After calling for a (decisive) penalty kick for South Africa on a phantom handbabll by Senegal defender Kalidou Koulibaly during last November’s 2018 World Cup qualifier, Ghanaian referee Joseph Odartei Lamptey has been hit with a lifetime ban by FIFA, as Goal.com’s Evans Gyamera-Antwi details :
“The FIFA disciplinary committee has decided to ban the Ghanaian match official Joseph Odartei Lamptey from taking part in any kind of football-related activity (administrative, sports or any other) at national and international level for life,” a statement read.
“The official was found guilty of breaching art. 69 par. 1 (unlawfully influencing match results) of the Fifa disciplinary code during the 2018 FIFA World Cup Russia qualifying match between South Africa and Senegal on 12 November 2016,” the statement added.
However, unlike Lamptey, assistant referee David Lionheart Nii Lartey Laryea, who was running the touchline when Lamptey made the ‘unthinkable call’ has been pardoned after investigations proved him innocent.
In 2011, Lamptey was handed a six-month ban by CAF when he awarded a dubious goal to Esperance de Tunis in a CAF Champions League game against Egyptian giants Al Ahli.
(from 2013 : Lamont Thomas and Elijah Vasquez of Cleveland, OH’s Obnox react to the news they’ll be using microphones once touched by someone who’d met someone who once hung out with Adrenalin O.D.)
There’s no better way to distract yourself from the craven, creepy meat-marketing that is Austin’s annual tech/film/music trade fair than by focusing your attention on Jersey City’s venerable WFMU, and their annual fund raising marathon. Keep in mind, this is the station that ended my own radio career in the most inglorious (if not brutally unfair) way, so I must really really love the fuckers to death to continue shilling for them.
I don’t listen to enough other radio — online or otherwise — to say with authority that WFMU is the nation’s (or the world’s) best broadcaster. But as someone who’s been listening to the station for longer than some of you have been able to scratch yourselves, I will say this much : in an era in which there’s myriad options that all but guarantee you’ll never encounter something you dislike, a genre you’re unfamiliar with or an artist that lacks the backing of a colossal/rigged infrastructure, WFMU has never been more crucial or fun. Even with the disappearance of a certain Tuesday night program two years ago, WFMU’s cavalcade of hosts have the ability to entertain, educate and enrage, sometimes within the confines of the same show/hour/set.
I live in a house surrounded by more interesting records than I’ll ever have time to listen to, yet I still find myself listening to WFMU when I get up, in the middle of the afternoon, driving around town or at the end of the night. At any given moment I might hear an amazing song I’ve not even thought of in years. Or I might hear something (old or new) that I’ve never come across that’s nothing short of mind-blowing.
Is every show the greatest listening experience of all time? Absolutely not (HELLO, DAVE HILL). But the vast majority are programmed by the sort of insane music obsessives that have the sort of wit, zeal, perspective that no algorithm can ever hope to replace. To say this type of broadcasting is not exactly in vogue would be a huge understatement — even so-called public radio is tightly playlisted, genre-specific and fixated on branding in ways you’d have previously associated with commercial radio (or sterilization via pesticide exposure). So give what you can ; they only do the shakedown thing once (ok, sometimes twice) a year and given the amounts people are dropping on cable, netflix, hulu, various music subscription services, Nintendo Switch, washed coffee beans, Zosia Mamet’s kickstarter etc., throwing a few bucks at WFMU isn’t the least you could do (that would be giving them no money at all), but please consider it just the same.
On the bright side, there’s no Randy L. in Queens brandishing scissors to relieve Jacob de Grom or Noah Syndergaard of their long, lustrous hair. On the other hand, considering Matt Harvey is at least as likely to take up full-time food blogging as he is to contend for a Cy Young Award, was it really a great idea for MLB and the Mets to depict him shoveling food into his mouth?
REPORT #1 from the frontlines of America’s Favorite Tech-Film-Music-Trade Fair & Expo :
The food item depicted aboe was purchased earlier today at a local big-box retailer with the proceeds from a kill-fee for an article entitled “Members Of The FreeCreditReport.com Band Have Mixed Feelings About Their SXSW Experiences”.
Receipt from said purchase will be used for a subsequent proposed article about SXSW’s impact on the local economy.
Of his upcoming heavyweight bout against Tony Bellew at London’s O2 Arena this Saturday, former World Champion David Haye has claimed, “even in (Bellew’s) home town of Liverpool, I would be stopped in the street by people begging me to spectacularly send him into retirement.” At a Monday news conference in that very city, Haye was somewhat unnerved by the locals’ support for their fighter, calling the crowd, “fucking retards.”The Guardian’s Mark Dobson :
“I’m really happy you’ve all come out,” Haye said. “Bet all the money you have. Each and every one of you should bet on Bellew to win the fight.
“You know your fighter is going to get drilled. When he comes back to Liverpool be there for him, because he’s going to need you.”
