Words for the beautiful game.

When people ask me why I’m in love with soccer, the answer is easy:

1. The culture
2. The politics
3. The goals.

Goals in soccer are relatively rare, yet beautiful. It takes a certain eye and athleticism to make them happen, rather than running down a court and scoring every 30 seconds. Tallying a goal is unexpected and somewhat of a gift, not only to the fans, but to the players themselves who display their joy (and sometimes luck) with their teammates.

I spend as much time as possible scouring the TV and the pitch for these moments. They’re special. But what I wonder about most often is: how would I describe that?

With the Timbers, I helped update the Facebook page during home matches, which was a challenge, given my excitement for the sport. When it came time to log a goal and my shaking, excited, knuckle-bitten hands found the keyboard, I needed words, even when the goal just scored seemed physically impossible.

Did the player just “send in a 25-yard screamer,” or did he “flick the ball into the right hand corner?” Maybe he “rocketed the ball dead-center,” but he also could have “fought through the defense, earning the point.” Whether he “converted a penalty kick” or “fired it in,” all of these words, all of these phrases add depth and meaning to what the player did. The 25-yard screamer is a spectacle, but a flick is likely equally as beautiful, yet done more gracefully with an air of ease.

I rolled out of bed at 7:00 this morning for the Liverpool vs. QPR match – the last of the season, and the last of one of my favorites: Jamie Carragher. Coutinho scored the match’s lone goal, but no eyes were on him, or his goal. I didn’t even find words for his goal. Today was a day for Carragher, and everyone across the league had words for him.

As Jamie Carragher left the field, the announcers said something I hope someone will say about me someday.

“[Carragher's] career is not by accident. It’s the product of hard work, endeavor and desire.”

That’s more stunning than a goal and more descriptive than any converted penalty kick in the world.

Congratulations, Carra. And thank you.

Courtesy of huffingtonpost.co.uk

Thoughts on Gatsby

NOTE: This is a somewhat detailed review of The Great Gatsby. If you haven’t seen the movie, that’s okay. Be warned. If you haven’t read the book…shame on you.

Courtesy of movies.inquirer.net

When I first heard that The Great Gatsby was being made into a movie, I was skeptical.

I was intrigued when Leonardo DiCaprio and Tobey Maguire were added to the mix.

And when it came out that it was Baz Luhrmann’s? Gamechanger.

I’m not a movie person, though I enjoy watching movies that were first books – after reading them, of course. I like jumping into someone else’s mind and interpretations of what a character might look like, sound like, really be like – and when I heard that I’d finally get a second opinion (and Baz Luhrmann’s to boot) on Jay Gatsby, I was over the moon.

Baz Luhrmann is best known for Moulin Rouge and his gun-filled representation of Romeo and Juliet, also starring a far younger Leonardo DiCaprio. His style is opulent, bright, dramatic and ostentatious. There’s a different “light” that shines on whatever he does. Nothing prestigiously award-winning, but certainly unique.

When I read that Gatsby was awful from most reviews and critics, I wondered if the offended really knew who they were dealing with. Keeping all this in mind, I sleepily trudged into the theater with three friends on Sunday morning, not really sure what to expect for an old favorite book.

I hadn’t really considered what’d happened to Nick Carraway after the fact. I knew he’d gone back to the midwest, jaded about mankind and the horrible things that we do to each other, but framing him in rehab was pretty brilliant. He’s encouraged to write and get back to the Nick Carraway pre-Gatsby, which gives the story a vehicle. (Pun intended.)

The script features quite a few verbatim quotes that are easily recognizable. Gatsby’s introduction and smile through Nick’s voiceover brought life and vibrance to Fitzgerald’s words.

“He smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced–or seemed to face–the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself.”

Spoken, those words have power. Jay Gatsby is now somehow more charismatic and intriguing. You, for the moment, want to be part of Gatsby’s inner circle and feel the way he just made you feel. Of course, it helped that there was a raging party in the background.

