If you follow me on Twitter (and if you don't, WTF guy?!?!) or know me in real life (and if you do, WTF guy?!?!), you probably know that me and Mrs. Dubs had a little Baby Dubs this week and that I'm beyond excited and exhausted and terrified and have wept more this week than in the past year.
(Conceding the lie of this at sidebar... I cry a lot normally. No joke. Funny story - sometime in high school, I realized that being a sensitive dude who cried was an untapped niche with the ladies and I exploited it, or at least told myself that's what I was doing while being a genuine pussy and sometime magnet for borderline emotionally unstable young women who enjoyed the opportunity to soothe a chubby giant as he waxed poetic about his desire to bring beauty to the world. Seriously. I don't know that I ever really got over the habit of letting loose some vicious man tears as a mechanism to attract ladies who might otherwise be turned off the size of my gut and/or man tits and/or ... nevermind. I was/am pretty much the worst...)
Moving right on past that overshare, without promising it'll be the last of the night.
Last night, our final one in the hospital before getting discharged this morning, I had my eyes set on penning some fatherhood opus, discussing together my current feelings about B-Dubs, my ongoing feelings about sport and friendship, and the Venn Diagram overlap of it all. But exhaustion took hold and I never got everything down like I wanted or like these subjects deserve, so I'll let the scribbled notes ruminate for a bit and see if I can drop that gem sometime in the coming weeks when I have the time and energy and inspiration to tackle it (read: summer, 2014). But, still missing my pre-baby routine a little bit - and, by implication, the routine of contributing here at the Deeg - I wanted to slide back into the habit with a live blog of the Red Bulls game tonight in New England. While I was cooped up in the hospital, the squad laid their first egg of the season at Red Bull Arena, ending a season-long home undefeated streak with the 2-0 loss to Eastern Conference leading Sporting Kansas City. SKC has been rolling strong all summer, so I can live with the streak ending to them, even if it effectively took RBNY out of the running for the Supporters Shield. That shit's meaningless anyway - the athletic equivalent of a toothy blowjob.
You didn't think fatherhood would mature my sense of humor or improve my nonsensical analogies, did you? ... Because it hasn't.
What fatherhood has done is made my time especially difficult to manage, making this "live blog" a "two-plus-hour tape delay blog." Meh. BABY STEPS.
The ride on the Dubinator Express continues after the jump. ALL ABOARD!!
You'd also think that because I'm on baby duty, I'd not be drinking, but that didn't stop me from cracking open a Dale's and pretending I have the confidence to take more than two sips while a little person's well-being is in my hands.
11:04 - Opening kick: why the delay? Well, kiddo needed to eat and I'm still mostly a moron about all of this. No beer even touched my lips before the Viking Child basically cock blocked my plans for the night. FORESHADOWING.
Baby Dubs will be watching with me for a few, in any event. He already knows more about soccer than the Scizz.
Seven minutes in, not many chances. The Revolution are competing early as they look to extend their fifteen game undefeated streak at home against the Red Bulls. This isn't even a playoff team for the past few years, making that streak especially sad.
11:12 - eleventh minute: Rafa Marquez getting taped up. Without Thierry Henry (due to bizarre and infuriating conduct against SKC, prompting a game suspension), guys like Marquez need to step up to get full points and maintain their position in the playoff-bound top 5 of the Eastern Conference.
11:41 - sixteenth minute: B-Dubs bugged out there for a minute, but apparently it was gas followed by vicious poop.
And, yes, I kind of expected this to be a live blog of our first night home from hospital.
Twenty-first minute: Holgersson gets a little nasty, giving the shoulder brush to some Revs dick cheese after a stoppage in play. I remember the days back in seventh grade when chest/shoulder bumping was how I'd fight when I wanted to seem tonight but was scared of what might happen if me and my opponent started throwing punches. I realize now how ridiculous I must have looked. Holgersson, on the other hand, looked fucking terrifying.
Thirty-second minute: I'm now typing with one hand as my left hand is keeping this pacifier in B-Dubs' mouth. Incidentally, the evolution of the meaning of "one-handed typing" for me is about as significant a change as any in my life this past week. HaHAAAAA.... pornography.
Thirty-fourth minute: Marquez has gone off, replaced by Lindperre. MSG commentators - off their usual hockey duty - talk about how much Marquez means to team according to Thierry Henry. I confess to missing a fair amount of games this summer, but I'm not sure I see that.
