Confederations Cup 09: Spain v. South Africa Halftime Report

South Africa are the story here today, They have surprisingly excellent chances and some strong shots on goal, but they have failed to put the ball in the back of the net. They still have been suffering from poor shots and poor shot selection in some instances, but they have been holding their own throughout the half. Meanwhile, Spain are looking like a deadly snake couched in the grass, putting the ball in front of the net and looking to strike at any time. They have continually exploited holes in the South African defense, but their failure so far to finish has resulted in a 0-0 scoreline.

The second half will require a Spanish urgency to take this game seriously. If they attack wholeheartedly, they can certainly salvage the game in 45 minutes. South Africa cannot be unhappy at this point, but they have nothing to lose and will come out playing exactly like their last three halves of football.

FIFA Confederations Cup 09: USA v. Brasil Preview

Brasil have a funny way of playing just well enough to win before the final and then performing at a high level and appearing to have a lot of fun in the process. They have shown few signs of weakness in their four games so far in this tournament, the most being against a weak South African side in their semifinal game. Brasil’s passing was uncharacteristically sloppy, and that completely disrupted their usual jogo bonito. It’s unclear if any blame should go to the poor field conditions in these stadia, but something is affecting the Brasilian golden touch.

In contrast, the USA’s defense are playing at a very high level. They made few if no mistakes in their stellar win against Spain. Credit goes to their organization and the willingness of the entire team to play solid defense. However, the offense was looking as sloppy as usual, and if it weren’t for a Spanish mistake and a rather lucky bounce, perhaps the semifinal would have been settled in a tense overtime rather than in the original 90′.

The Brasilian defense has been known to have holes in the past. If this happens, and it just might, then the US have to take advantage and strike. Unfortunately, this is their greatest weakness as well, and the US will have to repeat their nearly perfect defensive performance in order to stave off the Brasilian attack. Kaka almost struck on several occasions against South Africa, which could have made the game a blowout. USA may not have the ability to shut him down, so it will take a combination of luck and perfection to make him a non-factor.

In one possible scenario, the USA will win on a brilliant Clint Dempsey strike from deep. Kaka will get his goal, but the USA defense will remain solid throughout and eventually prevail.

USA 2 :: 1 Brasil

FIFA Confederations Cup 09: Spain v. South Africa Preview

Despite facing a brick house United States defense in their semifinal game and being unlucky in their major missed opportunities, Spain still have plenty of pride and ability to spare on the third place matchup against South Africa. There is no indication that Spain will not take this game seriously, and South Africa will have to step up their mediocre performance against the underperforming Brasilian team if they wish to stave off embarrassment tomorrow morning. South Africa made one deadly mistake against Brasil that led to the late, deadly strike from Dani Alves, and I think that many similar mistakes in their game just showcase their relative immaturity at this stage of international football. Their offense was not well composed and fired off useless shots from long range that did not even test Brasilian Goalkeeper Julio Cesar. I think the strong Spanish side will find their rhythm once again and handily dismantle the young hosts.

Spain 3 :: 0 South Africa

Relativity, spacetime, and live sports

Being mildly obsessed^* with a sport that takes place half way around the world is tricky, because you cannot expect them to stage events at convenient times for our audience of three people. In the case of the FIFA Confederations Cup in South Africa, that would mean staging games at some obscene hour of the morning in order that we see it in primetime here on the East Coast. And who would want to watch a bunch of over-caffeinated, droopy eyed players slogging around a football pitch at 3 am local time, anyhow? We are actually fortunate that the games are taking place at 2:30 pm EST, especially after the FIFA World Cup finals in 2002, which were staged in South Korea and Japan and made game times particularly difficult to schedule. My schedule during WC2002 was, get to work late at 9:30 or 10 am, work until around 6 or 7, grab some dinner, try to sleep around 8 or 8:30 pm, and wake up for the 1 am, 3 am, and 7 am games. Rinse, repeat.

Unfortunately for yesterday’s epic semifinal, I had a string of meetings that kept me from watching the game live, but in our world of digital media, watching the game on delay was a reasonable option. A couple of friends of mine decided to go on news blackout from game time until we could sit down and watch the replay at 11 pm at a bar in my neighborhood. It’s a dangerous thing, the news blackout, and it’s difficult to do. For the most part, it means no email. No internet. No phone calls. Avoid all of the Europeans in our math department. Avoid all televisions in public places and try and avoid conversations. The “televisions in public places” rule is a difficult one, since TVs blare in all manners of eateries out to the public streets constantly. The conversation avoidance is easier but more random, since while most people don’t even know the US is in a thing called the Confederations Cup is going on (is that as important as the World Cup, I’ve been asked this week), it is still the United States team, and pride abounds, even for “soccer.”

