World Cup 58 RP Thread

[Andossa Se Mitrin Vega]

And now to see who will join The Holy Empire, Valanora, Aguazul, and Qazox, This is your RP cutoff.

Here You Go

[Jeru FC]

Princess Shay and Queen Isabella waiting for the Jeru FC boys to return to their barracks ...

Shay: Man, they already one hour late!
Izzie: And we've already finished a bottle of wine already.
Shay: Something is not right.
Izzie: But the last time this happened they ended up a bar all day.
Shay: Yeah but they promised not to that again.
Izzie: Is Karra with them?
Shay: No, she doesn't get involved in their drinking binges.
Izzie: So where are they?
Shay: Well, apparently they were last seen at inspection at army HQ.
Izzie: Why is that?
Shay: Apparently, after each cup they need to be checked if they are still fit for duty.
Izzie: They never are, they have trouble standing straight most of the time.
Shay: Anyway ...
Izzie: What's with new blonde look?
Shay: It makes white hair harder to see ...
Izzie: Oh, I see.
Shay: I just got a message a bus drove off a bridge into the Jordan river.
Izzie: Really? Sounds bad.
Shay: Doesn't get any better, apparently it fell off and hit barge carrying fuel.
Izzie: Oh my god, I hope it didn't explode.
Shay: Well, it did and barge sunk after exploding.
Izzie: Oh dear, poor buggers!
Shay: Apparently, there was a football team on the bus.
Izzie: Really?
Shay: All male, apart from a bus conductor.
Izzie: Hang on, I hope it isn't ...
Shay: No way, it isn't our boys ...

<Later>

Shay: No way, they are all gone! We've lost the team.
Izzie: No survivors either.
Shay: I can't believe, I've lost the entire football team.
Izzie: This isn't right.
Shay: God, I mean what am I going tell Karra?
Izzie: Err, yes. I guess I have make a speech about this today.
Shay: My boys are all DEAD, they don't deserve to die this way.
Izzie: This is a big loss.
Shay: Does this mean no more Jeru FC?
Izzie: I doubt, there's plenty more to replace them.
Shay: I can't even give them a decent burial.
Izzie: Well, they got cremated already in the explosion.

[Aguazul]

To be a benchwarmer implied that he, through some effort of this own (or the mere fact of life in his body?) was warming up the bench. But this was not the case; had he been really warm, presumably he would not have needed the outer jacket that he wore, hands stuck all the way in the opposite sleeves. Perhaps he'd adjusted to Kagdazka a bit too well; nobody back home wore those.

It was a good jacket, it fit well, and it was warm. And from the back he looked like the rest of his benchwarming teammates, their numbers hidden. Though Jimeno could get lost in thought almost too easily, he had not really dwelled too much on why Mejia had let him keep the number one jersey even though he'd platooned with Osoro throughout the qualifiers, and even though Osoro was starting his third match of four in the proper. That was the way Mejia liked it.

So he watched with the others as the game took off, went on.

Thunder had learned something at least from Jeru FC's meeting with Aguazul the previous time out, and had benched Handiball in favor of Napolean. Despite this stratagem, Aguazul would nevertheless take the first lead, with Sosimo receiving a pass from Claudio before slipping by a nervous Tutty Carman to score. But the Cannons equalized before the half was out, with Alexander the Grunt setting up Henry the Grub (who'd filled out somewhat since their meeting one cycle ago).

And there were still a few more minutes before halftime, so by the time the starters piled off the pitch no one seemed too upset about having given up the lead. Mejia said nothing too specific, Sosimo nothing too inspiring, and play began again.

A nervous second half, perhaps even more nervous than it would have been on the field of play where he adjusted, step by dive and flicker by glance. On the bench there were only flickers and glances, back and forth as if their yells could help, or was he trying to learn the players' movements in case he had to sub in? Did he really want to?

Extra time. He breathed nervously, trying not to stand out, didn't want to look like he wanted to go in but maybe...Stavin and Felladin had already come on for the Cannons, as had Muño and Diego Héctor for Aguazul. Churchbell joined them for the beginning of extra time, and Ramón with ten minutes to play. But in between there was nothing new. By then the bench was nearly empty; most of them were standing.

So. Kicks from the mark. Again.

He could've done it. Couldn't he? But so could Osoro, had Osoro, already, and no use wondering.

Felladin first. A slow runup, as if giving Osoro time to guess and guess wrong. But in the end the striker only tricked himself, having his shot careen off the crossbar and away.

Then Claudio, approaching slowly but then suddenly accelerating. No use: Cleopetra jumped left and palmed it away.

Though there was plenty of him, the Grub didn't put that much behind his shot. Osoro just needed to crouch low and put his gloves to it. The fans cheered, but tensely. How long could it last?

Depended. Muño was next, and his shot took a funny arc. Though Cleopetra swerved, the ball barreled into the side of the net, and Aguazul were on the board.

The Grunt stepped up for Jeru FC. It was a low shot, but brilliantly fast and Osoro was already diving the wrong way. The ball went in on his right with plenty of room to spare.

Sosimo next, the captain who'd been there the whole match, most of the matches. No longer the sub, no longer a surprise. He shot, a little high but not too threatening...and Cleopetra knocked it away.

But there was something in the calm way Sosimo walked back to the center circle, not hustling with his head down, not fuming, just walking back...

Muggie Thatch wore a determined glare but was in the end helpless, the shot struck hard but caroming off the right post.

Then the only shooter on either team who hadn't been there in 57. Ramón Galindo, a winger.

Who had scored Unión de Ciudagua's final kick from the penalty mark in the Champions’ Cup final.

"Come on," Jimeno whispered, just like every other shot for Aguazul; he did just as little on any of those. And though he could not have heard, the roar of the crowd was more than enough, and with a beautiful arc into the high corner, Ramón complied.

Hittem glowered for the Cannons, but his frustration would not be enough, and Osoro leaped out to intercept the shot. Then he was hugging Ramón, again, and Sosimo was blinking in surprise, and they were through...

They celebrated, they went to bed still giddy, and Jimeno woke up the next morning pleased. So what if it had not been him out there? They were going through.

He got up and showered and changed and went down towards the hotel breakfast; apparently they had quite the assortment of baked goods to check out. He didn't make it there. Sosimo caught him on the way and stiltedly tilted his head to one side, pulling Jimeno aside and muttering to him under his breath.

It had to be done, of course. He'd only resent later people who kept the world secret. And Sosimo was captain for plenty of reasons; he knew as well as anyone how to keep Jimeno calm when the need arose. But some things just couldn't be done well. For all the "we can still beat the Eagles, nothing's changed"s and "I'm from Condadore, trust me, people can be morbid and you have to ignore them"s or "we don't need any kind of "inspiration," do I look Krytenian to you?"s, there was nothing for it.

I could have blown it, Jimeno thought. I could have let us all down in regular time. In extra time! I could have jumped too late in the shootout, I could have lost it for us, you and I both know that. Mejia knew, I wasn't the best choice here.

It should've been me, that way maybe we'd be out of it and home and they'd be here and through and we'd all be alive. That was his best hope, his only rationalization. Some saving grace. Shivering, Jimeno threw on another jacket.

[Audioslavia]

Jeremy punched embertonpost.kt into his laptop and watched the letters appear, one by one, in the address bar of his web-browser. /staff/dropbox appeared soon after, a little slower than Jeremy would have liked; he hadn't changed laptops in a couple of decades.

<Enter>.

Jeremy clicked the 'submit article' link and touch-typed his username into the box. 'J. McVitie'. Not the cleverest of noms de plume but shady enough to be able to begin his Emberton Post career without too much attention. "You're a somewhat controverial appointment, Jeremy," Cleo had explained, "and it'll get out eventually, but it'll be easier to explain, when it happens, if we can point out that you've worked for us for days/months already. Other news outlets will feel like they've missed the boat, and they won't crack down on you, and your record, for fear of pointing out how late they are to the story". Jeremy had understood but disagreed. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter when you arrived at the story, as long as you squeezed every drop of juice out of it when you did. Then again, Jeremy was a product of a different time and a different place.

