The 33-year-old is pictured relaxing in his underpants against a backdrop of sand and surf on Malibu Beach in California, but on close inspection his package seems to have benefited from a little computer enhancement. In comparison, when he wore similar white trunks on holiday off Italy's Ligurian coast more than two years ago, he just did not seem to fill them as well.

This comes as shocking news, and could derail the surging popularity of soccer in this country. Is there nothing to believe in anymore?

I saw the mural yesterday, and if you walk back and forth in front of it, the crotch seems to follow you. Eerie. Anyway, thanks for the journalism, Daily Mail!

Great Tackle, Becks — But Have The Armani Airbrushers Pumped Up Your Lunchbox? [Daily Mail]

If he grows up in the United States, he will do so perhaps becoming a baseball fan. But will he becomes a Red Sox fan? Because then he'd have some friends. Oftetimes we think about the children of celebrities, wondering if they're going to grow up right, or have a warped understanding of the world around them. Then you realize, of course, that you forgot to feed your own kid 30 minutes ago.

David Beckham's Son Has A Message For You [On 205th]

I'm kvelling, and not just because I'm going to be eating matzo all next week. No, the reason I'm feeling so good is that David Beckham is sending his son Cruz to a Jewish nursery school in Los Angeles.

While Becks and Posh say they have no plans for Cruz to convert, which is probably wise because that other Cruise — Suri — probably won't date a Jewish guy anyway, at least they're going halfway.

Then again, how much can you really ask from someone who's only half Jewish (on his mum's side) and has a Hebrew tattoo on his clearly Gentile body?

As for the biggest mensch in the Galaxy, he's having quite the month — at least off the field. He got to sit courtside at the Lakers-Clippers game and was given his first traffic ticket for bending too much on a left turn. But perhaps the most exciting news is that a recent survey of adult film stars named him the celebrity they'd most like to shtup.

All I can say is: Mazel Tov!

• Oh, and the Spurs too. San Antonio has struggled to a certain extent as of late, but after beating the Sonics they moved to within a game of the Conference leaders. Nobody scored more than 20 for the Spurs (Tony Parker), but they put forth one of those "balanced efforts" all of the purists just die for. Basically they let everybody play (save for the "injured" Manu) and they still beat Seattle by 21. I bet Clay Bennett loved every minute of the debacle.

• The East is unchanged. Cleveland, Washington, and Philadelphia are all jockeying for playoff positioning within the Eastern Conference, but all three lost last night. Add those losses to the aforementioned Hawks win, and you get a playoff picture that looks eerily similar to yesterday's.

It's not often that I plan my Saturday night around watching a MLS game, especially when it kicks off right when my man Tyler Hansbrough is in the midst of giving little Ricky Pitino a facial for the ages. But this was not just any MLS game, it was the showcase match of the league's opening weekend, and it involved a certain English underwear model who plays for the LA Galaxy and, who from all accounts, was finally healthy and ready to justify his "$250 million" hype as the latest Messiah of American Soccer.

So really, what choice did I have but to TiVO the Heels, hook up an I.V. of Stella and watch David Beckham's do-over debut for the Galaxy against the Colorado Rapids? I had granted Becks a mulligan for last year 's train-wreck of a season in which he had played in only five games and scored a single, solitary goal. Yep, I had decided to give him a clean slate, to suspend any judgments on his ability to transform a team, a league, a sport, until he could perform pain-free on the field.

But after watching him stroll around Dick's Sporting Goods Park Saturday night (it doesn't quite roll off the tongue like Old Trafford, does it?), it's clear that no amount of Becks' trademark laser-guided passes or exquisite dead-ball deliveries is going to change the fact that the Galaxy are eye-bleedingly awful. The ease with which they were dismantled 4-0 by a workmanlike Colorado Rapids team missing half a dozen key players makes you wonder what Lalas and the rest of the Galaxy 's so-called braintrust were thinking when they surrounded their prize catch with what looks to be two MLS All-Stars (Donovan and Ruiz) and eight one-legged circus performers. Even more astonishing is how they were able to convince the great Dutch player Ruud "Sexy Football" Gullitt to coach this farce, other than by promising him safe haven in Bali if things didn't work out.

You would think that after last year's premature ejaculation about soccer's second coming in the U.S., the MLS might have lowered the expectations. But there on Saturday night was Fox's Max Bretos, the carnival barker of American soccer, assuring us "it's hard not to get excited by a game of this magnitude" (Jeez, Max, how tumescent would you get about, say, Brazil v. Argentina?) Referring to the game's marquee attraction as "David Robert Joseph Beckham" Max pronounced "the Beckham Era" upon us.

