Japanese Grand Prix 2008 – Fuji Speedway

I’ve decided to catch the remaining F1 races of this season, since the Singapore GP more than piqued my interest a little. By the way I drove round the Singapore circuit on Friday after dinner at Marina Square. It was a pain snaking through the heavy Friday traffic but at least now I know where the various turns are. Some of the fences on the circuit were still erect and you could actually spot holes in the ground where the chicanes were. The paddock looked kinda pallid though.

So the weekend arrived and I braced myself and sticky-taped my eyelids for another race. Again I nearly fell asleep during the qualifiers but race day was much better. I actually enjoyed the race to be honest. The start was blood-rushingly good. Kimi overtook Hamilton at the outset and the latter completely lost his marbles as he lunged for the inside and forced several cars wide. This allowed Kubica and Alonso to catapult themselves to first and second from sixth and fourth respectively. Perfect. Meanwhile Coulthard crashed out after mere seconds whilst Nakajima lost his front wing and had to pit early.

Another controversial incident took place at Turn 10 when Hammy nudged Massa wide at the left turn. But Massa fought back with claws outstretched and teeth bared as he bulldozed his way from the inside and punted Hammy into a spin. ROTFLMAO!! Hammy could have easily been steamrollered by the oncoming cars but his car fortuitously wedged itself into the tight space between the two Ferraris as it spun. The shot of him trying to reverse but getting impeded by the train of oncoming cars was priceless. I could imagine him getting his entrails in a knot as he sat there wretched, hapless and emasculated. Loved it!! The Ferrari mechanics erupted in cheers. Boo-hoos for Hammy.

The chaotic start – here you could see Hammy braking hard... and late.



Several cars were being forced wide.



The Turn 10 incident between Massa and Hammy.



Both Massa and Hammy were penalised with drive-through penalties for their shenanigans. I’d admit I’m somewhat biased but let’s take off the blinkers shall we. At Turn 1 Pussy Cat Boy cut in to Kimi's right, bumping off his teammate to boot, braked too late, missed the line and skidded off-track, forcing Heikki to evade and taking a few others wide with him. I wonder how poor Heikki felt. But perhaps the most telling aspect was that Hammy could have kept his cool, realised that his main adversary was Massa and not Kimi, maintained his second place and attempt an overtaking maneuver later. But no, he behaved like the egomaniac that he was and swerved in deep to undercut Kimi. Was this the same Hamilton who cooed before the race:

"I'm going out for the win that's for sure - it's in my nature. But I think I'm a bit wiser and I'm definitely looking to the championship and not just this race… I learned from those mistakes and I come here this year having taking a big step in my personal life as a grown up, and I think I have matured as a driver and learned from my mistakes by working as hard as I can to improve in all areas."

Well done on bottling it big time, Hammy.

Boo-hoo.



The only sympathy I have for him was the stewards' inconsistent ruling when there've been similar precedents which have gone unpunished, but I'd leave the Darth Vader fans to bay about that. In any case it allowed my boy Alonso to capitalise so it worked well in the end.

Massa had his own moment of madness at Turn 10, but after watching the replay it didn’t seem like an intentional collision. Hammy nudged him partially wide onto the gravel and left him with two safe options: get thee behind me, or be relegated onto gravel. Massa chose neither but instead tried getting back on track and punted Hammy in the process. I'm not sure if it was a wise thing to do as he desperately needed to finish in points – if both cars had retired it would actually be in Hammy’s favour points-wise, leaving Massa just two races to patch the seven-point gap. Sure Massa was hot-headed and deserved the penalty, but I didn’t think it was any worse than what Hammy did earlier. And he at least chose the right opponent to pick a fight with. Did I say I’m somewhat biased?

I love these blurred shots.



The Toro Rosso looks like it's in a surreal painting.



Meanwhile, Kovalainen retired with smoke emitting from his car, whilst Alonso, Trulli, Bourdais and Piquet took turns to lead after Kubica pitted. After Piquet headed to the pits, Alonso led by a comfortable 7.8 seconds. Woo-hoo!! His pit radio nervously told him that his main race rival was the Pole. Could it be two in a row for the mono-browed one?

And where were the title contenders? So far behind you’d probably need an industrial strength telescope to spot them. By the way I have to get in a word or two about these new Make Cars Green tyres. Firstly, the marketing was awful to the point of being farcical – encourage drivers to be green means painting green bands on tyres??! Are we in such dire need for creativity here? And second, the colour was blindingly hideous.

The green colour looked like something retched out of a sick alien. Yikes.



Red and dull electric puke green just don't go together, I'm afraid.



Back to the race. Alonso pitted again, emerged behind a gaggle of traffic, but regained the lead after Piquet pitted. Further behind Kimi was snapping at the heels of second-placed Kubica, who defended gallantly. Piquet was chasing down the duo and looked likely for podium contention – would this be a career-saving finish? Thankfully for Alonso, the battle between second and third meant that he could streak away to extend his lead. Meanwhile, Massa was dueling hard and has overtaken a few to inch up the rankings, until his path met that of Sébastien Bourdais when the Toro Rosso was exiting from pitlane... and the two collided. Massa recovered shortly but that would have cost him points surely? Apparently not. After the race the stewards ruled that it was Bourdais' fault and slapped him with a 25 second penalty. Erm... what the... ?? Now that was a penalty they got wrong. Poor Sebby.

A few laps later, Kubica managed to hold off Kimi, who retreated somewhat. Nelsinho seemed to have disappeared down a grate – where was he??!?

