This No Face
Wednesday, 5 July 2017
Saturday, 23 April 2016
5 Mansions Where You Can Live Like J. Lo — for Millions Less
J. Lo’s love don’t cost a thing,
but her sprawling mansion in California’s Hidden Hills will set you
back a few dollars. But perhaps not as many as Ms. Lopez would like —
she’s been forced to trim the price tag more than once in a desperate
bid to sell it.
According to Realtor.com, the star bought the 17,129-square-foot property with her former husband Marc Anthony in 2010 for $8.2 million. After they divorced, it was put up for sale for $17 million, only to be reduced to $14.5 million and subsequently taken off the market.
It’s for sale again — this time, with a mere $12.5 million asking price.
Why is the world-famous multi-hyphenate having such trouble moving her home? Her neighborhood is certainly desirable: Many celebrities — including a number of Kardashians — call the Hidden Hills and nearby Calabasas home.
The issue is competition. Lopez’s home has A-list pedigree, but it’s not the only magnificent mansion in the area. In fact, here are five current listings in the vicinity — all priced well below J. Lo’s.
According to Realtor.com, the star bought the 17,129-square-foot property with her former husband Marc Anthony in 2010 for $8.2 million. After they divorced, it was put up for sale for $17 million, only to be reduced to $14.5 million and subsequently taken off the market.
It’s for sale again — this time, with a mere $12.5 million asking price.
Why is the world-famous multi-hyphenate having such trouble moving her home? Her neighborhood is certainly desirable: Many celebrities — including a number of Kardashians — call the Hidden Hills and nearby Calabasas home.
The issue is competition. Lopez’s home has A-list pedigree, but it’s not the only magnificent mansion in the area. In fact, here are five current listings in the vicinity — all priced well below J. Lo’s.
Listing of the Day: A Big, Bold Minimalist House Facing the Pacific
Location: Montecito, Santa Barbara County, California
Price: $15.9 million
This expansive, clean-lined stucco home once accommodated a three-generation family of 12 that included six children—all on one floor. Including staff, there were 15 living here in total.
The house sits high on a hill, and features a solar-heated pool, terraced landscape and an unobstructed view of both the Pacific Ocean and the Channel Islands.
In drought-prone California, a single velvety, verdant lawn can be more coveted than a million dollars’ worth of Apple stock. The property has two, plus olive trees, rosemary and lavender.
Fortunately, the lawns come with their own water sources. “There was a well on the property,” said Tom Meaney, the architect. “It was inactive when the property was purchased, and we re-activated it.”
The Stats
The house is 7,394 square feet, not counting the garage. It has six bedrooms, six full bathrooms and one partial bath. The property sits on a 2.73-acre lot.
Design Pedigree
In July 2015, architect Tom Meaney of Santa Barbara gutted and remodeled the original 1960s concrete structure for the Hong Kong-based owner, who wanted a minimalist summer home (and was also considering flipping it). Jordan Design Crew, an interiors company in Hollywood, custom-designed the furniture to suit the home’s very large scale.
The owner wants to sell the house furnished. Asked if the house can be sold unfurnished, Ron Brand, the broker, said, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Indoors, the capacious sofas and chairs are both inviting and practical for families: The upholstered pieces are covered in Holly Hunt outdoor fabric, which dries quickly and is easy to clean.
“There were lots of kids jumping into the pool [and] eating ice cream,” Meaney explained.
Many of the rooms open on to the pool, and the patio is sparingly furnished with teak tables and chairs, shaded by café umbrellas.
Neighborhood Notes
For the celebrity-aware, Oprah Winfrey's 42-acre “Promised Land” estate and recently purchased 23-acre ranch are located nearby. For the architecture buff, Santa Barbara has more than 50 homes designed by George Washington Smith, an American architect who brought the Spanish Colonial Revival style to the area.
Agent: Ron Brand, Sotheby’s International Realty
Price: $15.9 million
This expansive, clean-lined stucco home once accommodated a three-generation family of 12 that included six children—all on one floor. Including staff, there were 15 living here in total.
The house sits high on a hill, and features a solar-heated pool, terraced landscape and an unobstructed view of both the Pacific Ocean and the Channel Islands.
In drought-prone California, a single velvety, verdant lawn can be more coveted than a million dollars’ worth of Apple stock. The property has two, plus olive trees, rosemary and lavender.