As it turned out, it was more like the Terry Cooke Era. Cookie, who played alongside Becks on Man U's youth championship teams back in the day, eventually crumbled out of Old Trafford in the mid-nineties and found his way to Colorado two years ago. On Saturday, he had a goal and two assists against the Galaxy and combined with Colorado's Argentine playmaker Christian Gomez to make LA look like a poor man's Derby County, if such a thing is possible. And I should know because earlier in the day, preparing for a "game of this magnitude," I watched another game that was hard not to get excited about — Derby vs. Fulham for the bragging rights to the title of the Worst Prem Team In Anyone's Memory.

For years Lalas has been yammering about how the best MLS teams could hold their own in the lower reaches of England's top flight. Let me just say that, as spectacularly incompetent as Derby is, the Galaxy, on the basis of Saturday's performance, aren't worthy of washing their jocks. But given where Beckham's priorities seem to be — getting a new $5,000 tattoo of a bare-breasted angel who looks like his wife, playing footsy with Anderson Cooper on "60 Minutes," or offering a private lesson to Salma Hayek for $350,000 at a charity auction — who cares about soccer when you can look at a giant billboard of your golden balls in Times Square? Yes, there he is in all his near-naked glory at the crossroads of the world, reclining in a pair of too-tighty Armani whities for which he's been paid an estimated $30 million, which, if you believe Posh Spice's math, works out to about three million an inch.

"He does have a huge one," she recently said, describing how he truly bends. "You can see it in the advert. It is all his. It is like a tractor exhaust pipe."

That may be fine when it comes to plowing HER field, but the MLS needs every inch of Beckham The Player to take soccer to the next level. That means no more jetting off to make cameos for England three days before a Galaxy game. Congratulations on your 100th cap, Becks, you looked sharp launching 40-yard balls to Rooney and Gerrard in that 1-0 loss to France on Wednesday. I realize it's perhaps not as gratifying pinging gift-wrapped passes to Landycakes and Ruiz, but I hear Lalas is scouting a new striker for you. Her name is Salma Hayek.

I was in a tumbleweed diner in the middle of the Arizona desert on my way to to witness Michael Strahan doing things to Tom Brady's testicles that Giselle Bundchen probably never tried. I looked up at the white-haired waitress and saw tears running down her leathery face. She, too, had heard the news that David Beckham had been denied his 100th cap by the mean new England coach Fabio Capello.

"I can't believe what this world is coming to," she said, handing me my Grilled Cheese Deluxe garnished with parsley and cactus rinds.

"It's tough to swallow," I said, although I feared that nothing could be. tougher to swallow than the lunch she just dropped in front of me. "I mean, it's only a stupid friendly against those ovaltine-swilling yodelers from Switzerland, and you're telling me that he couldn't find it in his black Sicilian heart to put Becks in for 15 lousy minutes?"

"They say he's not fit," she said, trying to choke back her sobs. "Look at the man. If he wasn't in shape, how did he play for the Galaxy? The English just hate American soccer, don't they?"

"You got that right, dear" I said, brandishing my fork with what appeared to be a dead gila monster. "Could you get me a new setup?"

She turned away, sniffling even more loudly.

"Hey, cheer up," I said, "it's not all bad news. At least Maradona admitted today that he cheated the Brits out of the World Cup in '86."

She guffawed and did a jig. Fortunately for me, she stomped on a scorpion that was headed my way.

Everyone celebrates their 25th birthday in their own special way. Britney went on a Hollywood bender with Paris and flashed her ass to the paparazzi. Gilbert Arenas had Busta Rhymes, Lil SWayne, TI and The Game perform at the party Diddy threw for Agent Zero and 7,500 of his closest friends. And Harold Rosengarten got to watch Arsenal play Burnley in the third round of the FA Cup yesterday with me at Kinsale Tavern.

I'd like to think that Harold will look back on his big Two - Five with the kind of warm glow that I'm sure Britney and Arenas do ,but I know I will never forget our two hours together. After all, I've been going to Kinsale most weekend mornings for two years now, and while Deadspinners have bought me the occasional pint (ok, 234 beers at last count), no act of drunken generosity will ever compare to the stylish gift Harold presented to me
— my very own Arsenal yarmulka .

This is just the skull cap I've been looking for to cover the testosterone-fueled bald spot on my dome for the days (both of them) that I actually attend temple, and I'm sure it will come in handy in the unlikely event, say before the ManU showdown on April 12, that I should ever need to say a prayer for the Gunners.

It all started a couple of weeks ago when I got an e-mail from a Deadspin reader named Ben Muschel saying he had a friend whose "dream" it was to watch an Arsenal match with me, and he thought it would make a nice 25th birthday present for his mate if I agreed. Talk about setting your goals low.

