As of yesterday, it seems like Marquez to NY is a foregone conclusion, so allow me a bit a public therapy as I come to grips with the whole thing . . .
Don't ask me why, but my favorite position and players in soccer are defensive midfielders. I've never been too much for adoring goal scorers. They're great and all, but nothing gets my respect more than an ankle-shattering tackle, recovering the ball and re-starting the offense with a nice touch pass. To me, the "Makalele role"* is the most difficult one to play on the field, even if it doesn't get all the glory it deserves.
With all that in mind, my hatred for Rafa Marquez is somewhat ironic. He is everything I like about a soccer player...even if he does take it to scumbag extremes from time to time. The obvious problem is that his passport has Mexico written across the front. He's everything thing I would want in a player...on the team I least want to have it. And I hate him for it. Alot.
But in one of those goofy shirts with the the poisonous soda logo on the front?
All bets are off.
I think this signing is the knockout punch for me in the Club v. Country debate. I've switched. For the first time ever, it's pretty clear that my heart has more space in it for my local club than it does for my national team. I'm sitting here at my desk praying to read news that Rafa fuckin' Marquez will finish his career in my second home, Red Bull Arena. That's how badly I want to feel the joy of watching my team lift that damn Cup for the first time.
15 years of waiting will make you do strange things.
So, come on, Marquez, you filthy bastard! Sign the damn paper! LET'S GO!
I'm ready to dance with the Mexican Devil.
* I really like saying "Makalele roll". It sounds like sushi made of escargot or something. And is being Makelele really that hard?
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