Fortunately, the lawns come with their own water sources. “There was a well on the property,” said Tom Meaney, the architect. “It was inactive when the property was purchased, and we re-activated it.”
The Stats
The house is 7,394 square feet, not counting the garage. It has six bedrooms, six full bathrooms and one partial bath. The property sits on a 2.73-acre lot.
Design Pedigree
In July 2015, architect Tom Meaney of Santa Barbara gutted and remodeled the original 1960s concrete structure for the Hong Kong-based owner, who wanted a minimalist summer home (and was also considering flipping it). Jordan Design Crew, an interiors company in Hollywood, custom-designed the furniture to suit the home’s very large scale.
The owner wants to sell the house furnished. Asked if the house can be sold unfurnished, Ron Brand, the broker, said, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Indoors, the capacious sofas and chairs are both inviting and practical for families: The upholstered pieces are covered in Holly Hunt outdoor fabric, which dries quickly and is easy to clean.
“There were lots of kids jumping into the pool [and] eating ice cream,” Meaney explained.
Many of the rooms open on to the pool, and the patio is sparingly furnished with teak tables and chairs, shaded by café umbrellas.
Neighborhood Notes
For the celebrity-aware, Oprah Winfrey's 42-acre “Promised Land” estate and recently purchased 23-acre ranch are located nearby. For the architecture buff, Santa Barbara has more than 50 homes designed by George Washington Smith, an American architect who brought the Spanish Colonial Revival style to the area.
Agent: Ron Brand, Sotheby’s International Realty
Story Of Cities : Delhi's modernist dream proves a far-fetched fantasy
The planners of independent India’s new capital failed spectacularly in
their attempt to create a poverty-free modernist utopia. Their legacy is
a sprawling city awash with slums and hampered by bureaucracy
In the late hours of 14 August 1947, on the eve of Indian independence, Jawaharlal Nehru stood at the podium of the Constituent Assembly and delivered his vision for a new capital city. “We have to build a noble mansion of free India where all her children may dwell,” said the country’s inaugural prime minister.
Just outside parliament, however, Nehru’s mansion was crumbling.
In Delhi’s old city, mobs of young men rioted through Muslim neighbourhoods with impunity. Families fled from their homes, stuffing themselves into train cars or marching from the city centre by foot. A few kilometres to the south, thousands more poured into Mughal ruins at Purana Qila and Humayun’s Tomb. Fleeing violence in their home states, these families found refuge in the makeshift colonies sprouting on Delhi’s periphery.
The city appeared, according to a report in the Daily Mirror, “like a battlefield with blazing houses, hordes of refugees, dead cattle and horses and the rattle of automatic weapons”.
The departure of the British left a subcontinent divided. In the aftermath, 350,000 Muslims fled Delhi for Pakistan, while 500,000 non-Muslims arrived in the city in 1947 alone. It was labelled “history’s greatest migration”. It was also a scale of transformation for which the city was entirely unprepared. Services came to a standstill: trains, buses, hospitals, even phonelines. Without trains, the food supply dwindled to just two days’ worth of wheat.
Yet Nehru and his team of planners remained undeterred. Over the course of the coming decade, they would develop the most ambitious masterplan in India’s history: a capital city free of poverty and slums. “Delhi was to be Nehru’s ‘all-India’ city,” says Ashutosh Varshney, professor of political science at Brown University. “It was to be the first city that belonged to the independent India.”The ingredients of Delhi’s ambitious plan were, however, imported. Far away from the tumult of independence, eight British and American consultants from the Ford Foundation had gathered in Berkeley, California, to review maps, draw up plans, and mock up drafts of India’s new capital city. Albert Mayer, the head of the programme, was a prominent New York planner and architect. They called their project the “Delhi imperative” – their imperative being to bring the ideas of England’s garden city movement to bear on Delhi’s chaotic and sprawling urban form.
Of course, almost none of the committee members had worked in India before. The Berkeley meetings were, in many ways, briefings on Delhi and its centuries of disjointed urbanisation. Yet Delhi has a long history of outsourcing its vision to foreign planners.
A half-century earlier, when it became the capital of the British Raj, Edwin Lutyens arrived as chief architect of the Delhi town planning committee. Over the course of two months, he assessed the city on the back of his elephant, then withdrew, satisfied, to the mountains, to reshape Delhi in his image of a “proper European capital” – wide avenues, axial vistas, parks and roundabouts, just like his beloved Champs-Élysées. Lutyens’ portion of the city became known as New Delhi.
