The French football team, yesterday
I’ve lost count at this stage of the number of people who have said to me that they suppose the miserable, farcical performance of Les Blues in the World Cup 2010 must be some sort of solace, or cause to put a smile on my face. After all, they observe with a wry wink and a gallic ‘oh hoh hooooooh!’, we Irish would be there only for the scandalously cheating Thierry Henry and his band of frog-leg chomping, Gauloise-chewing, tantrum-throwing twats.
Sorry. But no. It doesn’t cheer me up. In fact it pisses me off so much I could tear my eyeballs out of my skull and dance on them every time I see a Frenchman on TV.
For two reasons:
1. What a waste of a World Cup place. I mean for anyone. For any team. To see such a pathetic, miserable limp-wristed display of feebleness makes me want to reach into the TV screen and puke right into Patrice Evra’s stupid, spoilt, over-paid face.
2. I’m a football fan. That means that whatever about my allegiances to Ireland (who aren’t there because they weren’t good enough) or my feelings about the French, I want to see good players, in good teams, playing good football. Anelka, Henry, Malouda, Ribery, Cisse, Touloulan, Diaby: these may not be your favourite people in the world, but they are, on paper at least, a team capable of going all the way in that tournament. To see them not even bother is just galling.
Stop telling me that I must be happy about this. Stop telling me that ‘Irish eyes are smiling’. Stop patronising us with fat, talentless un-funny fucknut British comedians who have an Irishman in their ‘living wall chart’ where there should be a Frenchman. In fact, just stop mentioning it to us will you? Thanks.
Image from Nationaal Archief on Flickr Commons