The EPL Season Ends ... And Look Who Called It!

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

I told you so. That's right, way back on August 6, 2007, five days before the start of this interminable but historic season, I correctly predicted the order of finish at the top of the league: ManU, Chelsea, Arsenal and Liverpool. If only the Lords of the EPL had listened to me then and awarded the title to United, think of all the pain and misery we could have saved ourselves, to say nothing of my liver.

Congrats, Sigh, To Uncle Avram

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

I'm the last to admit when I'm wrong. Like all the other Avram Grant cynics, I never believed for a minute right up until the 120th minute of yesterday's epic Champions League semifinal between Chelsea and Liverpool that Uncle Avram could lead the Blues to the Promised Land — better known as Moscow.

Chelsea Might Really Pull This Thing Off

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

Even I had a lump in my throat when I saw Chelsea take the field on Saturday in black armbands, honoring the recent death of Frank Lampard's mother. Turns out that my lump was just some undigested French Toast, but still you have to admire the Oprah-like sensitivity this bunch of preening, squabbling egomaniac multimillionaires showed for a brief, shining moment.

The Zen-Like Qualities Of An Own Goal

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

Say this for John Arne Riise. As diving headers go, it was textbook, a classic, one for the year-end highlight reel. The Liverpool defender launched himself at the ball with fearless abandon and rocketed it into the top of the net. The keeper never had a chance.

Becks: Shalom, Brother

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

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.

Man U Rubs It In

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

Go ahead, bow down. Heel before Manchester United like you would a certain overdressed German guy with a pointy hat who's playing to a sold out Yankee Stadium this week. They deserve it. They stand on the cusp of pulling off an astonishing double championship, and they have done it with style and panache. So why am I not ready to genuflect?

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

I blame myself. I fucked with my own mojo this week, and, in doing so, cursed Arsenal.

David Beckham Is Allegedly Back In The MLS

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

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.

Arsenal Gets Its Bear Stearns On

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

What can I say? I drank the Haterade, going so far as to denounce a certain Israeli manager I call Average Grant as a disgrace to his religion for choosing Easter to rise from the dead. All I can say is: Would Sandy Koufax have played on such a holy day? Then I quaffed the bitter, screaming at a certain defender I call Cuntley Cole every time he touched the ball. "Even Eliot Spitzer didn't throw up on his whore, you whiny little bitch," I raged. I even made the ultimate sacrifice. I declined a free beer after Arsenal went up 1-0 so as not to jinx it.

It Can Be Told: Spitzer Dribbled Before He Shot

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

Let's face it: The media hasn't exactly been shy about exploring every orifice of the Eliot Spitzer-Ashley Dupre story. Except one. Yes, it turns out, the disgraced former Governor of New York, who enjoyed "dangerous sex" with the 22-year-old hooker/r&b singer/top swimsuit model/cokehead also played soccer. He is yet another in the long line of celebrities like Jon Stewart, Steve Nash and Osama Bin Laden who long ago embraced the beautiful game.

To Kinsale With Love

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer

There are few people that would cause the Kinsale crowd to put down their pints on Saturday morning, turn away from the TV screens and pay their respects. A naked Scarlett Johansson comes to mind, a naked Natalie Portman comes to mind, a naked Scarlett Johansson comes to mind again and, of course, Martina Hingis slathered in Toblerone. But it's a rare man who would inspire such reverence.

Win One For The Gimper

A Test Of One's Intestinal Fortitude

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

As if I didn't have enough reasons to vomit this weekend up at Dartmouth — what else are you going to do in the frozen tundra of Hanover other than drink yourself into a coma when you can't watch a satellite feed of the Arsenal-Birmingham game? Fortunately, I have a wooden leg for such matters and after seeing YouTube clips of Eduardo's fibia snap, apparently so does the Crozillian striker. Only his is made of balsa.

Arsenal's Limpness, And Rationalization

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

Well, that settles it then. Arsenal' s wonder season is over, lost in the Oceanic 815 wreckage of its two colossal Cup defeats , first to Tottenham and now to Manchester United. There is nothing to live for and the only thing left to do is to off oneself, like, say, Owen Wilson. This way, if you survive, there's always that chance Sir Alex will invite you to United's victory orgy at Ronaldo's place

Remembering ManU, Then And Now

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

When I walked into Kinsale Tavern on Sunday morning, making sure to step lightly around the dried tears of Patriots fans right outside the entrance, I was expecting a raucous welcome. After all, I was rockin' my Giants Super Bowl Champions t-shirt and still recovering from reprising Fear and Loathing in Phoenix with Leitch who, among other things, offered to blow a state trooper — and give him a signed book! — if he didn't search our car.

David Beckham, Maradona And The Stomping Of Scorpions

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

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.

Ashley Cole Is A Charmer

David Hirshey writes regularly about soccer for Deadspin.

Let me begin by saying that people who live in pint glasses shouldn't throw stones, but even the 14 beers I consumed at Leitch's party the other night (did anybody know he had a book out? Has he mentioned it?) didn't put me in the same league as Ashley Cole.

Mourning An Arsenal Defeat

David Hirshey writes regularly about soccer for Deadspin.

While the rest of the world was mourning Heath Ledger, the people in my shallow universe (almost all six of them) were offering their condolences for that other great loss yesterday. I speak, of course, of the 5-1 drubbing Arsenal's U-11 team took at the feet of their perennial butt boys, Spurs. Friends from all over the world (in other words London and Israel) wrote to commiserate about Arsenal being knocked out of the Carling Cup. How important is the Carling Cup, you ask? Let's get real for a second. It's not exactly the Nextel Cup or even the Stanley Cup. As far as I'm concerned, it's right above the Sippy Cup, which is probably why Arsene Wenger fielded his Diaper Dandys with a few senior players to babysit them.