The Ford Foundation committee similarly sought to reconstruct the city anew. “Delhi was to become the model of development for India,” says AK Jain, a former commissioner of planning at the Delhi Development Authority (DDA). “The masterplan was Nehru’s showpiece.”
On paper, the masterplan is a high modernist dream. Six “ring towns” grow from Delhi’s periphery, each with its own “economic, social and cultural ties with the central city”.
Under the guidance of the newly founded DDA, each town should hit its targets for population, manufacturing and employment for each of the next 30 years of urban growth. And, of course, they would be beautiful – in the words of the plan, beauty “should pervade the design of all public and private buildings: modern industrial buildings in attractively landscaped grounds, pleasing shopping centres, simple and beautifully designed schools and homes.”
This was a social vision as much as an architectural one. “Tamils should be there, Telugus should be there, Assamese should be there,” Varshney explains. “The city was to incorporate all the languages and all the regions of India.” For Delhi’s planners, the key to implementing this vision was centralisation. Until then, they argued, Delhi had “evolved in a haphazard manner, more often that not without the benefit of planning development in the public interest. Private interests run rampant, overlooking or not being concerned with the efficiencies and facilities that are required.”
The DDA would take over the sole responsibility for directing Delhi’s growth. “As the development authority takes shape, two things happen,” says Partha Mukhopadhyay, a senior fellow at the Centre for Policy Research in New Delhi. “First, there is a fair degree of land acquisition and eminent domain. Second, almost all private development in the city comes to a halt.” Delhi’s major developers, who had constructed colonies through the south of the city, were no longer allowed to build. Instead, the DDA amassed more than 50,000 acres of land for its various construction and redevelopment projects.
“The entire city is taken over as a public project,” Mukhopadhyay says. “Once the DDA starts growing, there is a much more intentional effort to reshape the city. They want to create an imperial capital.”
At the root of the issue was the fact that the Delhi government – like city governments around the country – was close to bankruptcy. “They just didn’t have the resources,” says Mukhopadhyay. “The pressure on the city is growing. But the DDA is overwhelmed.”
The total revolving fund at the height of its masterplanning was no more than 50 million rupees – or roughly $1million: “Not enough to build more than a few metres of metro railway,” says Mukhopadhyay.
The result was that, over the course of the coming decade, the DDA consistently fell short. It promised to develop 30,000 acres for residential use, but delivered only 13,000. Where it did succeed in developing housing stock, it was rarely for Delhi’s poorest. A mere 10% of the DDA’s housing plots were designated for its low-income group between 1960 and 1970.
Without support from the state, the refugee crisis that had spurred Nehru to action at Independence intensified. “The pressure on the city – the attractiveness of the city as a destination – is growing, and the DDA is aggressively planning to stop the bleeding,” says Mukhopadhyay. “But given India’s politics … it just can’t stop people from coming in.”Each year, more than 200,000 new migrants arrived in Delhi from the surrounding countryside. Tent cities that first appeared in the early days of independence grew into larger neighbourhoods, as residents built up from kutcha houses of mud and wood to pukka houses of brick and stone. Relatives joined their families, built new rooms, and Delhi’s periphery steadily urbanised outward. It had become a “partition city”, and its migrants had become residents. But the DDA refused to recognise them. Under its public ownership of the city, informal settlements were illegal, and their residents were invaders. In many cases, the authority moved to evict and relocate these illegal occupants to make way for its new projects. In others, Delhi’s slum-dwellers were left unacknowledged.
They could apply for legal titles to the land, known as “regularisation”. But moving through the bureaucracy would take them years, if not decades. The DDA trapped them in a double bind: it outlawed informal construction, but failed to provide formal accommodation to replace it.
According to Ashutosh Varshney, providing for the urban poor was never part of the DDA’s vision. “Where the poor were to be located, what kind of facilities were to be made for them – I don’t think those questions were discussed, or featured in that imagination.”. Furthermore, Delhi’s planners never adapted to the new reality. “At independence, the ideal of this planned, modern city makes some sense,” says Mukhopadhyay. “But that ideal has been continuously confronted with a different reality. A lot of the DDA’s planning is purely fictional.”
