Five Detectives Beyond Borders-approved soccer books

If you want a skeptical view of FIFA, world soccer's governing body, on the eve of the sport's quadrennial World Cup but can't stand the pubic-hair jokes, manic shimmying, and celebrity pandering of John Oliver, try Soccer in Sun and Shadow (published in the appropriate countries as Football in Sun and Shadow) by Eduardo Galeano.

Galeano writes with a palpable yearning for the days when soccer was a wide-open game, of the joy with which Hungarians, Brazilians, and his own Uruguyan compatriots once played the sport.  He excoriates FIFA's shameful banning of Hungarian players who supported that country's doomed uprising against its Soviet-imposed government in 1956. And he structures the book in extremely short, thematically organized essays, which makes it exceedingly easy reading for non-experts. (I'm only the most casual of soccer fans, and I've made just one visit to South America.)

(I will give Oliver points for including in his anti-FIFA rant a reference to Qatar, the host — for now — of the 2022 World Cup, as a slave state. For some reason, the Gulf states' treatment of dark-skinned peoples seems not to get much play in the American media. I'd hate to think said media are afraid of offending anyone.)

In the meantime, here are four more recommendations from the Detectives Beyond Borders soccer/football/fútbol desk of books that will take you miles from the moronic wasteland of American late-night television:

1. Brilliant Orange: The Neurotic Genius of Dutch Soccer, by David Winner. Odd theories and insightful observations that tie the Dutch school of "total football" tactics to the country's geography.
2. Red or Dead, by David Peace. A moving, stylistically demanding, immensely satisfying novel about former Liverpool soccer manager Bill Shankly and his love for his adopted team and city.
3. Across the Line, by Garbhan Downey. A riotous slapstick comedy about the lengths to which rival former paramilitary men in Northern Ireland will go to best one another in a soccer competition.
4. Off Side, by Manuel Vázquez Montalbán. Even more satisfying as an ode to the back streets of Barcelona than it is as a mystery.

© Peter Rozovsky 2014

Caryl Férey, or more crime fiction from South Africa, and a bit of soccer, too

My latest dip into the international book bag comes up with Caryl Férey's Zulu, another novel set in South Africa, and you read here — possibly first — that South Africa is the next Scandinavia. (Deon Meyer is already shortlisted for this year's CWA International Dagger, and if Roger Smith doesn't get consideration for the big awards next year, then I'm — well, then I'll be surprised.)

Zulu's opening scene is a flashback to an act of violence by members of Inkatha, a Zulu movement and political party that developed into an opponent of the African National Congress. This makes me suspect the novel will look back at a country's tortured past and its echoes in the present, à la Ghosts of Belfast. So maybe South Africa is the next Northern Ireland, too.

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Férey's novel has won a bushel of prizes in his native France, and I come to it via another thumbs-up from that author and energetic promoter of South African crime writing, Stanley Trollip.

Finally, lest you think you can avoid mention of soccer's World Cup, go to the 11:15 mark of this Guardian podcast for a South African commentator's thoughts on what the world's biggest sports tournament means for his country — and what it doesn't.

I like the Guardian's coverage even though one of its commentators misused mitigate on a podcast and another misused replete in an article — common errors, perhaps, but such careless usage imperils my latent Anglophilia.

© Peter Rozovsky 2010

The World Cup of ... Humo(u)r

The current World Cup has proven that the United States is better than England in soccer, but the English may retain their traditional advantage in the wit department.

The Guardian's World Cup Daily podcast is an engaging mix of information, silliness, hard-headed analysis, blunt speaking, reporting, and jokes that American sports journalism would never allow.

My favorite quips have come from Barry Glendenning (who's Irish, actually). One was a comment on Landon Donovan's odd behavior when he dropped to his knees and looked skyward before a penalty kick:

"But he’s American. He was probably praying to the Lord Jesus."

Imagine the politico-religious explosion that would result if anyone said that in America.

And here's Glendenning on Uruguay's celebrated but distant soccer history, most of which, he said, came “before Sky invented football in 1992.” Few in American journalism would take ESPN's name in vain in such fashion.

Glendenning also offers blunter assessments of players and teams than is usual in the U.S. On one of England's starters and the team's chances: " ... the mistakes I think John Terry will make throughout the tournament. I don't rate John Terry as an international defender. ... [England] just don't have the spine."

And here's Barney Ronay's pre-World Cup assessment of England's chances:

"What kind of message would it send to the world if England did win the World Cup? ... Have a bloated, overinflated league ... have a rubbish coaching structure, don't look after your youngsters, get a foreign manager in, and you, too, can be the best in the world. I mean, it just seems wrong that England would win the World Cup."

And the show's host, James Richardson, on advertising-fueled jingoism, "this deluge of crap adverts telling us that this is `we.'" And the references to various teams as "rubbish" or "shocking," a degree of bluntness that would be welcome when appropriate but will never cross the lips of any American sports commentator who might, if roused to a passion, allow that an American team may have disappointed high expectations.

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In late-breaking listening to podcasts from early in the World Cup, the sex jokes are getting a bit old. And then was a remark about Japan's lack of offense that, perhaps especially understandably, would never pass an American's lips:

"Their scoring columns have more zeroes than the the attack on Pearl Harbo(u)r."

© Peter Rozovsky 201

Sports announcers beyond borders, or, a new nickname for the U.S. soccer team

The American television network broadcasting soccer's World Cup had the happy idea of bringing in former great players from around the world to act as pregame, postgame and halftime commentators.