Wow, I thought, my own make-a-wish foundation, and as far as I knew Ben's friend wasn't even terminal. He was, however, Jewish.

"He owns an Arsenal yarmulka," Ben said. "Really."

Now, that's a commitment that not even Unsilent Majority in his love of Chelsea has ever displayed. I had to see for myself. Because he is Orthodox, Harold couldn't make any of the regular Prem matches on Saturday, so he had to settle for a game against a team that currently sits 31 league places below Arsenal in English football.

The beauty of the FA Cup is that it represents the one time all year that players from the small downtrodden clubs get to take a shot at the glamorous millionaires in the Premiership who spend more on hookers per hour ($600, according to Ronaldo's strumpets) than they earn for a month's sweat and blood on the pitch. That's why it makes my heart soar when you have a weekend like this past one where the big boys like Everton, Blackburn and Liverpool get their dicks caught in the buzzsaw of no-name clubs with nothing to lose. Of course, none of the Prem teams fielded their strongest lineup —Liverpool, for example, rested Gerrard, Torres and Reina, in their 1-1 draw with Lutonfuckin'Town — but really, is that any excuse? Would anyone be surprised if George Gillett and Tom Hicks, Liverpool's American yahoo owners, soon decided to rest Rafa Benitez after that horror show?

Harold, for his part, was concerned that his hero, Cesc Fabregas, whose jersey he wore to complement his Arsenal scarf and yarmulka, was nowhere to be seen at Burnley. And I thought his yarmulka might fly off when, six minutes into the game, Burnley crashed a header against Jens Lehmann's crossbar. "Why is he even playing?" he asked of the second string Kraut goalkeeper who has been rumored to be saying Auf Wiedersehn to Arsenal any day now.

I explained that the German is holding out because Borussia Dortmund has refused to pony up a Deutchemark more than $60,000 a week, which is $30,000 less than he earns at Arsenal. "And here he was almost beaten by a guy who probably makes 60 grand a YEAR," Harold said.

After getting over the initial shock of almost seeing Arsenal fall behind, both Harold and the Gunners settled down and the gulf in class between the two teams began to show as first Eduardo and then Bendtner breached the Burnley defense. The only question that remained was whether the Gunners' newest squad member might be given a runout. Alas, it turned out that David Beckham wasn't even on the bench, thereby ending all the surreal speculation that Wenger would sign Goldenballs on loan. After all, wasn't it a real mindfuck — Beckham in a Gunner kit? You'd get better odds seeing Lindsey Lohan photographed with underwear on than to see images last week of Becks in full Arsenal regalia training with the Gunners, looking for all the world as if were a member of the team. I mean, he even bleached his hair the same yellow color as Almunia's.

Wenger explained that Beckham, who you might remember had a few fitness problems last season with the Galaxy, was simply working out with the Gunners in order to get in shape for England's game against Switzerland next month, in which he hopes to earn his 100th cap under new England manager Fabio Capello. When not running drills with Arsenal, Beckham spent last week sucking up to his old Real boss, even going so far as to reveal that he wore ballet shoes as a kid, a clear sop to Capello who was famously photographed in a tutu back in his Rome days.

Becks said that it would be a "dream" to play under Capello again, but as someone who now knows a little something about dreams, it will take more than an Arsenal kit to get him that 100th cap for a quarter Jew like him. I might even loan him my yarmulka.

And she heaped further humiliation on him when she confessed on TV that he liked to borrow her underwear. But answering questions from listeners on Radio 2 yesterday, Beckham hinted he had metrosexual tastes long before the singer came into his life. He said: "I always liked to look good, even when I was a little kid. I was given the option when I was a page boy once of either wearing a suit or wearing knickerbockers and long socks and ballet shoes — and I chose the ballet shoes and knickerbockers.

Even gay people are saying "that's so gay." But I commend Beckham. Who cares what people think? Who cares if soccer ever catches on in America? Who cares if your boys — one of whom is named Romeo — will need to be home schooled until they're 21? Here's to you Becks. I was going to watch the Champs Sports Bowl tonight, but instead I'm renting The Birdcage. I hear that Hank Azaria is delightful as the houseboy. Vive La Différence!

Why I Feel Honoured To Be A Gay Icon, By David Beckham, As He Admits He Lets Posh Choose His Clothes [Daily Mail]

Yellow Chair Sports attempts to answer that question, and there's no shortage of candidates. The majority of blame belongs to the MLS, but the finger has to point in Beckham's direction as well.

