Sport Category Archives
love gets me on my feet
3 May 2012 | Literature, Sport | 2 Comments
удивительно, кстати, что я не говорил раньше о книге Андре Агасси — она чудесная:
Jaden asks if today is the day.
Yes.
You’re playing?
Yes.
And then after today are you retire?
A new word he and his younger sister have learned. Retired. When they say it, they always leave off the last letter. For them it’s retire, forever ongoing, permanently in the present tense. Maybe they know something I don’t.
Not if I win, son. If I win tonight, I keep playing.
But if you lose — we can have a dog?
о целеустремленности
3 May 2012 | Sport | 2 Comments
поскольку сегодня начинается лучшее, что только есть в английском футболе — отборочные игры команд из низших лиг за право играть в высших, — то хочется вспомнить что-нибудь о былом поколении:
[P]erhaps because having grown up in United’s youth sides they knew no other way – Gary Neville, somebody at Sky mentioned recently, is apparently determined to be the best pundit on television presumably because he is programmed to work with ferocious discipline to be the best at whatever he does.
о соответствии
19 April 2012 | Journalism, Sport, Television | 1 Comment
по-руссски это называется “спортивная журналистика”.
о тактике
26 March 2012 | Sport | 1 Comment
кстати, бессмысленно, думаю, называть самого уважаемого мной футбольного тренера, поэтому я только обозначу причины: за уникальную гибкость и man-management.
о снобизме
26 March 2012 | Sport | 2 Comments
мне не нравится, что делают на поле игроки футбольного клуба “Barcelona” не в силу каких-то очевидных причин, но только оттого, что Арриго Сакки был куда интереснее.
via.
о водоплавающих
8 March 2012 | Lifeform, Sport | No Comments
ничто меня так не смешит, как попытки избавиться от лишних килограммов в спортзале. ну, и вообще эти упорные, целенаправленные попытки.
даже не знаю, к чему это я сейчас.
захват власти
5 March 2012 | Lifeform, Sport | 1 Comment
что касается Chelsea F.C., футболистов, хозяина клуба и его consiglieres, то здесь все просто: эта стареющая команда, будучи элементарно не в состоянии и дальше постоянно оставаться на должном уровне, всячески сопротивляется любым переменам.
раздевалка — вот то место, где здесь решают тренерские судьбы. в угоду амбициям “избранных” и печалям “стариков”, на костре неизбывного пустого тщеславия.
6-ое февраля
6 February 2012 | Culturology, History, Sport | 1 Comment
немного о футболе[1][2]:
[Sir Alex] Ferguson may not like to swallow the hard truth that this is not one of his finest teams, but what it has – what all the Scot’s sides have had – is the inner belief that even the most hopeless situations can be retrieved in a game that operates on such fine margins.
и еще:
“We fought well and that point could win us the league,” said Rooney. “You can also see it as two points lost – we understand that – but, after being 3-0 down, all the City players sitting there at home won’t have enjoyed watching us recover, the way we fought back and the spirit of the team.
“They know it will be a long fight to the end of the season, and we’ll be there right to the end.”
они действительно играли хорошо, и я в самом деле больше склонен оценивать случившееся, как два потерянных очка. но желание играть, что было вчера на поле, — оно дорогого стоит. и, да, напоминает мне былое:
No matter how big a guy might be, Nicky would take him on. You beat Nicky with fists, he comes back with a bat. You beat him with a knife, he comes back with a gun. And if you beat him with a gun, you better kill him, because he’ll keep comin’ back and back until one of you is dead.
—
[1] — сегодня можно:
The Munich air disaster occurred on 6 February 1958, when British European Airways Flight 609 crashed on its third attempt to take off from a slush-covered runway at Munich-Riem Airport in Munich, West Germany. On board the plane was the Manchester United football team, nicknamed the “Busby Babes”, along with a number of supporters and journalists. Twenty of the 44 people on board the aircraft died in the crash. The injured, some of whom had been knocked unconscious, were taken to the Rechts der Isar Hospital in Munich where three more died, resulting in a total of 23 fatalities with 21 survivors.
<...>
[Sir Matt] Busby resumed managerial duties the next season (1958–59), and eventually built a second generation of Busby Babes, including George Best and Denis Law, that ten years later [were the first English side that] won the European Cup, beating Benfica. Bobby Charlton and Bill Foulkes were the only two crash survivors who lined up in that team.
