again.

Also, someone ask Felicia if he’s as good a dancer off the pitch as on it. 

F Fernandez COLOMBIA winner

Maybe taken out too soon, but as confident an option for beautiful footy and goal-scoring opportunities as any. Everyone’s got the fever.

F Adi BRAZILiant

Plays so direct that you can easily forget the foot-skill is there. Most likely needs more of breather as he continues to adapt, but every match he’s got at least a goal in him.

M Wallace (‘74) ALGERIA-l

The motors will always be there, disrupting opponents in both boxes. Still needs time to bring back the composure and classy finishes.

M Alhassan (‘88) SWITZERLANDo

Not really an all-around performance. But that pass tho. So peaceful. So ambitious.

So leaving me wanting more.

D Jewsbury (‘90) CAMEROONey

It was done before it even got started. Let’s hope a return to better times in more-desired positions could remind us all of what once was. 

Also, get the fuck stuck in in Shittle..

LA Story: Official Match Statement for Los Angeles Galaxy vs. The Mighty PTFC

Sueño gonna knock you out. (PHOTO: Jayne Kamin-Oncea-USA TODAY)

Sueño gonna knock you out. (PHOTO: Jayne Kamin-Oncea-USA TODAY)

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Gavin’s Back Office
Beneath Providence Park
Rose City, Cascadia

Official Match Statement for LAvPOR  League Match

Dear Major League Soccer,

I was thinking the other day about that time we snuck out and ran by the stark mid-summer moonlight and twinkling lightning bugs along the old sneaky path through the forest behind school and over the train tracks to the old abandoned half-bridge that someone had seemingly built to nowhere and left to shimmer on late nights and wobble its reflection over the too-still water as we dropped pebbles from our pockets that we’d gathered on our sauntering walkabout.

The pebbles would take so long to fall, glinting and turning, tumbling with a plop into the iridescent stillness of that forgotten stretch of water. And when the tiny rocks would run empty from our pockets we’d run in opposite directions to find more stones, challenging each other to find the largest one we could.

Trundling it over to the edge of the caustic iron structure of irrelevance, we’d hurl it into space and lurch onto our stomachs and watch it splash into the glassy surface below. And then we’d notice the moon. And we’d notice our eyes. And you’d notice a few more stones in your pocket and we’d say “last one” and you’d give one to me and it was warm from being the last holdout in the breast pocket of your shirt.

And every time we ritually sat down and dropped that last pebble, after calmly waiting for the glowing brackishness to still, I couldn’t help but realize you didn’t really love me and this was just a way for you to pass the time until something you really wanted came along to serve as your new time vampire. And I’d remember I was doing it because it was fun. And I’d want to say that you could go fuck yourself. But I only thought it because the moment was too beautiful to want to end. Too fulfilling for me to also worry about you.

It’s me not you, you see.

I mean it’s definitely you that has a shit league, and a shit attitude, and a shit idea of how to grow the game and by “game” I mean you only want to grow a product that will make money on top of the pyramid scheme of expanding underperformers and the overt manipulation of supporter culture to the point of co-option and fabrication. I’ve never been more sure of anything other than the fact that if there is a way to fuck up the development and organic growth and sustainable dominance of football in the U.S., you will excel at it. And I’ll never waver on the gospel truth that you can go fuck yourself.

I mean the reason that I come back is for me not you.

It’s because I enjoy football. I enjoy loving and understanding and believing in a thing that I can experience directly through my own control.

I love the Timbers. I love loving a thing that can’t love or hate me back. A thing that has the emotions of a rock. That can’t cheat me. It doesn’t lie to me.  It is only a vessel. A way to deepen my intimate connection to football itself.

I watch each match, not demanding a win, but because it is a highlight of my week. To consume the sport I love through a club I love surrounded by people I love.

It doesn’t really get much better than that.

That’s why I can now sit through 45 minutes of a petulant LA squad of diva fuckwits making my rag-tag team of injury-prone goldfish brained  and lion-hearted look worse for wear. It’s why I can breathe through my nose when my scarf is in my mouth for each save Ricketts pulls from the foot of Robbie Keane and his whipped cream brain. It’s why my butt cheeks hurt from the clenching emotional purgatory of living 90 minutes watching a central defense helmed by Kid and Play in the five hundredth different pairing this season. It’s why I can take away our ever-increasing rise in form and leave the agonizing statistical analysis of chances.

At the end of a 2-2 draw like this I want to enjoy the fact that Valeri is coming into MVP form again and may end being one the best midfielders to ever play in MLS. I want to revel in the excitement of plucky as fuck Villafaña continuing to carve a solid groove into his already steady starting position. He’s defending, he’s creating chances, he’s now scoring. Exactly what we need in his position. And I want Mikey to just be consistent but all told I don’t really mind right now if he’s not. I don’t want to be mad that Will is struggling to find his 2013 form, I want root for him to find the form this year that will win us cups. I want to cheer him onto more leadership on the field. I don’t care when Chara get’s a yellow, or his fifth cumulative, and neither does he. We smile at it together. I like the way Adi rolls the ball around defenders lazily with the grace of an Ent holding a Hobbit even if it doesn’t magic a goal. It’s just nice to watch sometimes.