This story, however, was a simple one. He'd gone to see Krytenia versus Bostopia with the intention of watching the game and, carefully, skilfully, with the benefit of his years of experience, extracting the narrative. Finding a story to tell to the Krytenian reader. He'd started off, with the game only forty seconds old, wonderhing how best to word a piece about Krytenia's most recent World Cup failure in a way that wouldn't piss off the entire country, let alone his employers. By the eighty-minute mark, he was remarking on how this may well be the easiest article he'd ever had to write. 7-0 in a World Cup finals game. A record? It had to be. Certainly no team had won by more than six goals in the ancient World Cups. Even he couldn't stop himself from clapping as the eighth goal flew in to the Bostopian net. 8-0. Definitely a record. The right kind of record. The story had been the easiest non-match report he'd ever written.

--

The Greight Escape?
Krytenia take Aim at the Glass Ceiling

You're probably reading this in a coffee shop. Why? Well, Krytenia have just hit Bostopia - an international football team with as respectible a pedigree as any you'll see in the world - for eight goals in a World Cup finals match. A record. This means you were drinking last night, which means you're hungover this morning, which means you've fobbed off the first few hours of the morning at work and gone for an early lunch break. Not being able to stomach a big meal, you've opted for a large coffee, a panini, and a copy of a big old broadsheet newspaper - we'd like to think you chose the Post because of our extensive, unrivalled coverage of the 2146 World Cup, but if you just picked it up as the biggest, broadest paper you could find, that's fine too - so you've gone to the cafe, made your three orders - maybe a muffin too, you're celebrating, remember - and opened the sports pages. You've glossed over the match report, confirmed a couple of goalscorers that you may have missed last night, and you're looking for an opinion piece on the game. Well, it's coming but, first, look around. Look at the barista. He had a funny accent, didn't he? Probably some kind of pretentious Vilitan iPhone wielding ponce, no? Well, before I tell you my opinion on the game, I want you to go up to him and ask him something. Ask him who's going to win the World Cup. Go on. I can wait. I'll guard your seat for you.

Back? Good. Did he say something along the lines of 'erm, dunno, Valanora probably, maybe Holy Empire?' with that strange question intonation peculiar of the Vilitan accent? Thought so. I hope you argued the point for your very own Krytenia, otherwise you'd have done your nation a great disservice. You didn't? Go back up and ask. I'll wait. Don't be long, mind, that panini looks tasty.

"well, they never win, do they?"
"So?" came your reply, no doubt, followed by "history has no bearing on the present". You're right, of course, but I'll bet you that panini - which I definitely plan on eating next time you run off to perform one of my errands, by the way, that he said something about Krytenia simply not being 'that kind of team'. It is Krytenia's fate, apparently, to be also-rans. In the space between the semis and the final of a major tournament is Krytenia's glass ceiling. Nearly two hundred years with the same invisible barrier. It sickened your ancestors and, I'm sure, it's sickened you too.

Luckily, not everyone shares your pessimism. There appear to be at least eleven Krytenians with their heart set on breaking through the glass ceiling and, luckily for you, they wear two shades of blue.

What I saw on that sunny QPeMA evening was not, as some foreign journalists have been insisting, 'Bostopian ineptness', or a team giving up hope after Krytenia's early three-goal barrage. I didn't see a flash-in-the-pan performance from a team doing that rare thing of hitting a collective sweet-spot. I didn't see a team peaking too early, I saw the real deal. A swagger. An ill-gained confidence. Look through the tapes of performances by the likes of Spaam, Qazox and Audioslavia - the other notable 'also-rans' and unlucky finalists in World Cup history - and you'll see those teams utterly lack what Krytenia showed that night. The courage of their convictions. Self belief.

Audioslavia's motto, traditionally, is a simple, five-word mantra: "Fate's book, but our italics." It possibly highlights the flaws in the Audioslavian personality not seen in that of the Krytenians. Audioslavians were, especially after their third World Cup final defeat, obsessed with their supposed 'fate'. They were 'fated' to never be that team and obsessed themselves not with overcoming that final obstacle, but with defining themselves by it. Forming a national persona of being the nearly-men. They could have, after losing the World Cup 19 final, packed their bags, trained harder, came back stronger and, with a strong side in World Cup 20, swept all before them. Instead, they tried to stamp their authority over the term 'glorious losers'. To define themselves by failure. To take the words 'finalist' and 'nearly' and 'runner-up' and to italicise, link them indelibly to their nation, force the world to remember, whenever they see those words, the once-proud nation.

Krytenians, to their credit, tend to keep quiet during those types of debate. You know the ones i mean. Citizens of Qazox and Spaam and Polar Islandstates and the like, arguing about which is more 'due' than the other. Fot the Krytenian, the notion that they may be among this sad number is harrowing, to the point where even thinking about being eternal losers causes a pain in the pit of the stomach. It is, of course, a difficult rut to get out of. With every fathom deeper into the ocean, the pressure inexorably mounts. Previous teams, increasingly wary of their surroundings, of the comparisons with fashionable neighbours Starblaydia and Vilita as they got to the rounds of sixteen... eight... four, succumbed to what Audioslavians would call 'the inevitable'. The Krytenia national team, from what I saw yesterday evening, see this metaphysical limitation for exactly what it is - metaphysical - whereas, for your average Audioslavian, the word 'limitation' is the operative one.

Krytenia may have reached the final zero times in their history, compared to Audioslavia's four, but they seem better equipped than any previous Bulls outfit to win the thing. History does, indeed, have no bearing on reality. The glass ceiling is a construct of lesser minds. Krytenia are doing well to ignore it.

I've been Jeremy Jaffacake, g'night bitches.

--

Jeremy sipped his coffee, sat back in his chair and hovered his mouse-pointer of the 'send' button. He stopped. Something wasn't right. Ah, that was it. He deleted the final line. His traditional sign off. That wouldn't bode well for the whole 'incognito' thing, he thought.

<SEND>

He looked back over the article. That feeling again. Something wasn't right.

"Bugger. Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger." That year. 2146. It was 2146 in Audioslavia and, coincidentally enough, Starblaydia, but did the Krytenians use the same calendar? They didn't. The Krytenian Football Association claimed to have been incepted in 1992. Audioslavia's had formed back in 1927, but there weren't sixty-five years between them. In the Audioslavian calender, Krytenia's FA were formed around 1974 - the year of World Cup 15.

Balls.

Still. That wasn't the only mistake in the article. Jeremy took another sip of his coffee.

"The mere idea..." he thought, "of Krytenia winning the world cup..."

A giggle. Another giggle. A bigger giggle. A fist slamming on the table. Eventually, Tears of laughter.

"The very idea!" repeated Jeremy, wiping a tear from his cheek. "Them polar boys will walk them. 2-1. Easy. If they don't..." he looked up at his trilby, hung carefully on the hatstand, "then I'll eat my...." he looked up again. Paused.

"Nevermind.."

occ: JJ is in dire need a f***ing editor. I started off with a great idea and then utterly forgot what it was. The previous whateverhundred words are the result of my clutching at straws. I hate my brain.

[Cafundeu]

And the Cafundelense campaign in the 58th edition of the World Cup, the 25th one which has the participation of the Monopolists in the finals, is now over. The team, playing for the first time with a women' team alternating matches with the traditional male squad, was able to regain the confidence of the supporters after several bad cycles. A qualification for the second round with two solid wins, one against a better opposition, gave Cafundéu back some of the lost respect, and the country is certainly to rise on the rankings, being this the first step towards a possible return to the golden era of the Monopolists. Both coaches, of the men and women' squads, seemed satisfied with the results, and indicated the possibility of an unified squad in the next cycle. "It is certainly possible for we to sit down with CCFM and CFFC directors and try to find a compromise. The teams seem to have each of them specific advantages, and we could only win by putting the best players together in one team." On the Cafundelense cities, there is also a new excitement involving the National Team, with supporters reunited in bars or family houses lined in front of the television or listening to the matches on the radio. "I watched all the games", said one supporter, who was at Porto Lacruz during the Carnival. "We got reunited at a kiosk close to the beach, drinking and commenting on the players' performances... but I don't remember exactly how was the game versus Queer Poco el Mono Ara, just that I woke up with a severe headache." In the end, the two heavy losses suffered by the Cafundelenses didn't destroy the motivation of the fans... in fact, it gave some extra motivation for the Cafundelenses, who are now more than ever forcing the Emperor Raúl I to resign. In a last desperate attempt, he has arranged a meeting with the Counselor-Ministers and some members of the most powerful groups of the civil population, and we'll surely have more developments soon.

