World Cup Watch Party: Round 4
Argentina again avoids the unthinkable, the US needs to reinvent itself again, and I reviewed Alexi Lalas's new album (for real)
Hello, and welcome to what I’m now referring to as round four of my World Cup Watch Party, since now it will be twice weekly until the end of the tournament and corresponding with each wave of games. If you’re new here, you can catch up on week one, week two and week three.
Also, I am sick this week, so any typos or errors or half-thoughts, just ignore that and know that I am operating at as high a level as I can given the circumstances.
RIP Bozo
Cristiano Ronaldo once again failed to win the World Cup.
If Ronaldo has zero haters, then I am no longer on Earth.
In his post-game presser, Ronaldo justified his lack of World Cup wins for Portugal by saying this:
Fine, I Will Now Earnestly Review Alexi Lalas’ New Album
Someone quote-tweeted one of Alexi Lalas tweets onto my feed, and I ended up looking at his profile to, I don’t know, get mad on purpose. After seeing a few dumb posts I noticed that his pinned tweet was about his new album that came out in 2022 called “Melt Away.”
I sincerely had no idea that Alexi Lalas was a musician. It makes so much sense. It’s like how so many right-wing grifters are failed comedians or screenwriters. Lalas’s whole “I don’t need you to like me” schtick comes from a deep desire to be liked and appreciated for his talents. It turns out he has nine (nine!) full-length albums dating back to the ‘90s when he was still playing up to a new one, Denim, released in June just before the World Cup started.
I am usually one for letting someone pursue their interests in safe spaces without judgment, and as I get older I am increasingly aware of the dangers of saying someone is “too old” to be trying something. But it is also extraordinarily funny to me that Alexi Lalas is spending his free time writing formulaic, possibly AI-assisted, rock music with patriotic undertones and numerous references to the U.S. team.
I don’t really write music criticism. I never liked doing it. I didn’t think I was qualified or especially good at it. I didn’t get a ton of enjoyment from it like I do from writing profiles or something like that. And, like I don’t like putting someone down for anything, I feel strange seeing someone’s artistic output, like discovering a secret poetry journal or something, and mocking them for it. But, this is a guy who has made his entire being centered around provoking others, picking fights, being obnoxious and having generally bad opinions both about soccer and general society.
So, I’ll put my own moral hangups and professional hesitation of writing criticism aside and, for you, my audience, write an album review for the new Alexi Lalas album Denim, which dropped on June 1.
Off the top, it’s worth noting none of this is interesting. It’s not interesting negatively, it’s not interesting positively. It’s nothing. It’s a nothing album, and I’m not saying this as someone with a distaste for Alexi Lalas. There is nothing of substance to his music. It is on par with a band of high schoolers with a severely uncurated taste in music, copying all of their wide range of influences and churning out something that is none of those things.
With that, it’s almost difficult to approach this music with an actual critical eye. To critique something requires something to grab onto. There must be something that surprises and delights, or something that offends, and there is none of that. It’s the doctor’s office painting of music. And it’s all just too on-the-nose for a character like Lalas. It’s so on-the-nose that you’d think he was kidding if he were capable of a joke of this magnitude. A washed up never-has-been with music that has this extremely divorced Kirk Van Houten “Can I Borrow A Feeling” adult contemporary vibe to it all that if you could believe that Lalas were in on the joke you’d call him an auteur of musical comedy. But he’s not, and you’re left picturing Alexi Lalas in situations where he desperately wants you to see that he is holding a guitar, because music is just such a big part of his life, man.
On top of the soulless, again, possibly AI instrumentation that bounces between Lenny Kravitz-esque Target aisle rock and chain restaurant bar theme song, Lalas’s lyrics paint cliche pictures of self-doubt and performative self-pity that, once again, knowing the man singing it, you find it impossible to believe that he has any sort of internal life like that. He is not a misunderstood man with a rough exterior but heart of gold. He just wants you to think he is for a moment while he sings lyrics like “I used to be a better kind of man, but now I realize this is exactly who I am.”
Lalas has put an album out roughly every four years, each with similar themes of something resembling self-reflection and with imagery that evokes something about U.S. soccer, such as a song called “Bomb Pop” which is probably a reference to the kits the team wore in 2014.