A part of me likes that our second and third choice CBs are getting meaningful and highly competitive minutes in matches. It’s why we fucking have them on our roster. I think we can turn those own-goals into clean sheets and offensive goals if we try. Or we can’t, but what can I do about it, except enjoy watching whether we can or we don’t. Does the end result even matter. We were down a goal. On. The. Road. We don’t come back from that. We don’t get the lead in LA after that. We don’t then give up the lead with a late match own-goal. Except, yes we do. All of those things now. Every club does eventually. The greatest teams to the worst.

Do I want the Timbers to be the greatest team ever? Of course. Don’t be a fucking dickwad. Do I care if they never are? No.

All I can do is enjoy this for what it is and that is football. The beauty of the game itself is that its very experiential nature is open to interpretation for each of us. Just enjoy it. Even if you’re just plopping larger and larger rocks into a moonlit pond from a rusty bridge with no one to love you. Love it.

Hugs and things,

BOG

BOG Tea Leaves: Week Seventeen

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A dank and dimly lit cavern beneath Providence Park. In the middle, a simmering dish of hope and a vision of better living through apothecary.

Thrice the Iron Lion roared.
Thrice and once the Hedge Don snored.
Twitter cries, ’tis time, ’tis time.
Round about the league we go.

Round about the league we go.
Halfway through but most to go.
Death spirals and rising mojo.
Days and weeks now ten and eight.
Teams to beat were once teams to lose.
Teams that win now have the blues.

Double, double toil and trouble.
Who lifts the cup from out this rubble?

Friday, July 4

Houston Dynamo vs. Red Bull New York #HOUvNY

Oh, say can you see by the too Orange light.
The Energy Drinks on the road lose all their might.
Struggle to hold an already tenuous form.
A formation of divas that can’t help but deform.
The tables are tight on the middle rungs.
Step up or shut up breathe breath in the lungs.
Houston can make their perennial turn.
Lurch into fall or be ash in an urn.
2-1 Red Bull

Football Club Dallas vs. Philadelphia Union #DALvPHI

A match made in hell in the bowels of the South.
A team that can’t run and one that just runs their mouth.
The Texas Trolls and their shoulders and fuss.
The clogged up pore of Philly’s offensive puss.
It’s not injuries plaguing the Dallas squad.
It’s that their talent is a persistent fraud.
I still can’t tell you the style Union play.
And I give no fucks there’s no time in the day.
1-1 DRAW

Colorado Rapids vs. Columbus Crew #COLvCLB

The Dicks inside Dick’s are flaccid and weak.
Knocked from the Cup by a team of the meek.
Columbus have nothing to play for or think.
Serving as Rapids’ punching bag in lieu of stiff drink.
The Crew are the opposite of what a “crew” means.
Lacking a culture with tactics of a magic bean.
Hope for the best against middle of West.
I’d say play for the badge if that logo was even close to a crest.
2-0 Rapids

Real Salt Lake vs. New England Revolution #RSLvNE

Life gives us hippies and World Cups taketh away.
And sometimes, no most times, injuries come into play.
And often, not always, the shit hits the fan.
And you’re faced with a squad that can’t figure the plan.
Chugging along and scraping fortune aside.
England of New plays in a way that tans hides.
Work it through slowly or knife them on breaks.
Beckerman withdrawal left Real with the shakes.
3-2 Revolution

Saturday, July 5

Toronto Football Club vs. District of Columbia United #TORvDC

How the times have flipped a bitch.
Two teams once left for dead in a ditch.
Turned it around after falling down hard.
Took out the trash and mowed the yard.
United are built from the nothing of youth.
Toronto spent more than the Rainy Day Fund of Duluth.
Needless to say both trotting hot.
Shine bright like a… or not.
2-2 DRAW

Vancouver Whitecaps Football Club vs. Seattle Sounders Football Club #VANvSEA

If objectivity was the name of the game.
My prediction of this match would be rather lame.
But seeing that I’m Rose City ’til I die.
I can’t honestly reflect even if I try.
I don’t care who wins and I want both to lose.
But thankfully mercy won’t let me choose.
It’ll be up to them those fucks up the North.
Let’s hope when dust settles no one ventures forth.
0-0 DRAW

Club Deportivo Chivas United States of America vs. Impact de Montréal #CHVvMON

With field still fresh with the blood of the Galaxy.
And a club seeking peace with a branded fallacy.
The last legs of a goat one match at a time.
Won two on the trot and feeling just fine.
Montreal looms in the cellar of not good.
Their style and form have resembled cheap wood.
Crux and pivots for teams on a cusp.
Draw some don’t lose none wins are a must.
1-0 Chivas

Sunday, July 6

Sporting Kansas City vs. Chicago Fire #SKCvCHI

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.
The fans in the cauldron stacked like rubble.
The Fire are giving mediocre a glam.
Sporting barely surviving without their Graham.
The best thing for Chicago would be a draw.
‘Cause winning away is opposite of their law.
Eek by at home and let down in the end.
If you’re an enemy of Sporting then you are a friend.
3-1 Sporting