Yet the city’s planners buried their heads in the original masterplan, and continued to pursue their original targets. “The biggest failure was that it took 30 years for the next plan to come,” says Bhan. “So the essence of planning – review, course correction, adjustment – vanished. There is no plan that can shape a city for 30 years, no matter how good.”
Even to the most casual observer, that report is a masterpiece of magical thinking. Much as it was on the eve of independence, Delhi today is the site of frenzied urbanisation. Skyscrapers, malls and gated communities sprout from farmland on the city’s eastern edge. Trucks flow from highways into factories along its north. Throughout, new informal settlements continue to crop up, housing roughly half of Delhi’s 18 million residents.
Yet the DDA remains largely blind to these changes. At Vikas Sadan, where its headquarters are located, Nehru’s urban planning apparatus remains intact, a fossil of a different era. Bureaucrats shuffle through long, dark hallways. Stacks of rotting files line hallways and closets; triplicate traces of decades-old applications. In one office, four engineers sit cross-legged behind their desks, drinking chai and examining new plans for a housing development. “With this, we are building the world-class city,” one tells me. He pulls out a copy of the masterplan 2021, which promises to “make Delhi a global metropolis”: a centre of IT innovation, green parks and new high-rise housing.
Outside, lines of housing applicants snake around the block, holding thick folders of forms, bills and photocopies. Their joke is always the same: if you apply for a house from the DDA, your great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter will live to inhabit it.
Modern Delhi was born of this contrast – great vision, and little implementation. From the outset, Delhi’s planners have imagined a vibrant capital city with ordered growth and universal housing. Yet in doing so, they planned for a city that did not exist, and they left the city’s actual residents without a plan.
According to Mukhopadhyay, this is the “original sin” of Delhi’s urban conception. “You can imagine going wrong for five, 10 or even 30 years. But at which point do you start recognising reality?”
In the late hours of 14 August 1947, on the eve of Indian independence, Jawaharlal Nehru stood at the podium of the Constituent Assembly and delivered his vision for a new capital city. “We have to build a noble mansion of free India where all her children may dwell,” said the country’s inaugural prime minister.
Just outside parliament, however, Nehru’s mansion was crumbling.
In Delhi’s old city, mobs of young men rioted through Muslim neighbourhoods with impunity. Families fled from their homes, stuffing themselves into train cars or marching from the city centre by foot. A few kilometres to the south, thousands more poured into Mughal ruins at Purana Qila and Humayun’s Tomb. Fleeing violence in their home states, these families found refuge in the makeshift colonies sprouting on Delhi’s periphery.
The city appeared, according to a report in the Daily Mirror, “like a battlefield with blazing houses, hordes of refugees, dead cattle and horses and the rattle of automatic weapons”.
The departure of the British left a subcontinent divided. In the aftermath, 350,000 Muslims fled Delhi for Pakistan, while 500,000 non-Muslims arrived in the city in 1947 alone. It was labelled “history’s greatest migration”. It was also a scale of transformation for which the city was entirely unprepared. Services came to a standstill: trains, buses, hospitals, even phonelines. Without trains, the food supply dwindled to just two days’ worth of wheat.
Yet Nehru and his team of planners remained undeterred. Over the course of the coming decade, they would develop the most ambitious masterplan in India’s history: a capital city free of poverty and slums. “Delhi was to be Nehru’s ‘all-India’ city,” says Ashutosh Varshney, professor of political science at Brown University. “It was to be the first city that belonged to the independent India.”The ingredients of Delhi’s ambitious plan were, however, imported. Far away from the tumult of independence, eight British and American consultants from the Ford Foundation had gathered in Berkeley, California, to review maps, draw up plans, and mock up drafts of India’s new capital city. Albert Mayer, the head of the programme, was a prominent New York planner and architect. They called their project the “Delhi imperative” – their imperative being to bring the ideas of England’s garden city movement to bear on Delhi’s chaotic and sprawling urban form.
Of course, almost none of the committee members had worked in India before. The Berkeley meetings were, in many ways, briefings on Delhi and its centuries of disjointed urbanisation. Yet Delhi has a long history of outsourcing its vision to foreign planners.