[Krytenia]

Three Steps To Heaven
By Rami Niblick in Khaldoon, Queer Poco el Mono Ara

WHISPER it quietly, folks, but things are starting to look up for the Aces. Krytenia have, for so long, been the bridesmaids of the World Cup; destined to do well, but not make that step into the rarefied air of the final. Just four short years ago, it was Aguazul and Polar Islandstates that conspired to frustrate, as the team widely regarded as the best never to have reached a World Cup final had to settle for fourth. This time, things look different.

One may point to the favourability of the draw - and they may have a point. Aguazul, Valanora, and the Holy Empire are all vying for a single spot in the endgame; Qazox, possibly the only team shredded by fate more often than the Aces, must feel that Margaret is taking a curry-induced dump over them once again. The Pocoan half of the draw, meanwhile, couldn't be more open if it was in the middle of the Quinneth Plains. The hosts and Krytenia, the misogynists and the Islanders; all will feel they have a shot at taking on the winner of the Vegan maelstrom.

One side that will not be in that mix, though, is Polar Islandstates. Following on from their hammerings of Swartaz and Bostopia, the Aces found catharsis a few short days ago with victory over the world number three team. Whilst the Terns will be packing their bags and contemplating their navels, Krytenia march on. Next up are Queer Poco el Mono Ara, looking to impress on home soil; Krytenia, though, grow in confidence with every game, and will be relishing the hostile atmosphere and the next obstacle to the Promised Land.

Tomorrow, then, is a date with destiny. Both sides will feel they can brush aside Akbarabad or the Babbage Islands in the semis, and the final beckons. Eleven men in sky blue will be hoping upon hope that tomorrow is the day, the glorious day, that they can prepare to write their names in the annals of history. Onward!

[Qazox]

(ooc: yes i know the last Discussion was quite a while ago and QTL-wise about a year ago..)

"So Charles, any chance of the two of us getting tickets to Stadii Se Draggonnii Arcea for the Quarterfinals?"

"I'd have to call in some favors, but I think so, why Grandfather?"

"Just got some bad news from the Physician, Charles. I only have about a year left to live. I have stage IV Pancreatic cancer."

"My God, Grandpa..."

"This will likely be the last chance I'll get to see Qazox in the World Cup, Charles. I have a feeling about this team."

"Are you sure you're up for the trip?"

"I'm dying, not dead. I asked the physician, and he said at this stage it's slightly risky, but not enough to keep me from flying."

"Well, if the doctor cleared you, I'll make the arrangements and see you at the airport tommorrow morning at 8:00am?"

"Sounds good. Charles, I know that we've been close over the past few years, closer than either of us have been to your father. I think that I would like him to go with us."

"Grandfather, he won't go. Only thing the three of us have in common is football. But he hates you and me because of that business deal."

"Charles, trust me. Your father will come. If anything, to at least see his father one last time before I die."

"Alright. I'll call you later tonight and let you know what he said. I... I love you Grandpa."

"And i love you too Charles. But I'm still here, and we have to root the Eagles to victory!"

[Valanora]

Take a bow, you've done yourself and your country well
Worn the colors proud, done your duty with honor.
Success has been yours, time and time again
Failure to, agony and heartbreak.
You have been loved, you have been hated
Some have wished to emulate you
Others have desired to destroy you
Take a bow, you've played the game as best you could
Triumph and glory were yours and deserved.
They were the best and worst of times
But they were yours and can never be taken from you.
Take a bow you noble soul, you've earned your rest,
And when the world comes to spin again,
Your shadow will cast no longer
And a new day will dawn.

[The Babbage Islands]

I begin on a sad note, as a Jeruselem army bus crash and explosion has killed the entire Jeru FC football team just after they were eliminated from the 58th World Cup. It gives me a flashback to hearing about Magnus Svoboda's death during World Cup 49, but multiplied by a whole team. My sympathy and prayers go out to all who have been touched by this unspeakable tragedy.

---

The Yellow-and-Black took care of business against Cosumar in the second round, winning 4-0 on goals by Natalia Karven, Dagrún Hallvarðsdóttir, Tom Hovi, and Tristan St-Pierre. With the win we've reached the final eight of another World Cup. One of the hot topics for discussion is the draw, where all three remaining former champions are playing in Andossa Se Mitrin Vega while the other half is viewed as weaker and wide open. Let's look at the quarterfinal matchups.

The Holy Empire v Valanora. This game was made for televideo. Two former champions, both ranked in the SRS all-time top ten, both in the World Cup Hall of Fame, both qualified for over 25 consecutive Cups. It doesn't get any better than this, people. And the winner faces a tough semifinal . . .

Qazox v Aguazul. A study in contrasts, as a famed hard-luck eleven face the brightest of the young guns. Qazox are in their 23rd Cup with this matching their deepest run to date. Aguazul, in their 8th Cup, are in their seventh consecutive quarterfinal including two championships.

Queer Poco el Mono Ara v Krytenia. The Pocoans hold home ground advantage for their seventh Cup and second quarterfinal. Krytenia are nevertheless the favourite in their 33rd Cup, a side looking to better their all-time best of third place (most recently in WC 32).

TBI v Akbarabad. We've got history with these guys, more later. This is our seventh quarterfinal and 10th Cup; Akbarabad are in their second quarterfinal and 9th Cup.

A glance at the all-time SRS numbers shows Valanora first with 112 points, followed by The Holy Empire at 81 and Krytenia at 68. All are in the top ten. The Bumblebees stand 34th overall at 33, with both Qazox and Aguazul nipping their heels at 32, Akbarabad at 14 and Queer Poco el Mono Ara at 12. But the same numbers taken over the last ten Cups show a tighter field. The Holy Empire edge the elves 38-37, with the Bumblebees at 33 and Aguazul at 32. The Cyan come in at 20, and the other three sides are all knotted at 12.

So our Bumblebees got a little break in the draw. All we have to do is beat the team that gave us our worst thrashing ever (Akbarabad by six-nil), then face down either a team on their home ground in their first semi-final or the greatest team never to win the cup. Tell me again how weak the draw is.

And remember that matches aren't won or lost on paper.

Smile!

[Alasdair I Frosticus]

OOC - parts of this RP steal shamelessly from mid 1980s computer game Deux Ex Machina - tribute given in the first line.

Juan Tzimisces sat there reading the letter from ISPI again, while listening to the latest hit song from the hit band Deus Ex Machina...

Don't it ever get weary
Don't you ever want to Exit and Die?
And the end of our Program
A sore with a bare head
And a pair of hot, blind eyes.

My skin's like minestrone.
My legs am knotted string.
My bladder won't obey me.
My nylon teeth won't sing.
My bones is sad and brittle.
My shanks am host to farts.
My chin are host to spittle.
My spine a question mark.
My respiration ailing.
My hair all run away.
My memory is failing.
I've nothing left to say.

Don't you ever get weary
Don't you ever want to stop and clock off?
I think I miss my mummy,
But I don't remember who she was...

He knew how they felt.

The victory over Dorian and Sonya had been simple enough once Ug-Ug, bless him, had pointed out that there was nothing in the rules stopping the butterflies from picking the ball up and flying with it. There'd been the minor tactical issue of reaching the ball - if they'd solved that consistently, they would have scored more than two - and perhaps Juan had reason to feel grateful that Queen Sonya had inadvertently dreamed of elf-sized lavender butterflies rather than butterfly-sized butterflies, but still, he'd faced greater challenges before.

Like Valanora.

Don't you ever get weary
Don't you ever want to stop and clock off?

Tzimisces read the letter from ISPI again.

It had been confirmed; Valanora were preparing to Pass Beyond. Even now they were closing all the portals to the rest of Ordinary Reality, leaving only the path that connected them to the World Cup hosts. A route to the Dreamed Realm would always remain open should they choose, but soon they would lose most contact with the multiverse. By choice.

