STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS: REAL SALT LAKE v FC DALLAS

The greatest team in the world is back on the field after a disappointing loss last week. But let's not talk about that, shall we?

Besides, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Ah, it's just Real Salt Lake, c'mon, it's like a training session, no sweat". Yeah, well, tell it to the Revs, who got knocked off by an even worse expansion team Friday night in LA.

There are no easy games in this league. Ever.

Still no EJ, which is fine. As I said last week, you don't want to mess around with a goobered up big toe. You just don't. I know it sounds sissified to not play because your toe hurts, but unless you've had that specific injury, you just don't understand.

Vanney is still gone on Gold Cup duty, but that ends tomorrow. Hopefully with a win for the U.S. of A.

Boy that is one ugly field at Rice-Eccles stadium. I'm not being critical mind you, as I understand it's temporary, But it is, unfortunately, reminiscent of Giants Stadium in the old days. You can't be much more insulting toward a soccer surface than that. Well, you can if you say it's reminiscent of Owen Field at the University of Oklahoma in the old days, but not many people would relate to that. That field . . . oh my. You could see

concrete through some of the fraying seams of that monstrosity. The word threadbare springs to mind as well. It must have been like playing football in a parking lot.

But I digress.

Did I mention Vanney is gone? Well let me reiterate that observation by pointing out that RSL's first goal (in the 2^nd minute, mind you) was finished by Seth Trembly while standing RIGHT SMACK DAB IN THE MIDDLE OF THE EIGHTEEN. The same spot, not coincidentally, where Taylor Twellman scored two goals last week. Mormons 1 - 0 Gentiles.

In the immortal words of Keith Olbermann: GUH!

Not for another 10 minutes do we see a shot from the good guys. Ruiz with a weak left footer. Is it possible that Colin Clarke has allowed his team to come out flat and overconfident? Is it possible the boys are showing such disrespect to former teammates DJ Countess, Dante Washington, and Jason Kreis as to take Real lightly? Inconceivable!

Gbandi gets Gbooked in the 25th. And that is, sadly, the most interesting thing that has happened in this game for about 23 minutes.

Boy did I just jinx the team. Jordan Cila scores a Dempsey off a quickly taken free kick by Andy Williams. Smart play by Andy. Dumb defense by us. We were caught completely unawares; no one was paying attention to Cila making his run and the defenders near Williams had their backs to him, assuming he was going to wait for 10 yards before he took the free.

And you know what happens when you assume, right? You make an ass out of Uma Thurman.

Wow I have never seen Scott Garlick so animated. And by animated I mean, of course, royally pissed off. That was a Schmeichel-esque curseout he just laid on the boys. Rightly so, unfortunately.

Well, kids, you know it ain't your night when Cletus scores from 40 yards out. What a disaster. Real is up 3-0 and there are still 15 minutes left in the first half.

Cocktail, anyone? Don't mind if I do, thanks.

Clint almost does it again in the 37th. Only a desperate, scrambling save by Scotty saves us from further humiliation.

Halftime cannot come soon enough. I hope Colin Clarke's Irish is up enough to get the fuego back in this team. They look whipped. Physically and mentally. Not good.

Okay. Halftime. Have some oranges, drink some Gatorade™, visit the lil' soccer

players room, and then get out there and GET ON WITH IT!

We need a little Liverpool Champions League mojo for the second half.

Okay, here we go. Second half is on. Though I must be frank here and say I can barely stand to watch. If only Tivo could transcend the limitations of space and time and allow me to fast forward to the end of the match, even though I'm watching it live. I'm a bit disappointed that it can't. What am I paying five bucks extra for each month, if not the ability to flout the immutable laws of the universe?

Ripoff.

Ten minutes in to the second half, and I must say we do NOT look likely to score, much less score three or four. They just showed a shot of Clarke and Morrow on the sidelines. Both of them have a confused expression on their faces. They look like they're watching a Fellini film.

DJ Countess tips the ball over the net in the 62nd minute, but lands hard on the plastic. He's really shaken up, but he's going to keep playing. I know some Dallas fans have their issues with him, but I've always liked him. He's a good keeper, a good kid, and I wish him the best.

With the exception of the next 28 minutes, mind you.

I'm reminded at this point (70th minute) of a Ramones song. I don't know that they were thinking of soccer, and I've taken liberties with the lyrics, but I keep hearing in my head the following chorus: Twenty twenty twenty twenty minutes to

go-ooo, I wanna be sedated . . .

78th minute. Countess makes a nice kick save to deny Clarence Goodson a goal. Then, to add insult to injury, he pushes Clarence to the ground like a playground bully. I think Goody took an extra stab at the ball that wound up connecting with DJ's ribcage. Ah, these young people today . . .

There are ten minutes left, and we're keeping the ball in RSL's half of the field, but still, it looks grim. If we should happen to pull off a tie or a win, I vow here and now that I will never, EVER write another negative word in this column about FC Dallas. I will become the Scott McClellan, nay, the Mohammed Saeed al-Sahhaf of soccer journalism.

But I don't see it happening.

Nope. That's it. What an awful two weeks for FC Dallas.

The upside, if there is one, is that during the four or so games where there was no television coverage, and I didn't get the chance to write any Stream of Consciousness columns, I didn't have any reason to drink. The last two weeks, as it turns out, have given me AMPLE opportunity to tie one on. Which I have. I am, as they say, feeling no pain at this moment.

Which is nice.

But, apart from that, the last two games have been nightmarish, in a purely non-real-life, soccer-esque context. But, you know what? We'll all be okay. This is a good team, and we're good fans, so, says I, let RSL have the joy of a victory (okay, not just a victory, but a full-fledged butt-whuppin') of the best team in Major League Soccer. That's cool. It's a long season. Uncle Lamar's House is opening in a few weeks, EJ is almost ready to play; life is good, my people. It is not yet time to panic.

Believe me, when it is time to panic, I, your faithful DJ, will be the first to let you know.

See you Wednesday for the Metrostars.