Botswana Meat Commission FC

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Botswana Meat Commission FC created Crasstalk.com when he saw the need for a crowdsourced solution to capturing Osama bin Laden. His heroes include Nick Denton and all Bronies ever.

No One Should Ever Go To Grad School… Ever

Last week, we heard from grad school rock star GrandInquisitor, who showed you how to make grad school your bitch. Now, I know for a fact that GI is one hell of a grad student and that you are getting absolutely top-notch advice.

But first let’s get one thing straight: Grad school is bullshit and under no circumstances should you listen to your annoying thick-framed-glasses-wearing friends who are telling you to apply to it. DO NOT GO TO GRAD SCHOOL. Here’s why:

1. Law school is the ultimate exercise in bullshit.

Don’t even think about going to law school. Don’t listen to your parents, they just want to be able to say there’s a lawyer in the family, even if it means ruining your life. There are already way too many law school grads and not nearly enough legal jobs.

“When the economy first went down, students saw law school as a way to dodge the work force,” said Ryan Heitkamp, a pre-law adviser at Ohio State University. “The news has gotten out that law school is not necessarily a safe backup plan.”

And perhaps worst of all, graduating from law school with huge debt has a tendency to turn you into a huge douchebag.

2. A journalism graduate degree is even bullshittier than a law degree.

Having gone to an undergraduate j-school program, I cannot even imagine wanting to go back and get a master’s in journalism. First of all, journalism school (even at the undergrad level) is pretty silly. Everything you really need to know you’ll learn on the job. Most of the best journalists I’ve met actually studied something else in college. Second, Journalists make dick. The money at most traditional journalism jobs will have you living the social worker lifestyle. I hope you enjoy driving that 1990 Hyundai!

But the real reason you shouldn’t study journalism in grad school is that the industry is changing so fast that university departments aren’t keeping up. Journalism is not a hard science. The big ideas are coming out of places like Gawker and Crasstalk.com, not college faculties. In fact, for a large swath of the industry, having a graduate degree counts against you.

Also, as a rule of thumb you should always do the opposite of whatever an unpaid HuffPo blog-jockey tells you to do.

3. The world does not need more literature professors who specialize in obscure shit no one cares about.

Expecting a career in academia is an absolutely terrible reason to go back to grad school. Yeah, yeah, you probably read “Mysteries of Pittsburgh” and thought you could get yourself into some kind of cool faculty intrigue. But in reality you’ll just end up as a non-tenured adjunct professor, which is the academic equivalent of a mall security guard.

Here’s a Brown University Ph.D student’s take on the experience:

The prevailing culture of graduate school, if not always the experience itself, is one of misery and deprivation. Most grad students genuinely believe that theirs is a particularly difficult existence. I myself have been guilty of this. My theory is that this is partly due to the discrepancy between high seriousness and low stakes. One spends a lot of time racking one’s brains about serious questions without anyone particularly caring about the answers. One can devote anywhere from two years to a decade on a dissertation, pouring all one’s intellectual energy into the project, for the reading pleasure of exactly three people, two of whom will only pretend to read it.

Sadder still is the way in which the horrible process of academic professionalization encourages grad students to define themselves by their work. Conference rooms and seminars resound with the sound of socially inept people introducing themselves by their subjects. In one of the most heinous crimes against humor since the last time Dane Cook opened his inexplicably large mouth, I once heard a political scientist respond to a colleague’s remark with, “You would say that — you’re a comparativist!” The seminar room exploded with laughter, making me drop the free sandwich I was there for. You want no part of this.

4. Grad school is not the answer to the piss-poor economy.

Fleeing the shitty job market is a common justification for going back to school. Maybe you’re a few years out of college and just got laid off. Maybe you just graduated from undergrad and are terrified of searching for a job. Don’t let your circumstances (no matter how frustrating or scary) convince you to take the wrong path out of desperation. If you go into grad school out of fear about the economy, and without a rock solid career plan, you’re making a huge mistake.

In addition to the opportunity costs associated with taking yourself out of the workforce for years and losing all those wages, you’ll mostly likely be taking on huge amounts of new debt to pay not just for tuition but also for living expenses. That debt ain’t interest free, which can result in downright startling amounts of money being owed. The juice is always running.

As our 7-year grad student from Brown put it:

I don’t think that I could, in good conscience, recommend graduate school, especially a doctoral program, especially in the humanities, to another soul.