My memory is failing.
I've nothing left to say.

Juan would particularly miss Laborious Hawk. Yes, there had been many legends on the Vanorian side, but there was something about the Hawk... something undefinable that made him one of the very few mundies that Tzimisces truly respected.

A World Cup without Laborious Hawk... it was as hard to imagine in its way as a World Cup without Juan Tzimisces or Simeone Di Bradini.

Don't it ever get weary
Don't you ever want to Exit and Die?
And the end of our Program
A sore with a bare head
And a pair of hot, blind eyes.

Imagine, Tzimisces thought to himself. Imagine. Imagine if we could begin our lives all over again. Imagine if it was all nothing more than some electronic game. Imagine if I knew then what I know now. What, he thought - what have I learned?

He couldn't quite remember; though no doubt he could try and be better next time.

If there was a next time.

But there was always a next time, wasn't there? That was the way the Dreamed Realm worked... there was always a next time.

But could you remember the last time, next time?

I think I miss my mummy,
But I don't remember who she was...

Juan Tzimisces sighed.

Sometimes, he thought wryly, sometimes maybe he overthought these things.

Anyway, if the Vanorians truly were about to pass beyond, if this really was to be the last time that Juan Tzimisces would have the pleasure of facing the elven legends, then let it be a truly legendary match, a match for the ages, a match that would be talked about for many Cups to come - would be remembered until the very final Cup.

Let it be a match between legends.

[Queer Poco el Mono Ara]

STOP!!! CUT OFF, Gawd tonight I'm sleepy.

http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?p=8534157#p8534157

Some of you are going home early, some of you still have a chance at glory. It's getting right to the business end of the competition and only the best of you will survive.

[Qazox]

Eagles Lose Heartbreaker, Lynn to retire

As we've stated before in many numerous posts, football is a game of inches. A ball bounces one inch to the left, it's a goal or conversely, one inch to the right and it clangs off the post. A tackler goes in one inch too high, it's a red card, one inch lower and play resumes. Qazox, by very conservative measures, would likely have multiple World Cup titles, if they'd had about an additional 15 inches on their side.

Tonight's game against Aguazul, the defending champions; came down to that inch, on 3 occasions, and as seemingly unaware of history the inches are, they once again fell against the Qazox Eagles. Two late chances from within 10 yards, Qazox had to tie the game up, and both shots were off by an inch. Dwight Lynn, in what turned out to be his final game, missed a tying shot over the head of Jimeno Arellano in the 87th minute that was ticked away at the last possible moment. The other came off the foot of Soai Fu'anuoa 3 minutes into injury time, bounced wide of the net just before the final whistle sounded.

Aguazul's only goal came off one of those inches in the 39th minute of play, when Mark Allenby's tackle of Sosimo Lissón occured just barely inside of the penalty box, and the Taeshani referee, quite rightly however, ruled that Allenby's tackle was a bit too high up the leg and awarded Lissón a penalty kick. If Allenby had tackled him an inch lower, most likely no penalty or if he tackled him just a bit earlier, it wouldn't have been a penalty. But Sosimo Lissón banged home the PK off the left post for a 1-0 lead that would withstand the Eagles' attempts to tie.

As unfortunate as the Eagles' loss was tonight, rememebr that this team wasn't supposed to be at this match in the first place, not with facing The Holy Empire and Cassadaigua in the group stage or meeting Andossa Se Mitrin Vega in ASMV in the quarterfinals. Dwight Lynn's suprising retirement aside, the Eagles will return practically everyone from this deep run and with 4 more years under Karim Zaki's tutelage and experience dealing with the pressures of the latter stages of the World Cup, could Qazox finally see that long awaited breakthrough into the semifinals? Or will the inches once again conspire to destroy the dream?

[Audioslavia]

"I can't make head nor tail of this chuffin' game" exclaimed Jeremy, haphazardly flicking the scroll-wheel of his mouse. "It's just a bunch of weirdos pretending to be footballers, or journalists, or football managers. I mean, look at this guy. Jeremy settled the scroll-wheel and beckoned Rubio over to his monitor. "This guy is pretending to be a journalist on a make-believe newspaper in a make-believe country. Surely, though, he's going to feel slightly out-of-character when he re-reads his, whaddoyou call it, 'RP', and realises that this 'publication' in this 'national' 'newspaper' has all the style and expertise of a seven year-old Krytenian special-needs child, by which..." he cocked his head to look at Rubio, who cringed, expecting the joke ahead of time, "I mean simply: 'A Krytenian child'"

"It's 'pretend', Jeremy, it's for 'fun'. The guy doesn't write like a seven year-old, he writes like a fourteen year-old which, I'm guessing, is because the kid writing it is actually fourteen.

"But look," retorted Jeremy, spinning his laptop screen back towards the increasingly bored Krytenian. "This 'Sun' newspaper that he RPs with. Look at this story about 'The Wolves'. As if it wasn't bad enough that a team in his 'professional league' has the name 'The Wolves'. The story is about the chairman sacking a guy, a guy who that other user RP'd with, wassisname, 'Eire', and is a former national team manager, and hiring some total unknown to take charge of his team through the hardship of a relegation battle. Oh, and he's black, like that's some kind of commentary about how there are next to buggerall black managers in the NSWC. As if the story wasn't ludicrous enough, he has the temerity to approach it like it's some coming-of-age drama with the guy finally getting his chance after being assistant coach for, what, twelve years? And why does everything happen in multiples of four years anyway? The NS World Cup isn't the be-all and end-all of football, Rubio, it's just some poxy tournament that knackered pro's jog about it at the end of a season when they'd rather be lazing on a beach or getting paid umpteen billions to play for their club. This, however, this 'F.I.F.A.' World Cup is the only unit of measurement available to these guys, apparently. "World Cup 1, World Cup 2... what are we on now?"

"World Cup twenty, Jeremy"

"World Cup 20, hosted by 'Brazil'. I hate that guy. He gets all arsey about not winning World Cup 4 so he goes and godmods that 'Pele' fella to win everything for him. Has him play in four world cups - as if that could happen to an actual player - and then becomes some international f***ing spokesperson, sticking his nose in all the time and why is he not dead already? How long is the lifespan of the average human in 'RLstates' anyway? And why has this 'Brazil' guy... where's he from?"

"The user is some guy in Cafundeu, I think"

"Figures. Why has this Brazil guy used an internet meme for a logo? A guy facepalming himself? Really? And that's funny is it?"

"Jeremy, I think you're over-reacting. Why don't you pour some of that creativity into an RP? Write about your preparations for the first match?"

"What does it matter anyway? I'm a newb, I'm barely even ranked. Where is the Baptism of Fire on this thing? How is a newb like me supposed to compete with the likes of Brazil? At least I named my team originally, not like them. Why not just add the 'lico' and have done with it, it's not as if it's a secret who he's ripping off."

"Oh, and your nation name is original, is it? I don't think it is and, if you'll forgive me for saying so, it's a bit racist."

"Montenegro? Racist? Fuck off"

"You've named it after Carlo Montegomery"

"So?

"The Ridern F.C. player from a hundred or so years ago"

"So?"

"Their only black player at the time"

"So? It's a coincidence."

"What region are you in?"

"What?"

"What region are you in? You know, Pacific, North America, Iberia?"

"Oh, I've not moved yet, I'm in the one all the new teams get put in."

"Oh, FormerYugoslavia?"

"Aye"

"Well there you go, see? See your regionmates, Serbia and, there, see that Slovenia?"

"What about them?"

"Well they both qualified for World Cup 19. They've hardly been going for long at all. If you keep up your RPing, you might find yourself in the World Cup in about twelve years or so."

"TWELVE YEARS?"

"Not real years. They last a couple of months at most. WC20 doesn't start for ages so you may as well enter the Euros cup. All the cool regions are in it. Scandinavia, ExSoviets, Romani.."

"Romani?"

"Aye, well they don't RP as a nation any more. It's just Romania, Italy, and Italy's puppet, San Marino."

"San who?"

"He doesn't RP much."

"Why do nations have 'puppets' anyway?"