Beckham himself is to blame, largely for neglecting his own health and fitness. Beckham was trying to be all things to all people, which is admirable, but here it was just not plausible. He wanted to be the celebrity everyone knew he would be, the leader everyone thought he could be, the ambassador-for-the-sport he thought he could be, and the England leader he hoped his coach would want him to be. Beckham's last act of hubris and perhaps utter neglect for his fitness was playing 90 minutes on the Giants Stadium field turf on Saturday, flying to London on Sunday (arriving Monday), playing 90 minutes in an intense international friendly against Germany on Wednesday, flying back to Los Angeles (only an 8-hour time change) to play in the LA Derby that Thursday night. A few days later, Beckham was on the bench, ice around his knee and his face in his hands.

Maybe he'll be back next year, and maybe people will still care. But a most inauspicious start. Just like we told you! (Ahem.)

Smoldering Beck-age; A Legitimate Analysis [Yellow Chair Sports]

"And for this week only, everyone who strikes for Allah will receive this Al-Qaeda crochet coffee cozy. You may cool to our capricious homicidal agenda, but your beverage doesn't have to! Well, get to work you nutty militants; these people aren't going to assassinate themselves."

Plot To Murder Becks And Roo [News Of The World, via Deuce of Davenport]

Here are two things I never thought I'd see in my lifetime: a scalper at an MLS game shouting "who needs tickets, who needs tickets" to people who actually did, and a mostly professional soccer score, 5-4, that matched Tom Cruise's height. Yet, in one surreal evening, I witnessed both. Only in New Jersey kids, only in New Jersey.

It's not that I didn't expect to encounter a frisson of pandemonium when Goldenballs' magical mystery tour rolled into Giants Stadium, I just never anticipated the seismic nature of the event. Soccer historians — both of them — will tell you that the last time this many fans — 66,237 — paid to see two American teams was 27 years ago, when the Cosmos were snorting themselves silly at Studio 54. Back then, it only cost you $20 to boo the shit out of Giorgio Chinaglia; whereas on Saturday night someone offered me $200 for my $50 seat (believe me, I thought hard about it before remembering that I'm already under investigation for my role in the Bad Jewz Kennel) for the privilege of peeing on Beckham's parade.

Who would have thunk it? The man whom American soccer is hoping will rescue it from a tsunami of indifference being jeered by the Red Bulls faithful, perhaps resentful of the 55,000 extra fans who had intruded on their unmolested privacy. Ever the gentleman, Beckham looked up at the hecklers shouting "who are ya? who are ya?" put a finger to his lips and proceeded to flight perfectly weighted balls onto the heads of his teammates that screamed "if you can't nod this into the back of the net, you're even more of a stinking heap of MLS dung that I thought."

Then again, you don't have to be McLovin to score on the Superbad defenses of the Bulls and the Galaxy. Let me put it this way: My daughter's former U-10 travel team, the Mighty Chicks, could have bulged the 'ol onion bag Saturday night, and I don't mean it in the way you're thinking.

Nine goals — eight more than Tony "Nothing Excites Me Like A 1-0 Soccer Game" Kornheiser, thought humanly possible and at least four more than a semi-professional goalkeeper would have allowed (Hey Lens, you'll be right at home in MLS) — were scored and Becks had a foot in three of them, all from (surprise, surprise) dead ball situations. Not bad numbers for a guy with a bum wheel, but truth be told, he did fuck-all in the run of play.

Clearly still hurting, he played uncharacteristically deep in midfield, leaving it to Landycakes to run the show. And unless he was rushing over to bitch-out the ref or threaten an ankle-massaging Red Bulls player with a "dandruff salad" (think Zidane with much better hair), he moved in only one gear — a half jog. He also had four free kicks blocked.

That said, everyone went home happy, except perhaps for the LA braintrust of Alexi Lalas and Frank Yallop, who are running out of time to keep the Galaxy from turning into soccer's version of the Harlem Globetrotters.

Any questions? I trust all of you who participated in the month-long orgy of Becklash after Goldenballs landed on our fair shores and healed his ankle poolside at Tom and Katie's will at least stay quiet for another week and let the rest of us enjoy last night's Hollywood moment.

This is not to say that we witnessed the Birth of The Beautiful Game at the half-filled Depot Center, just that we saw a beautiful goal by a beautiful man (and I'm man enough to say that). I, for one, am going to savor his viciously swerving free kick (even if DC's wall looked worse than Berlin's in 1989) and thank Dios we got to listen to the call in Spanish and not ESPNish.

And while SportsCenter will clearly focus on the goal, I was more impressed with his delicately weighted through ball to Landycakes and the hard, late tackle that earned him a yellow card and, no doubt, the respect of the Bloods and the Crips in the crowd.

One game, of course, does not a league make, but it certainly adds to the buzz as Beck-a-polooza rolls onto New York this Saturday. I will be there, ready to tell both of you who care why it's not nearly as glamorous as the Cosmos. After all, I hear that was once in a lifetime.