Ouch.

5. The grad student lifestyle is not actually all that cool.

It’s a well-known secret that a large percentage of grad students go back to school because they miss so much of the campus experience. Eating Ramen noodles and riding a Huffy around town while hammered was pretty fucking awesome when you were 19. When you’re 25 or 30… not so much.

Look, the grad school lifestyle mostly sucks ass. You will be completely broke. You will earn less net income than porno shop jizz-moppers. That cool turbo’d Subaru Impreza WRX with the all-wheel drive and fat sound system that you had your eye on? FUCK YOU, GRAD SCHOOL BOY. You’ll drive your old used 1989 Dodge Shadow and wear thrift shop clothes and you’ll like it! And the parties… at the grad school level the parties aren’t really that fun unless you like drinking cheap shitty wine while listening to some guy with a soul patch recite John Berryman poems. And if that sounds like fun, I will personally come to your house and stab you.

6. Working isn’t nearly as bad as everyone makes it sound.

I know every single person in the world bitches about his or her job. Getting up early and going to work in a cubicle does kind of suck. We should all be free to spend our days writing songs about our favorite days of the week or sexting, or whatever it is that the kids are doing these days.

But if it weren’t completely socially unacceptable to do so, most people could tell you at least a few of the parts of their job that they find truly fulfilling. And while classroom learning for its own sake is great, actually doing something in this world is not to be shat upon.

And, oh yeah, you actually will have a lot less debt and maybe even a bit of money in your pocket, unlike your friends in grad school. So instead of spending your late nights writing papers about Pre-Columbian llama herding in Peru, you’ll be out at the club ordering bottles of Santana Champagne and dancing to this song. My first job out of college paid a paltry $25,000 a year and I felt fucking rich at the time.

7. Grad school has nothing to do with learning or enlightenment or any of that bullshit.

Grad school is about credentialing, not learning. Stop romanticizing the idea of studying a bunch of obscure, theoretical bullshit that no one cares about. You’re an adult now, you already should have the critical thinking skills necessary to Mapquest your nearest library and crack open a book. And if your local college has some professor whose ideas really do fascinate you, you can always read his book or audit his course without signing up for a lifetime of debt.

8. There’s a fine line between educated and overeducated… and it’s called “grad school.”

Grad school will train you in economically questionable skills such as writing things like this.

Reflexology is Utter Crap – But Don’t Try Practicing It Without a License

Have you heard of reflexology? It’s the fake alternative medical practice where a hippie holistic practitioner rubs the bottoms of your feet and magically heals you…. because you obviously are a moron who never realized that all your vital organs are connected to the soles of your feet. Yes, people actually believe in this.

Well apparently the reflexologists have their own cartel trade organization that wants to prevent the scourge of unlicensed foot rubbers from ever harming the good people of New York.

From the NY Daily News:

State Sen. Martin Golden and a handful of other lawmakers got what looked suspiciously like foot massages in the cavernous lobby of the Legislative Office Building.

“They are looking for some of our brains,” Golden (R-Brooklyn) quipped as a member of the New York State Reflexology Association rubbed down his bare feet.

“We are finding out all about reflexology,” Golden added as he sat back in a reclining chair with his feet lifted above his head.

Reflexology, for those who don’t know, is defined as the “systematic application of alternating pressure by the use of the practitioner’s hands, thumbs and fingers to reflex points on an individual’s hands, feet, face or ears.” It is promoted primarily as a stress reduction technique.

The group was in Albany pushing for passage of an Assembly bill that would require licensing of reflexologists and set competence standards

First of all, let’s get one thing straight. Reflexology is complete bullshit with absolutely no scientific evidence to back it up. Accupuncture and yoga, this ain’t.

And it would also be nice if legislators would be a little more skeptical when a trade organization wants to require licensing. Sorry, but they don’t want licensing because they’re oh so concerned about public safety. It’s because they want to restrict competition by increasing the barriers to entry. There is simply no logical reason to impose higher foot rubbing costs on society under the guise of public wellness.

Or as Matt Yglesias put it: “Another day, another spurious occupational licensing effort.”

They Used to Let Kids Play in Caves

Profound silence; silence so deep that even their breathings were conspicuous in the hush. Tom shouted. The call went echoing down the empty aisles and died out in the distance in a faint sound that resembled a ripple of mocking laughter.