I know too little about the sport to evaluate their work properly, but the multinational cast has offered interesting cultural contrasts. Bob Ley, the American host of one discussion, thought it noteworthy that a Danish player was romantically involved with a baroness twelve years his senior. "I hear she's worth half a billion dollars!" Ley cried.

Ruud Gullit, a former Dutch superstar who obviously thought his role as a game analyst was to analyze the game, displayed great tact at Ley's inane ejaculation. After a moment of shocked silence, he said, "Wellll, I'm not sure it's that important she's twelve years older."

But the most emblematic exchange happened when it became clear that the United States would play Ghana, a team it outranks by eighteen spots in FIFA's most recent world rankings, in the knockout phase. Despite the superior position, American commentator Alexi Lalas declared with great zest that "The U.S. will be the underdog in the game," to which his German co-commentator Jürgen Klinsmann as much as responded, "Who are you kidding with that Scheiße?"

The United States is the world's mightiest nation by most measures, and it is a strong up-and-comer in soccer, yet it defies the world and bravely calls itself an underdog at the World Cup. OK, Alexi Lalas. OK, America. I accept the challenge. If you insist on claiming the underdog role, then follow the tradition of Cameroon's Indomitable Lions and adopt a colorful nickname. May I suggest The Mighty Underdogs ©?

(Contrast Lalas' joyous embrace of the underdog role with Barry Glendenning's prematch assessments in the Guardian that "I expect the Americans to dominate tonight ... The bookies make the USA 6-4 favourites" and that "in Landon Donovan [the Americans] have one of the players of the tournament thus far."

(Of course, the U.S. lost to Ghana, so maybe Lalas was right. Visit Adrian McKinty's for more discussion of spurious sports underdog claims.)

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Did you think the French team was nothing but a gang of underachieving, fractious, immature cheats and bad sports? You're wrong. They were also paranoid, imperious and contemptuous of their South African hosts, according to this report from someone who was there.

© Peter Rozovsky 2010

The World Cup of soccer, crime fiction and beer

The official ball of soccer's World Cup, currently reaching the end of group-stage competition in South Africa, is called the Jabulani. Its name means celebration in Zulu.

Imagine, then, how pleased I was to come across the following earlier today in The Gooseberry Fool, third of James McClure's Kramer and Zondi novels:

"Jabula is a word with more than one meaning in colloquial Zulu: It is used for happiness, and for beer."

Who said crime fiction is not educational?

© Peter Rozovsky 2010

Kick this ball clean from my hand: Which crime novel best represents the World Cup?

(At left, a blue vuvuzela. See and hear the Vuvuzela Orchestra performing "Shosholoza.")

France made it into this year's soccer World Cup on the strength of Thierry Henry's illegal hand ball against Ireland (right).

That's why I liked a commenter's invocation of Fred Vargas' Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand in my post about the World Cup of Crime Fiction.

Henry is French; so is Vargas. Henry committed an illicit act; Vargas' title invokes the cleansing one's self of the taint of such an act. And the hand – what a hoot!

That makes Vargas' book the crime novel of the World Cup so far. What other books deserve the honor?

To help you decide, here's Jeff VanderMeer's World Cup of Fiction, to which this post owes its existence.

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Switzerland beat Spain Wednesday in the World Cup's biggest upset so far.

That was soccer; in the World Cup of Crime Fiction, Friedrich Glauser's diving header past Spanish goalkeeper Manuel Vázquez Montalbán plunged the food-loving, politically committed, Barcelona FC-supporting creator of Pepe Carvalho into a lengthy bout of dissipated introspection. Glauser displayed great compassion for the losers.

(Click here for P.J. Brooke's look at the past and present of Spanish crime fiction.)

© Peter Rozovsky 2010

The Group of Death

Jeff VanderMeer has organized a World Cup of Fiction, which groups the thirty-two nations of this year's soccer World Cup and asks readers to handicap the field in fiction instead of football. I'm refining his terms and restricting myself to crime writing.

Group A is the tournament’s Group of Death (and where is that term more meaningful than in a crime-fiction competition?)

For South Africa, Roger Smith, Deon Meyer, Margie Orford, Richard Kunzmann, James McClure (no one said the players had to be alive), Michael Stanley and Jassy Mackenzie head a lethal group of strikers that could be deep for years.

The French have Dominique Manotti, Fred Vargas and Tonino Benacquista in a midfield that plays a less attacking style than the vuvuzela-tooters but is capable of deadly surgical strikes.

France could wangle for Yasmina Khadra on its side, too, though he could make a dangerous striker for Algeria in Group C.

In Group D, Peter Temple, Shane Maloney, Leigh Redhead, David Owen, Chris Nyst, and Adrian Hyland are just a few of the names on an Australian side that is a strong dark-horse contender, just as the Socceroos were in the real World Cup – at least until the competition started. (Temple, by the way, was born in – you guessed it – South Africa.)

Italy has Group F wrapped up, and I'll tab New Zealand to sneak into the knockout stage.

The Netherlands and Japan should fight it out in Group E of the Crime Fiction World Cup, hampered only by the fact that their stars, Janwillem van de Wetering and Seicho Matsumoto, are both dead.

England and the United States could make some noise in Group C.

Who do you think wins the 2010 World Cup of Crime Fiction?

© Peter Rozovsky 2010