3 hours after kickoff: At 5:30 pm, I was sitting in my office when a professor wandered in with a huge grin on his face, “Did you guys hear about the game?”

“No!” we yelled, covering our ears immediately to avoid any hint of news, “And don’t say anything!”

He backed out slowly, probably thinking we were a little nuts. Another office mate of mine ran after him to find out the outcome of the game. We immediately left, knowing that we would be bombarded by other likeminded bearers of some brand of news about the game. My office mate caught us in the hall and said, “Ecuador scores a touchdown in the last seconds of the game,” taunting us with this unrelated nonsense that, of course, I coupled with the goofy grin of the professor to mean that the United States probably prevailed in a dramatic, late goal fashion. But I did not know and couldn’t wait to see the game.

5 hours after kickoff: While looking for a restaurant, we had to avoid any kind of bar and most restaurants with televisions. We ended up at a Jewish deli that could have been the perfect setting for indifference to the beautiful game.

7 hours after kickoff: Afterward, we wandered down to a bubble tea place that had a TV on silent and was showing the Sox game. On the way out, someone noticed that they were showing the highlights of the game. I backed out sideways, to avoid looking at the television. A close call.

8 hours after kickoff: However, one of us would fall. As a friend was getting out of a car, she overheard four popped collars (yeah, those guys) talking loudly about the game on the street, blurting out the results and talking bracketology. She had made it eight hours and knew the result but not the score. One down.

9 hours after kickoff: We arrived at the bar, a few minutes late so that we would not catch another TV blurting out the results. We found a small corner of the bar for the three of us to perch and watch the game uninterrupted. We had made it this far, on blackout. Several minutes into the match, the ESPN ticker showed the score to the game on replay! Ridiculous! How stupid can they possibly be? I was the only one who took a glimpse at it, and two of the three of us were down.

10 hours after kickoff: While watching the game unfold, we cheered and winced as if the game were live. We yelled at the refs and players like they could hear our jeers echoing through spacetime. For us, it was as if the game were live. Goals were celebrated loudly, and the second time the ball crossed the goal line and appeared to seal our place in the finals, some moron called out to us, “This game was played earlier, that’s the final score.” No kidding! Why do you think we’re in a corner of the bar avoiding all other televisions and watching the game intently? Three down.

Nevertheless, we finished out the game and despite all knowing the final score line, it’s part of the game to see how things unfold and how the story develops. Importantly, our midfielder was red carded and ejected late in the game and won’t be playing in the final. Despite the ESPN screw up with the score, they were right in calling the game an instant classic. It was one of the best United States performances, specifically in defense, and well worth the wait. I might even watch it again.

^* Ok, maybe that’s not a reasonable qualifier.

The potential of US Soccer

The United States today did more than defeat a strong Spanish squad — they outplayed and simply outclassed them. The game was dominated by the best United States soccer squad I’ve seen in years; they did more than avoid making major mistakes. Nearly perfect on defense, everyone (including their strikers) played their parts to ensure that the Spanish strikers had difficult or no clear chances. Having Carlos Bocanegra in the squad to anchor down the back four clearly led to increased organization that helped Keeper Tim Howard achieve a clean sheet against a potent Spanish side. Furthermore, Defender Oguchi Onyewu played a brilliant game, perhaps the best of his international career, and in my eyes deserves Man of the Match honors for his constant heroics in frustrating the Spanish attackers.

Our game in the midfield was strong, and while we were far from perfect in the attacking third of the pitch, missing some key connecting passes again a bit too slow on certain shots, we took the chances we got. Even though the second goal took a couple of friendly bounces before Clint Dempsey managed to tuck it away, we kept poking at it until it paid off. This was a scrappy US team that didn’t often give up on any reasonable chances.

This was not simply a case of Spain playing poorly; in fact, all credit in this game must go to a United States team that looked for the first time like it could be truly competitive on the world’s largest stage. I’ve never, ever felt comfortable saying that about the US until tonight.