Beckham — who seriously needs absolutely no excuse to get shirtless — made his MLS debut last night. His team lost, but it was apparent to most that he instantly made his team better. In case you were losing sleep over how the Galaxy would mesh with him.

The fact is, Beckham in his 20 minutes, launched more dangerous attacks than the Galaxy had had in the 70 minutes previous. After one rather optimistic ball from midfield that landed within the 6 yard box, and the United keeper's hands, Beckham played a series of dangerous balls.

He says the ankle is "fine," folks, so you may now rest easy. Next stop: East Rutherford!

Get Used To It, Becks! [I Dislike Your Favorite Team]
Beckham Will Help Galaxy, But Not Tonight [The Fanhouse]

The MLS is healthier than we had thought, apparently, because it's preparing to launch an expansion team. The current leading city is Seattle, which might, you know, have a basketball team to replace.

Seattle has clamored for a team for a while now, and the city feels it put its best foot forward — foot — when its USL team the Sounders beat the Colorado Rapids 5-0 in one of those "friendlies." We're not sure it's a good sign for the MLS, though, when one of its teams is losing 5-0 to a lower-division American team, you know?

Sun Rising On Seattle's MLS Hopes [The Beautiful Game]
Lalas: Beckham Will Decide When He's Fit To Play [ESPN]

Because of Beckham's ankle injury, MLS fans are buying tickets to watch games that, well, they wouldn't care about otherwise. (Because they are Americans.) Dallas' franchise actually offered exchanges for tickets, though Toronto did not return the favor.

We know it's not fan-friendly, but we kind of agree with Toronto. We find it sad, in a way, that a team would offer refunds because an opposing player is too hurt to beat the home team.

Beckham Mania's Biggest Loser? The Fans [Lion In Oil]

I did not endure three nerve-jangling hours stuck on the tarmac without so much as a drop of alcohol simply to witness David Beckham gimp around the field for 13 minutes, however life-altering those minutes may have been. Nor did I fly 3,000 miles to savor the fact that within the celebrity-drenched throng at the Home Depot Center, I found myself for a blood-engorging minute (before someone called security) the Hebrew National Salami in a Brooke Shields/ Alicia Silverstone sandwich.

No, I was in LA for something greater — the mother of all money shots, that moment when months of media foreplay culminated in a flood of worldwide recognition that would once and for all legitimize the future of American soccer.

But what I got was Alexa, and let's just say that her work rate later that night at the Silver Reign Gentleman's Club was every bit as impressive as the Galaxy's in the first half against Chelsea.

Stung by the bitch slap from the august British newspaper The Sun that they had played like "a pub team" earlier in the week against Tigres of Mexico and the patronizing remark from the Special One that if the game was already decided (meaning Chelsea had won in a walk), he would "allow" Beckham to bend one in, the Galaxy forgot that they were a MLS bottom-feeder and displayed the grit and physical commitment of a Premiership team. Not a minute had passed before Drogba was welcomed to LA by Abel Xavier, the 34-year-old Portuguese defender with the mad white hair and Othello-like face. body-slamming the Chelsea hitman to the turf. He seemed to be saying "Not in our house, bro, especially today when there are 27,000 singing, drinking, squealing fans and more ESPN cameras than they deployed for the Competitive Eating Championships."

In fact, had Kyle Martino's diving header in the 19th minute been a yard to the left, the Galaxy would have taken the lead and wiped the smirk off Mourinho's newly hirsute face (hmmm...was the beard compensation for a thinning dome? Just asking). As is, the crowd, equal parts former action heroes (Arnold and Heidi Fleiss), NBA players (Kevin Garnett, Tony Parker, and yes, Tyronn Lue), desperate housewives (Eva Longoria and Bianca Kajilich — she's married to Landycakes, after all), British ex-pats (the line for Guinness was even longer than the line for Beckham jerseys) and pre-pubescent girls who shrieked every time Becks bent down to loosen the strap on his bum ankle were in a lather from the opening whistle.

This was a Premiership-worthy atmosphere right down to the chants of "Chelsea sucks" (note to Unsilent Majority: I swear I didn't start it). The truth, of course, is that the gulf in class between Chelsea and the Galaxy is almost as wide as the one between Alexa and the other dancers at Silver Reign. It was only a matter of time — actually the 49th minute — til the Blues decided to concentrate and play the kind of powerful and efficient football that made them EPL champions two of the last three years. When John Terry, playing on a broken toe, lashed the ball in off the post to make it 1-0, only the beastly presence of Xavier in the Galaxy defense plus some profligate finishing kept the game close enough for ESPN's comfort zone. When Beckham began stretching in the 68th minute and the crowd erupted in an orgiastic release, Landycakes had a chance to prove that Golden Balls was not the only soccer star in town. But when he missed a wide open header, we were once again reminded that while he can terrorize the MLS and Concacaf competitions all he wants, he is still not ready for "the next level", be it the Bundasliga, the World Cup or a friendly against a top English club.