The fighters had to be separated during a feisty press conference but Bellew said: “I’m proud of where I come from and what I stand for. Saturday I’m going to create something that will never die, when I beat Sideshow Bob.
“I’m not going in with an invincible; he was fantastic, in his prime. Still, the single punching, quickest heavyweight in the world. But the gas tank is very low.
“I’m expecting the best David Haye, but it’s not going to be there for very long. When it runs out, the big fat scouser will come through you like a steam train.”
(EDITOR’S NOTE : While our talented team of technicians feverishly attempt to determine why the 12XU website has been down for the past 2 weeks, they’ve been instructed to highlight the label’s March 24 releases in this otherwise-dormant space. Since none of them have been paid in ages, however, I’ve had to do so myself. FUCK ME. – GC)
16 song, career-spanning compilation dragging together the most malevolent bits this Mobile, AL assemblage has released on Gary Wrong’s own Jeth Row label as well as assorted sides for Total Punk, Bat Shit, Scavenger Of Death, Pelican Pow Wow and 3 NEVER BEFORE AVAILABLE COMPOSITIONS. Apocalypse-level murky madness from one of the U.S underground’s most crucial characters. RIYL : sending .zip files to help Levitation Fest’s creditors thru a spate of bad, bad news.
Brisbane’s Thigh Master make their first U.S. tour this spring and no less an authority than Sir Douglas Mosurock has said the quartet’s ‘Early Times’ debut LP “is loaded with sunny, ragged hooks and big, sloppy singalongs,” likening the combo to, “a lost Flying Nun band.” Both songs on this 7” dial up the ragged / dial down the singalong, but you’re free to try anyway.
Hailing from Melbourne, Borzoi are a bunch of rite yung fucks who sing about goon sacks and shrimps on barbies. ther new bonzer of asingle ‘sout on 12xu, hit the turps n give it a burl!
(EDITOR’S NOTE : Borzoi are actually from the far northwest corner of Melbourne known as Austin, TX. “Rite” should be spelled, “right”. I have no idea what they mean by “burl”.)
That said, I haven’t seen a better live band in the last two years. That I’ve been under house arrest during that stretch should not diminish the importance of that statement. Either way, Borzoi have pivoted from a powerful debut 7? for Austin’s Pau Wau label to a genre-obliterating, pneumatic noisy-as-fuck-all 4 song EP on 12XU this Spring (more Ron Jonnson than Ron Santo, though I sincerely doubt they’re fans of either). catch the trio on tour this May or watch ‘em from the back of the room like a smug, self-satisfied cultural tourist at SXSW this March.
NY Post sports media columnist / conscience Phil Mushnick has long been our last line of defense when it comes all sorts (OK, mostly hip-hop) of popular culture invading the sporting sphere and wrecking society what with all the n-bombs and h-bombs and a-bombs and crotch-dusting. And the hip-hop!
What we do know is Lady Gaga isn’t shy. And her outrageous side, as much as her considerable talent as a singer, is why she is famous and why she was engaged. So, like stubbing our toe, we’re conditioned to anticipate pain before we know if it even hurts.
Super Bowls that once featured entertainment by the reliably clean and talented have been replaced by “edgy,” let’s-risk-it talent. Up With People replaced by Down With Pants. That’s the bag we’re in.
Keep in mind, please, the columnist’s offspring must be pushing 30 at this point and he’s still worried MTV’s going to turn them into gang bangers or bang gangers or Bango Tango or Tago Mago or something. But full credit where due, “Up With People replaced by Down With Pants” is almost Norman Chad-esque.
(EDITOR’S NOTE : the following was first posted on February 8, 2004. Since our archives from year one are on permanent vacation — or so it seems — you’ll just have to take my word for it. No one in their right mind would boast of republishing this recipe on an annual basis for 14 fucking years if it weren’t true . Of course, no one in their right mind would watch a half-sped NFL exhibition game when they can watch Chris Jericho suspended in a cagefreedom crumbling before our eyes.
If every person reading this who enjoyed my recipe for Pro Bowl Chili donated $1 to the National Immigration Law Center…the NILC would be in serious trouble. It would be quite remarkable if I could find one person who enjoyed the Pro Bowl Chili and have them donate $5 million, but perhaps it would make sense to address a wider audience. – GC).
Excuse me for having to spell this one out for our European readers. Pro Bowl Sunday is a BIG event for Americans. All over the country, families come together for Pro Bowl Parties. Advertisers pay hundreds of dollars to televise commercials featuring their newest products. Each year on Pro Bowl Sunday, battered womens’ shelters report the number of victims admitted to their care decreases by two percent, testament to the calming nature of the contest . If the NBA All-Star Game is, in the words of Michael Wilbon, Black Thanksgiving, then the Pro Bowl is sort of like Yom Kippur for Gambling Degenerates & Football Obsessives of All Races.