Perhaps the only curiosity in this game was the Michael Bradley red card, which was shown because of a late challenge in the closing ten minutes of the game. Though the challenge was late, I don’t think his studs were dangerously up, and another ref could have well given an arguably more appropriate yellow card. The question is whether or not Bradley’s absence in the final, likely against Brasil, will make a game changing difference. Conventional wisdom says that Brasil are far too strong for it to matter. But if that were not true, it’s also important to note how much we need Bradley in our midfield. However, I think both of those things are now in question after tonight’s performance, in which we showed that our defensive organization and our uncharacteristically mature midfield composure can lead to chances and frustrate even the strongest of opponents.

Up front, the US attackers perhaps pose the largest concern against the winner of the Brasil/South Africa semifinal on Thursday. Perhaps our saving grace could be the cool head and amazing presence of Charlie Davies, whose performance today was groundbreaking, despite having no goals. His time is soon to come.

In this case of the Jekyll and Hyde of US Soccer, tonight’s team must show up to the final in order to be competitive. It could be a huge upset in this Confederations Cup. This team is good enough to beat anyone.

The white raven

I spent the summer of 2003 in Colorado, teaching test prep classes, hiking, and camping. One night I had decided to go camping on some BLM forest lands, I guess near Nederland, CO, and I took my pack and wandered into a campsite about two miles or so off of a fire road. It was surprisingly busy for a non-weekend, and I recall finally settling on a site that appeared to be less inhabited. However, a few sites over from me was a truck parked and a large tent that had the appearance of being more of a home than a sporting tent. It was huge and probably could have housed four people comfortably, with head room. This tent probably had a foyer and a guest bedroom.

I can’t now recall how we came to talking, but there was a shorter Hispanic guy, dark skinned and stout, and a quiet, tall and skinny White guy, who was older. The Hispanic guy introduced himself as Atreyu but told me he also goes by The White Raven. He and his friend had caught some fish earlier in the river, and they invited me to grill the fish and eat with them. I have a psychological condition called FFAA (Free Food Automatic Acceptance) that has stayed with me since high school and has persisted throughout graduate school, and so I stayed with them for the fish and grilled corn on the cob. (It was all delicious.) We all traded stories, and Atreyu liked to talk, and somehow we got into a discussion about politics. He thought I was a “level headed young man” and was proud to share his government conspiracy theories with me. I politely listened, since dinner was so good, and it’s probably not a good idea to call someone “nuts” the first time you meet them — I usually save that for the second encounter, right?

Anyway, I thought about Atreyu during the 2004 Presidential Election, because he had wanted me to write in The White Raven for president. No comment on whether or not he would have been a better choice. Ahem. Atreyu gave me a straw hat that night, a token that I still have of our chance encounter.

Because I don’t have a car!

Actually, I just had to grin on my run tonight, in the moments when I wasn’t actually a little scared. A little fear makes for an interesting middle of the run. Oh, so let me back up some. We’ve had a pretty dreary day in Boston today, and the evening was no better. At close to 10 pm, it was drizzly and 95% humidity, though thankfully only around 65 F or so. I pulled on a hat and decided to go for a long, slow run in the most well lit, busy streets. Usually Sunday morning runs are empty; I kind of assumed that Sunday evening runs would be almost as good, in a sense.

As I made my way down the familiar streets of my neighborhood, I was feeling good and taking it easy, and I knew I’d be in for a long run. I wasn’t entire sure what the turning point would look like, but I figured I had some time to calculate all of that. Night time is not the time to be exploring unfamiliar streets of downtown Boston. Closer into the heart of the city (Kenmore Square for those who know), a guy leaned out as his buddy’s car passed me and he yelled emphatically, “Why are you running, jackass?” Bear in mind — I was just running on the sidewalk, minding my own business. I didn’t cut them off, and there were definitely no other runners (on the entire run, actually). I couldn’t help but grin stupidly at this brilliant question. Why am I running? Is running what makes me a jackass? I had to reject the latter conclusion and decided I’d probably have to revisit that question another time.

The question stuck with me for a couple more miles, and all of the little bits of wisdom I’ve read about running sprang to mind. Running is a privilege. We run because we can run. Run to run. Run to breathe. Why not? Soon I found myself running along the fountain at the Christian Science Center and headed toward a less familiar area of the city. I passed shadows of people and the rare, fancy restaurant that kept its doors open for hotel guests who were wandering around late at night. More than a few folks were clearly walking home from their night shifts at work. As I passed a guy standing under an awning out of the rain, he encouraged me calmly, “Run, Forrest. Run.” Still good advice today.