[2] — недавно мне встретился смешной человечек, который всерьез рассуждал о том, насколько “Что? Где? Когда?” лучше футбола.
бей-беги
30 November 2011 | Sport | No Comments
по средам и четвергам утро зачастую начинается с футбольных вопросов. ровно так и сегодня, “как тебе очередной проигрыш Челси?”, “ведь хватит у Ливерпуля запала?”, “почему Арсенал вновь оказался слабее?”.
не знаю, если честно. не интересовался. смотрел, как играли Ноттингем Форест и Лидс Юнайтед.
стенка на стенку
10 September 2011 | Culturology, Sport | No Comments
между тем, говорят, как раз сейчас полным ходом идем чемпионат Европы по баскетболу. говорят там даже играют сборные Финляндии, Грузии и России. вот шутка, да?
так вот, про баскетбол — именно этот вид спорта я любил когда-то безумно, и сам постоянно играл. теперь же все иначе, мяч куда интересней на зеленом поле, да и потуги сборных вообще, в любом соревновании, никогда меня не интересовали в принципе (чего только стоят безумцы, подсчитающие коичество наград для отдельно взятых клочков географии).
поэтому мое отношение (а я все же смотрю игры, да) — оно весьма странное и неопределенное. хотя нет, вру — мало того, что очень конкретное, так еще и детально изученное в научной литературе:
Tennis buffs apparently found this match rather dull, for a Wimbledon final, but I was there to watch the spectators, not the players, and I found it fascinating. The match was between the world-famous, top-seed Australian player Lleyton Hewitt, and a virtually unknown Argentine called David Nalbandian, who had never even played at Wimbledon before. The result was a predictably easy victory for the Australian champion, who beat Nalbandian 6–1, 6–3, 6–2.
At the start of the match, all the English spectators were cheering for Nalbandian, clapping and whooping and shouting ‘Come on, David!’ every time he scored a point or even made a good shot (or whatever it’s called in tennis), while Hewitt only got a few token, polite claps. When I asked the English spectators around me why they were supporting the Argentine – particularly given that there was no great love between England and Argentina; indeed, we were at war not so long ago – they explained that nationality was irrelevant, that Nalbandian was the underdog, highly unlikely to win, and therefore obviously deserved their support. They seemed surprised that I should have to ask such a question, and several people even spelt out the rule for me – ‘You always support the underdog.’; ‘You have to support the underdog.’ Their tone suggested that I really should already know this, that it was a fundamental law of nature.
Fine, I thought, good, another ‘rule of Englishness’ in the bag. Feeling rather smug, I watched complacently for a bit, and was just beginning to get bored, and thinking about maybe sloping off in search of an ice-cream, when something strange happened. Hewitt did something particularly good (don’t ask me what, I don’t understand tennis) and the people around me started whooping and cheering and clapping him. ‘Eh?’ I said, ‘Hang on. I thought you were supporting Nalbandian, the underdog? Why are you now cheering for Hewitt?’ The explanations offered by the English spectators were a bit less clear-cut, but the gist was that Hewitt was, after all, playing exceptionally well, and that everyone had been cheering for Nalbandian, because he was the underdog, which meant that poor Hewitt, despite playing brilliantly, was getting little or no support and encouragement from the crowd, which seemed rather unfair, so they felt sorry for him, out there all alone with everyone cheering his opponent, so they were cheering for him to redress the balance a bit. In other words, Hewitt, the overdog (is that a word? never mind – you know what I mean), had somehow become the underdog, the one who deserved their support.
For a while, that is. I was now alert, shaken out of my complacency, and paying close attention to the behaviour of the spectators, so when the cheering for Hewitt dwindled, and the spectators began giving all their support to Nalbandian again, I was ready with my questions: ‘Now what? Why aren’t you cheering for Hewitt any more? Is he not playing so well?’ No, apparently he was playing even better. And that was the point. Hewitt was now clearly heading for an easy win. Nalbandian was struggling, was going to be ‘slaughtered’, had absolutely no chance – so obviously it was only fair to give him all the noisy vocal encouragement and praise, and only clap politely for the all-conquering overdog Hewitt.