“Oh, don’t do it again, Tom, it is too horrid,” said Becky.

“It is horrid, but I better, Becky; they might hear us, you know,” and he shouted again.

The “might” was even a chillier horror than the ghostly laughter, it so confessed a perishing hope. The children stood still and listened; but there was no result. Tom turned upon the back track at once, and hurried his steps. It was but a little while before a certain indecision in his manner revealed another fearful fact to Becky— he could not find his way back!

– Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

A comment by SusanBAwesome on an open thread, about visiting Carlsbad Caverns, reminded me of one of my best memories of childhood. See, as a kid my local Boy Scout troop would make an annual “caving” trip. I always looked forward to this trip. It was the highlight of the year.

We didn’t go to a place like Luray Caverns. Where we went, there were no handrails, or electric lights and there sure as shit was no gift shop. There was a hole….  in the side of a hill…. somewhere in central Pennsylvania. It was far from anything else. I remember we camped the night before in a field next to a cow pasture.

To access the cave, we parked our cars on the side of the road and climbed up the side of the hill. My high-tech spelunking equipment consisted of:

  • 1 Philadelphia Phillies souvenir plastic batting helmet
  • 1 K-Mart brand flashlight that my dad wired to a 6-volt lantern battery. (Do they even make those any more? Probably not.)
  • Duct tape. For attaching the flashlight to the helmet, natch.
  • Extra candles. Just in case.
  • Matches. Just in case.
  • 1 waterproof match case
  • 1 souvenir Philly Phanatic fanny pack, to carry my battery, candles and matches

When I think back, this sounds ridiculously crazy but at the time it made total sense. The souvenir helmet would protect my head, the big battery would last longer than D-cells. I was set!

So we got to the cave, and we went in. Now, when people think of caves, they think of giant caverns and passageways you can easily walk through. That is horseshit! Most real caves are nothing like that. These caves were tighter than a nun’s birth canal. Even us 12-year-old boys had to suck in our stomachs to fit through some of the spaces. Oh, and there was standing water everywhere. I’ll never forget the time we were crawling through a section on all fours and I looked up and there was a baby bat just hangin’ out six inches from my head. He was surprisingly cool with having a bunch of hellions tearing up his cave.

And tear it up we did. I don’t think you can really cause that much ecological damage to a cave just by crawling through it, but we were allowed to run wild. I still remember walking into a room and seeing one of the kids squatting in the corner. Apparently last night’s dinner wouldn’t wait. (When word got back to the dads about the cave-pooping…. there was hell to pay.)

But for the most part, the dads let us just wander off to explore the passageways. At least it seemed like it at the time. Maybe they were keeping an eye on us… but I doubt it.

Now that I think back to those cave trips, I wonder if they’d still let kids do that today. Would parents let their children wander through caves without adults holding their hands? And this was the early 90s. That’s not even a long time ago! Are we really changing that fast?

As an adult I think back to how my great-grandfather had worked around the mines all his life. He was an Italian immigrant who became a blacksmith for a mining company in West Virginia. His trade spared him from a life spent underground, but the world of mining was all around him (actually, he apparently was an organizer for the UMW). Kids not much older than us little Boy Scouts were actually working the mines back in the bad old days.

And now that I’m older, I think I am at least a slightly better person for having gotten a little taste of what it’s like to spend time under the Earth. I’m glad I never had to work in a mine, but I’m also glad that my parents and the other adults around us as kids didn’t take away our ability to explore the world in the name of keeping us always safe.

Utah does something crazy… for once

I know what you’re thinking. It’s Utah. What craziness could ever happen there? It’s totally not an insane mix of hillbilly death cult and fly-by-night Xango pyramid scheme zombies.

Well apparently they took a break from telling their third sister-wife to “STFU MARGENE OR YOU’RE GOING BACK TO THE “BAD” COMPOUND” and finally got around to some important state business:

(CNN) — Until this week, Utah had 24 state symbols, from tree (the blue spruce) to insect (the honeybee) to even cooking pot (the Dutch oven).

Now it’s added an official state firearm — the John M. Browning-designed M1911 pistol, becoming the first state in the nation to have one, according to the state legislator who sponsored the law.

Utah Gov. Gary Herbert signed the new symbol into law this week.