Honestly, this game has been boring. Part of me would rather pack it in, get a couple hours of sleep, and try this again with the Liverpool/Man United game in the morning. Such a plan would be feasible if (a) I had any desire to live blog my squad getting eviscerated by a far superior Red Devils team, and (b) actually there's just the one reason. Liverpool is a joke. I love them in my heart. They eff me in my ear.
Unless he's parked on your street right now.
Which he is.
B-Dubs put together a motivation speech for the squad at half, but gave up when I advised him that Hans Backe doesn't love it when his starting strikers are called "worthless taints." Go figure, baby.
Fifty-second minute (give or take): Lindperre with a rip from 18, but right at the keeper. Best opportunity from NY so far. This makes me sad. I think I feel those crocodile tears coming on again.
HEY. Almost forgot to say - DICKEY. Dude got his 19th win today, pushing him to 19-6. Stupid good numbers for a team so far under .500 that we can all collectively hear the sound of Fred Wilpon's balls slapping against the unearned hundred dollar bills he shoves in his underroos.
Sixty-third minute: Dax McCarty with a decent chance at a header, but he misses goal from a solid 15 yards out.
Wilman Conde receives a yellow card soon after. The halftime show via MSG was a story about some British guy coming to America to fix/develop MLS officiating. The ref tonight, having missed that message, is opting to call this game like a Delaware house league game. "DANGEROUS PLAY!!! LOUD NOISES!!"
Tim Cahill with a stellar chance from a corner kick. The kid has serious ups, and the Revs' keeper had to dive hard to his right to preserve the clean sheet for now. In related news, I love Tim Cahill, even if he was a dirty Evertonian.
Seventy-fourth: Conor Lade pulled a Revs' attacker down from behind, leading to his second yellow card of the night. RBNY now playing with ten men, and the Revolution look to take control with the advantage.
Is it just me, or is it disgusting that New England teams have co-opted nationalism for purposes of their sports teams? I mean, I get that these states provided the venue for much of the precursor progress for America's formation, but fuck it if New England hasn't been the site of some of the more fucked up history involving the rejection of some of the more fundamental American values. Sure, Boston was the center of much rebellion against England's over-zealous rule, but the *Patriots*?? The *Revolution*?? These squads play in backwater Foxboro, which - if my sources are correct, and they always are - has laws explicitly allowing segregated lunch counters so long as the racist proprietor is wearing a Tom Brady jersey or a hoodie with the sleeves cut down. Show me a Patriot season ticket holder with a truly tolerant and unbiased understanding of how fucked up Bostonians' violent reactions to forced busing was and I'll poop in my hat. And then tell you "the Black guy did it."
Oh, and Tim Thomas is a racist fucking prick. But I digress.
Oh, and if you're from Boston... don't worry. It's a really nice place, I know, especially if you like ducklings and weeping willows and overpriced universities and other idyllic shit that makes you forget a sordid history of being all-around dicks. ENJOY.
2:04 am - Eighty-seventh minute: looks like this is headed to a draw and like I'm about to finally get some sleep. I confess to some dozing, and have more recently been trying to get B-Dubs to settle down. Diaper count is at 5 since I started writing 4+ hours ago, I'm pretty sure my son is already sick of me and snuck away sometime around 12:30 to check Craigslist for rental properties, and my lady, having grabbed about four or five hours while I've....
GOAAAAAALLLLLLL!!!!!!! IN THE NINETIETH MINUTE. EVERYTHING IS AWESOME AND NOTHING CAN HURT ME AND MY VIKING CHILD!! Cahill fights for the fifty-fifty ball and Lindperre finishes with the head. Giggity. Giggity.
1-0 Red Bulls.
And just like that, as if to punish me for words I had not even thought as of the actual time things happened in this game that ended about five hours ago, an equalizer from the Revolution. Gaudette is furious at his defense for allowing that entry cross to come in so unmarked, and no one can blame him. Jesus that was terrible. Darrius Barnes credited with the game-tying goal, and that's how it will end.
Sixteen straight in Foxboro with no victories, and the Red Bulls have put themselves at further risk of losing their ticket to the playoffs. While they sit three and four points ahead of D.C. and Houston, respectively, each of those teams has a game in hand and play bottom-dwelling squads tomorrow. Luckily, New York closes with three of their last four at home, though unluckily two of those games are against Chicago and Sporting KC, both of whom sit above them in the standings right now.
In other words, I predict failure and sadness and the predictable shit storm that follows my squads at every turn.
Next up is Toronto next Saturday at Red Bull Arena. With any luck, I'll be able to watch in real time.