"Well, nations in NS have puppets too, kinda, places that never officially joined up with their big master nation. Like Audioslavia and Silexhera. See here..." now it was Rubio's turn to show Jeremy his own laptop. "'France' is an old RPing partner of mine. He's got this puppet called 'Monaco', but he doesn't really enter it into FIFAWCs. Deutsch used to RP as 'East Germany' for a while, but he stopped logging in after a while and its an ex-nation now. Australia has 'New Zealand', who he keeps forgetting about but managed to get them qualified for the last WC..."

"OK, OK, I get the point. It's all still sad though."

"It really isn't"

"Oh it is. What's your nation then? I bet you've just recreated your precious Krytenia in internet form." Rubio allowed himself a guilty smile.
"Yeah.. well no.. well a bit."

"A bit?"

"Well we speak the same language and share some names, but the main similarity is the World Cup"

"Let me guess" started Jeremy "your poxy country gets to about the quarters - occasionally the semis - but more often than not gets knocked out by some newb, or by the first decent team you play against"

"Exactly..."

"Exactly. I tell you, you Krytenians, you're natural born losers."

"What, and Audioslavians aren't?"

"We chose to be like this. We're more famous as losers than we would be as winners. People'd get bored of us if we started winning the thing, so we just sit back and wallow in the humour of it all. I much prefer it that way."

"Bollocks"

"It's true!"

"It's bollocks"

"It's mainly true"

"Balls"

"Most of it"

"Cojones"

"OK, so I'm lying, but at least it gives me something to write articles about. I bet Brazil's RPs are shit too"

"Why don't you read them"

"I don't speak Cafundeuese, Rubio, you know that"

"Anyway, my nation is quickly veering away from being Krytenia. Look at this"

"What?"

"Hang on a minute, the forums are running slowly... there. World Cup 19. Look who the champions are..."

"Espana"

"Yup"

"And that's you is it?"

"Yup. Won the whole thing. And the euros. After ages of never having won anything."

"Well done. You must be so proud. Hey! You can put that on your CV!"

Rubio narrowed his eyes at Jeremy and closed his laptop.

"My nation didn't win anything for years and years and then *whoomph*, Euro Cup, World Cup, ranked number one. What makes you think that can't happen to Krytenia?"

"Where's Czechoslovakia?"

"What?"

"Czechoslovakia. Just seen the name on the RLwiki page about this 'Euros' cup. Don't recognise them"

"They're an ex-nation too. Like East Germany."

"Ex nation?"

"Yeah. They don't exist any more."

"And CCCP?"

"Same"

"Who's 'Kazakhstan"

"Dunno, but it says he he changed regions. Probably wants to play in the Euros Cup with the cool kids"

"So. What you're saying is, nations can just disappear, and have their places taken by other and some nations, like this Kazakhstan or Israel for example, can just up and change regions whenever they like? Like, a load of helicopters just come and 'whoomph', lift the country off the ground and plonk them down in a completely different region?"

"...well there are teething problems with the game, I'll give you that"

"I'll say"

That was twenty minutes ago, and Rubio had since left. In spite of his strange habit of 'RPing' on this strange argument within a game within a gam, Jeremy had to admit he quite liked the kid. Just twenty-two years old, still wet behind the ears, and having been sent by the Emberton Post to cover the World Cup. Knew his stuff about the NSWC and knew his stuff about Audioslavia too. Proved the kid had a brain.

Jeremy opened a new browser window. He logged onto the Post submission page, and uploaded his latest meisterwork, an opinion piece about the Krytenia - Polar Islandstates game. It had been another gushing one, bigging up the talent of the Krytenians. They had indeed played well, to be fair, and had deserved their two-one win, but Jeremy, in any case, wanted to hype the team up as much as possible. Work those Krytenian masses into a friendly and watch them suffer as, again, Krytenia were dumped out of the competition. Quarter final against the hosts. There was no way. no way, that Krytenia was gonna win that one.

A shame, though. Jeremy liked it here. Liked being back in the game. Liked sending off is reports and recieving money in the bank as payment. The more this went on, the less he had to think about where his next cigar was coming from, and the less he had to think about the task ahead: Rebuilding the Audioslavia National Football Team. He'd start soon. Hire a guy to pick the team, a guy to find us a stadium, people to just sort things out so that, finally. Jeremy might be able to do some writing about a team he actually cared about.

The quarter-final was in a couple of days. Two more days, at least, on the road. Jeremy wanted to make sure he enjoyed them.

[Krytenia]

WE ARE KRYTENIA
The Cyan Army feat. Serena Lopez

We shout it loud,
That every dog will have its day,
We've been around, and it's too much,
Cut down to size, but we come back another day,
You shoot us down, but we get up...

We're on the march, nothing to lose;
Fire away, fire away.
You take your shots, we take the pain;
Fire away, fire away.
You talk us down, but we'll prevail:
We are Kry-ten-i-a!
You talk us down, but we'll prevail:
We are Kry-ten-i-a!

Bring us down,
But one day we will win it all.
Purple hues, navy blues,
Penalties, and semi final agonies,
We've been around, and it's too much...

We're on the march, nothing to lose;
Fire away, fire away.
You take your shots, we take the pain;
Fire away, fire away.
You talk us down, but we'll prevail:
We are Kry-ten-i-a!
You talk us down, but we'll prevail:
We are Kry-ten-i-a!
We are Kry-ten-i-a!
We are Kry-ten-i-a!

Southern, Valrauncion,
Glory when all's said and done,
This time, we'll bring it all ho-o-o-o-ome!

You talk us down, but we'll prevail
We are Kry-ten-i-a
You talk us down, but we'll prevail
We are Kry-ten-i-a
You talk us down, but we'll prevail
We are Kry-ten-i-a
You talk us down, but we'll prevail
We are Kry-ten-i-a
We are Kry-ten-i-a

Based on this song.

[Valanora]

A million lives and years away
From whom it may concern
On a path that has lost its way.
Getting good at starting again
Every time we reset
We're learning to live again
Another time to wonder our right.
It is time to start again
Can't you see we've stayed long enough
It's time be reborn again.
Remember our glory and golden days
We built those make believe castles
And made them so invincible.
We think we may have found our place
Feeling stronger and stronger again
Mighty conquerors.
For the very first time
Don't you pay no us any mind.
Set us free again
You keep alive a moment at a time
But still inside a whisper to a riot
To sacrifice but knowing how to survive
The first to find another state of mind
I'm on my knees, I'm praying for a sign
Forever, whenever
We never wanna die
We never wanna leave
We never wanna say goodbye.

OOC: Heavily influenced and some material borrowed from this song.

[Aguazul]

Sosimo faced his team, blinking.

"So," he said. "You all know I was sick when we got here. I...I had a rough time settling in. And I learned two very important things from that experience. That I'd like to share with you.

The first is that, if part of you thinks that the best thing to do the night before a big game after you've traveled a really long way is sleep and adjust to the jet lag and try to keep a normal routine as possible, but another part of you thinks that no, you should try and take in the local culture, just because they're different doesn't mean it's wrong, different people have different standards and that's okay, ignore that second voice and just concentrate on doing your own thing. Seriously.

Okay, the second thing is, that, music has a very important role in people's lives. Sometimes we can use it to be more expressive, and sometimes it, um, makes a really big difference to the people, erm, watching."

"I already knew that," said Eusebio.

"I know you did. But it took you this long to find a lefty guitar here."

"I'll make up for it now," he smiled.

"Please do. A one, two, a one two three four..."

When you cannot tell who cares about, who even knows the score
And you don't voice that question because what if there's no one more,
When you'll play for pride or anything but fear to be too proud,
When the world is too cacaphonous and everywhere is loud,
When all the noise makes you afraid you can't hear yourself think,
And some would say that that's a sign that you should start to drink
And some say you should lose your faith, some say pick up a bong,
I'll sing lullabies till you dream. But this is not that song.

This is not that song, this is not that song.
This is the one you forgot that you knew all along.
Your ears stand open to the world, it seemed like the world drowned
It out but listen, it's still here. They'll never touch this sound.

When you're silent for a moment and and it's not by your own choice
And you fear that you won't be able to get back your lost voice,
When you make the game look easy and can't quite explain it's hard
When nobody will listen to your whispers once you've starred,
When outside something's flying like a gunshot or a missile
But through the noise you still haven't made out the final whistle,
And you know that however you feel, the time's come to stand strong,
I'll sing the notes they can't shut up. But this is not that song.