More drama was to follow when Massa attempted to overtake Mark Webber on the main straight by squeezing onto the inside. The Brazilian got off with it but it was a close shave – was such a risky strategy necessary? I’ve not been impressed with Massa much to be honest over the past two races, as much as I want him to be the WDC over Hammy. He seemed to have a knack for losing the plot whenever he’s under pressure – but then madcap and ballsy antics are what make F1 interesting (if not we'd be better off watching lawnmowers). I’d still root for Felipe any day over Hammy, if but for the fact that he looks like a surprised wombat and it’s impossible to be pissed with him for long.

As if to prove that he’s the grandest prick of all, Hammy harried race leader Alonso during the final lap. What was that for?? He’s out of the race, out of the points, and out of luck – but apparently Lewis “I’m ready to be world champion” Hamilton was too precious to go a full lap behind his old adversary. Alonso sensibly allowed the impetuous Brit to pass and went on to claim his second consecutive Grand Prix. W00t-w00t!!! As he’d say during the press conference – his Singapore win was lucky due to the safety car lottery but today he drove a sterling race and claimed victory solidly on merit. Well done, Fernando. And well done Kubica, a fine and mature race that he drove. With 12 points separating him and Hammy and two races to go, he’s still very much in contention. Great day all round. =)

Alonso takes the chequered flag and a consecutive Grand Prix.



Alonso: "This could double up as a fondue pot! It even comes attached with its own gas burner... I reckon!"



Kubica: "Stop it Nando... I said STOP IT!!!"



Loved it when Kubica literally emptied the whole bottle of G. H. Mumm onto Alonso in revenge. And was that Kimi in the background actually... SMILING???



*SULK*



Check out this romp of a spoof of the Japanese Grand Prix:

Clickety-click

Tags: Formula 1, Formula One, F1, Grand Prix, Bernie Ecclestone, Japanese Grand Prix, Fuji Speedway, Ferrari, Felipe Massa, Kimi Raikkonen, McLaren, McLaren Mercedes, Lewis Hamilton, Heikki Kovalainen, Renault, Fernando Alonso, Nelson Piquet, BMW Sauber, Robert Kubica, Toro Rosso, Sebastian Vettel, Toyota, Williams, Williams Toyota, Honda, Red Bull, Red Bull Renault, Force India

Singapore Grand Prix – Marina Bay

I feel somewhat compelled to preface this entry with the following disclaimers. Firstly, I cannot claim to be a F1 enthusiast. Nor can I drive, and arcane vernacular like pit-stop strategy, soft compound tyres, horsepower and the whole caboodle are lost on me. Before the Singapore GP, I don’t know much about the racers, other than there were two Scandis, one Japanese, and a lot of Sebastians (I reckon).

I do however like Alonso and Massa. Can’t say much of their driving since I’m a complete dunce at that, but I like them cos they look like fuddly-diddly-do wombats with eyes the size of dinner plates. Positively cherubic. Slip them into reindeer sweaters, brush their hair, put on some spiffy ribbons and they’d be ready for the Toys R Us gift wrap counter.

As cute as a button... which is not to be confused with the actual Jensen Button, who is not quite as cute as a button himself.



Ergo, the following entry is a piece of untutored, and most likely uninformed, opinion, insofar as the Byzantine technicalities of motor racing are involved. But I feel inspired to write about it, because my country is holding the first F1 night race ever.

Now this F1 ballyhoo did not catch up with me until last weekend. Despite occasionally catching snippets of races, my reactions were usually tepid. I found the affair either incredibly repetitive (I’d have seen quite enough by the 10th lap or so, and sustaining 50 to 60 laps is just too laborious for my eyelids); or I’d enjoy watching cars crash, trundle out of control or flip over like lightweight burgers on a grill. Which made me uncomfortable because it seemed mildly sadistic, and I felt almost apologetic getting a kick out of watching disasters.

So when it came to the practice sessions on the Marina Bay track, I was paying more attention to the skyline and monuments flanking the circuit than to the cars. The night lights were stunning. Hats off to the Italian virtuoso who engineered the lighting system. From above, the circuit was an incandescent and seductively serpentine river of gold that snaked its way through the city.

It reminded me of ancient swordsmiths pouring hot, glowing molten metal into casts – an ardent luminosity coursing through an inky blackness, so bright that it literally throbs with a life of its own.



Another shot.



This is currently my desktop. =)



The backdrop.



The Durian by the Esplanade bridge.



To be sure, the buildings in the Central Business District could have revved up the lighting more to accentuate the skyline. Both the Flyer and Esplanade theatres were nondescript from certain angles. But generally, I loved the backdrop, especially the shots of the business district gleaming likely a faintly bejewelled swathe of black velvet. I don’t think we rival Hong Kong or Tokyo for sheer refulgence, but the fact that we’ve just beamed our city live in its resplendence to a worldwide audience frankly bowled me over.

As a Singaporean, I felt a swell of pride. Whenever I see images of London in movies or adverts, I’d be struck with a nostalgic familiarity of, “hey, I used to live 15 minutes’ away from this place,” or “that’s where we used to hang out”. Still, it wasn’t uncommon to see London’s cityscape on international telly. But Singapore? As the cars zipped past sights like the Esplanade theatre, the Fullerton Hotel, the old Supreme Court and Anderson bridge, I went "omigod, we really have done it". This is a coming of age party, of sorts. And the internationalisation of our domestic landmarks was a staggering thought that accosted me unawares. Venues like Las Vegas, Monaco or Tokyo are come-hither, swanky playgrounds of faraway places. But now, the icons and places we’ve grown acquainted with were thrust and showcased on an international stage. This was a wholly unfamiliar experience – a veritable blend of titillation, surrealism, sensory delights, patriotism and just a plain ol’ WOW.