I soon found myself running slightly faster through Chinatown, a place I’d rather not go in the daytime, let alone at 11 pm. Not to be overly dramatic, but people appeared to lurk in every dark corner of every building in Chinatown, so I would normally have been happy to have passed through, except I eventually found myself in an unknown part of downtown. I managed to start running on a bridge (Evelyn Moakley!) where the water level beneath was unusually high. The wind throughout the run was whipping trees and howling, but the water movement was rather unsettling, and the wind on that bridge was particularly strong. I had no real idea of where I was. As I ran across the bridge, I wondered if I would see something familiar at some point, which is what usually happens when I get lost in Boston. Unfortunately, the signs directing me to the airport were not exactly comforting, and neither was the T station I had never — in 3 years of living here — heard of.

At some point I made the executive decision to turn back over the bridge, and when I returned to my last turn, I wandered North toward the aquarium area. As soon as I saw the buildings of the financial district, I knew more or less where I was and followed their outline toward Quincy Market. I ran passed Bill Rodger’s shop and eventually headed down toward the Boston Commons, following a crowd of college students into the park. Finally I headed home, running down Beacon St back to Kenmore, and taking the opportunity of empty streets to run on Commonwealth.

I love running at night. Granted, you don’t really see a lot. There are fewer cars, though sometimes more dangerous drivers. You don’t always feel safe. You hear strange sounds that you might not have noticed in the cacophony of the day’s activity. When the entire city is going to sleep, you’re keeping up the pulse of the city with your footsteps. You get to focus on your motion. You get the feeling you’re the only runner out running at midnight, among Boston’s thousands of runners. It’s kind of addicting.

* I feel a responsibility to mention that I don’t recommend it. It can be dangerous. Run in well lit areas. Run with others. Women: please never run alone at night. It’s not worth it. Instead, call me; I’ll run with you.

The airplane’s black box

In the wake of the recent tragedy surrounding the Air France 447 flight, it appears that the plane’s recorder, or black box, is unlikely to be recovered. If the box were to not only help explain this plane’s accident but perhaps prevent future accidents, then this is unfortunate. The lead investigator held up a similar device in his hand — it appears to be relatively easy to handle. I am wondering whether or not there could be a floatation device attached to it that could make it more easily recoverable. I think that engineering can address the key questions involved in making this a viable option.

An immediate question that springs to mind is the time of the flotation deployment. Much like a raft that inflates, a parachute that opens, or an airbag that engages, such a device could be triggered by an event, perhaps something like a liquid sensor or an accelerometer.

Of course many other issues would have to be worked out, but I know nothing about this specialized field of engineering, so perhaps these things already have been employed. It seems like an idea whose time has come if it could perhaps give peace to loved ones and save future lives.

And of course, may families find peace in the wake of this tragedy.

The Elvis run

It’s not quite the same as a posthumous Elvis sighting, but I was pretty excited to have seen Bill Rodgers hanging out at Jamaica Pond this morning. I kind of waved as I ran by, and he said, “Well, good morning!” It seemed plausible enough to me, until I talked to his brother down at their store, who said it was highly unlikely. I wonder how many nuts call him about Bill Rodgers sightings in Boston. Well, it’s n+1 now.

I broke in my new trail shoes (NB 1110) today on the road and down on the trails near the Three Ponds. I think they broke in some on the roads finally, which was good because they were slightly stiff starting out. All told, about nine beautiful miles this morning at 68 F. The route:

Soderling’s simple secret

Robin Soderling has a simple secret to success.

Wait, who? Robin Soderling, the giant killer of the French Open, who slayed a dragon this weekend in the form of consecutive four time French Open defending champion and No. 1 seed Rafael Nadal. Sod himself is seeded 23rd. Today he lopped off No. 10 Nikolay Davydenko in well under 2 hours and three straight sets. After watching him defeat Davydenko so easily, it became clear that his style of play is based on a quite simple yet immensely effective strategy. He has a powerful forehand, and he essentially stretches his opponents out across the entire baseline, by positioning shots on either side. Because of this effective use of the court as well as his power, opponents have to move quickly to the ball and hit it on the run. Especially on clay, stops and starts are difficult, and Soderling doesn’t allow them time to get back into position. Obviously this is what tennis players want to do, but Soderling appeared to have been particularly effective at it with Nadal and Davydenko.

So what’s it going to take to beat Robin Soderling? I think the best I’ve seen from his opponents is to mirror his game exactly. It turns out that Soderling’s major weakness is exactly what he exposes in his opponents. It will be interesting to see if someone in the bracket will be able to pick this up and take down this rising French Open star, who appears to be unstoppable right now.