Phunion 3, United 2

Long, fun day, of which the most important, though not most pleasant, point to note is that United's midfield, at least the one the started and played what had to be the worst first half of football that I can ever remember United playing, is a disgrace. (That's the view from where we were banished; more about that after the jump - including the story of Tino and Chesapeake House).

Kurt Morsink, Brandon Barklage, Franco Niell, Christian Castillo, and an out-of-position Tino Quaranta is fucking unacceptable. It is impossible to grade the strikers as they get no service. It's impossible to grade the defense as it gets no support. It's even a bit unfair to judge Fire Curt Onalfo because the midfield Kasper Payne has given him sucks sucks sucks unto suck. Sucks.

That's the last kind word from me for Fire Curt Onalfo. Here's what worries me about Onalfo: he was hired because Kasper Payne, I assume on directions of Chang, decided, whether for financial reasons and/or because there was no talent to spend the money on, to change United's strategy and identity from fast and clever and elegant to slow and dull and ugly, and who better to implement that new plan than Fire Curt Onalfo?

Brandon Barklage. Really? Kurt Morsink. Really? I know bringing Salvadorans back to RFK is a solid business decision, but Christian Castillo? All three would be struggling for minutes in USL-2. Take your best, most dynamic player, Tino Quaranta, and play him out of position, neutralizing his natural instincts and talents? That's a plan?

That first half was disgraceful. The one advantage to an upper-endzone seat was the opportunity to see just how disorganized, disjointed, and dispirited United was. Bad passes out of the back, defenders chasing balls in hordes like 4th graders at recess, utter lack of imagination, total inability to build through the midfield.

Of course the second was better: Moreno at ten is better than any other option, but Moreno can't ten for ninety minutes a game for seven months worth of games. And I assume embarrassment brought out a better effort. And though Terry Fucking Vaughn was his terryfuckingvaughniest, Terry Fucking Vaughn, the shittiest, most assholish referee in the fucking world, Terry Fucking Vaughn isn't the reason United lost.

United lost because it sucks.

Here's Shatz, who sees more in Morsink than I do. Here's Curmudgeon, who plunges the Apocalypse Button (and who in his previous post posts one of my favorite covers of one of my favorite songs).

UPDATE! What's this? And Fullback speaks.

Below the fold: The Trip.

We did stop at Chesapeake House on the way up, though only by emergency as at the last second, when Landru declared he wanted to make it to Delaware before stopping, I told him Delaware's shitty rest stop is closed for repairs.

Then stopped for lunch at the Reading Terminal Market in Philly's Center City

where I ran into one of my favorite Hilltop people ever, Beth M, theology professor and a genuinely lovely human, then Arianna J, a former student worker of mine, and then Robby N, a friend of a friend of a friend. Weird!

Then we walked down Market Street to Philly's Mall, strolled through the Liberty Bell building

then up Walnut Street through Thomas Jefferson Medical University

where my step-father-in-law both was a student and taught, then to Broad where - I don't know what it was - this extraordinary building stood:

then back to parking and on to the stadium, which still has a giant Donovan McNabb banner stretched across the facade facing I-95.

Heh. Met Big-C and the Oklahoma Kid in the lot

 

and all marched in

all the way to the fucking top deck of the fucking endzone. Best chant of the night, on the hike up the ramps: Fucking Death March (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap).

Fairly uneventful until the end, when, after Le Toux's hat trick on the free kick resultant of Jakovic's red card (did I mention Terry Fucking Vaughn is a terryfuckingvaughn?), beer was hurled on the Philly fans bellow, and security was fast and harsh (and deservedly so):

Took a good 45 minutes to get out of the lot, another half an hour to get to 95, so by the time we pulled back into Chesapeake House for a rest stop and a snack, it was ten o'clock. We're sitting eating our food and I see some guy in United warm-ups walking towards us, I say, that looks like Tino Quaranta. Ilse and Landru look and I say, it IS Tino, and he says, Hey Guys, how's it going, and I say, Hey, nice goal, and he says, Thanks, and thanks for coming, then goes over and eats with a couple of friends. They finish first, and as he leaves, the thanks us again for making the trip. I said to Ilse and Landru, I wish I'd asked him if he still loves Onalfo. Landru said, I wish I'd asked him if Terry Fucking Vaughn is a bigger asshole than we already know he is.

Heh, good times. Exhausting, but good.