There’s no discernible identity for any of them, though. There are no eras to Lalas’s music, aside from the photo of himself that might be on the cover, starting with his big hair and mustache in the ‘90s to his much more conservative look these days. Across Denim, there is no discernible journey, either. There is no cohesive string pulling these songs together. It’s a haphazard patchwork of half ideas and tired songwriting. And for every song in the first or second person, it’s impossible to tell if it’s Lalas singing to someone else or about himself, meaning that the moments of self-reflection that verge on self-awareness of his lesser qualities, it’s equally possible that he’s simply pointing out the flaws of others instead.
He sings on “Tucked Away”:
Change your colors, change your ways
Little by little, it don’t look the same
The best parts of you are tucked away
And I hope that you let ‘em out some day
All those pretty pieces in your heart have all been folded in the dark and tucked away
If this is to himself, you’d almost feel for him in the moment. You could almost imagine that he’s a man who’s constructed a persona around being “kind of the asshole” and has gone too far, and wants people to understand the real him inside. But, more realistically, it’s probably about someone else or, even more realistically, about no one.
When songs clearly do come from his point of view, it’s on songs like “Lousy Bar,” which centers around a character returning to his hometown and its aforementioned lousy bar, and saddling up next to a woman who he proceeds to neg musically:
Look at all the people who′ve come out tonight
Well, I went to school with you, girl, didn’t I?
Yeah, I′m only back here for a couple of days
And to tell you the truth
I couldn’t wait to get away
He also finds time to lament the damn woke future by pointing out that this once great lousy bar has outlawed smoking and you pay with credit card.
The standout song (derogatory) might be “Avalon,” though, on which you have the narrator at his most bitter, his most self-righteous, his most “This is all your fault, look what you made me do, and I’m also being victimized!”
Is there any chance that you might miss me when I’m gone
Is there any way to turn it over / Is there any way to turn it back
Is there any time to split the fiction from the fact
The final song on the album veers toward “fun,” with an anthem called “Kicking Balls,” which you can perfectly imagine with your mind’s ear. I don’t have to explain it to you. It sounds like it would play over the credits of an extremely cheap movie about soccer. And it’s in this moment where you might think, “Oh, OK, he’s just goofing around. This is a goof.” And if this were the only song, or even the only type of song, you might be right.
But there is so much cliche throughout Alexi Lalas’s musical catalog that it is clear he is trying. The song titles themselves prove this. Anyone who is joking does not put in as much work to try to appear serious, and fall short of doing so, if they are not really trying to appear serious. It’s just that when Alexi Lalas tries his absolute best to be taken seriously as a musician doing everything he understands to be what serious musicians do, you end up with songs titled things like “Drive-By Serenade,” “Sonic Lullaby,” “Chasing Sunset,” “Fight Another Day,” “Welcome to the Life,” “Broken Stars,” “Dancing to a Whisper,” “Angels With Angles,” “Living in Yesterday,” “Life of Someone Else,” “I Still Love Christmas,” “Red, White & Denim.” All of these are real.
It’s all bad enough to warrant being a part of the larger conversation about why there is no good conservative art.
Someone pursuing a creative output, especially someone so clearly playing a “jock” role, should nearly always be celebrated. But, in the instance of Alexi Lalas, you have to mock it. You have to imagine how funny it would be for Zlatan and Thierry Henry to find his notebook of lyrics and read them on the air while Rebecca Lowe laughs in his face. There is not a single redeeming quality of Denim. And for a man who has dabbled in professional sports, broadcasting, political commentary and a relatively prolific music career, the most impressive feat is how dull it all is. And it’s made worse knowing that this is truly the best he can do.
The USA Are Losers. How We Respond to That Will Say Everything
The U.S. lost a game that it could have won. I’m not sure they should have won, considering Belgium still has guys like Jeremy Doku, Romelu Lukaku and Kevin de Bruyne. But, those guys didn’t start the game, and the biggest problem the U.S. had to deal with was Charles De Kataeler and an aging Leo Trossard about ready to ride off into the Turkish sunset with Besiktas.
The U.S. stunk. The Americans’ only goal — Malik Tillman’s free kick — took a deflection generous enough to get past Thibaut Courtois. Manager Mauricio Pochettino did the unthinkable (for him) and made halftime subs and tactical reconfigurations after Sergino Dest and Christian Pulisic put up stinkers. The team looked shell shocked from the jump. They looked panicked and outclassed at every turn. They made dumb mistakes, overhitting and underhitting passes. For some reason goalkeeper Matt Freese decided he was prime Ederson and ventured two time zones outside of his box and then got his boot caught on the ground when he tried to clear the ball, leading to Belgium capitalizing on the empty net.