So visually, it got the thumbs-up from me. What about the race?

I had expected it to be a snore-fest, given the dearth of overtaking opportunities. And the track – we know, bumpy as hell. The kerbs made it look like an obstacle race, although I quite enjoyed the sight of Fisichella’s car getting airborne after it rolled off a dangerous kerb. The first practice session looked like a Disney rendition of F1 on Ice as several cars spun round. I also contemplated the possibility of a torrential downpour in all its tropical glory, with lightning cackling and flashing in the sky or errant branches flying off trees and tumbling past oncoming cars.

Fisichella does a flying lap, literally.



I must say with some degree of pride I had predicted Alonso to be the winner – I just thought he looked less bumpy than the rest during practice. So I was downcast after his fuel-system failure during qualifying, especially when he got out of his car and hopped about in rage. It was somewhat mitigated by my other favourite wombat-lookalike, Massa, clinching pole position. Go Massa. I couldn’t bear the thought of Lewis Hamilton winning, and you are my best chance.

Race day itself was better than expected. The start of the race was predictable enough, with the top four or five maintaining their positions. For a while the cars were simply zipping along in a soporific single file. Yaaawn. Alonso and Rosberg both did some overtaking, and Massa’s car slurped up a piece of debris off the road, with no apparent damage.

No crashes at the get-go.



Love the flare at the top.



And so it seemed to cruise along, until Nelson Piquet Jr’s car pirouetted out of control and crashed spectacularly against the barricades like a soufflé with bits of crusty flakes skimming off in all directions. Oh dear. I thought he would be done for, when he popped out of his vehicle and even managed to dangerously jaywalk across the track. Good laddy.

And my favourite car, the safety car, made an appearance!! I was thrilled, because there’s something extremely comical about the sight of state-of-the-art, high-powered F1 mean machines limping obediently behind a run-of-the-mill vehicle. It’s like a procession of schoolboy miscreants sulking behind the headmaster. Excellent comedy.

But the most dramatic moment came when Massa’s car pulled away from the pits after an erroneous lights signal, yanking off the fuel hose with it and knocking over one of his own mechanics. Yikes. I felt sad for Massa, although admittedly it was hilarious the way the Ferrari team got their knickers in a twist – with Raikonnen nearly slamming into the fallen mechanic, the fuel hose (or what’s left of it) spewing fuel like monstrous entrails, Massa's rather priceless expression of frustration and resignation as his mechanics huffed and puffed to extricate the hose, and the best part – the Ferrarri mechanics darting down the pitlane to salvage Massa’s car, cheered by the McLaren crew. Ooooh, catty.

Ferrari’s shambolic day at the pits.



The hapless mechanics finally managed to wrench the hose out of Massa’s car, but his race was over – it was a colossal amount of time wasted on the whole fiasco. Bring back the lollipops. Massa was slapped with a drive-through penalty for exiting dangerously into the path of Sutil, which relegated him to the last of the pack. But I doubt the Darth Vader fans after the Spa fiasco would be placated by his penalty, since he's effectively out of contention. Poor, poor Massa. What a deflating turn of events. He was a real darling for not blaming his crew afterwards.

And so with several drivers ahead having to fuel and Kubica and Rosberg made to serve stop-go penalties for pitting too early, the sequence of drivers was dramatically reshuffled. It looked like my boy Alonso might have a sliver of a chance of a podium finish after all. Cheers all round. What about Darth Vader? He was languishing at 8th at the time, but he’s always a slippery one to watch out for.

Much as I don’t fancy Hamilton, gotta admit that the McLaren car looks one mean machine under the lights. To me, the most stunning car on the track.



The Ferrari ain’t too shabby either, I suppose. ;-)



The Renault looks delectable as well. I love the fact that it looks like Alonso’s nearly not tall enough to see the track.



I love these close ups – here's Nick Heidfeld.



Meanwhile, I enjoyed nettling my brother with a litany of annoying questions:

Me: What’s that piano on the back of the Ferrari?
Brother: What?!?
Me: That piano, keyboard, or whatever on the tail fin of the Ferrari.
Brother: It’s the Marlboro advert, idiot.

Looks like a piano at the back right? Or barcodes...



Me: What’s the car that looks like it’s bleeding?
Brother: Bleeding??
Me: Yeah. It looks like a white car with blotches of blood all over it.
Brother: Erm… that would be the Toyota.
Me: Eh? I thought Toyota’s blue or black and white?
Brother: No, that’s Toyota Williams.
Me: Wazzat? Is it Williams or Toyota? Why are the names all so bloody confusing?

Me: I have a brainwave for Massa that would salvage his awful night.
Brother: Which is?
Me: Since his race is effectively blown, can’t he lie in ambush at some obscure corner of the circuit, wait till Hamilton shows up and ram his Ferrari smack into Hamilton’s nose so that neither driver gain any points?
Brother: Yeah, great idea.

And while Lew was mixing it up in the middling ranks, I searched nervously for Alonso. After Trulli pitted, my boy was well and truly (pun not intended) leading. Yay!! Who would have thunk it, after he started from 15th? Luck does go around. Alonso pitted again shortly after, and I watched the clock biting my nails but he exited pitlane just in time and skimmed ahead of Coulthard and Pussy Cat Boy. Wolf whistles galore at Alonso retaining his lead. He streaked away soon after. Coulthard, however, got out-muscled by Hamilton, and then both pitted. Coulthard nearly did a Massa with his fuel rig, but braked in the nick of time.