A half-century earlier, when it became the capital of the British Raj, Edwin Lutyens arrived as chief architect of the Delhi town planning committee. Over the course of two months, he assessed the city on the back of his elephant, then withdrew, satisfied, to the mountains, to reshape Delhi in his image of a “proper European capital” – wide avenues, axial vistas, parks and roundabouts, just like his beloved Champs-Élysées. Lutyens’ portion of the city became known as New Delhi.
The Ford Foundation committee similarly sought to reconstruct the city anew. “Delhi was to become the model of development for India,” says AK Jain, a former commissioner of planning at the Delhi Development Authority (DDA). “The masterplan was Nehru’s showpiece.”
On paper, the masterplan is a high modernist dream. Six “ring towns” grow from Delhi’s periphery, each with its own “economic, social and cultural ties with the central city”.
Under the guidance of the newly founded DDA, each town should hit its targets for population, manufacturing and employment for each of the next 30 years of urban growth. And, of course, they would be beautiful – in the words of the plan, beauty “should pervade the design of all public and private buildings: modern industrial buildings in attractively landscaped grounds, pleasing shopping centres, simple and beautifully designed schools and homes.”
This was a social vision as much as an architectural one. “Tamils should be there, Telugus should be there, Assamese should be there,” Varshney explains. “The city was to incorporate all the languages and all the regions of India.” For Delhi’s planners, the key to implementing this vision was centralisation. Until then, they argued, Delhi had “evolved in a haphazard manner, more often that not without the benefit of planning development in the public interest. Private interests run rampant, overlooking or not being concerned with the efficiencies and facilities that are required.”
The DDA would take over the sole responsibility for directing Delhi’s growth. “As the development authority takes shape, two things happen,” says Partha Mukhopadhyay, a senior fellow at the Centre for Policy Research in New Delhi. “First, there is a fair degree of land acquisition and eminent domain. Second, almost all private development in the city comes to a halt.” Delhi’s major developers, who had constructed colonies through the south of the city, were no longer allowed to build. Instead, the DDA amassed more than 50,000 acres of land for its various construction and redevelopment projects.
“The entire city is taken over as a public project,” Mukhopadhyay says. “Once the DDA starts growing, there is a much more intentional effort to reshape the city. They want to create an imperial capital.”
Grand overambition
Outside of the development authority, however, the masterplan remained a fantasy. “The promise was so seductive: a large land nationalisation, formal employment in the government, and the state building all levels of housing to construct a more equal and mixed city than a real-estate market would have,” says Gautam Bhan, professor at the Indian Institute of Human Settlements in Bangalore. “But many parts of it fell apart slowly.”At the root of the issue was the fact that the Delhi government – like city governments around the country – was close to bankruptcy. “They just didn’t have the resources,” says Mukhopadhyay. “The pressure on the city is growing. But the DDA is overwhelmed.”
The total revolving fund at the height of its masterplanning was no more than 50 million rupees – or roughly $1million: “Not enough to build more than a few metres of metro railway,” says Mukhopadhyay.
The result was that, over the course of the coming decade, the DDA consistently fell short. It promised to develop 30,000 acres for residential use, but delivered only 13,000. Where it did succeed in developing housing stock, it was rarely for Delhi’s poorest. A mere 10% of the DDA’s housing plots were designated for its low-income group between 1960 and 1970.
Without support from the state, the refugee crisis that had spurred Nehru to action at Independence intensified. “The pressure on the city – the attractiveness of the city as a destination – is growing, and the DDA is aggressively planning to stop the bleeding,” says Mukhopadhyay. “But given India’s politics … it just can’t stop people from coming in.”Each year, more than 200,000 new migrants arrived in Delhi from the surrounding countryside. Tent cities that first appeared in the early days of independence grew into larger neighbourhoods, as residents built up from kutcha houses of mud and wood to pukka houses of brick and stone. Relatives joined their families, built new rooms, and Delhi’s periphery steadily urbanised outward. It had become a “partition city”, and its migrants had become residents. But the DDA refused to recognise them. Under its public ownership of the city, informal settlements were illegal, and their residents were invaders. In many cases, the authority moved to evict and relocate these illegal occupants to make way for its new projects. In others, Delhi’s slum-dwellers were left unacknowledged.
They could apply for legal titles to the land, known as “regularisation”. But moving through the bureaucracy would take them years, if not decades. The DDA trapped them in a double bind: it outlawed informal construction, but failed to provide formal accommodation to replace it.
