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.

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.

Only Soccer Can Get You Off The Junk

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.

A Final Four Without One Shining Moment

Bendtner To Villa: Bite My Shiny Metal Ass

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.

No More Transfers

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.

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

If I weren't so filled with the milk — ok, beer — of human kindness, I would loathe Cristiano Ronaldo almost as much as I hate Tom Brady. Here's a guy who after sustaining a small gash on his left eyebrow — oh, the poor baby! — in a Champions League game last year said, "I don't like to look like this, but in four or five days I will be beautiful once again." Here's a guy who in the first sentence of his new book proclaims, "My name is Cristiano Ronaldo ... and I know this name means a lot to those who love football." Yeah, it also means a lot to those who love hair-gel, half-naked Vogue layouts, winking at refs and diving more than Jacques Cousteau.

Who Are We? "The Blues!" Who Are We Gonna Beat? "The Blues!"

One Man's Very Special 25th Birthday

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer.

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.

ManU's Very High Ankle Sprains

David Hirshey writes regularly for Deadspin about soccer. This column would have run Monday, but no one was reading the site on Monday.

I used to think that I'd witnessed some wild-ass shit at my company's holiday parties back in the day. I mean, I once had an assistant who thought he had gotten the ultimate Christmas grab bag, having double-dipped with two different young ladies, only to be punched out on the dance floor by one of the girls. But now I realize that what I thought was outrageous behavior was actually kind of innocent holiday hijinks.

Grand Slam Sunday