Hamilton hassling Coulthard.



We overheard Alonso’s team radio told him not to panic. Who’s panicking now? Moments later – another crash, this time involving Sutil. Was it Massa's fault though? Collective prayers went round for the marshal who decided to pull a stunt himself, sweeping the debris off the road with his back facing the oncoming cars. Good lord.

Then came the other shocker – Raikonnen rammed into a wall at the Turn 10 chicane, with about four laps remaining. Game over for Ferrarri. With Alonso’s win more or less secure, I turned to my final hopes for the race – that Hamilton would be ejected from the race – engine stalling, penalties, crash and burn – whatever. Zero points for Lew, please.

No such luck, unfortunately. Hamilton was content settling for third place and six points instead of risking a maneuver to go up a notch in the rankings. So it looked pretty predictable for the checkered flag, although I still held my breath for Alonso’s last few laps. No screw-ups now. And thankfully he glided past the flag without incident, with Rosberg and Hamilton trailing. The Renault fans and crew went wild, whilst Alonso did this inexplicable “twinkle twinkle little star” gesticulation as he drove back to the pits. What on earth was that?? But never mind, job well done, albeit with a prodigious stroke of serendipity. Podium finish with Alonso’s old nemesis should be worth the price of admission alone. Poor boy looked like he’d been dunked in a swimming pool when he took off his helmet. Awwww.

So there you have it. I was pleased for Alonso, and proud of Singapore’s efforts in putting this event together. I suspect F1 purists may be a tad disappointed with the lack of action – and by that I mean proper racing action, not pitlane comedy and safety car lottery. The smorgasbord of visual treats was all well and good, but street circuits generally don’t make for great racing. For the casual viewer however, there were enough incidents and errors to keep us entertained, and keep hankering for more. By the way, this is probably the second time I’ve kept awake for the duration of a full race, and I’m suitably proud. F1 racing, it seems, is not so dreary after all.

I'm the king of the world!!



And the world welcomes its fourth Great Tenor... something needs to be done about those pants though... looks like somewhat pelted him with tangerine puree or something...



Because you had a bad day / The camera don't lie / You're coming back down and you really DO mind...



Hamilton: Smile and be nice to me on the podium or I'll plunge a rivet into your frontal lobe.
Alonso: Not listening...



Great to see him back to winning ways.



Well done Fernando...



And Renault.



Check out this website for more great pics.

Tags: Formula 1, Formula One, F1, Grand Prix, Bernie Ecclestone, Singapore Grand Prix, Singtel Singapore Grand Prix, Marina Bay Circuit, Marina Bay, Ferrari, Felipe Massa, Kimi Raikkonen, McLaren, McLaren Mercedes, Lewis Hamilton, Heikki Kovalainen, Renault, Fernando Alonso, Nelson Piquet, BMW Sauber, Robert Kubica, Toro Rosso, Sebastian Vettel, Toyota, Williams, Williams Toyota, Nico Rosberg, Honda, Red Bull, Red Bull Renault, Force India

I'm Lovin' It

I know it's three posts in a row, but this is turning to be one of the best Euro tournaments evah. Euro 2000 was still the undisputed best, but I seriously cannot remember the last time I was so hyped up about a Euro or World Cup, especially as World Cup 2002 and 2006 have proved to be brain-wasting snore-fests.

The group stages have produced some sterling fare, and the quarter-finals did not disappoint either. The three favoured teams of the quarter-final matches thus far were all booted out – Portugal, Croatia and Holland – but still I'm lovin' it. I fancy Portugal, but was somewhat relieved to see them exit so that I don't have to listen to those tripe concerning Ronaldo's will-he-won't-he move to Real, or those tedious clatrap about how Scholari's gonna spend his gazillions at Chelski. The downside, of course, is that ze Germans are still in the running. Sigh.

Turkey and Russia have been the surprise packages and nobody should begrudge their entry into the semis. The Croatia-Turkey game was about 118 minutes of soporific sterility and two minutes of bizzare delirium and twists of fate more dramatic than a Bollywood movie. Massive commiserations to the Croats, for I can't fathom a more brutal way to exit a competition – conceding a goal in the 120th minute after themselves scoring in the 119th, and then losing on pens. I really fancied Modric this tournament, but the Croats had themselves to blame for missing a bagful of chances. So goodbye checkers, and all the best for World Cup 2010.

Klasnic scores for Croatia in the 119th minute...



And Turkey equalises through Semih Senturk in the 120th minute to take the game to penalties... crazy stuff.



Comeback kings Turkey celebrate yet another escape from the jaws of death.



I was also sorry to see the Oranje go. Funny that before the Holland-Russia match, my brother and I were musing on how Holland would look impressive in the group stages, then bomb out spectacularly in the knock-out rounds. I guess there was some sense that this would be their year, but history proved difficult to dislodge. And truth be told that I was actually rooting for Russia as I had an obdurate hope for Italy to win the competition (odds are not looking good but nostalgia has displaced reason here), and I reckoned that they haven't got a hope if they face Holland in the semis. Though Russia has dished up some scintillating football – Roman Pavlyuchenko, Denis Kolodin and Andrei Arshavin have been outstanding.

I'll miss the Dutch supporters and their inimitable tangerine colours.



Nobody's taken to wearing carrots on their heads this year though, but this fan is about equally barmy. Almost.