Look out, Arizona. Utah just made you its BITCH. Apparently this initiative was the brainchild child of something called a “State Rep. Carl Wimmer, a Republican who was a police officer and SWAT team commander.”

“There was more controversy than I anticipated, but it really passed with bipartisan support,” Wimmer said. “One of the biggest comments from the critics was that we should not honor an implement of death. And my response to that has always been that this firearm does not represent an implement of death. It represents an implement of freedom.”

YEAH. Guns aren’t deadly weapons. They’re all about giving freedom. Such the freedom to defend America from your fourth sister-wife WHO JUST FUCKING CANNOT LEARN HOW TO WASH THE DISHES RIGHT AFTER DINNER.

Where’s my gun at?

(Hat Tip: Mr.Anansi)

Crassballin’: Bracket Contest Standings Update

We’re already in the second third round of the NCAA tournament, so I thought I’d give you all a Crassballin’ update. Here’s the current Top 10 as of Saturday afternoon:

We had a total of 62 entries. Also, notice that 7 of the top 10 scorers so far are ladyfolk. Apparently you don’t actually need balls to dominate at Crassballin’. Continue reading

Crassballin’: The Official Crasstalk March Madness Bracket Contest

Is there anything better than March Madness? The upsets, the nail-biters, the non-stripperish cheerleaders from small town Kentucky. The NCCAA tournament truly has it all.

We’re going to spend the next few weeks pondering the insane ramblings of Billy Packer. We’re going to wonder what sort of brown liquor Bob “Huggie Bear” Huggins drinks with his breakfast every morning. We’re going to spend countless hours considering the most efficient method for murdering the Plumlee twins (Answer: wood chipper). And best of all, we’re going to figure out a way to convince ourselves that our shitass school is destined for Final Four greatness.

We call it Crassballin’. Continue reading

How to Properly Nurture Your Duke Hatred

A hatred of Duke University and its White Blue Devils (I’m feeling nauseous already) burns deep inside of all right-thinking human beings. We are naturally repulsed by Duke to such an extent that it is now part of our natural evolutionary instincts. From the womb, we we enter this world already detesting Danny Ferry and Steve Wojochowski and (oh god, I’m going to vomit) Coach K.

CLICK HERE TO JOIN THE CRASSTALK MARCH MADNESS BRACKET CONTEST

But while a low burning sensation is natural, a true Duke hater knows that he or she must refresh that hatred before each and every fresh NCAA tournament. Here’s a simple plan for how to really get yourself worked up with frothing, irrational, lovely Duke Hate:

1. Start by focusing on this year’s team.

You would think this one would be tough some seasons, but no. Literally every single season Duke fields a team full of various jagoffs, D-bags and other unlikeable goons and bozos. This year I recommend you spend a few minutes watching the thoroughly awful Plumlee Twins throw elbows and complain to the refs every time a call goes against Duke.

Good grief, extremists

2. Stare into the cold, dead, soulless eyes of Coach Mike Krzyzewski.

Do it for just a few seconds. Not too long, though, or you’ll be eternally raped by the ghost of J.J. Redick.

History's greatest monster

3. Reminisce about all the old Dukies you used to get so much pleasure from hating.

That’s the beauty of March Madness: It’s a great opportunity to fondly remember all those past seasons of hating Danny Ferry, Jay Bilas, Christian Laettner, Cherokee Parks (Oh god, I can taste the vomit trying  to come up), Bobby Hurley, Steve Wojciechowski, Jason Williams, J.J. Redick….. I could go on and on.

Sometimes around this time of year my dreams often involve a big honorary alumni game at Cameron Arena/Gymnasium Indoor Stadium that is attacked by a swarm of flying psychedelic sharks that kill everyone ever involved with the White Blue Devils. A boy can hope….

4. Read an intellectual takedown of Duke University.

This is always fun. Thanks to Duke’s irrepressible striving to be at the top of various magazine rankings and other superfluous bullshit, their overall creepiness always comes out upon close inspection. Witness Caitlin Flanagan (who is, I’ll admit, somewhat crazy herself) get worked up about the overall vibe of Duke while discussing the Karen Owens fiasco in a recent issue of The Atlantic Monthly:

In 2009, GQ magazine named Duke America’s second-douchiest college, a distinction that came with a caveat: “They’re probably number one. But we’d rather not rank Duke number one at anything.” It’s difficult to argue withGQ’s thinking on either score; something ugly is going on at the university—a mercenary intensity that has been gathering strength for the past two decades, as the institution made the calculated decision to wrench itself into elite status by dint of its fortune in tobacco money and its sheer ambition. It lured academic luminaries—many of them longer on star power than on intellectual substance—built a fearsome sports program, and turned its admissions department into the collegiate version of a head-hunting firm. (I was a college counselor at a prep school in the ’90s, and the zeal with which Duke gunned for our top students was unseemly.)