In this household, the Pro Bowl’s importance is matched only by that of the NHL Skills Competition (skate-sharpening, carrying Eric Lindros off the ice) and the entire NASCAR calendar. And with that in mind, here is CSTB’s Award Winning Pro Bowl Chili Recipe :
Once upon a time, cantstopthebleeding.com was one of the nation’s top sports blogeterria (blogoterrarium? blogtoxcity?) destinations, appealing to the friendless and socially challenged and/or persons hungry for LOTS & LOTS RECRIMINATIONS. As the nu media wars wore down, the site retreated into near dormancy, maintained by an automated system devised by the same brilliant minds behind Do512 the Atari Jaguar
I’m not sure how familiar you are with the phenomena of “artifical intelligence”, but about 9 years ago the cyborg in question began organizing an annual free show in the middle of March at a respected Red River venue. From day one the event was sponsor free and impervious to the crony-heavy network of booking agents, garbage labels and the like. In short, it made no sense whatsoever but since the bill is always super hot and there’s no cover, hardly anyone complains.
However, I won’t lie to you folks, times are tough. I’m still paying off the legal fees after last March’s embarrassing vomiting-on-the-Mr. Robot-ferris-wheel incident, and as such I’ve had to partner up with two dubious organizations this year. One is some bogus “indie” label no one’s ever heard of, the other some shadowy lobbyists who may or may not be funneling money to assorted hate groups. I need to do a little more research. At least the bill is super strong, and since none of you give two fucks about how the sausages are made, that’s all that matters
Past participants have included but not been limited to Dan Melchior, Complete, the Homosexuals, Tyvek, Spray Paint, Protomartyr, Obnox, Golden Pelicans, The Muffs, The Blind Shake, TV Ghost, Puffy Areolas, The Spits, Endless Boogie and far too many examples of yes-you-totally-blew-it-by-going-to-see-the-Oh-Sees-for-the-50th-time-instead. This year’s lineup is no different, except perhaps in that it is THE GREATEST EVER. And it’s after dark. And yes, there the aforementioned affiliation with a bogus indie label and an alleged paper-cup advocacy group that might be a front for something well & truly evil.
Portland based Rebecca Gates is perhaps best known for her amazing run of 1990′s recordings as the voice/guitar behind The Spinanes. That’s all well and good but her subsequent incarnation(s), including but not limited to 2012′s 12XU LP, ‘The Float’ have solidified her status as one of music’s sharpest minds. Her Central Texas appearances are rare — at least those we’re allowed to tell anyone about more than a few hours ahead of time.
Outer Spaces (Baltimore) — spearheaded by ex-Witches vocalist/guitarist Cara Beth Satalino, Outer Spaces are coming off one of 2016′s best albums in the form of ‘A Shedding Snake’ (Don Giovanni) and a run of East Coast dates supporting Ted Leo & The Pharmacists. I’m beyond thrilled they’re taking part in this show (especially the part about not having to pay them).
Thigh Master (Brisbane) – no less an authority than Sir Douglas Mosurock has said their ‘Early Times’ debut LP “is loaded with sunny, ragged hooks and big, sloppy singalongs,” likening the combo to, “a lost Flying Nun band.” High praise, but not hype. There’s a new 7″ on 12XU coming in March, and with any luck this won’t be their only Austin show that week. Also, if you’ve got a couch they can crash on, HIT ME UP.
Street Eaters (Oakland) – a few years back, the duo of Megan March and John No opened for Cruddy’s LP release show here in Austin and it was nothing short of one of those, “did anyone get a look at the gaudy advertising on the side of the bus I just missed?” moments in life (especially as I actually missed their set while watching that movie about the guy who invented the intermittent windshield-wiper blades). But everyone who was there told me they were awesome and subsequent visits to this part of the world revealed those folks weren’t lying. And their records are killers, too.
Xetas (Austin) – this is not the time or place to leak new music from Xetas’ forthcoming 2nd 12XU LP, ‘The Tower’. For starters, no one’s reading this. More to the point, why make everyone else on the bill look feeble by comparison? (NOTE FROM PAPER CUP COUNCIL EDITOR : take that part out before publication).
The Gospel Truth (Austin) – how do these guys manage to top one of 2016′s most stunning albums, the filler-free ‘Jealous Fires’? To paraphrase Michael Angelo Battio, giving you the answer would be handing over the keys to the Lamborghini. Suffice to say subsequent new material from Mark Tonucci and collegues reveals they’re not even close to peaking.
Borzoi – I haven’t seen a better live band in the last two years. That I’ve been under house arrest during that stretch should not diminish the importance of that statement. Borzoi have pivoted from a powerful debut 7″ for Austin’s Pau Wau label to a genre-obliterating 4 song EP on 12XU this Spring ; catch the trio on tour this May or watch ‘em from the back of the room like a smug, self-satisfied cultural tourist this March. Better yet, why choose?