Van the man scores for the Oranje.



The Russians were ecstatic after going through to the semis. I reckon Guus Hiddink was the only happy Dutch man that day.



Oranje Squashed.



As for Italy, Spain stands in the way meanwhile. The Spanish are known chokers on the international stage and I'd expect the Azzurri to go through, but then again the current Italian squad is pretty awful. For all the hype about Cassano finding his touch, I still think he's not first team material. And the defense is horrid, which is particularly shocking for Italy which has always prided themselves for their mercurial defensive abilities. I suppose there is some consolation having Buffon in goal, but overall this is still a very poor Italian team – Chiellini and Camoranesi as starters, omigod. Pirlo's suspension is certainly gonna hurt. Oh, and with the man who can't hit the barn door from six yards out helming the Italian offense – good lord. =( Will the greasy Luca Toni ever score???

If Italy bows out, I'd like to see Russia win this whole thing. Or even the team with nine lives, Turkey. Just anyone but Germany, please.

The Future's Bright, The Future's Oranje: Holland 3 - 0 Italy

First off, I'm terribly chuffed it's Euro 2008. The Euro tournament to me surpasses even the World Cup, dishing up bucketloads of enjoyable football without having to plod through a litany of soporific matches between unfancied nations before we get to the crème de la crème.

And tonight, two of my favourite teams faced off against each other (I've fancied Italy, Portugal and Holland since about a decade ago, in that order). It was the classic Group of Death top billing, and it surely didn't disappoint. For sentimental reasons I'd prefer Italy, as I've been rooting for them since Euro 2008 when they lost the final to France through a David Trezeguet golden goal. I think the golden goal has gotta be one of the most heart-wrenching, diabolical ways to lose a competition, especially if your team has been leading for much of the game. But then what do I know; one of United's most famous victories was through a two-goal windfall in the three minutes of stoppage time.

But back to Euro 2008. It's been looking a handsome tournament thus far, save for the slumberous opener between Switzerland and Czech Republic. That was truly god awful; I had expected better from the Czechs. Portugal are my fancied team this tournament, as about everyone else's, but to be honest they didn't look infallible against Turkey. As for Germany, I've often found their football dreary, but you can never quite write off ze Germans can you. Though the best match served up thus far has gotta be, incontrovertibly, Italy vs Holland.

RVN faces off Gigi Buffon.



I was sad Italy lost tonight, but one has got to admire the way the Dutch played with a scintillating, almost cavalier, fluency. They were simply delightful to watch. There's a reason why so many worldwide are besotted with the Beautiful Game, and the Oranje exemplified that tonight. The commentator summed it up as end-to-end stuff, then hastily apologised for using such a clichéd expression, as though such platitudes were unworthy of such a sterling match. But end to end stuff it was at times. The Dutch were redoubtable. Sneijder’s goal was top class, and van der Sar was on top of his game tonight. It was also sweet to see van Nistelrooy again. I haven’t had time to follow his career after his move to the Rancid Halls of Treachery, Subterfuge and Underhandedness (i.e. the Bernabéu), but he remains one of my favourite strikers, and is the best striker United has had since 2000 bar none. Though my favourite Dutch player ever is Dennis Bergkamp, and that’s coming from a United fan. I am very unbiased indeed.

RVN’s goal was undoubtedly offside, though that mattered little in the end, for Italy never quite looked like catching up, save for the early part of the second half. I was sad to see Canna on the bench, but in all honesty, this Italy squad tonight looked too old, too uninspired to fend off the attack of the tangerines (sounds like a great title for a B-grade movie, that). It was especially shocking to see such a ramshackle defense from the Italians. Metarazzi was as leaky as a tea strainer, and Pirlo was strangely subdued and sitting back way too deep. Luca Toni has never impressed, even in World Cup 2006 (I don’t watch the Bundesliga so can’t say the same about his club form). He just looked ponderous in front of goal and that one-on-one with van der Sar in which he skied the ball after attempting what looked like a chip was criminal. It wasn’t even profligate, it was just criminally awful. And Ambrosini?? You know things are getting desperate here.

Though Italy had a few bright spots. Grosso was lively from the moment he came on, Gattusso was his usual dependable self, and I thought Gigi Buffon made some splendid saves to avoid what could be an even more embarrassing score line for the World champions. Zambrotta also had a pretty good game. And Pirlo whipped in a stunning free kick that yielded an equally stunning save from van der Sar. That moment produced the best piece of commentary from Euro 2008 thus far – "and van der Sar leapt like a salmon through the air." Genius.

Sneijder's birthday present.



So it’s not gonna be Italy’s year I reckon. And after Holland’s dramatic defeat to the Azzurri in the Euro 2000 semi final during which a series of unthinkable penalty blunders sent Italy through, I couldn’t help but feel that tonight’s win was well-deserved, and justified. For football has taught me many lessons, and one of those was that defeats and victories alike tend to come full circle after a time. You win some, and then you lose some. It’s simple logic, but parsimoniously applied to football fans given that we aren’t the most rational of creatures. But history bears it out – think Italy in 2000 and 2006, and Ronaldo’s (the fat one) redemption in World Cup 2002.

Unless, of course, if your name is Michael Ballack, then in which case you’d always be on the losing side. Sorry, just don’t like the guy at all. ;)

So, if this circuitous round of fortunes were to come to pass, would it be Portugal’s year in 2008? After all, they have suffered their fair share of woes, from the heartrending defeat to Greece in the final of Euro 2004 to the underachievement of their golden generation. But if I were Portuguese, I’d watch out for Holland. Thus far, the Dutch had looked the team to beat.