It was a rough watch, and seemed to only really shock the likes of the Barstool crowd who were high on a combination of unchecked American exceptionalism, blissfully unencumbered patriotism and weaponized ignorance about soccer. Pat McAfee, whose voice I have never heard but whose face I have seen for countless hours at the gym as he seems to be held captive and forced to broadcast for weeks on end, deduced that Belgium was the greatest team in existence after making the U.S. look like this big of chumps.
A few years ago, Pat, you might’ve come across as knowledgeable.
But, instead, the U.S. got its pants pulled down in front of the home crowd and its World Cup journey ended, just like it always has. And now the U.S. finds itself at a bit of a crossroads on its soccer journey.
Remember what Pochettino said at the start of the tournament about U.S. sports culture rewarding losers:
“If you start in MLS and you haven’t won a game in three months and you’re at the bottom, what’s the consequence if there’s no promotion or relegation, no international competition? American sports reward losers! But soccer is different: if you reward those who don’t win… If you don’t have goals, you don’t fight. If I lose, what happens? Nothing. They just fire the coach. Also, the American player is disciplined. But with a sense of complacency that isn’t good in soccer. It took us a year and a half to change that mentality.”
The U.S. will not fire Pochettino. But Pochettino is absolutely not going to stick around to be the Lisan al-Gaib of American soccer. Why would he do that? Despite every interviewer trying to bait him into saying he feels American whenever the crowd sang John Denver, Pochettino has no ties to U.S. soccer. And despite the disappointing exit, Pochettino will have suitors back in Europe. His stock dropped a little after stints at Chelsea and PSG, but those were situations ill-suited to Pochettino’s managerial profile. He is a guy who wants to be involved at every level of squad development from the youth level up to the senior team and craft it in his image. Those two clubs can’t do that. They want to buy ready-made stars and win now.
The irony is that right now, the U.S. is in a situation where it could mold itself into a soccer entity that would be absolutely perfect for someone like Pochettino. But that’s just not going to happen.
(My bet is that he waits for a club like Newcastle to fire Eddie Howe and steps in. Check back later this year.)
So, now the U.S. are losers. And the next steps the federation takes will say everything about whether they really want to compete to win as if there’s no alternative, or whether they’re OK with trying as best as they can and winning a consolation prize, which the leaders of this country claim they despise so deeply. The problems obviously go much deeper than one manager can go, with factors like the disgustingly expensive youth soccer setup in the U.S.
But, one thing that helps is a good manager who can change the mentality of the players. That would be a start. And Pochettino did make a start, but every indication is that the U.S. will once again be starting over.
Nothing Ever Happened Again
Argentina faltered once again on its trek to back-to-back World Cup titles, or at the very least back-to-back trips to the final against France.
After going down 2-0 to Egypt when Mo Salah got one past Emi Martinez, Argentina got a lifeline when VAR called a foul on the opposite end of the pitch. Questionable and frustrating, but Egypt would have to settle for its 1-0 lead after Messi decided to have another one of his penalties saved earlier in the half.
Egypt didn’t sulk, and scored on a gorgeous bit of end-to-end play, and there was no calling this one back.
With just over 20 minutes plus stoppage time left, it really looked like Argentina would be out after finding a way past Cape Verde in the previous round.
But then, Argentina was Argentina.
The announcers dictated it almost beat-by-beat: For lack of a true target man striker profile, Argentina would allow centerback Cristian Romero to venture forward as he has for Tottenham and Argentina — having delivered the dagger against Cape Verde. Before the broadcast team could even inhale, their prophecy came true, and Romero found himself in space for a free header. Moments later, Messi did what he typically does, finding enough space to fire a shot and bring hope to Argentina.
Shoutout Lautaro Martinez for thinking he was about to bag himself a highlight reel with an attempted bicycle kick at the post. Close.
It’s not even worth analyzing Enzo Fernandez’s go-ahead goal, because it just felt inevitable once Messi did this. Argentina would never fall to someone like Egypt, because that would mean something happened.
Gordon, Fuck You :D
Mexico v. England was an all-timer of a battle. But that didn’t mean there weren’t moments of levity and humor.
Rafael Márquez probably should’ve dropped some insults en Espanol for Gordon to study up before he kicks off at Barcelona this fall.
Careful, The Racists Are Out
Just as I suspected would happen last week, Erling Haaland’s break into the mainstream has also meant that the racists of the internet would use his big Nordic face as something to back up their racists beliefs. I will not be posting any of that here. You’ll just have to trust me that it exists. What I also saw was a post Haaland himself posted in 2021.