In some respects Duke has never moved on from the values of the 1980s, when droves of ambitious college students felt no moral ambivalence about preparing themselves for a life centered largely on the getting and spending of money. With a social scene dominated by fraternities and sororities (a way of life consisting of ardent partying and hooking up, offset by spurts of busywork composing angry letters to campus newspapers and taking online alcohol-education classes), with its large share of rich students displaying their money in the form of expensive cars and clothing, and with an attitude toward campus athletics that is at once deeply southern (this is a part of the world where even high-school athletes can be treated with awestruck deference by adults) and profoundly anti-intellectual, it’s a university whose thoughtful students are overshadowed by its voraciously self-centered ones.

SEE? THEY’RE A BUNCH OF RICH, DUMB, RAPEY PUNKS WHO WEAR BURBERRY AND DRIVE BMWS. NOTHING AT ALL LIKE MY SCHOOL!

5. Watch one of the many, many anti-Duke montage videos on YouTube.

The lower the production quality and more immature the jokes… the better.

CLICK HERE TO JOIN THE CRASSTALK MARCH MADNESS BRACKET CONTEST

The American Fan’s Guide to Picking a Soccer Team

When I first started following (or trying to follow) international football back in the 90s, there was no Fox Soccer Channel or Gol TV or ESPN Champions League coverage or Wayne Rooney highlights on Sportscenter. Those were the dark days, when identifying as an American soccer fan got you labeled a communist or a faggot…. or a communist faggot.

Those days are long gone now. You can wear your fancy Shaktar Donetsk shirt to spring break in some sunburned hick town like Myrtle Beach and (mostly) be left alone, if not downright embraced by your fellow like-minded football junkies. But that still leaves one glaring question:

Who the fuck do I root for?

We’re working off a few basic assumptions here:

1. You’re an American who wasn’t born/raised in some obviously inferior third-world soccer-mad country like Turkey or Colombia or the United Kingdom. So you don’t have a geographic reason to support, say, the local club from the third-largest city in Belarus.

2. You’re already at least willing to casually support your own country’s national team. Because, really people, don’t be a cunt. Support your own national team. I know Italy always has nifty bright blue Puma jerseys, but that team is a bunch of raging assholes. Your ancestors probably left their homeland for a perfectly good reason (earthquake, famine, terrible pop music, Nazis).

So now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s find you a team based on our fancy proprietary process of elimination!

Rule 1: No front-runners

Who this rules out:

Manchester United
Man United is basically the New York Yankees/Dallas Cowboys/Duke University of soccer. Their fans people who show up to home matches are usually described as “prawn sandwich eaters” by all other fans. Does that sound like a delicious sandwich that should be involved with sports in any way? FUCK AND NO. Lame yuppie-ish front-runner fans are the worst, and Man U already has a huge American fanbase full of these cunty assholes. Steer clear.

FC Barcelona
There’s a lot to love about Barcelona. They’re almost militantly devoted to playing an attacking style of soccer that emphasizes goal scoring and beautiful passing. They’re also the liberal, globalized and open-minded nemesis of Real Madrid. The only problem is that they’re too good. They’re stocked with too much talent and money and managers who wear $3,000 designer suits. They’re for people who like shiny things and they make winning look a little too easy.

Bayern Munich
They seem to be the one German club that spends money like the big Spanish, Italian and English teams, so they inevitably dominate. They currently have a great squad, but I dunno. Munich…. Germany…… hmmmm. I really enjoyed Inglorious Basterds and feel like this team might have some sort of “Natzy” connections, which brings us to…

Rule 2: No connections to 20th-century fascist dictators and/or war criminals

Who this rules out:

Real Madrid
Not only does Real have the whole front-runner problem in Spain, but becoming a Real fan means you to learn the entire post-war history of Spain. See, Spain’s approach to football is to basically live out the past 70 years of political and ideological conflict. It turns out Real Madrid was for many years the unofficial team of the Franco supporters. So unless you’re a fascist, this might not be too appealing.

