It's true! and bless Lord Etcheverry, they bought me another day of bleggal vacation before I need reengage The Clusterfuck:
D.C. United has acquired Dwayne De Rosario from the New York Red Bulls for midfielder Dax McCarty, a blockbuster trade that drastically alters United’s attack heading into the second half of the MLS season.
Thoughts, in no particular order:
- This.
- I will not call him DeRo, in any combination of letters and caps.
- Remember that Boskovic was rounding into form when fucking Stevie Pus Nicol ordered Boskovic crippled. McCarty may or not have been traded if Boskovic was running the offense, but if Boskovic was running the offense, McCarty wouldn't have been traded for De Rossario.
- McCarty is 23 and makes $300K less than a washed-up but for - maybe - one more run De Rossario, and with Wolff and Rent-A-D(iver)avies and a league full of proof of the shitty mediocrity of parity, De Rossario might propel United where McCarty couldn't, but this is a one-off season now.
- I understand why McCarty was acquired and I confess that on this shitty blog I not only approved of the trade of Wallace for McCarty, I said I though McCarty would succeed for the lame reason that McCarty's game is modeled on Saint Benny's game. This is why my lowest scores on SATs and GREs were in the logic section: I don't care who eats peanuts on Wednesday.
- United also traded away allocation money for San Jose centerback/holding mid Brandon McDonald, a decent move in the short-term - move Kitchen forward into holding? - but United, with the money they take on for De Rossario and give away for McDonald, it's probable (and not necessarily a bad thing) that United's buying power in the summer transfer window has been reduced.
If De Rossario - who is not a ten but is more of a ten than McCarty - can play balls onto feet FORWARD OF THE MOTHERFUCKING PERPENDICULAR then MOTHERFUCKING YAY!
United wasn't good enough with Dax McCarty as a key cog. They probably aren't good enough with Dwayne De Rossario as a key cog. I'll take the probably aren't over the definitely ain't.
- I got respectful nods and three nice comments in England and Scotland and Wales from football fans about my excellent United raincoat, bought for $75 three seasons or so ago in desperation in a monsoon during a Houston game, best $75 I ever spent. I went into a Liverpool store in Chester while others were shopping, the store clerks noticed, pretended they'd never heard of DC United. "What's DC United?" Fucking scousers.
- Disemployment.
- The psychosis of exceptionalism.
- Witness witless Fred Hiatt, for example.
- America's uniqueness.
- Economic fetishism.
- Kill your heroes.
- Why you should be afraid of economists.
- Jeebus, blog days of summer in our stringtown of Blegsylvania.
- Her marriage is less valuable.
- Blech and blah.
- Nothing about women or lawns.
- It's still OK to hate crackers and christers.
- Crime in Gaithersburg!
- Fire Bob Bradley.
- O! That's my favorite photo from the trip, Edinburgh, at Camera Obscura, in one of their outside mirrors, we didn't have time to go inside, dammit.
- Gaddis. One thing I love about vacations is I read well. Next vacation.
- Coover. Been a while. Found myself thinking about the Brunists a month ago or so.
- Suggest a novel for me please. I have a Handke coming from a warehouse in Upper Marlboro, I tried Perdido Street Station and that's not going to work. Anyone like Gormenghast?
- Stream the new Gillian Welch?
- Woke up with this in my head. Be in yours.
- Here's the betting slip on Fulham:
THE END AND THE BEGINNING
Wislawa Szymborska
After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won’t
straighten themselves up, after all.
Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.
Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.
Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall.
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.
Photogenic it’s not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.
We’ll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.
Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.
From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.
Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.
In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.