And the best part is, all these conjectures could be rendered rubbish over the next few days. For it is only the first round of matches, and the days are early. Can’t wait for Round 2.

Champions (And We Won It On Points)

An absolutely gratifying win. And we won it on points (so there Chelski, and all ye who were moaning about having a title-deciding play-off... sniff).

Though United didn't play that well to be honest. I was expecting the lads to bury this early, but to their credit Wigan put up quite a fight. United had a couple of scorching chances but Kirkland was equal to these, and Valencia and Bent harried the United defense for a considerable spell. The match certainly had no paucity of talking points, the most significant of which might be the ball which ricocheted off Rio's shoulder. I didn't reckon it'd be a hand ball, but then again I'm chronically incapable of being objective. In any case, it'd take a real scrooge to argue that United wasn't the deserved champions of England this season.



And I just love the raw, unadulterated, effeverscent passion of this man. Ten league titles later and he still hankers after the glory like it's his first.



Of course, this match was the stuff fairy-tales are made off for a certain Mr Giggs. Rooney fed a scintillating pass which caught Wigan's defense napping, and Giggsy coolly slotted home United's second. Add to that his record-equalling 758th appearance for United, and it couldn't have been a more befitting way to end the Premiership this season. He hasn't had his best form this season, but there's no denying this man's blessed with a longevity and consistency in his career in the top flight that few others have enjoyed. An absolute legend.



So thank you lads. Onwards and upwards till May 22 I say.







MANCHESTER UNITED: BARCLAYS PREMIER LEAGUE CHAMPIONS 2007/2008

Parade Of The Stars

I witnessed something magical on my flight back from Tokyo. It was around midnight, and after watching the stunningly execrable mess that was The Golden Compass on the in-flight entertainment system, I decided to take a snooze to calm my frayed nerves. Unfortunately my repose was interrupted by a pair of wailing kids whose embarrassed parents tried to placate them with asinine goofy puckered faces and smoochy sounds. Being stuck on a plane with bawling kids has got to rank as one of the most annoying experiences ever. You can’t get away from them, you can’t sleep, and it’s illegal to asphyxiate them.

Chafed, I shuffled in my seat to turn the other way when I caught an incidental glimpse of the view outside of the plane window. Immediately, I was awestruck. The blubbering sounds of the kids faded into oblivion as I was overtaken by what I saw.

The sky was studded with swathe upon swathe of silver stars, like a bejewelled velvet black gown that seemed to stretch on for endless vistas. I have never seen so many stars in my life; or at such a bewilderingly close distance that I felt I was almost able to lightly brush them with the edge of my fingertips. Some were large and shone with a fierce, ardent brilliance, whilst others were enshrouded in an eddying, lustrous mist that was almost phantasmagoric in the languorous way it wafted through the night.

It was though someone had blithely hurled a copious amount of incandescent dust into the night, and just when the dust was skimming through the dusky shadows, the moment was frozen, encapsulated in an eternal, ageless cinema with the dust suspended in mid-air – some far away and unreachable, basking in a ebbing light, whilst others blazed with a lusty, burnished refulgence, sterling in their impervious potency. The stars were innumerable and vast, portentous and solemn, hallowed and celestial, yet also laced with an exquisite, prodigious and terrible beauty, so sharp and excruciating it was almost painful to bear.

I checked the in-flight map information. The plane was flying above the South China Sea, just slight to the west of Puerto Princessa in the Philippines.

In the murky distance, I could faintly make out a line which hove into view and separated two shades of dark grey. Was that the horizon? If so, the sky was the lighter shade of dark, perhaps illuminated by the resplendence of the stars. The darker shade which resided at the bottom, I surmised, was the ocean. It was flecked with lights of its own, most probably from ships as they were of a yellowish tinge whilst the colour of stars was more akin to platinum. Yet, the horizon seemed to tilt at an angle, and I wondered if it was because we were flying so high that we were able to observe the earth’s curvature from our vantage point. I recalled that when I was flying to California from Holland, I asked a kindly old gentleman seated beside me why we were flying upwards over Stavanger in Norway when California was south of Holland. He explained that it was due to the earth’s curvature, or at least that’s what I made of it all.

But back to my serendipitous encounter with the stars. I peered out of the window, the sides of my face buffered by the airline pillows as I tried to shut out the lights from within the plane’s cabin so that I could observe the night more clearly. I pressed my face against the window and recoiled slightly when the tip of my nose touched the icy sharpness of the glass. A cloud of vapour formed at my mouth and condensed against the window, as though a corporeal embodiment of my stupefying sense of awe as I gasped and heaved.

I must have been lost in that otherworldly, ethereal experience for a good half and hour or so. It was, quite simply, mesmeric.

Music Review – Mixed Up by The Cure

I figured after watching the Cure live in concert I am slowly but surely metamorphosing into a completist where I absolutely need to own every Cure CD which I could get my grubby hands on. And so after having dinner with some Stanford ex-schoolmates I ambled down to HMV to pick up a few CDs which are missing from my collection.



One of those is Mixed Up. This is the sequel to the 1989 magnum opus Disintegration, and this lesser-known effort is kinda a screwball choice after the heady critical acclaim and lush, brooding soundscapes of Disintegration. Whether the band intended this as a proper sequel or a quirky interim project is unclear. Regardless, Mixed Up is a collection of some of the best-loved Cure songs, remixed and extended.