While I was watching all of the party scenes, however, I kept wondering where in the world all the glitter and confetti came from. And what it would ACTUALLY take to throw a party of that caliber in 2013. Gatsby somehow took the Vegas strip on its wildest night and placed in right in his house. But that’s how Gatsby did things.

Since I read this in high school, it’s been difficult for me to find Gatsby as human. Obviously, Gatsby existed as we know him for the love of his life, Daisy, but in the book, I’ve always found that difficult to see. But the way that Gatsby and Daisy interacted on screen hit it home. He wasn’t just in love with her. He was mad for her. It’s easier to hear and see the intensity of what he’s saying, what he wants, how he’ll take the fall for Daisy. How unnerved he is waiting for her phone call the following morning.

The standout moment for me came in Gatsby’s death. He hears the phone ring, steps out of the pool. You can see the recognition and hope in his eyes that it’s Daisy. Later, you see that it’s Nick calling to check in, but it immediately reminded me of Romeo and Juliet. Romeo takes the poison just as Juliet is opening her eyes. Baz Luhrmann and Leonardo DiCaprio nail it both times. It makes Gatsby’s death a tragedy – not just the unnoticed affair that only takes up a quarter page in the book.

Nick’s pain is more real in the book, I’d say. Tobey Maguire fell a little flat. Fitzgerald withdraws Nick and shuts him right up. Baz Luhrmann lets him wallow a bit, which I found interesting, but not the same. Nick also focuses on hope – something I never found much of surrounding any of the characters, even in the book. He describes Gatsby as overly hopeful, which makes Nick’s admiration of Gatsby more than just your everyday bromance. (I was afraid that it’d end up a tad bromantic. It wasn’t that bad.)

At the end of the day, I liked the movie, but then again, I wasn’t expecting a true-to-form, accurate representation – I was looking for something different, and looking to be entertained.

The movie did its job. And left me sorrier for Gatsby than I already was.

“One day I will find the right words and they will be simple.”

This morning, as I received some semi-shocking news from New York and took a minute to let it sink in, I noticed something.

I was subconsciously looking around the room for a pen. Really, I was looking for words.

What can I write? And where can I post it? 

Too personal for Facebook or WordPress, not enough room and too vague for Twitter. It didn’t occur to me to write for myself.

I pride myself on clear, concise, accurate copy. It’s what I live for.

So this morning, when I sit down to write for myself for the first time in ages, I’m going to put that skill to good use. Maybe I’m melancholy or perplexed or…now that I think about it, what’s the antonym for schadenfreude? Those words wouldn’t match up in things I normally write, but in this case, they’re the ones I want to use. They fit the best.

At any rate, this morning I’ll focus on the clear and accurate and less on the concise. Maybe sometimes it’s best to let the words do the leading.

(Later this afternoon, however, I expect to regain the conciseness – perhaps for a quick post on plurals, possessives or maybe an expansion on the aforementioned social media thought.)

Press Releases and News Stories

One of the best ways a writer really gains a voice is through practice. I’ve been playing around with a new idea: My Life Through Press Releases and News Stories. I taped the following to my bathroom door last week:

THE FRIEND ZONE CROWNS BOARD GAME TRIATHLON CHAMPION

After creating and playing the first ever Board Game Triathlon, the inhabitants of The Friend Zone* announce J. Quagliata as their champion.

The Board Game Triathlon consists of three rounds: pub trivia and board games Hit or Miss and Monopoly. The winner of each event receives three points, second place wins two and third place rounds out the competition with one point.

Quagliata and fierce competitor Luke Baggins** tied for first in pub trivia at Hawthorne Hophouse, each receiving 2.5 points over Joe Saddlebag’s one. Quagliata went on to win Hit or Miss and kept her head in the game to finish second in Monopoly, having thrown a temper tantrum and kicking over her property and money earlier in the day. Joe “The Monopolizer” Saddlebag won the round and a clean Monopoly sheet for the day, sending Baggins to bed to mourn his second place finish with 5.5 points.