Lazio
This Rome-based club was the favorite club of the fascist elite during the rule of Il Duce. European soccer is fucking crazy sometimes.

Just about any team from Eastern Europe or the  Balkans
I hate to generalize, but do you really want to try to figure out which team from Belgrade was connected to the genocidal paramilitary leaders and which one wasn’t? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Rule 3: The team’s owner should be at least somewhat non-creepy

Who this rules out:

Chelsea
This is perhaps one of the most unlikeable soccer teams of all time. It starts at the top with an owner straight out of Bond villain central casting.  Their best players, Didier Drogba and Frank Lampard, are more or less impossible to cheer for. Maybe you can swing being a Chelsea fan if you’re the kind of guy who drives around in your BMW M3 and cuts off old ladies. For the rest of us… pass!

AC Milan
Bunga bunga. Yep, that perverted old man you keep reading about in the tabloids… he’s the owner.

Rule 4: The team must not make you want to jump off a bridge every season

Who this rules out:

Newcastle United
Normally I like an underdog, but being a Newcastle fan is not something I’d wish on my worst enemy. First of all, they basically crush your will to live each and every season. They seem to have turned disappointment into an art form. Plus their fans are probably the most insane and provincial supporters in England. You and your nice straight, white teeth won’t ever fit in.

So who should I root for?

The beautiful thing about soccer is that even if you’re a mid-table team (that’s Limey-speak for “contender”), there’s always a lot to play for: The Champions League, the UEFA Europa League (which used to be called the UEFA Cup), domestic cups and the chance to send your arch-rival down to the second division next year with a late-season victory.

For our purposes today, let’s assume that while we love underdogs, we’re not going to bother cheering for the absolute dregs. (Sorry Swindon Town!) Let’s narrow down our potential teams to those clubs that have a legitimate shot at playing in the Champions League most seasons and can generally have a chance to pick up a win against the Barcelonas and Man Uniteds of the world.

Everton
Everton is the oldest club in England and they have lots of great history. They’re the second team of Liverpool, so they have lots of local fans and are known for having a very knowledgeable and passionate fan base. Plus they have an American goalkeeper (Tim Howard) , Australian midfielder (Tim Cahill) and the player with the greatest hairdo in the world right now. They’re a generally lovable  bunch of underdogs.

AS Roma
They score a metric shit-ton of goals. Their fans are known for turning their stadium into a giant, Burning Man-esque bonfire party. Their rival is Lazio, which has one of the most right-wing fanbases in Europe. Their team crest prominently features wolf nipples.

Manchester City
Are you a fan of the Mets? Or the White Sox? Or any Philadelphia team? Is your shoulder mostly made up of one giant, permanent chip? If so, this is the team for you! Man City is the perennial step-sister to the hot, popular sister that is Manchester United. Poor Man City, all they really have going for them is their reputation for getting most of their support from Manchester itself, unlike United’s globalized, corporate fanbase. Of course, even Man City is now owned by a group of fatcats from Abu Dhabi who are putting their money into buying up all sorts of talent. Get on board now before they turn into the next Chelsea!

Olympique Lyonnais
Lyon has been a mainstay of the Champions League for much of the last decade. They’re usually very fun to watch and have produced a lot of great players (especially African-born players from former French colonies) over the last few years. Plus Lyon is the home of French gastronomy. If you’re a coq au vin-loving foodie geek, this is the team for you.

Werder Bremen
Werder Bremen is always a team to watch out for in the Champions League. Even though they no longer have Miroslav Klose, they’re usually pretty tough to beat. And German fans are known for bringing a great atmosphere to the games. I love this description on the team’s Wikipedia page: “Werder Bremen is also known for its level-headed environment. In contrast to many other cities, where the local sides are often subject to intense media attention, players and trainers here are usually left in relative peace. Bremen’s reputation is that of a sensible, respected and financially healthy club.” So if you’re turned on by respectful disagreement and balancing your checkbook, this is the team for you!

