it's not such a long wait

The English Premier League last season, a.k.a., How Leicester went from Ugly Duckling to Pretty Swan, turned out to be, as predicted, utterly unpredictable.

For one, the defending champions, Chelsea, who’d maintained the lead in the previous season pretty much the entire season, struggled to find form in the 2015/2016 season under their manager and much-loved Mourinho, who may possibly have his third seasons jinxed. They disappointed and clutched at straws and breathed sighs of relief and sighs of despair and lost when you expected them to win and drew when you expected them to lose and became a delightful joke (of course, that you’ll find humour at Chelsea’s expense depends on which side of the divide you are) in the Premiership.

Remi Garde. Steve McClaren. Roberto Martinez. What these three have in common—coaches all shown the door. Last season’s EPL was a rather fun coach exodus. Aston Villa, Everton, Swansea, Watford, among others, pulled a Pharaoh and let their coaches go. Then again, it’s not like these guys didn’t have them coming. Due to a poor start and a rather uninspiring continuation, Aston Villa finally slips below the line and is going on relegation. Mourinho, The Special One, had to eat humble pie too, when Abramovic said ‘Bye!’ yet again.

Van Gaal too, I add before I forget, had the rug yanked from underneath him when, despite the FA Cup win, was told to pack and leave. This one was pretty sad in my eyes. Dude was still basking in the glory of a trophy win. A. Trophy. Win. Never mind it’s not the Premiership title; it’s more than the defending champions, and the great spenders Manchester City, or Klopp’s band of merry men, could boast of. To think that United fans were ecstatic when Louis pulled Cillessen off for Krul against Costa Rica. Oh, I bemoan the unfairness of life. 

And while some coaches were leaving, other coaches were soaring. Claudio Ranieri, Leicester’s boss, clearly understood what it meant to sing for your dinner. Subtle in his attack, unassuming, understated, (in the event that subtle and understated mean the same thing, ignore one of them. You choose) he knew how to draw better blueprints than at least eighteen other coaches. Otherwise explain how he earned the Manager of the Month title in November of last year and March and April of this one, and the Italian honour called the Enzo Bearzot Award. (I know. Mouthful. Blame Ranieri.) Glorious moments when Leicester lifted the trophy, singing and jumping and crowing Ranieri king. I had goose bumps the size of Texas, and my eyes welled up. It’s ironic. The last time I saw Leicester this jubilant, it was because they’d escaped relegation. Who would have imagined they’d be lifting a trophy next?

I’d say awesome things about Tottenham’s Pochettino too—he won Manager of the Month in September of last year and February 2016, and his team managed to climb two places up from the fifth they’d finished last season. However it’s exactly the third position they got that’s holding me back. Ah! They were on the verge of snatching second place, when in the final match, they let go the reins and lost (lost is a mild word) one goal to five, in effect losing their hold on second place.

Who took their place? Arsenal. I know, I’m as surprised as you. Most of us thought they’d finish fourth even if there were only three teams in the Premiership. Well what do you know? They played us. I’m guessing we’ll be seeing Wenger for at least another year. Yeah. I leave him to Piers.

The transfer window was also pretty lit. Young prodigy Anthony Martial is proof of that. I’m glad I ever saw him play. He’s got skill. Academy boys who got bumped up to the senior side. Marcus Rashford, scoring on his debut. I applaud. The other transfers who got a lot of hype and yet lived up to none of it. They know themselves. 

Sunderland escaped relegation! Again! I asked myself once how they manage to do it. I mean, they play…some way, win…some matches, and lose a great many! Then I realized. There’s United. There’s Chelsea. Six points already in the bag. They finished just two points above the relegated Newcastle. Sunderland. Your level of…whatever you have going on is just too admirable.

It’ll be August before the world’s most watched league revisits. But it’s so thrilling, this wait. And why ever not? The expectations are high! To start…Mourinho’s moving to United! I know! When Chelsea played their Passenger card and let [him] go, Manchester United welcomed him in with open arms…after they’d gotten rid of the formerly-genius-and-now-not-so-loved Van Gaal. And Guordiola is headed for Manchester City. Aaahhh!! Mourinho on one end of Manchester, Gourdiola on the next! Reliving the rivalry of their Real Madrid/ Barcelona days. Then there’s Klopp, Conte (Conte!), Ranieri, Pochettino…some coaching fandango that’s going to be. And there’s always good old Wenger to make us smile when the atmosphere’s too charged from rifles from Mourinho’s speeches or Klopp’s tactics or Conte’s personality. Oh, the wait.

And while I wait…there is the Copa America. The glorious Copa America, beginning tomorrow—tomorrow! At dawn! (technically it’s around evening of 3^rd June there, but that’ll translate to dawn in these here parts)—in the USA. I saw some Peruvians on television recently, willing Messi and Argentina, in chants and dance and song, to win the tournament. I hope for Messi’s sake he does win it. Five ballon d’ors are enough foundation to win a trophy with your country. It’ll be the icing on the cake for his very interesting career.

(Oh, nonsense. I’m just hoping he’ll win it because of all the countries competing, Argentina’s the one I can stand the most.)

(No, really. I just want to see if without Neymar and Suarez to his left and right he’ll hold up. Unlike the last time. When he had Higuain and DiMaria.)

And then there are the EUROs, from 10^th June to 10^th July. In my opinion—and, yeah, I’m allowed to be biased here—this is the tournament where the best football is displayed, and except for those moments when I miss it, which is a lot, I love that it’s played only every four years. There’s no wasting time on a third place match. Playoffs right to the finale. No guaranteed level. The cruel fairness of it. You get served what you earn.

And just when you’re beginning to feel the pang of no action, in swing…the Olympics! August Rio 2016! Could this end? No? Yaay!

And just in a couple of minutes the NBA Finals series will kick off at the Oracle Arena. It’s amazing. Some of us thought this would be happening at the Chesapeake Energy Arena in Oklahoma, but in what turned out to be a thriller of a Western Conference Finals, the Golden State Warriors climbed from a three games to one deficit to win the series four games to three! Owww! It was like watching some sick penalty shootout, except each kick was stretched about two hours long with time-outs and cheerleaders and crazy loud fans. How the Oklahoma City Thunder let a lead like that slip is beyond understanding. Maybe the West is just the more competitive side of both the conferences.

It’s natural to imagine that the Finals won’t be as good as the end of the Western Conference. Then it hits you. The Warriors are going to meet LeBron. (Yum.) And it is clear as daylight has an ‘i’ in it that he won’t sit around and watch the Chef and his Strength in Numbers crew snatch the title from him twice. In a row.

Ooohh. Goose bumps.

Bring it!