Whether Becks can galvanize him to fulfill his potential remains to be seen, but one thing is for sure: Landycakes will no longer be taking the Galaxy free kicks after shanking a couple onto Sunset Boulevard on Saturday. Becks' first official touch as a Galaxy player, in fact, could easily have been meant as a tutorial for young Landon. In the 81st minute, he launched a 40-yard crossfield laser right to the head of Quavas Kirk, who, unlike, say, Van Nistelrooy, had no idea what to do with it . The only other significant moment in Becks' 13 minute made-for-TV cameo came in the 91st minute, when Reading old boy Steve Sidwell, playing for a place in the star-studded Chelsea lineup, must not have heard Mourinho's instructions to not "get stuck in" on Beckham and instead went clattering into him. The crunch could be heard all the way on Madison Avenue as American soccer's meal ticket crashed head over heels onto the turf, holding his left ankle.

As he lay there, I couldn't help but wondering if he had finally grasped the enormity of the challenge facing him — the task of hauling not only himself up from a crumbled state but an entire sport.

Later that night, I put this existential question to Alexa: What is it like to be the most beautiful, the most desirable woman in a cheap taco stand of a strip club? Alexa, who is an assistant in an art gallery when she is not grinding her pelvis into the lap of a customer — in this case, my best friend Roger, who was celebrating his birthday. She had the answer and it only cost $45— or $205 less than my Galaxy ticket.

"The secret," she said, "is to treat everyone equally, whether they're some poor writer from New York or David Beckham." With that, Roger handed her a $40 tip.

Last night's crowd was filled with star power from all walks of life (ARNOLD!), but down on the pitch the it was Chelsea's stars that commanded the spotlight. Goalie Petr Cech was his usual perfect self while sporting his protective headgear. It's kind of like the way Rip Hamilton wears that goofy ass mask every game. Sure there's a risk of another injury, but really it's about comfort, luck, and pimpin' style. American fans have seen plenty of world-class goalkeeping, but nothing that can compare with Cech's prowess. On a team stacked with some of the best talent money can buy, Cech is probably Roman Abromovich's most valuable asset. Beckham may be attractive, but Cech is downright sexy.

After weeks of hype the 1-0 scoreline was probably nothing more than an afterthought. Yet it seemed quite fitting that Chelsea's lone goal would come off the boot of John Terry, the man who inherited the captaincy of the national team from Beckham. Terry also started last night with a freshly broken toe which begs the question, why is Beckham such a little girl?

It looks, after all, like Beckham isn't even going to play tomorrow in the Galaxy-Chelsea exhibition — sorry; "friendly" — which is going to make the ESPN coverage rather, uh, awkward.

We remain in our stance that Beckham coming here is a good thing, though we will never quite understand the Posh Spice thing. People still care about the Spice Girls? Really?

Ticket Brokers Blue Over Beckham Sitting Out Against Chelsea [Sports By Brooks]

Anyway, the MLS All-Stars play Celtic tonight at Dick's Sporting Goods Stadium in Denver — that's a stadium, not an actual store — and you can smell the excitement.

I guess it's nice for the fans in Colorado and a showcase for Dick's Sporting Goods Park. Other than that, it's pretty much a waste. Put it this way — if the MLS all-star game never happened, would anyone notice. The old tree falls in the woods argument. It's not like the American public cares all that much about the MLB all-star game anymore, saying nothing of the Pro Bowl.

It made some sense when they had the whole weekend to do skills competitions and the like. On a Thursday night? Especially when two days later is that Beckham game against Chelsea, which ESPN will probably just use the all-star game as a platform to promo it to death anyway.

That's exactly right: Tonight's MLS All-Star Game will be a two-hour promo for a game two days from now featuring a player who isn't there and may be too hurt to play anyway. Sounds fun!

Lemon Lime Soccer [That's On Point]

As we marvel over those schnazzy jerseys, we nevertheless turn to more important issues: That whole Beckham Look-A-Like contest winner. So we pass the mic to Mr. Hirshey:

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

Thanks to all your ladies who entered Deadspin's LAST Annual Becksiest Man Alive Contest. We were overwhelmed by the clever photoshopping, natural beauty, and, of course, magnificent abs that would get David Zinczenko hot.

In the end, as in Highlander, there can be only one. And our guest panel of judges, including John Amaechi, Tim Hardaway and Jay Mariotti wrestled with the decision — and each other — late into the night until somebody came out on top.

