FA CUP QUARTERFINALS EVERTON SUNDERLAND
17 MARCH 2012
THERE WILL BE BLOOD!
Everton and Sunderland sank their teeth into this FA Cup quarterfinal and didn't release until the
final whistle, and even then, just. The Match was brutal and beautiful; horrid, and exciting. The
opening kickoff was more like a touching of the gloves, and then they were off and running, God
knows where, but I was willing to let these two teams take me there.
It took only eight minutes for a kicking to knock over Drenthe in the box, no whistle by ref Andre
Mariner, and for Phil Neville to see a flash of yellow at the other end due to a simple foul.
Mariner... I haven't seen him ref in a long time. My mind quickly ran through its ****-O-Dex
under the M's. In the meantime, the only M to concern myself with was the delightful mayhem on
the pitch. This was end-to-end stuff, like anvils and sledgehammers flying prettily through the
air. Just a moment after his penalty appeal, Drenthe blasted from distance, a miss, but a good
sign.
At the twelve minute mark Sunderland gained a free kick, which isn't hard when the match is
flying along like trees passing by the window of a speeding car. Fair play to Mariner, he could
have ruined this match with a frenzy of whistle blowing, but didn't. Anyway, this free kick was
too far away to trouble Howard, and GOAL! Bardsley's kick hopscotched through a sea of legs,
deflecting off Cahill, and past the helpless Howard.
However, Everton were everything in this match that they had not been on Tuesday night. The
Sunderland fans were just as sonic as Everton's, and if jets had flown over The Old Lady, it's
doubtful anybody would have noticed. The noise ratcheted up even further when Jelly and Cahill
played a double donger off their heads, with Cahill, the one who would be punching flagpoles.
The commentators were even awed by the noise, with one of them saying, “And you can really
hear the Evertonians singing that What the ****? song now!â€
A Sunderland player finally got dealt a card when T. Bettner was booked. Though he protested,
the cameras saw the ref telling him, “I saw you there, and there, and there, and there, and there,
and there, and there, and there.†Yeah, so behold this card you disgusting mask-faced-fiend.
Oh, this match kept going, trust me. It was like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland. And fair play
to Cahill, and not just for scoring. He wormed his way inside, bicycle kicked, nearly got punched
a few dozen times, headed, drove, bobbed and weaved and kicked, and basically did everything
to make opponents hate him again, rather than being a whisper on the pitch that his own fans
have come to detest. Halftime drew near and neither players nor spectators cared. Coleman
ding-donged between two Black Cats to draw a free kick that Drenthe pinged the top right
crossbar with from distance, Ossie broke into space to force the keeper into a save, and then it
was corner-for-a-corner at either end, and the ref blew his whistle, allowing the fans to exhale,
and for some, to retool their pacemakers for the second half.
HALFTIME:
A lad wearing a number 17 jersey with “McBain†on the back was taken into custody for running
onto the pitch and helicoptering. Probably worth it, poor devil.
As the commentators were discussing how hard it is to keep a frantic pace up in the second half
after a torrid first half, the two teams were at each other like wild black cats and toffees. Really
aggressive toffees. Yellow cards pattered from the heavens like raindrops, penalty pleas were
plead, turf flew, mud flung, lungs ached, free kicks filled the sky, players panted, and alliteration
abounded. At seventy-five minutes, Moyes warmed up Jagielka, and signaled Heitenga to come
off. Jony made more gesticulations toward Moyes than VDM used to make to a cocktail waitress
on a night before the match. He turned away from Moyes, waved the back of his hand at Moyes,
made thumbs up gestures as to his fitness, and sit back down gestures to Jagielka. He shook
his head back and forth—OK, VDM never did that at a cocktail waitress—then he waved the back
of his hand, and then he closed a nostril and blew a stream of vile out toward the bench. Moyes
told Jagielka to sit back down, and the other subs began taking the piss out of him, and Jonny
continued to take the piss out of Sunderland. He even pulled Drenthe away from a volatile
situation and had a word in his ear in a way that had me thinking, “Next Captain.†Some more
subs were chucked into the melee on both sides, yet no further advantage could be gained. The
match wound down by heating up even hotter, with Heitenga heading a wicked shot that
Sunderland's goalkeeper just saved, and Jelly barely booting the rebound into the side netting.
Laws dictate the natural order of both nature and man. The laws of nature dictate to the beast
when the time is to bed, to rise, to feast. The laws of man ordain that order be maintained in a
civil society, and those laws decree that social and sporting events have a limit as to their length.
