Remember a few weeks ago when i speculated how things could get any worse at Stamford Bridge? I failed to suggest this scenario. From Soccernet:

Drogba Wants To Quit Chelsea
 
Ivory Coast striker Didier Drogba wants to quit Chelsea three years after joining the Londoners. 'I want to leave Chelsea. Something is broken with the club,' Drogba is reported as saying in a magazine article due to be published on Friday. Drogba, who has scored 43 goals in the Premier League, was one of the players most affected by former manager José Mourinho's departure last month.

Something is broken? No shit, sherlock! I can't fault Didier for his logic, but would beg him to weather the storm in London. If he goes (or worse, doesn't go and pulls a kind of Kobe Bryant-esque "i'll play mediocre until you give in to my demands" routine), the situation in West London will sink to new lows. Why in god's name would any top-name footballer want to join this circus? I guess £100,000 per week is a good enough reason for many. We'll see whether the magazine article inspires a frenzy of trade discussions or a fervent (albeit questionable) denial from the in-form striker.

V has introduced me to the world of podcasts. I wasn't sold on listening to audio blogs by bit characters in mediocre TV shows, or worse listening to ten minute ads (Flight of the Conchords, i'm looking disappointedly in your direction). But after V persuaded me to poke around the iTunes store podcast section, i subscribed to a few, including the Ricky Gervais show, the official Chelsea FC podcast, and a couple of weekly discussions on the Xbox 360 and the PS3. I've listened to the Chelsea ones, and have found that Gavin Peacock perfectly crystallized many of my feelings of disappointment with the Blues' current mess. Factor in that i can listen to them on my iPod via my ever-impressive new Alpine car stereo, and i'm increasingly keen on podcasts. Despite the stupid name.

Although i preordered it and fetched it on release day, i haven't played more than 15 minutes of Halo 3 so far. My attentions were drawn back to finishing a Liga Primera season with Barcelona on Winning Eleven. I did so earlier today, finishing 38 matches on 100 points, 11 ahead of rivals Real Madrid, with Samuel Eto'o and Ronaldinho leading the scoring table. Now that i've garnered my Xbox Live achievement points for this accomplishment, i'll pop Halo back in and see what i can do with Master Chief. I did play a brief online match and did reasonably well (largely because my opponents were as bad as or worse than i am), but it's just not the same without my old deathmatch partner. For some reason i'm just not as juiced about Halo as every other gamer in the known universe. It's a great game, to be sure, but it just doesn't hold that wow factor for me. I guess it does everything well, but it doesn't do any one thing mind-blowingly amazingly. Take Bioshock ... everything is solid, but the art is god damn fabulous and elevates the entire game to an addiction. I can't really point at anything like that in Halo, despite it also being rock solid. Perhaps next month's Assassin's Creed will provide my next video obsession.

I've seen the 49ers twice now, and they've scored a total of 10 points in those 8 quarters. In their most recent defeat, a 9-7 loss to the Baltimore Ravens that wasn't nearly as close as the scoreline suggests, the Niners' 7 came courtesy of two back-to-back pass plays from QB Trent Dilfer. Oddly, that spurt comprised about 95% of the day's offensive output. The defense is playing well, but the offense reminds me of my high school's team. And they stunk even when compared to other high schools. The game was memorable if only because i got to see Gary in his Vernon Davis jersey and throwback leather helmet. Getting to and from Candlestick Park is a bit of a chore. I tried taking Caltrain last time, which worked well enough, except that the closest station is a good 20 minute walk from the stadium gates. Oh well. Hooray exercise.

I'm a bit shocked that England blew their chance to book a place at Euro 2008 today, losing 2-1 to Russia on a much-debated artificial pitch in Moscow. Despite the surface concerns, England apparently enacted a scene from the Sven Goran-Eriksson era, going ahead early then reverting to eleven men behind the ball and hoping to close out the match. Thanks to a controversial penalty and a tap-in winner in the span of five second half minutes, those hopes were dashed. Shades of England-France from Euro 2004. England went from booking their hotels in Austria to praying that Russia drops one of their final two matches against Israel and Andorra and they can defeat group leaders Croatia at Wembley. No blaming this one on underperforming Chelsea players as JT was out injured and Lamps only played the last fifteen minutes. It's almost a whole culture of underperformance in the England camp. As opposed to team like Brazil, made up of individual superstars who everyone expects to bring home all the trophies and are often proven right, England have comparable talent (yes, i do believe that) but have some black cloud hanging over them and tend to validate the doubters rather than the believers. Can they pull off an improbably comeback and sneak into the Euro 2008 finals? Maybe ... they could beat Croatia and Russia isn't so stable that you'd bet the mortgage on them winning two in a row. But will they make any noise in the competition if they do? Are they ready to knock off a Portugal, France, or Italy in the final?

Is there anything Gordon Ramsay can't do? If you take his litany of television programs at face value, he's a world-renowned chef, über-conquering entrepreneur, family and marriage counselor, and professional footballer. Perhaps in the episodes to come he'll add brain surgeon and rock star to the list.