This is not that song, this is not that song.
This is the one you forgot that you knew all along.
Your feet stand open to the world as you play through the pain
In mind or body, but you can keep time to this refrain.

So when you feel as overwhelmed as you did as a rookie,
When you get booked because you talk too often with your bookie,
When there's no one you can trust because the world looks too disloyal,
When they confiscate your trophy since they think it looks too royal,
When you're bruising even well after bodies' or souls' collision,
When you give up nine to nobodies in the second division,
When everything that you can do won't matter or feels wrong,
Then I'll scream back your broken chords. But this is not that song.

This is not that song, this is not that song.
This is the one that you remember, you can sing along.
Your heart stands open to the world, the world can do its worst
But deep down they know it too; second verse, same as the first.

[Andossa Se Mitrin Vega]

And now for yet another RP Cutoff

Scores

[Valanora]

... Hawk stands over the ball, va Drake to his left, and the rest of the side in the box. Surely this is going to be the last kick of the game before we go to spot kicks. Will Hawk deliver one of his legendary blasts, will va Drake sneak in a swerving strike, or will one of them just toss it into the box and hope for a bit of magic?

Hawk gives a nod and va Drake begins his run up, and he's gone! Hawk is behind him and ... GOOOOALLL!!! ONE NIL! Hawk does it again! The official blows for full time, Valanora is progressing to the semifinals once again! They have...

"Admit it, you're going to miss this."

"Never said I was not going to, but there are tasks that need to be dealt with." The wisened Tobias Raynor said as he sat in one of the studies in the Raynor Family Mansion. There beside him was one of the priestesses, here because of what was to come.

"And what of them, what will they do when they realize they can not return home?" The priestess questioned, her slender frame masked underneath the hood from her silver robes, the mark of her station. Her face was not visible, only strands of her white as snow hair, resting upon her chest.

"There is little to do about that. Hawk, he will guide them, he will be their leader in life as he has been on the football pitch. There is something remarkable about him, his story itself a tale that most would never believe, and perhaps that is why he is remarkable. Despite everything about him being extraordinary, he is ordinary like you and me."

"Ah but Tobias, we are not ordinary at all."

"To true, or this would not be occurring at all. Suffice to say though, Hawk will guide them when they discover that the realm is inaccessible. He is a natural leader and will provide them the calm they will need to sort out their direction."

"Capri and Vyinta will still be there to be found. A from Capri it is only a short boat ride to the mainland, do you not think they will not think of this my lord?"

"It's not meant to be a complete separation and if they find their way home, then they are of course welcomed to return, we are not banishing them away. The barrier is for the rest of the world's protection."

"It will not last forever."

"And it is not meant to, only until our task is done."

"So you still mean to go through with it, despite the High Priestess urging you to reconsider. I will not say I am very happy about the choice you are making my lord, but if you are set on this path, then I will be there with you to see it to its or my end."

"Darkness must not be given any quarter... we owe the people and the world too much to not curtail it."

"And they will never know of our deeds, should we succeed or fail."

"One does not become a good person for the accolades or the gratitude, they do it because they are compelled to, to be above what is considered the norm. I would not have it any other way."

"Very well, the barrier will be put up tomorrow. Prepare yourself my lord, I fear we may not return from our venture."

... and word is coming in that Aguazul have defeated Qazox, leading to a rematch from the group stage. The Marauders will be hoping to exact some measure of revenge while also looking to book their ticket to their first Final since 52, when they last won their championship. Of course, that means finding a way to penetrate Aguazul's defense and slow down their attack, which no one has been able to do so far. It shall be a clash of champions for the right to proceed to the Final!

[Audioslavia]

"Sorry I'm late" said Jeremy, flopping himself down on the seat next to Rubio and plonking his laptop on the thin desk in front of them.
"Late? Jeremy, the match has been underway for twenty minutes already"
"What?" said Jeremy, unable to hear over the din of the home crowd. Queer Poco el Mono Ara were launching another attack on the Krytenian defence. Amidst the excitement of a World Cup quarter final, there was understandably a whole lot of noise in the national stadium.
"I said, we've been going for twenty minutes already. You've missed some good chances, a couple of bookings.."
"Goals?" replied Jeremy
"No, not yet.."
"Well then I've not missed anything important have I? Anyway, you've made notes, haven't you?"
"Indeed I have"
"Where are they?"
"Underneath your laptop" replied Rubio, lifting it up and skimming his notes out from underneath "have you never heard of a pen and paper, Jeremy? Your laptop is taking up a fair amount of space"
"Have I ever heard of a... well I never!" exclaimed Jeremy, unbuttoning the top pocket of his coat (Black. Sheepskin. No substitute for the old mac. Not at all) "I'll have you know I've been using a pen and paper, almost exclusively since day one" he said, producing said items in his hand; a battered, black, A5, top-folding ring-hinged notepad and several disposable biros "and when I say 'day one', trust me, young whippersnapper, I mean 'day one'"
Rubio wasn't particularly listening. Krytenia were counter attacking. He let his newly-retrieved notes dangle in his grip as Valrauncion powered forward, evading a challenge from one QMeMA centre-half, knocking the ball a little too far ahead of him and seeing it intercepted by the other defender. Rubio relaxed down in his seat. Jeremy was still waving the notepad.
"So... what's the laptop for?" asked Rubio, his attention diverted back to his own notepad, scribbling a commentary on the on-field events of the past thirty seconds. Valrauncion in particular was a threat; Krytenia would surely have opened the scoring on twenty-five minutes were it not for some resolute defending by the home side. He didn't pay attention to Jeremy's reply. When he looked up, Jeremy had put his notepad down next to his laptop, which was open and the sole source of Jeremy's attention. Rubio looked back to the field. Agogo was scampering up one wing. A pass to Valrauncion, out towards Davis who swings a leg over the ball, sending his opposite number off balance, before cutting sinde and laying off a through ball behind the defence. Valrauncion had expected the ball but was unable to get near it as it skidded towards the goalkeeper. Queer Poco el Mono Ara took the ball back up to the Krytenian half. A hopeful pass, deflected, throw-in. The crowd noise dissipated slightly, Rubio consulted his notepad again, unsure of what else he could write. Something about Krytenian tenacity quietening the crowd, maybe?
"They're not letting my puppet in" said Jeremy. Frowning and turning his laptop towards Rubio.
"What?"
"The RLStates World Cup. They're not letting my puppet enter." Rubio looked at Jeremy and noticed, behind the frown, he actually seemed quite upset.
"Well.. you haven't been active as Montenegro for very long, you need to get at least one World Cup under your belt before you can enter one of your puppets. Get some notice from the community first and then they'll come to accept..."
"But look at this, look at all the work I've done!" Jeremy complained, punching an address into the web browser. "I created an RLWiki page for the country. Took me ages as well."
"What's this?" came Rubio's response, more out of surprise than of enquiry. He read aloud one of the first lines from the Jaffacake-authored wikipage.
"some parts of it remained in the Albanian Principality of Dukagjini, until the middle 15th century.[22] During the Ottoman period the region came into close contact with the Ottoman culture. Islam was introduced to the population. During the late 19th century.. jesus christ Jeremy..." Rubio scrolled down a couple of lines; "Moreoever, they argue that, even if there is some linguistic connection between the pre-Slavic population of "Dardania" and modern Albanians, this cannot be used to justify modern territorial aspirations since it relies on territorial claims from pre-Migration Age Europe, at a time where there were no states or nations as we know them today.."
Rubio sat back, wide-eyed. "Jeremy.." he started, "How long, exactly, did it take you to write all this? There's loads of stuff here... annual average precipitation, population according to latest census, ethnic groups..."
"Well, that's why I was late"
"This is actually quite impressive, Jeremy"
"Of course it is. I wrote it. Wrote it all. It's a neighbour of my Montenegro main nation"
"What's it called?"
"Krytenia Nil, Starblaydia Nil, Vilita Nil" said Jeremy, beaming a mischeivious smile at Rubio.
"Well no wonder they won't let your puppet into the tournament. Dumb name like that"
"Aye, well they probably wouldn't guess that that was the name. It was too long to be entered into the RLstates nation creation box, so I had to use the acronym. 'K zero S zero V zero'"
"Right. Well that's less stupid, I suppose" said Rubio, who considered the amount of work, the amount of hours Jeremy must have spent writing that wiki page and dreaded to think how much information he'd poured over the wiki for his main nation before he was almost deafened by the QPeMA crowd. Rubio sat bolt upright and looked over the desk at the pitch. Several QPeMA players with their hands on their heads, the ball bouncing behind the goal. Still nil-nil, it seemed, but what had happened?
"Shit, Jeremy, what the hell happened on the pitch?"
"Huh?" came Jeremy's distracted reply as he corrected a spelling mistake, reversing the B and the M in 'humble'
"Cojones exlaimed Rubio, turning to his left towards a QPeMA security guard "Hombre, eh hombre, que conyo estas haciendo?"
"Nada." came the security guard's reply. "Centrocampista con la cabeza. Portero contacto con la mano. Cornerkick."[/i]

