N.Y. Rocks, but Mourinho Doesn't

Getty ImagesWith a supporting cast featuring Juan Pablo Angel, Joel Lindpere and Dane Richards, the Bulls are slowly morphing into the Baby Cosmos.

As much as we've been programmed by the EPL to believe that no known soccer life exists outside its borders, scientists in Belgium have confirmed that there are indeed carbon-based organisms in other universes that occasionally produce games worthy of our attention. So given that nothing happened in the Prem this weekend to cause the world to fall off its axis (unless, of course, you're a Spurs fan and then you deserve what you get), we checked out some alien leagues in galaxies far, far away.

Thierry Henry can still bring it!

I should know better than to expect to be entertained by anything at 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday, let alone a soccer game involving Blackburn. And aside from Theo Walcott's excellent opening goal -- part of his continuing crusade to remind Fabio Capello of how clueless he was to leave the Arsenal speed merchant at home this summer -- I not only found little to justify my decision to stumble out of bed but worse, I found a reason to put the covers back over my head about 30 minutes later.

That's when I saw Robin Van Persie go down injured at Ewood Park and my first thought was "Here we go again. Another season where Arsenal has no striker it can depend on." And then my sleep-deprived mind drifted back to those halcyon days when the one thing Arsenal fans didn't have to worry about was where the goals would come from.

As it so happens, the man who featured most prominently in those goal-fests is now plying his trade a mere half an hour from New York City, and so on Saturday night, I ventured out to Harrison, N.J., to reacquaint myself with my all-time favorite Arsenal player (and trust me -- that's a roll-call longer than Nixon's "Enemies List").

Thierry Henry is 33 and three years removed from his wonder years at Highbury. There was even a stint at some minor Spanish club (hint: not the one now managed by The Special One) before he descended, deus ex machina, onto the manicured turf of Red Bull Arena to remind people that he could still dazzle with a soccer ball at his feet and a supermodel on his arm.

His insouciant appearance notwithstanding, Henry has never been short on ambition. In America, he could be Le Homme in a similar way that Pele was, but without the pressure of having to spread the soccer gospel. And credit the Red Bulls for realizing that, like the Brazilian soccer god, the Frenchman can't do it all by himself. Enter former Barca teammate Rafa Marquez, a man with whom he shares a telepathic understanding of how to perform at a level utterly foreign to the 20 other players on the field.

The result is that the Red Bulls, who were Stoke-level dull in their previous incarnations, are now F-U-N to watch. With a supporting cast featuring a trio of quality players in Juan Pablo Angel, Joel Lindpere and Dane Richards, the Bulls are slowly morphing into the Baby Cosmos and soccer fans in the Tri-State area, so hungry for a team with flair and personality, are beginning to show the love.

Only two months ago, could anyone other than Don Garber imagine that 21,859 ostensibly sensate creatures would show up on a Saturday night in the dog days of August to watch a Red Bulls game? Especially one against an MLS opponent, San Jose, whose marquee player, the Brazilian Geovanni, was last seen riding the bench at Hull City?

But that was BT (Before Thierry). After his MLS debut against the Houston Dynamo, it was clear that Titi needed time to ease into his new team before he could be his old gliding, menacing self. And so for me, the most encouraging development Saturday night wasn't that Henry scored his first goal in his sixth game for the Red Bulls, but rather that he went the full 90 and showed that he's still capable of producing the type of jaw-dropping moments that had the stadium rocking with chants of "Owwwwn-Reeeeee."

The first piece of magic came four minutes after halftime when Henry executed a flying back-heel in the tuck position that only a desperately sprawling save from Quakes keeper Jon Busch kept from going straight into Red Bulls folklore. That was followed three minutes later by another trick fantastique: Henry raced onto a pass at the edge of the D, spotted Busch off his line, and rather than controlling the ball like any other normal player would, he chipped it while falling backward. A frantically back-pedaling Busch got a fingertip to the ball just before any damage was done.

Compared to those circus shots, Henry's breakthrough goal was disappointingly routine -- a well-placed finish inside the box from an inch-perfect Richards cross -- and yet, there was a coolness about it that belied its simplicity. Sure, it wasn't against Man United or Chelsea, but for me, it was enough to trigger a strange sensation, something I can honestly say I had never felt before: looking forward to the next Red Bulls game.

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Jasper Juinen/Getty ImagesJose Mourinho had a disappointing debut as his Real Madrid side drew 0-0 against Mallorca.

Even the Special One has not-so-special days

Just when you thought that Jose Mourinho would turn La Liga into his little fiefdom as he did the Prem and Serie A during his imperious reign in both, a funny thing happened. A Spanish club mired in bankruptcy stood up to Mourinho and said, "You can take your $400 haircuts and Armani suits and stick them in a special place."

As a result, Real Madrid was held scoreless by a Mallorca side that finished 37 points below it last season and whose entire player budget equals roughly the amount of Real's per diem. It is safe to say that this 0-0 draw is not how Mourinho envisioned his La Liga coaching debut, especially after watching Barcelona canter to a 3-0 victory earlier in the day behind goals from Lionel Messi, Andres Iniesta and David Villa. Much to Mourinho's annoyance, and despite another spending spree that brought in Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira, among others, Real Madrid now finds itself where it's always been in recent years: staring up at its fierce Catalan rivals.

While it would silly to read too much into one game, please indulge us simply because it's Mourinho we're talking about -- that is, when he isn't talking about himself.

Even the Portuguese man of war would probably admit that when you field a team blessed with the luxury of omitting players like Ozil and Khedira from your starting lineup, you should at least be able to toe-poke one into the net. While Mourinho was shrewd to caution ad nauseum in the buildup to his Spanish debut that Real are the ever popular "work-in-progress," there was little to suggest that the work is ready to be declared a Champions League masterpiece.

Despite sporadic bursts of creativity from Ozil and Sergio Canales, the Justin Bieber of Spanish soccer (they both came to the world's attention on YouTube!), Real were decidedly underwhelming as both C-Ron and Gonzalo Higuain seemed to be relying more on their reputations than on their pyrotechnical skills. This is to take nothing away from Mallorca, which refused to cower in the face of all the high-priced talent on display and gave the world's best goalkeeper, Iker Casillas, all he could handle. Nor is it to suggest that a month from now the Galacticos 3.0 won't live up to the weighty expectations of their demanding fans.

After all, Mourinho is still Mourinho, a brilliant but overly cautious tactician who is most comfortable defending in numbers with two holding midfielders shielding the back four, and trying to burn you on the counter. It's just that, for one weekend, The Special One was downright ordinary. We don't expect he'll let that happen again any time soon.

David Hirshey has been covering soccer for more than 30 years and has written about the sport for The New York Times, Time, ESPN The Magazine and Deadspin. He is the co-author of "The ESPN World Cup Companion" and played himself (almost convincingly) in the acclaimed soccer documentary "Once in a Lifetime."