Ajax
It’s pronounced “I-yax” not like the stuff you use to clean your toilet bowl. Also they’re from Amsterdam, so like…. WEED DUDE. YEAHHHHHH. Ajax is one of the most successful clubs in the sport’s history (though has struggled a bit in recent years) and has produced a metric fuck-ton of legendary players. Their fans do seem to have a Jew-fetish that could possibly be much more creepy than it is endearing… I’ll let you decide! (Gawd Europeans get into some weird shit. I mean, really.)

Arsenal
A London-based team coached by a stern, brilliant Frenchman, and stocked with a mix of awesome French-African players and Euro prodigies. This team plays very exciting football that’s sometimes a bit too fucking cute for its own good. But they have a cool name and are the favorite team of Nick Hornby. They have legit shot at winning the Premiership in any given year and yet somehow manage not be complete fuckos like Man U and Chelsea.

Villarreal
I fucking love these guys even though the only Spanish words I know are “tacos al pastor.” They’re nicknamed “El Submarino Amarillo,” which even my stupid ass can figure out means “The Yellow Submarine,” which is just a fantastic sports nickname. WE WILL SINK YOUR BATTLESHIP, FUCKFACE. I love it. They come from the tiny city of Vila-Real and yet regularly compete with the much bigger Spanish clubs like Real and Barca. They always play a very attacking style, too. Bonus: They currently own the rights to American Jozy Altidore (though he’s out on loan to a Turkish team this season).

Olympique Marseille
Marseille is not your typical baguette-munching French pussy-ville. Marseille is a true shit-kicker town. It’s the Oakland or Philadelphia of France. It’s where they shot “The French Connection.” Marseille’s former team president is Bernard Tapie, a lovable rogue improbably described by Wikipedia as “a French businessman, politician and occasional actor, singer, and TV host.” Tapie was forced to resign after being indicted for tax evasion. When I was a student in France, he was appearing in rap videos as a mafia don. Anyway, OM has one of the most passionate local fanbases in the sport and Stade Velodrome is supposed to be one of the best places on Earth to watch a home match. Plus I love their club’s motto, which is sewn right into their jerseys: “Droit au but.” Straight to the goal.

A brief word about public executions

I’ve been away from my computer for the past few days but I recently exchanged correspondence with Mastro Titta and heard about the mixed public reaction to our first public execution. He said there was much trepidation among the commenters about the reasons for the royal execution. I wanted to clarify a few things:

1. Our first condemned prisoner was executed for breaking the rules. We now have almost 100 authors with full priveleges to write posts on this site. That’s an incredible level of community authorship that, I think, very few websites would ever allow. One of the few rules we have in place is that authors must submit their articles for review before an editor actually schedules it to be published. Breaking that rule is a huge insult to all the other writers who wait their turn to publish articles on Crasstalk.

2. I know Mastro Titta mentioned that “his post sucked,” but let me be clear: We’re not going to publicly execute anyone because we don’t like their article. In fact, to date, we’ve published all but a handful of articles that have been submitted and usually do very little editing to the content. In this most recent case, the author simply copy/pasted a huge amount of text that could have been linked to. That wouldn’t normally be an execution-worthy offense, but apparently Mastro hates reading huge blocks of pasted text. It makes him grouchy before cutting off heads.

3. Executions are not done based on personal grudges or popularity contests. You can disagree with anyone here, on any issue, and you will not be executed for it. No one will ever be executed for disagreeing with Salome or BettyCrocker or Dancing Queen. In fact, all three of them are mostly wrong.

4. To date, we’ve banned exactly ZERO commenters from the site. And we didn’t ban OMGP from commenting, only from authoring new posts. We do reserve the right to execute someone’s author or commenter priveleges or both if it’s a particularly egregious case.

5. The executions are  a tradition we borrowed from our ancestral homeland of Gawker and are done strictly in a spirit of jest. We’re not actually wishing for anything worse than mild teasing/ball-busting. It’s just a bit of internet fuckery, so try to stop worrying and have fun with it. Most of the condemned will probably be allowed back into our good graces with maybe a quick apology and/or a bottle of scotch.

6. Now that we’ve hired Mastro Titta to provide the negative reinforcement, we’re also going to give you some positive reinforcement. We’re announcing a new feature: COTW. I still have to sit down with DogsofWar and GrandInquisitor to work out the details, but we’re going to do a Comment of the Week post where we highlight the pithiest, snarkiest, smartest, most lulzy stuff you come up with. Stay tuned for details.

And as the Wu-Tang Clan once wisely said, protect ya neck.