“Winning felt incredible,” said Quagliata. “Monopoly usually kills me, but some perseverance and a great alliance with The Monopolizer really got me through.”

For her efforts, Quagliata will receive a 10 Barrel brew. Baggins is entitled to a Budweiser, and Saddlebag will take a shot of tequila to commemorate his talent and last day in Portland, Ore.

*Luke and I named our apartment The Friend Zone
**Last names have been changed to protect privacy and players from embarrassment

The Five Books You Meet in my Apartment

I didn’t get into too much trouble growing up. If I did, it was because I was negligent in my chores. My father and I used to get into screaming matches about how much I hated the housework, and I insisted that there were far better things to be doing than the dishes.

Once, my father and I were into one of our usual rows about how I hadn’t cleaned my room when I was around 15 and all I could say was: “Dad! I was reading a book, not doing drugs, not drinking, not sneaking out. You’ve got it pretty good right now!”

He left me alone.

Until I walked downstairs carrying a completely different book than I was reading earlier in the day.

“Yeah, Pop, but I got this one from the library today, too. It looked good and I didn’t want to wait to finish the other one to start it,” I explained.

He rolled his eyes and grumbled about finishing what you start, focus and concentrating on one thing at a time – all of which I ignored and started reading.

I thought I’d gotten better about reading one thing at a time until I found myself with a bit of spare time today and wandering around the apartment wondering what to do.

After a particularly rough morning, I’d checked my mail to find a gift from a friend and mentor who knew I was looking for something engaging and interesting to read.

“I don’t usually judge books by the covers, but in this case, I’ll make an exception,” I wrote in my thank you email. The title seemed pertinent today, and when I cracked it open and got a few pages into it, the rough morning turned into a better afternoon, having been reminded that my friend and mentor: 1. is also a writer and understands what writers like to read; 2. somehow has an answer for everything – even if in book form.

Resting on the arm of the couch, I found this:

 

At 15, I loved King Arthur. I stumbled across this Barnes & Noble “classic” edition by Howard Pyle a few weeks ago and had to own it. I’ve never read this particular King Arthur work, which was surprising, but I know just by looking at the book and its odd illustrations and silver-lined pages that my 15-year-old self would have loved it. In fact, the 24-year-old version does, too.

What I love most, though, is the way that Pyle addresses his audience.

This page stuck out to me. Here, Pyle’s somehow embodied Merlin, or maybe even Arthur himself, all while relating the Sword-and-the-Stone Incident to everyday life for his audience. It’s a simple word of encouragement from The Once and Future King. Thank you.

In the kitchen, I found my birthday gift to myself. Why I left it in the kitchen, I’ll never know.

I haven’t gotten very far just yet, but when I saw some young Kerouac writing on the shelves at Barnes & Noble on my birthday, I absolutely HAD to own this, too. I like Kerouac. I am constantly intrigued by the way he sees things, his inherent need to GO and DO and SEE. I love the way he thinks, ignoring the drugs, but the way he can phrase a goodbye so simply and profoundly leaves me…saying goodbye to Kerouac myself. And then hello again in Manhattan here. More to come on this later, I’m sure, especially because I’ve just seen Walter Salles’ version of On the Road.

While checking under my bed for my keys, I found a brick. Or, rather, this guy:

I’ve been reading this for the better part of a year now. It is quite literally the history of soccer as we know it in 907 pages. The truth is, it’s not a page turner. It’s something to read when I’m looking for something more analytical, historic and when soccer is on my brain (see: almost always). I originally bought it from Powell’s Books when I was interning for the Timbers, wanting to know everything I could about the industry. I have since read Soccernomics, How Soccer Explains the World, Fever Pitch and Soccer Against the Enemy, but this one is daunting and really, just long. I think I need to start over with a notebook and pen in hand to take notes.