I sincerely believe that without those laws, Everton and Sunderland would still be playing. To the
north, then.
http://www.schoolofscience.eu
17 MARCH 2012
THERE WILL BE BLOOD!
Everton and Sunderland sank their teeth into this FA Cup quarterfinal and didn't release until the
final whistle, and even then, just. The Match was brutal and beautiful; horrid, and exciting. The
opening kickoff was more like a touching of the gloves, and then they were off and running, God
knows where, but I was willing to let these two teams take me there.
It took only eight minutes for a kicking to knock over Drenthe in the box, no whistle by ref Andre
Mariner, and for Phil Neville to see a flash of yellow at the other end due to a simple foul.
Mariner... I haven't seen him ref in a long time. My mind quickly ran through its ****-O-Dex
under the M's. In the meantime, the only M to concern myself with was the delightful mayhem on
the pitch. This was end-to-end stuff, like anvils and sledgehammers flying prettily through the
air. Just a moment after his penalty appeal, Drenthe blasted from distance, a miss, but a good
sign.
At the twelve minute mark Sunderland gained a free kick, which isn't hard when the match is
flying along like trees passing by the window of a speeding car. Fair play to Mariner, he could
have ruined this match with a frenzy of whistle blowing, but didn't. Anyway, this free kick was
too far away to trouble Howard, and GOAL! Bardsley's kick hopscotched through a sea of legs,
deflecting off Cahill, and past the helpless Howard.
However, Everton were everything in this match that they had not been on Tuesday night. The
Sunderland fans were just as sonic as Everton's, and if jets had flown over The Old Lady, it's
doubtful anybody would have noticed. The noise ratcheted up even further when Jelly and Cahill
played a double donger off their heads, with Cahill, the one who would be punching flagpoles.
The commentators were even awed by the noise, with one of them saying, “And you can really
hear the Evertonians singing that What the ****? song now!â€
A Sunderland player finally got dealt a card when T. Bettner was booked. Though he protested,
the cameras saw the ref telling him, “I saw you there, and there, and there, and there, and there,
and there, and there, and there.†Yeah, so behold this card you disgusting mask-faced-fiend.
Oh, this match kept going, trust me. It was like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland. And fair play
to Cahill, and not just for scoring. He wormed his way inside, bicycle kicked, nearly got punched
a few dozen times, headed, drove, bobbed and weaved and kicked, and basically did everything
to make opponents hate him again, rather than being a whisper on the pitch that his own fans
have come to detest. Halftime drew near and neither players nor spectators cared. Coleman
ding-donged between two Black Cats to draw a free kick that Drenthe pinged the top right
crossbar with from distance, Ossie broke into space to force the keeper into a save, and then it
was corner-for-a-corner at either end, and the ref blew his whistle, allowing the fans to exhale,
and for some, to retool their pacemakers for the second half.
HALFTIME:
A lad wearing a number 17 jersey with “McBain†on the back was taken into custody for running
onto the pitch and helicoptering. Probably worth it, poor devil.
As the commentators were discussing how hard it is to keep a frantic pace up in the second half
after a torrid first half, the two teams were at each other like wild black cats and toffees. Really
aggressive toffees. Yellow cards pattered from the heavens like raindrops, penalty pleas were
plead, turf flew, mud flung, lungs ached, free kicks filled the sky, players panted, and alliteration
abounded. At seventy-five minutes, Moyes warmed up Jagielka, and signaled Heitenga to come
off. Jony made more gesticulations toward Moyes than VDM used to make to a cocktail waitress
on a night before the match. He turned away from Moyes, waved the back of his hand at Moyes,
made thumbs up gestures as to his fitness, and sit back down gestures to Jagielka. He shook
his head back and forth—OK, VDM never did that at a cocktail waitress—then he waved the back
of his hand, and then he closed a nostril and blew a stream of vile out toward the bench. Moyes
told Jagielka to sit back down, and the other subs began taking the piss out of him, and Jonny
continued to take the piss out of Sunderland. He even pulled Drenthe away from a volatile
situation and had a word in his ear in a way that had me thinking, “Next Captain.†Some more
subs were chucked into the melee on both sides, yet no further advantage could be gained. The
match wound down by heating up even hotter, with Heitenga heading a wicked shot that
Sunderland's goalkeeper just saved, and Jelly barely booting the rebound into the side netting.
Laws dictate the natural order of both nature and man. The laws of nature dictate to the beast
when the time is to bed, to rise, to feast. The laws of man ordain that order be maintained in a
civil society, and those laws decree that social and sporting events have a limit as to their length.
I sincerely believe that without those laws, Everton and Sunderland would still be playing. To the
north, then.
http://www.schoolofscience.eu