Now I hate remixes with a passion. It drives me batty everytime somebody butchers an original with a odious remix or cover (Avril Lavigne's beastly cover of System Of A Down's Chop Suey springs to mind, and it is so execrable that it makes me retch just typing about it). Ergo, remixes are a massive slippery slope.

But though I am still befuddled as to what to make of this album, the biggest shock is that well... it doesn't quite suck as monumentally as it should have. C'mon, dance remixes of Cure songs?!?? Had it been any other artiste, they would have been sent to the guillotine. Yet most of the tracks here are strangely listenable, and some even surpassed the originals. So amidst a goulash of bewilderment, chagrin and disorientation, here're the most coherent musings I can muster...

Lullaby – It has that cheesy 80s dance floor feel complete with humungous shoulder pads, flyaway hair and questionable, sleazy lighting. Which ain't bad in my opinion - I'd take 80s fromage any day over the contemporary dregs they term music nowadays. This is reminiscent of the Cure's rendition of David Bowie’s Young Americans, which I adore. My gripes are that the intro is too long and that incessant ice-cream truck tinkle in the background starts getting immensely annoying after a while. Plus, the bass line is criminally soft and it sounds majorly freaky when they juxtaposed Smith's vocals with a weird bass-y texture. But even though it doesn't match up to the original, it's still a solid opener to the album.

And since I love the video of the original track so much, I'll post a few screenshots:

Mr Smith in his jammies and perfect make-up.



Outside, a sinister spider web lingers into view.



Robert looking all snug in bed... if but a tad gloomy.



The rest of the band members are decked out in swathes of cobwebs and creepy Little-Drummer-Boy uniforms.



And suddenly! A mrrrovement in the corner of the room...



The ghoulish Spiderman appears...



And inches closer... I am loving the charred make-up.



Robert's face gets covered in a dusty, suffocating veil for no reason...



A close-up of his mouth... perfect teeth there... is he really British?



He slowly gets dragged off the bed towards a gaping, furry spider hole.



Simon puffs on his tuba earnestly.



And Porl looks absolutely sinister and macabre with his jerky movements and deathly pale complexion.



Poor Robert is slowly devoured by the noxious hole...



Sluuurp!!!



Close To You – The Cure specially shot a video for the remix – it was an extension from the original MTV that features the band groping amidst hangers, clothes and boots in a closet and being tossed off a cliff. The sequel has them swimming out in the ocean’s deeps wrestling with a giant squid and starfish – and I just dig how barmy and oddball it is. As for the track, it doesn’t have the groovy drumbeat of the original, but it’s chimerical and enthralling in its own right, and the interplay of the horns is excellent. It has a mellower, more R&B vibe, and ditches the whispery tone of the original, but still works really well. On a good day, I may just prefer it to the original (eek!!).

The MTV starts with the closet containing the Cure members tumbling off a rocky cliff...



And into the ocean.



Robert Smith is the first to venture out into the watery depths.



And promptly encounters a freaky giant orange squid...



Which tries to grab his legs with one of its tentacles, and later, to asphyxiate our hero...



Causing him to gurgle bubbles in the dreamiest of manners.



Meanwhile, Simon is kissed by an errant 2-D angelfish.



More outlandish marine creatures appear, including this starfish.



Whilst Robert continues singing with his trademark gesticulations and roll-my-eyeballs-as-far-back-into-my-sockets style.



Totally bizarre.



Fascination Street – I loathed it the first time I heard it, but it kinda grew on me. My maiden foray had me rolling around in hapless laughter and then as I gathered my senses I was kinda horrified at the prospect of the Cure adulterating one of their classics with a god-awful remix. The resultant carnage is a garbled mess of synths, and the 4-minute intro absolutely pureed my eardrums, a distressing experience which I can only describe as listening to the track whilst a dozen fire alarms are going off non-stop in the background. Thankfully, the damage ends once Smith starts singing, cos I love the vocals on this one. Funny thing is, I was increasingly hooked as the song progresses, and the synths at the end are actually quite an ominous delight. Verdict: Gets better with each listen, and now I officially love this version.

The Walk – I flat out prefer this to the original. This is a track meant for the dance floor, period, and I’m so happy the band went all out and overlaid it with a glorious fusion of disco sounds.

Lovesong – Strike two, this is far better than the original. Truth be told, even though this song is heralded as one of the timeless classics and their most pronounced American chart success, I just never fancied it much. It’s Smith’s wedding gift to his wife Mary, and it’s sweet, but the nondescript, soporific melody and repetitive lyrics just don’t jive with me. On the remix they amped up the bass, which is a simple masterstroke in making the tune instantly more full-bodied. This version is more chilled out, the guitars more jangly and less banal. Thumbs-up.

A Forest – I love this. It gives such a delightful, fresh twist to the version on Seventeen Seconds. It’s amazing how they can take a song with such a cold, angular and almost oppressive texture and infuse it with a luxuriance of floaty synths and lightweight guitar and transform it into something spacey and empyrean. I've heard many versions of A Forest, and this rendition is pretty good. My favourite take though, is one played live in the early 80s in Amsterdam - I never knew A Forest could sound so stellar when played tight and fast. Why, oh why, did you not play A Forest during your concert in Singapore??!??

Pictures Of You – Undoubtedly most lacklustre song in the album, and possibly one of the worst tracks the Cure has ever delivered. The cumbrous bass line is all wrong. This is abominable, pugnacious and downright piss poor. I never thought I’d be this revolted by any Cure song but this simply takes the biscuit; I’m just shell-shocked. Nobody messes with Pictures Of You, not even Robert Smith!!