Yesterday, while taking a visiting friend through Powell’s, my roommate, Luke, pulled me upstairs and handed me this one:

“Yeah, I knew you’d like it,” he said. I also liked that it was $9.98. This one appeals to me because I love this particular era. I spent an entire semester writing two senior theses on the Vietnam War, music and the media. This introduction begins by differentiating between “The Sixties” and “the 1960s.” Having bought it yesterday and having a friend in town, I’ve only gotten through the introduction, but this one looks good for when I’m feeling non-fictional and somehow, magically not thinking about, watching or tweeting about soccer.

They say that a person is the result of the five people he or she spends the most time with. I had to laugh when I thought of all the weird snippets of knowledge and interests I have that are embodied in these five books – and they aren’t even old favorites. This is just what I’m reading today. And tomorrow. And now that I think about it, probably the next month(s) – if we’re counting Mr. Goldblatt’s fascinating doorstop.

What are you reading? What does it have to say about you?

Nike ad: Be Mercurial

When I moved to Portland, I didn’t know that one of its many nicknames/identities was Soccer City USA. I also didn’t know much about the Portland Timbers, much less that I’d work with them or live four blocks from the stadium.

I also live close to The Far Post – a small soccer shop right off the highway that usually features an adidas billboard right on top. (This probably has something to do with the proximity of the Timbers stadium and that adidas is a main sponsor.)

But while I was walking around the neighborhood the other day, I saw this Nike ad on the side:

Meet Cristiano Ronaldo and his new Nike Mercurial Vapor IX soccer cleats. When I first passed it, I scoffed. Mercurial? What an awful campaign, I thought.

The word mercurial as I know it means always changing, up-and-down, very much like the mercury in a thermometer. As an athlete, nobody wants to be inconsistent  - so why choose that word?

I then considered the extremes of the ups and downs – an athlete could be “cold,” on a bad day, but also has the potential to be “hot.” Ronaldo’s the kind of soccer player who can pull a great goal from a mediocre opportunity. Is that mercurial? I don’t know. That was a stretch for me.

My ad geek roommate disagreed with me on all accounts. “It’s a perfectly fine ad campaign. It’s flashy and gets the job done,” he said. “Nobody’s thinking about that…mercurial…word but you.”

This is probably true, but then his terrible pronunciation of mercurial prompted another thought: Mercury.

Mercury himself is the Roman equivalent to the Greek god of Hermes – patron of messages and travel in ancient mythology. Interestingly enough, he was also the owner of winged sandals.

Merriam-Webster defines mercurial as: 

1: of, relating to, or born under the planet Mercury

2: having qualities of eloquence, ingenuity, or thievishness attributed to the god Mercury or to the influence of the planet Mercury

3: characterized by rapid and unpredictable changeableness of mood <a mercurial temper>

4: of, relating to, containing, or caused by mercury

So which definition did Nike and its ad agency choose to take when using the slogan Be Mercurial? I would imagine they meant to draw that parallel to Mercury’s sandals in the idea that these boots would give the wearer wings and godlike speed. But still, Mercury wasn’t known to be a consistent, steady kind of guy.

Does the slogan resonate? No, but the strength of the ad is in Cristiano Ronaldo’s endorsement and affiliated placements and videos, not in the word mercurial. But I’ll still think about it every time I pass by.

The beginning.

By nature, I’m a writer. That’s been true for the better part of 20 years. But a few days ago it occurred to me that I’d been doing that less and less as time went on – and moreover, that I didn’t like it.

Blogging seemed like a good first step to get back in the game, but as I wandered around my apartment this morning, I couldn’t think of a good niche to fit into as a blogger.

I could’ve written about soccer. God knows I have a lot to say about that, but that didn’t seem right. Neither did baseball, health and fitness, my hilarious cooking ventures or the ins and outs of job hunting. Then came language.

I know a ton about language, but I’m still learning. I flip through my AP Stylebook on a pretty regular basis. I’m taking Spanish lessons and still working towards German fluency. I read quite often and scribble in the margins of my favorites. It would only make sense that I start to write again about the things that I spend so much time studying and analyzing.

So from here on out, this is a place for things ranging from three different languages to my love for Kerouac. I reference you to the addition of words to the dictionary each year when I say that language is very much alive.