So, in short, Erling Haaland is a guy who does not want to be used as a pawn in whatever awful race science argument the worst people in the world are making, and we love him even more for that.
Elsewhere in the tournament, Kylian Mbappe was forced to defend himself after Paraguayan Senator Celeste Amarilla (whose name in Spanish translates to Sky Blue Yellow) posted a heinous and vile post about him following France’s win against Paraguay and Mbappe’s refusal to shake hands with goalkeeper Orlando Gill after the rest of his team had spent 90 minutes plus stoppage time trying to kill them with little regard for the ball at all.
Mbappe has always seemed to have his head screwed on especially well, and despite being a Ronaldo fanboy, he seems to have bucked the trend of R7 guys also leaning conservative. He’s been outspoken against the rise of far-right politics in Europe and about racial discrimination. When the weight of the world is placed on the shoulders of such a young person, as they were with Mbappe, it’s always a worry that he won’t live up to the moment. Mbappe has at nearly every turn. There have been so many instances of the international media goading him into saying something that he didn’t mean or something that would create more headlines, and he’s shrugged them off like a Ligue 1 defender.
Mbappe responded with just about the kindest “shut the fuck up” imaginable.
Ms Celeste Amarilla, you are a despicable woman, unworthy of your position.
“You do not represent Paraguay, a country that has shown such passion and honour throughout the tournament. Because of your thoughtlessness and your blatant racism, the whole world has already forgotten the historic journey and effort your players made during this World Cup. It is now overshadowed by an incompetent woman who is presenting the worst possible image of her country.
I will never allow people like her the freedom to spread their hatred and racism across the world.
Yeah man.
Amarilla responded basically saying “Yeah, my post was racist. If he got mad about it, good,” and then doubled down with, “I come from a time where you just said racist and homophobic stuff all the time,” and ended with this, verbatim:
I come from that generation, so now I'm trying to build a different Celeste Amarilla, that's capable of co-existing with others. Have patience, I'm trying.
At time of posting, she hasn’t yet gotten a “Coexist” bumper sticker yet, but we’ll continue to monitor the story.
Sincerity Alert
Every soccer fan has a World Cup memory that’s left an indelible mark on their brain. I remember the Zidane headbutt, of course. I was 14 for that one. I’d be lying, though, if I said that the strongest World Cup memory of my youth was anything but in 2010 when I was at Senior Week in Myrtle Beach, SC. I have this distinct memory of when the U.S. scored in a game (I can’t remember if it was the draw against England, the comeback against Slovenia or the Donovan goal against Algeria), all of the other Senior Week kids on the block ran outside and yelled and kicked over trash cans and then picked them back up and then ran back inside to watch the rest of the game.
We can spend a lot of time arguing about soccer. We can make it the most important thing in the world if we inject the right real-world happenings into it. We can also just overreact like any sports fan does. Every sports fan on earth does their share of at-home talk radio arguing, or losing sleep thinking about what could’ve happened to change the outcome. It can drive you nuts.
And not to get too heartfelt in something that’s supposed to be pretty light (he says after a post about racism), but when I turned on the Norway game and the first shot was Haaland talking with the kids who would walk out onto the field with them, it really made me happy. He wasn’t doing anything particularly special, just talking to them, paying attention to them, smiling as they chattered at him and joking around. Those kids will remember that moment forever. They’ll remember their five minutes with Haaland where he gave them the time of day, because that sort of thing means the entire world to a kid. I’ve met my heroes as a kid, I can say that with absolute certainty. These are core memories.
There’s another clip where Haaland is shaking kids’ hands and has to get the attention of one of them, who has a “Holy shit” moment realizing who just asked for his handshake, and another kid just going nuts from excitement.
Hell yeah. That just rocks. That’s the whole point of this. Yes, there’s the corruption, the geopolitics, the unwelcoming environment of the United States for an increasingly large number of people, the VAR decisions, the lack of VAR consistency, Alexi Lalas, all of those are bad and sometimes make it difficult to enjoy the World Cup with a fully clear conscience.
But when you remember that all of this, really, is for kids, there’s sort of a liberating feeling about it all. It doesn’t mean that you, an adult, are any less serious a person because you are passionate about something that’s for kids. It means that maybe you still have some of that child-like wonder you swore you shook years ago.
That said, I think at age 34 I should get to walk out with Harry Kane or Mbappe before a game. I’d even settle for someone like Michael Olise or Messi. I never got to do the Make-A-Wish thing when I got sick, and I’d like to cash in now, please.
Today’s Snakes & Sparklers musical guest is Fiddlehead.