"Seen the map I created?" asked Jeremy
"No. No Jeremy and I don't want to. I'm busy. You should be busy too. You've got an opinion piece to submit by tonight"
"Written it. Have you seen some of the other maps these guys have made? They're rubbish"
"What do you mean you've written it? And the maps on RL states aren't bad, they just contradict each other sometimes"
"Written it. Both scenarios. A positive one documenting modern Krytenia's rise to prominence and the chance to overcome a century old adversary in the guise of a long-awaiting appearance in the World Cup final, and a negative piece about their impending exit from the tournament, making arbitrary accusations about a failure of the manager to use the talent at his disposal and a list of possible positives to take from the tournament before a final lament about a very capable team being crushed by the weight of expectation and history. I've written countless pieces like this before and I'm sure I'll do them a hundred times again before I retire. Denmark is dumb"
"Well fair en... why is Denmark dumb?"
"He just doesn't know what he wants to do with his nations. It's embarassing. He moves out of central europe and tells everyone he wants to be a Scandinavian nation but staunchly refuses to have his nation described as anything other than a sprawling, flat, urban mass full of beautiful, if slightly racist, people, home to the World Supermiddleweight Boxing champion and the cheapest beer for miles around"
"Why's that bad?"
"Well it's the opposite of a scandinavian nation, isn't it? Boxing champion? Neighbours Norway banned the sport years ago. Flat and urban? Have you seen the landscapes Finland and Norway RP with? Scandinavia is full of snowcapped mountains, expensive beer and left-wing idylls and here he is being Commerce Heights."
"Well.."
"And his pupper, 'Greenland'. Obviously when he thought of that name he was imagining a sunny paradise of rolling green meadows and rivers but, since he moved to Scandinavia, he's ridiculously ignored the name and described it as a barren, sub-polar inhospitable morass of snow and polar bears. I mean, it's called Greenland for hell's sake and, look, look at this map he's drawn up for it. It's the size of the entire region of Africa but has a population of a bout thirty-six. Bloody godmodder.
"Jeremy, really, I really think you should pay attention to the match. Queer Poco almost scored again and I missed that too."
"And Iceland just takes the piss. Iceland. Land of ice, right? Snow, glaciers, right?"
"Jeremy"
"It's a volcano!"
"Come on man.."
"A fucking volcano"
"Enough! Enough RLstates talk, OK? Look, we'll chat about if after the game, but I don't have your experience and I really need to concentrate on the match. It's Krytenia and it's a World Cup quarter final, OK? We don't reach many of them, I barely slept last night and now I'm tired and crabby and I have the most important job of my life, so far, to do and you're stopping me from doing that"
Jeremy saw that Rubio was serious, and saw the flicker of nerves behind his eyes. The kid was keen, as well as organized and not a bad writer either. Jeremy nodded and closed his laptop, taking a cigar our of his top pocket and lighting it.
"Fine, kid" he said. "No problem. Get back to work, I'll get us a coffee. Keep you awake and give me something to do. Sound good?"
Rubio relaxed. That was a nice gesture of Jeremy and, if Cleo had told him anything about Jeremy, it had been that 'nice gestures' weren't exactly high on the list of possible things Jeremy will do to a fellow journalist when he senses a weakness in their arsenal. That list had, it seemed, run to several pages and was quickly out of date as Jeremy's machinations continued to annoy and destroy.
"Thanks" said Rubio. "Thanks a lot."

Jeremy exitted the small kitchen in the journalists lounge with two disposable cups full of strong, black coffee. He kicked the kitchen door back shut as he left, spilling a splash of finest Cafunduese blend on his sheepskin as he did so. Bugger, he thought. Never mind. It was hardly worth the twenty quids he'd spent on it in a second-hand shop in QPeMA. He looked down at his two breast pockets, both buttoned up, one containing his notepad and pen - his livelihood - the other containing his cigars. As he traipsed back up the steps back to the media section and his new, foreign, workpartner, he considered two possible things he could do at that moment.

One, he could open his left pocket, take out his notepad and pen, sit back down next to Rubio and write a decent report of the game, based on its ups and downs and intricacies he would have missed by simply writing a stock, run-of-the-mill article before the game.

Two, he could open his right pocket, take out his cigar and, going back into the kitchen, remove the tobacco, boil it in some hot water and a tiny bit of instant coffee, giving it the smell and appearance of coffee but the taste of an Ariddian's morning breath.

Cruel. Not 'poisoning a resevoir in Halfassedstates' cruel, but cruel nonetheless. Exploiting the newfound trust of a youngling. Possibly the sort of thing Jeremy might have done as a mischeivious twenty-something but not nearly clever enough for the middle-aged Jeremy that he had become. Being evil wasn't fun unless you were clever. Machiavelli had it right. Now there was an RLstates character...

Jeremy took to his seat and flipped his notepad open. "Davis keeps cutting inside from the left" he said to Rubio "he's an old hand now and doesn't have the speed he used to exploit as a youth. His failure to reach the byline on the right side, lacking the confidence in his old legs to even try, has given the QPeMA fullback the confidence to make further and braver forays into his team's attacks, knowing he's got the pace to get back to position and that, should Davis be part of a counterattack while he's still upfield, the Krytenian winger will prefer to cut in and try to play valrauncion through, which will require a perfectly weighted pass which I fear is too difficult on this slightly damp pitch. That's why QPeMA are dominating posession on that side with the extra man and why those two headers you missed came from crosses on that side. The first one was a diagonal ball that the striker could only help on towards the goal at a safe height for the goalie to comfortably tip over the bar. The second one was more of a bullet cross that an international quality striker would have put away on the half-volley. That's what Valrauncion would have done anyway. QPeMA's number ten tried to control it, lost control, and his sliding attempt at a shot was off target. Davis has lost his personal battle already and the manager should change tack in the second half. If he doesn't then you can write about his failure to diagnose and treat that particular illness within his team. Illness is the right word. That lack of confidence will only spread and soon enough QPeMA will be dominating the midfield."

Rubio processed the information and looked out towards the pitch. Davis received the ball, feinted to go outside the defender before cutting in. The defender, having been sold this dummy twice before, wasn't having any of it and shoved his shoulder into the side of the Krytenian, knocking him off balance, and received the loose ball, passing it back to the goalkeeper who booted the ball out of play on the full.
"Know your stuff, don't you old man?" said Rubio.
"Oh yes" replied Jeremy. "And this match has got nil-nil written all over it. We'll have to see which team is fitter in extra time.

[Krytenia]

It was the night before the Krytenia-Babbage Islands game, and Rubio Sanchez was in his hotel room, musing.

Four years ago, he had dreamt of this moment, reporting for a top Krytenian newspaper on a World Cup semi-final; journalism, he knew from a young age, was in his blood. He'd aced his exams at school, with top grades in English, Spanish, History, Sociology, and Political Science. Universities had been falling over themselves to accept him. Even Ousevale University, the greatest academic institution in the country, had approached him - something almost unheard of. He'd rejected them all, not because of any lack of belief in his abilities, but because it was all too damn slow. He didn't want to spend three years suffocating in some dusty lecture hall, writing for a student rag nobody would read; he wanted to get out there, gain his experience in the field. He applied to paper after paper, but the reply was all the same - they wanted someone with qualifications.