Hot Hot Hot!!! – Thankfully, the trauma of the previous track is remedied by this funktastic rendition. Like the original, it is a prime induction into a dance-y mood. Every time I hear Hot Hot Hot!!! I am reminded of how clean Robert Smith looks in the video. He is sporting a cropped hairstyle and doesn’t look like he just dipped his head into a deep fryer, is decked out in a crisp, spiffy suit, wears no smudged lipstick and eyeliner and for once, sans make-up you can really see his creamy complexion. I’m just not used to him looking normal, much less like one half of the Blue Brothers. This is also their most Red Hot Chili Peppers-esque song, and reminds me of RHCP's Aeroplane. On the vocals, those who deem Robert Smith as some sort of gothic harbinger of all things gloom and doom have obviously not heard him on the more upbeat tracks. He can sound totally coquettish, teasing and frivolous when he's in the mood. Check out their cover of Young Americans – he even outdoes the androgynous Bowie, and that's sayin' something.

See what I mean... looking dapper and clean.



And sporting a short crop.



Kinda looks like Tom Hanks huh?



Even attempting a jig and a shuffle.



The Caterpillar – Another bingo. This song sounds better without the dissonant piano and strings which mar the original – here it's a relaxing, rhythmic safari listen, and I much prefer it this way.

In Between Days – Weird. It sounds like Oxide & Neutrino doing a cover of In Between Days. The tempo is slowed, and Robert’s vocals just sound so dragged out and elephantine here. And the original’s a fluffy, gossamery and jaunty track that this one just sounds ponderous by comparison. There’s a lengthy interlude of an underground garage slant at around 4 minutes which is actually quite fantastic, but then again it sounds so far removed from the original that it's quite missing the point? Bring back the acoustic guitar!

Never Enough – I don’t care much for the original; this version doesn't deviate too much but lacks a novel take as well. After Pictures Of You, the weakest link in the album.

Overall, I expected this to be a stomach-churning album but after a few listens I'd reckon it is money well-spent. This album went some way in making me get over my prejudice of remixes. Or should I say I still abhor most remixes, but Mixed Up is an anomaly in that it actually has more hits than misses. It still sounds aberrant by the Cure's standards, and goes to show that the band essentially defies definition or being pigeonholed into any genres. For the casual fan, you're better off starting off with Disintegration, Head On The Door or Wish, as those are more thematically tight and an easier listen. But if you're a fan wishing to explore one of the lesser known facades of the band's gamut of work, this one ain't a disappointing stop.

Tags: The Cure, Robert Smith, Simon Gallup, Porl Thompson, Jason Cooper, Pictures Of You, Lullaby, A Forest, Lovesong, Fascination Street, Close To Me, In Between Days

An Incoherent Post

I have been working so hard these days, it is quite unbelievable. I left office at almost 2am on Friday, and over the weekend I slept for the whole day until 7.30pm, trudged out of bed for dinner and then headed back to sleep at around 10.30pm until 11am the next day. So, I was awake for a grand total of three hours the whole day. It was freakin’ great. I’d almost thought that with the advent of a set of regimented schedule called office hours, I had lost the capacity to be this gloriously, randomly anarchic with my sleeping habits. It’s good to know that some things never change, i.e. I could sleep myself to death without the horrid alarm clocks.

But the week rolled off with Monday, and it’s back to work, work, work. This is surely fodder for a poem, since I never believed I could be this diligent. Gosh, I have surpassed myself I think. I was never a hardworking kid, but this bout of unfettered workaholic-mania is rather worrying. I could sleep myself to death, but I sure as pie don’t wanna work myself to death. I was also conscious that the long hours was beginning to sap the interest in my job. And I am ever so mindful to tread carefully here, cos I don’t want to get to the point when work just becomes dryer than a bunch of desiccated chilies. Once I lose interest in something, it becomes next to impossible to get me to work on it with any scintilla of interest again, and soon indifference would set in and I wouldn’t give a flying rat’s arse. Ergo, I am very mindful not to let myself get to that stage. I am still enjoying my projects, but I need rest. Desperately. I have been shunting things off my radar cos I realise the utter annoyance of having only 24 hours a day. Prioritise; I kinda hate that word now. I guess I have to learn to consciously pace myself before I skid right off the fringe of sanity. And so, I chucked everything out of the window over the weekend, and just RESTED.

Incidentally, I had a conversation last week with a friend about disengagement. I think for the longest time, I have been, consciously or subconsciously, trying to disengage myself from a lot of things. Perhaps only I would know the reason, and I ain’t feeling honest enough to write it here. Suffice to say that when the time beckons to go, I want to be able to leave without too much emotional clutter or residue. Invariably it is a selfish way to look at things, but I could never seem to find anything that I actually want to hold on to. Lately this feeling has been getting stronger given that my mind was mostly overwhelmed by stuff, and whatever paucity of time I had left for myself it sort of folded into things which really mattered. Which, come to think of it, ain’t a lot. And I hate investing energies into things I couldn’t care less of, cos it feels so fake, almost to the point of betrayal and deceit.

What am I blabbering about here? Lots of things, but it’s late and I’m still working on a project and I know I am incoherent. But it feels so fantastic to be incoherent once in a while, and to utter gibberish which nobody could fathom, cos lucidity of thought is the last thing on my mind now. I read in somewhere, sometime, a phrase which perfectly encapsulates how I'm feeling now: let your mind set sail like a kite...

Laters…