So, without further ado — or for that matter Freddy Adu — we present the first runnerup: Jack Neely, who hails from David Beckham's new hometown and like the great man himself rocks two "iced out Jesus pieces", whatever that means.

We sincerely hope, for Jack's sake, that this is heavily photoshopped and not a recent snapshot.

And now for your winner. He is none other than Deadspin commenter TattooedMess(iah) who, astonishingly, did not photoshop his impressive tats and pubic muscle definition (thanks to Leitch for pointing that out).

So congratulations TM, you've won two tickets to see Goldenballs in action, which you'll either have to travel for or wait until the MLS starts a Florida franchise. Your call. But be forewarned. Should any embarrassing photos turn up of you and Miss New Jersey, then Jack Neely is standing by, flexing his Jesus piece.

By the way, your definitive Here Comes Beckham post is up at That's On Point.

As we count down to this Friday's unveiling of the Man With the Golden Balls, all of us at Deadspin want to live the Posh life — which includes a five-year contract worth potentially $250 million, a Beverly Hills mansion a corner kick away from Tom and Katie, and, of course, helping to raise Eddie Murphy's love child. But first you have to look the part. You can't just be some shlub who sits in his underwear all day, blogging about, say, his beloved Cardinals and the ineffable joys of Mattoon, Illinois. Remember the whole world will now be taking their style cues from you.

In honor of this seismic moment in latent metrosexuality, Deadspin is pleased to announce its Becksiest Man Alive contest. All you have to do is send a photo of yourself looking as much like David Beckham as possible — and please no pictures showing how you " bend it. " As a throw-in, I've submitted my own. Alas, I'm not eligible to win the grand prize: two tickets to see the great man play in your part of the country, wherever that is.

Send photos to Leitch at will@deadspin.com by Friday. Go to it!

In a promotional photo shoot with Reggie Bush and the New Orleans Saints, David Beckham definitively illustrates, once and for all, the differences between football players and soccer players.

If that's not enough, try this one, after the jump:

Nothing says badass linebacker tackle than a ridiculous blonde dye job. It'll be fun to have Beckham here. Really.

Beckham Plays The Yanks At Their Own Game [UK Daily Mail]

Just to make doubly sure that Beckham has no second thoughts about leaving, Cruise is equipped with one of those memory eraser pen things from Men In Black. We estimate that Katie must have been zapped with that device, oh, like five hundred times in the past calendar year.

Not Even $100 Could Keep David [The Mirror]
Beckham Enjoys Winning End To Real Career [ABC Sport]
Beckham Bows Out With Liga Title [BBC]

To which the Magic responded; fine. Be that way.

The Orlando Magic today will allow Billy Donovan out of his 5-year, $27.5 million contract that he signed on Friday. "It's over," said a source close to the situation. Donovan had reservations about leaving the Florida Gators for the NBA on Friday and spent all weekend trying to find a way to get out of his contract. On Saturday, Orlando Magic General Manager Otis Smith went to Gainesville to try to convince Donovan to honor the deal. Smith talked with Donovan again on Sunday, and so did Magic President Bob Vander Weide. Unless Donovan wakes up today and changes his mind, the Magic will let him go, the source said.

Meanwhile, there was further terrible regret, this time in the world of soccer, as David Beckham carefully examined his new Los Angeles Galaxy contract and discovered a glaring mistake ... that he's playing for the Los Angeles Galaxy.

David Beckham is having second thoughts about ending his playing career in the footballing backwater of the United States. The former England captain, 32, signed a five-year contract worth £125 million with LA Galaxy in January after being sidelined by Real Madrid as well as Steve McClaren's England. But while Beckham insists that his US move will not harm his chances of continuing his international comeback, his return and the reception he received from the 90,000-strong crowd at the new Wembley Stadium on Friday night have made him reconsider his desire to continue playing club football at a high level.

This will probably happen every time that the Tom Cruise Scientology brainwashing has a chance to begin to wear off.

Elsewhere in bitter regret:

• "Sorry for being so physical, and also for shooting Sonny on the causeway." — Phil Pronger

• "Sorry for blinding you with the pink." — Danilo Di Luca

• "Sorry for all the blow." — Milan goalkeeper Nicholas Caglioni

Orlando Magic Will Allow Billy Donovan To Return To Florida [Orlando Sentinel]
Sources: Donovan Wants Out Of Magic Deal [Fox Sports]
Beckham Fears He Has Made A Huge Mistake With Galaxy Deal [This Is London]

In light of Beckham's stellar play with Real Madrid of late, he's on his way back to England's national team. I don't know if he should be terribly flattered, though ... it might not have happened if Ashley Cole, Gary Neville, Andrew Johnson, Micah Richards, Owen Hargreaves and Ben Foster weren't all hurt.