An observant V spotted that the long-awaited Ian Curtis film Control was debuting in the Bay Area at the Mill Valley Film Festival last week, so she picked up tickets and we drove north on Friday evening to my dad's old stomping ground. We got there in time to grab a slice at a "solar powered pizzeria" before queueing up with the other hipsters in Marin for the showing. I loved the book on which the movie was based, the memoirs of Curtis's widow Deborah entitled Touching From a Distance, which depicted Ian as a bipolar figure who could mesmerize on stage but was alternately distant and dominating in his personal relationships. The film was directed by Anton Corbijn, the Dutch director famed for his music videos from Depeche Mode to R.E.M. making his first feature film. The movie, shot completely in beautifully framed black and white shots, only minorly deviated from my memory of the book. Where it excelled was linking Curtis's fiercely emotive lyrics to the personal experiences that spawned them ... "Love Will Tear Us Apart" played as Ian's marriage disintegrated, while we see Curtis penning the lyrics to "She's Lost Control" after dealing with his first grand mal epileptic seizure and the flood of medication he's given to deal with it. The opening lines to "Disorder", "I've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand, could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man?" are also seamlessly integrated with the drama. The soundtrack is flawless, both in its selection of JD classics and lesser known tracks ("Insight"!) as well as other music from the era including Bowie, the Velvet Underground, Iggy Pop, and Kraftwerk (all Curtis favorites). The music was so good that i'll partially forgive the filmmakers' decision to let the Killers cover "Shadowplay". Sam Riley and Samantha Morton give superb performances as Ian and Deborah Curtis, with the former representing the iconic frontman as a kind of man-boy who can't take responsibility for his marriage, child, mistress, or epilepsy, and as such is eventually consumed by thoughts of helplessness. Toby Kebbell provides the comic relief as the sharp-tongued manager Rob Gretton. But the glue that holds the work together is the amazing cinematography of Corbijn, which provides visuals to match Ian's response to his mistress Annik's request to tell her about Macclesfield, "Macclesfield is grey, and miserable". Despite a somewhat lackluster response from the other moviegoers, V and i loved it. I was tearing up when Deborah found Ian's body and the camera drifted to the sky, showing smoke wisping out of a chimney as "Atmosphere" slowly played.

The rest of our weekend was spent taking the dog for a long walk around Redwood Shores, scrubbing the bathroom until i got loopy from the bleach, having dinner and gelato on University Ave in Palo Alto while mourning Cal's missed chance to become the #1 team in the country, and going with friends Frank and Jennifer to the Half Moon Bay Pumpkin Festival. The latter was a nice opportunity to spend a few hours with our Stanford chums, particularly while maneuvering through the stop-and-go traffic on the 92 and hoping that our gas supply would last until HMB. The Festival left a bit to be desired, consisting largely of craft booths and places selling assorted pumpkin foodstuffs. Apparently all the actual pumpkin patches were to be found on the 92 just before HMB.

I rewarded myself for a good year last week by upgrading my car stereo at Best Buy, switching to an Alpine IDA-x001. The latest Alpine single DIN, it forgoes a CD or tape player in favor of a greatly-expanded iPod interface. V bought me a new iPod classic to go with my new toy, allowing me to control it through the stereo's USB interface with nearly the same functionality as the iPod itself. And most importantly, it shows the album artwork on its 2.2" screen. Woohoo! Next up will be the Alpine Sirius adapter, allowing me to control all my auto audio units through the deck. It's not in stock yet so i have time to let my bank account recharge.

I hate Gwen Stefani. Not really news. But boy, do i ever.

This is the guy we've entrusted to steady the ship at Stamford Bridge after José Mourinho's ignominious exit? Can someone poke him to make sure he's still alive? It's good to know the extras from Shaun of the Dead are finding work.

The situation has become downright laughable at Chelsea following the early season drama. Injuries, infighting, corporate meddling, lousy summer buys exposed ... how could this get any worse? I'll let my pessimistic imagination run wild for a second ...

• After getting kicked in the face last season by Vassiriki Diaby (accidentally) and having his cheekbone broken by Clint Dempsey last week (accidentally), John Terry's head is ripped off by El Hadji Diouf (accidentally) during this weekend's game against Bolton. The injury keeps him on the sidelines for two weeks.
• After his son watches video of the 1970 World Cup on Youtube, Roman Abramovich buys Pelé for £60 million. Nary a peep is heard from the boardroom or the management staff at Stamford Bridge.
• Peter Kenyon and two beefy guys named Juri and Vlad are photographed delivering silver briefcases to Cristiano Ronaldo, Cesc Fabregas, Kaká, Samuel Eto'o, and due to an apparent typographical error, Sheffield plumber Gerrard Stevens.
• New zombie coach Avram Grant takes Michael Essien's flexibility several steps further, starting him as goalkeeper for a couple of matches before installing him as fitness coach.
• Having not yet played for Chelsea in this year's Champions League competition due to a muscle tear, Frank Lampard opts to move to Barcelona during the January transfer window. Because he arrived before the Roman revolution, Abramovich insists Lampard is secondary to the club's success and to prove his point sells him for a mere £2 million. Lampard goes on to supplant Xavi as Bara's midfield lynchpin and scores four goals against his old club in the Champions League quarterfinal. Meanwhile, Abramovich spends his £2 million on the rights to a Brazilian 11 year-old.
• Eager to bolster our defense and thrilled that bargain pickup Tal Ben Haim has been personally responsible for allowing only 8 or 9 goals this season, the Stamford Bridge brain trust signs Dublin pub team regular Paddy Murphy on a free transfer.