According to Ashutosh Varshney, providing for the urban poor was never part of the DDA’s vision. “Where the poor were to be located, what kind of facilities were to be made for them – I don’t think those questions were discussed, or featured in that imagination.”. Furthermore, Delhi’s planners never adapted to the new reality. “At independence, the ideal of this planned, modern city makes some sense,” says Mukhopadhyay. “But that ideal has been continuously confronted with a different reality. A lot of the DDA’s planning is purely fictional.”
Yet the city’s planners buried their heads in the original masterplan, and continued to pursue their original targets. “The biggest failure was that it took 30 years for the next plan to come,” says Bhan. “So the essence of planning – review, course correction, adjustment – vanished. There is no plan that can shape a city for 30 years, no matter how good.”
‘We are building the world-class city’
Even five decades after its first masterplan, the DDA was waxing poetical about its accomplishments in its 2006/07 annual report: “In the 50 years of its relentless efforts to maintain the pace of development and match steps with the best cities of the present era, DDA has crossed one milestone after another. Emperors have come and emperors have gone, history has been written and rewritten, but Delhi has continued to grow in glory and spread its warmth.”Even to the most casual observer, that report is a masterpiece of magical thinking. Much as it was on the eve of independence, Delhi today is the site of frenzied urbanisation. Skyscrapers, malls and gated communities sprout from farmland on the city’s eastern edge. Trucks flow from highways into factories along its north. Throughout, new informal settlements continue to crop up, housing roughly half of Delhi’s 18 million residents.
Yet the DDA remains largely blind to these changes. At Vikas Sadan, where its headquarters are located, Nehru’s urban planning apparatus remains intact, a fossil of a different era. Bureaucrats shuffle through long, dark hallways. Stacks of rotting files line hallways and closets; triplicate traces of decades-old applications. In one office, four engineers sit cross-legged behind their desks, drinking chai and examining new plans for a housing development. “With this, we are building the world-class city,” one tells me. He pulls out a copy of the masterplan 2021, which promises to “make Delhi a global metropolis”: a centre of IT innovation, green parks and new high-rise housing.
Outside, lines of housing applicants snake around the block, holding thick folders of forms, bills and photocopies. Their joke is always the same: if you apply for a house from the DDA, your great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter will live to inhabit it.
Modern Delhi was born of this contrast – great vision, and little implementation. From the outset, Delhi’s planners have imagined a vibrant capital city with ordered growth and universal housing. Yet in doing so, they planned for a city that did not exist, and they left the city’s actual residents without a plan.
According to Mukhopadhyay, this is the “original sin” of Delhi’s urban conception. “You can imagine going wrong for five, 10 or even 30 years. But at which point do you start recognising reality?”
Friday, 20 November 2015
Trik Bermain COC
1. Proses raiding menggunakan barcher, keuntungannya adalah biaya membuat troops tersebut murah
2. Saat menyerang menggunakan naga, serang melalui arah yang berdekatan dengan air defense agar air defense lebih cepat hancur.
3.Bila menyerang dengan gowipe anda membutuhkan healing spell dan rage spell.Cara menyerangnya adalah:
-Keluarkan Golem di arah dekat CC
-Keluarkan wizard secara menyebar di belakangnya
-Keluarkan rage spell untuk membuat isi cc cepat tewas
-Keluarkan Wall breaker saat semua sibuk membombardir golem
-Keluarkan Pekka dan barbarian king secara bersamaan.
GARUDA WAR
Garuda war merupakan sebuah clan 'COC' yang berdiri pada tanggal 15 July 2015. Clan ini dibuat oleh Amar Shiddiq. Clan ini betujuan untuk mengharumkan nama Indonesia. Nama 'Garuda War' diartikan Seekor burung garuda yang berperang.
Wednesday, 18 November 2015
Sepak Bola
Sepak bola adalah cabang olahraga yang menggunakan bola yang umumnya terbuat dari bahan kulit dan dimainkan oleh dua tim yang masing-masing beranggotakan 11 orang pemain inti dan beberapa pemain cadangan.
Secara umum, hanya penjaga gawang saja yang berhak menyentuh bola dengan tangan atau lengan di dalam daerah gawangnya, sedangkan 10 (sepuluh) pemain lainnya diijinkan menggunakan seluruh tubuhnya selain tangan, biasanya dengan kaki untuk menendang, dada untuk mengontrol, dan kepala untuk menyundul bola.
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