Coach Steve McClaren 86'd Beckham when he took over managing duties, and Beckham might have had every right to tell him to sod off (I think that's what they say), but he took the high road. He expressed disappointment, kept his head held high, and now he's back. Heartwarming.

England has a friendly against Brazil next week and then a crucial game against Estonia in Euro 2008 qualifying.

Beckham recalled for England [Guardian Unlimited]
But Did He Ever Really Leave? [Soccernista]

Well, the soccer world gave us some more traditional fan malfeasance this weekend: Some guy ran on the pitch and tried to hand David Beckham his shirt. If security hadn't have stopped him, he'd have handed over his pants too, which is a difficult, admirable maneuver: Not only does it take more time, but it complicates the fundamental issue of being able to run away.

Our guy didn't make it: The constables took him away, and Beckham just looked amused.

David Beckham In Close Encounter With Shirtless Fan [Towelroad]
Maybe The Guy Just Wanted A Better Look At Edgar Renteria [Deadspin]

Beckham was hurt when he collided with the advertising signs behind the goal after running to hit a cross into the goal area. The injury was described on the Real Madrid website as possible ligament damage to the right knee. Beckham tried to run off the injury but could not and had to be substituted.

So, yeah, about that contract. Beckham is scheduled to start play for the Galaxy this July, though it appears he'll be out for two months at the earliest. As much money as they're paying him, it's probably been have worth an extra $6 or 7 mill to tell the guy to sit on his arse for the next few months.

Oh, and Beckham wasn't just diving. We checked.

Injury To Beckham Might Affect Debut [Los Angeles Times]

"I mean, some of the beer guts that we see and guys who after 10 minutes are huffing and puffing, that's embarrassing to the Galaxy, it's embarrassing to the game and ultimately it's embarrassing to them. So we weed those folks out pretty quickly and concentrate on the ones that have shown up here with a respect for what it takes to get to this level."

What was really needed was some televised American Idol-style mocking of the really bad players. We would have watched that.

We can't wait for the Galaxy's hooligan tryouts.

Galaxy Feel Beckham Effect In Search For New Stars [Guardian Unlimited]

Apparently 2,400 Deadspinners had nothing better to do yesterday than vote in the Name Becks' Reality Show Contest and apparently I had nothing better to do than check the results every three minutes. First of all, a word to all of you would-be poets who cleverly rhymed Bend with Spend for Spend It Like Beckham: Congratulations, you're now officially headline writers for People Magazine. In 2003.

For those of you who went for the cheap gay jokes, Will's friend John Rocker would like you to join his fantasy league — or Scientology. But kudos to Big Daddy Drew who for a few seconds turned his head from checking out Payton Manning's basket to write Gay, Straight AND Taken. As soon as the Super Bowl is over, Big Daddy will return home to a lavish array of prizes that will no doubt find their way to E-Bay where he will — wait for it — Vend It Like Beckham. Next up: Who will play Warren St. John in the Fugees movie? I say Adrian Grenier.

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Given that we were experiencing a national day of mourning—I mean, James Brown and Gerry Ford had four legs between them but never received this kind of love—-it was a half-decent showing in the Name David Beckham's Reality Show Contest. But we're not quite ready to name a winner yet.

In honor of Barbaro again, we've narrowed the field to five and we'll let the people decide. We've expanded the original prize list to now include a pint of Barbaro glue in addition to Beckham's autobiography and a wax likeness of Will Leitch. (Ed. Note: Wax likeness comes with real hair!) Remember to vote with your hoof, not your heart.

Hirshey Quickie: Becks' Reality Venture [Deadspin]

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I'm not sure whether it was his performance in the new Annie Leibovitz Disney campaign — he plays Sleeping Beauty's Prince Phillip complete with a big white stallion between his legs — or his debut as the newest statue at New York's Madame Tussaud Museum (oddly enough he gives a better quote in wax than in person) ... but it has led to the inevitable:

Yes, Fox has approached Becks about doing his own reality show. Since "American Idol" is already taken, may I offer up my suggestion for a title? "The Amazing Face." But feel free to top it, Deadspinners. The best entry gets a free copy of his autobiography and a wax likeness of Will Leitch.

Who's The Dummy? Madame Tussauds Unveil Waxworks In New York [Daily Mail]
Beckham's New Television Commercial [TMZ]

(UPDATE FROM HIRSHEY: Due to the fact that Deadspin readers have taken the death of Barbaro (or Cold Spurs, as British football fans like to think of him) harder than the cancellation of "The O.C.," we've decided to keep the phone lines open for one more day in the name David Beckham's Reality Show contest. Perhaps when everyone is done sitting shiva—he was Jewish, right?—the creative juices will finally be unbridled.)