At that point, Rubio had an idea. He applied to a university - the Krytenian Distance Acadamy of Higher Education - for a correspondence course. He'd asked for the entire course material to be sent to him at once, and that he would complete the course within four months. He'd got it, too, albeit with a cover note that essentially said "Your funeral, kid". He'd passed, too, gaining the qualification of First Bachelor of Letters. And so it came to pass that Rubio Sanchez, 1BLt, had finally managed to make it onto the journalistic ladder. He'd got a job at the Post, impressed with a match report he'd put into his CV regarding his team, the lower-division CF Avides. They'd put him on sports reporting duty, writing articles on minor games, and he'd let his talent flow. Even he was surprised, though, when the call had come in May, asking him to be lead article writer for the upcoming World Cup.

Four years ago, he'd dreamed of this moment. Now, he was living it. And not only that, he was spending it with one of the masters of the trade, and nobody knew aside from the employees at the paper. Here was a chance to learn, to grow, and to show that hack Niblick there was a new man in town. Only one thing could make tomorrow better...a Krytenian victory. Rubio smiled, and gently closed his eyes. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

[Wight]

.

[Queer Poco el Mono Ara]

Semi-Final Cut Off.... eeeep who goes to the final?

http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?p=8553810#p8553810

Guess we know now.

[The Babbage Islands]

The Bumblebees get to play two more matches now, no matter what happens. Such is your fate when you win a World Cup quarterfinal, which our eleven did for the fourth time as Akbarabad fell to us 3-1 in Queer Poco el Mono Ara. That sets up a semifinal showdown with one of the legends of the sport: Krytenia.

I took a lot of flak from you, beloved readers, over my offhand remark about the Krytenians being the greatest team never to win the World Cup. A number of you mentioned Audioslavia, four-time finalists with four finals losses, and I grant you that they have a claim. Several pointed out four other teams that have lost twice in the final, and how could I possibly say Krytenia was better than them all, yadda yadda yadda. It's my blog, and I'll call it like I see it.

Krytenia are the only squad in the top ten all time of the SRS ratings that has not won the World Cup. They are one of only two teams to my knowledge that have been ranked #1 in the world without ever winning a World Cup, before or after. (Teams have been ranked #1 before they won a first Cup, but only a couple have done it without later going on to win it all.) Their 33 Cup qualifications are fourth all time. (Jeruselem, another bona fide contender for best nation to never win the Cup, are first at 39.) And when all podium finishes are included they are equal second among all Cup non-winners, behind only the aforementioned Audioslavia.

In short, you are all entitled to your opinions, but I have enough facts to support mine. Thanks for sharing.

The Bees go into the semifinal still without Claire van de Graaf's services, but you'd never know it from the results. Joachim Erhardt ran a 4-4-2 against the Tiger Eaters from the attacking midfield slot with Glen Svoboda and Aubrey Dew up front, and each snagged a goal together with one from winger Dagrún Hallvarðsdóttir for the win. Tom Hovi, in for Dew in the last fifteen, almost made it 4-1 with a late blast off the crossbar.

Aubrey's fifth goal of the Cup was something to celebrate. But her post-match news was just as much fun and more lucrative. She's off to Civil Citizenry to play with Manning Pelham's and Eva Glemnitz's former club Athens Town for an eight-figure transfer fee. And she's not the only one commanding that kind of money, as Kaitlyn Miller signed with Cafundelense club SC Lasft for a fee in the same range. Gene Heath and Xia Langmu are off to two different Darmen clubs, and Kennedy Hunt has moved to the new pro league in Baltskandio and Svendogardd.

So now the question is this: Old Guard in the final, Valanora v Krytenia? Or Young Guns in the final, Aguazul v The Babbage Islands? Or one of the other David-and-Goliath mixes? And the subtexts. Rumours are flying -- could this be Laborious Hawk's final Cup? Does the Babbage manager plucked from the club ranks have what it takes for the biggest games? I guess the question is really a lot of questions. And even at fifty, all these years removed from my first match, I can still get really excited about the answers.

Smile!

[Krytenia]

Third Fourth Fifth Sixth Time's A Charm
By Rami Niblick in Khaldoon, Queer Poco el Mono Ara

IT IS, as they say, "squeaky-bum time". Krytenia will face the Babbage Islands tomorrow, and take their semi-final appearance total up to half a dozen. Still, though, they await their first victory in the last four. Heartbreak has hit them at home and abroad, as five times they have taken to the field, and five times they have come out of it with only a third place playoff to look forward to.

World Cup XXIV was their first foray into the great unknown. On their own patch, they had beaten Oaker in a seven-goal thriller in what had been their first ever World Cup quarter-final. On the horizon lay Sarzonia, a team that had beaten them on penalties four years previously after an exciting two-all draw. Surely lightning would not strike twice?

It certainly seemed as though the home side would have the upper hand, Phillip Neasden opening the scoring within two minutes before adding a second before the first quarter of an hour was up. This was a time, though, when the Stars held the Indian sign over their sky blue foes, and the great Wilson brothers bagged a goal apiece. Two-all. Penalties. You know what's coming next. Off toddled the Stars, to a final defeat to Liverpool England, leaving Krytenian fans musing on what might have been. They'd have a bit of a wait.

It would be another twenty years before Krytenia would make their second appearance in the semis - and, once again, it was after a thrilling quarter-final victory. Starblaydia, the Auld Enemy, were the victims this time; and yes, we'll freely admit the winning goal was a country mile offside, but if the referee gives the goal, it's a goal. It led to a match against Audioslavia, the side who'd eliminated the Aces from World Cup XXVII eight years previously. The game was simultaneously open and cagey, both sides wanting to win but neither wanting to lose. As it turned out, though, it was to be both losing at their traditional outposts - Krytenia eliminated in extra time in the semi, Audioslavia going on to lose the final to Casari. Casari!

By the time the Aces made their third appearance in the semi-finals, they had been to the summit and back - at least in the rankings. A fantastic World Cup XXX qualifying had seen them rise to the heights of number one in the world rankings; it did them little good, however, as Tadjikistan knocked them out in the last sixteen. Four years later, and they were ready to make amends. Having knocked out Elves Security Forces in the qualifiers (these being the days before Valanora sent a united team), they went on to eliminate Spaam and Aurendia (us neither) in the group stage, before sending co-hosts Lowland Clans and then those damn Starblaydis. Up against them were New Montreal States, reaching the last four for the first time since before Krytenia started playing international football. A game full of half-chances and nearly-weres was finally finished in the fourth minute of stoppage time, as Billy Corcoran broke Krytenian hearts. To twist the knife further, Oliverry would give them a five-nil pasting in the third place match.

Four years later, Krytenia were back trying to break the glass ceiling; once again, they had despatched Starblaydia on the way (though in the last sixteen this time), and, as with the Men In Mauve in World Cup XXIX and later with Sorthern Northland (God rest them) in World Cup LVII, had deposed the reigning world champions, Squornshelous. The Aces, though, found themselves in the unenviable position of being the team everyone wanted to lose. Not for them the role of plucky underdogs this time; their opponents were none other than Ariddia, the grandfathers of international football. The Rouge-et-Noirs had defeated Krytenia three-two in the group stage, and would do so again on their way to what may well have been the most popular World Cup title ever.

And so, to the part you all know. Four short years ago, a century to the week after their fourth semi-final, came their fifth. Though overshadowed by the tragedy that occured in Sorthern Northland - whilst they were playing the Aces no less - Krytenia were hopeful of their first ever final. To do so on Sarzonian soil, though, would be the cherry on the cake. It was not to be. Aguazul are the best in the world for a reason, and once again it was a case of what might have been for the Aces.

And that brings us to here. Lucky number six. Aces and Bumblebees, both looking for their first World Cup title. The Babbage Islands appeared in the final twelve years ago; Vázquez García's men will be doing their damnest they won't be appearing in their second this year. Onward!

[Andossa Se Mitrin Vega]

Since Both Parties have RPed, I have the score early

Hell Has Frozen Over