Marchons, Marchons!!!

A minor miracle has occurred. TLF will finally be able to watch a major tournament final and wear the shirt of a finalist at the same time. A first. This might of course be due to the rather random nature of my shirt buying – step forward the Honduras away shirt 2014 and a lack of German/Spanish/Argentinian/Brazilian items within the TLF wardrobe, rather than the exhibition of a cruel streak by the Footballing Gods of Fate (FGFs)

Fortunately for TLF and a whole nation those FGFs were on form last night, smiling down beatifically and chucking some largesse in the direction of les Bleus. They might pronounce it Lurve but there wasn’t any of that to be found last night for Germany’s coach Joachim Low.

Not that it was all down to FGF intervention of course. For all of Germany’s fluidity and calm possession they could not score. France had the confident goal scorer Griezeman who didn’t crumble under the pressure of taking that 45th minute penalty. Fair play to the eagle-eyed ref (Italian I note #justsaying) who spotted the arm of Schweinsteiger when no one else did. They also had a much improved defence, although their midfield could have done with a spot of Kante (But I would say that wouldn’t I?).

While triumph went to those in blue, the air did not turn blue in acknowledgement. Another first last night was the venue for semi final viewing – Auntie Dot’s. Ninety and most definitely spry, but not very footbally and not very sweary. The former she coped with brilliantly, the latter TLF had to refrain from. My hastily assembled special auntie football cursing lexicon was thorough:
Fool – w*anker
Rubbish – b8llocks
Idiot – tw*t
Flipping heck – fookin hell
Poor – utter sh1t

But the words just aren’t so satisfactory; particularly when the stakes are high. And swearing vicariously does not work – ‘amusing’ expletive laden texts from friends, who were aware of my dilemma, did not fall into the definition of ‘supportive’. More like ‘inflammatory’ or ‘TLF bait’.

Normal swearing service will be resumed this weekend. Four weeks after the rather slow and ponderous party started, vingt-quarte have been reduced to deux and after a month of relationship threatening football and bankruptcy inducing gambling it all comes down to Sunday night. No faffing about with 3rd place play-offs. Non; pas de tout.

Sunday approaches – chill your beers, purchase your snackage, cuddle up with Sir Gary of Lineker and Thierry, tune out Alan Shearer and lockdown the remote control. It is the FINAL.

Hosts versus underdogs, who when they were hosts, 12 years ago, lost in the final to the underdogs Greece (keep up!). It’s not quite what TLF envisaged when referring to 12 year rule earlier this week (that’s where rank outsiders – Denmark, Greece in the past – win the tournament every 12 years) but it is making me nervous. Ronaldo is a winner and leading Portugal to their first major trophy would be the panner-cle of his career. (Yes I am afraid the cheese puns are stilgoington).

A host nation expects.
And so does a TLF.
I didn’t learn their national anthem for nothing vous connais.
Don’t let me down chaps or I will greve.

Allez Les Bleus!!

Resultat d’
Germany 0 France 2

Sunday’s fixture – Il ne peut y en avoir qu’un!
LE FINAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
France v Portugal8p m, Stade de France, Paris

Les phrases francaises essentielles de TLF

As sober as a judge:
Sobre comme un chameau (As sober as a camel)
As in: TLF is unlikey to be sobre comme un chameau a le soir de Dimanche….Plus ca change…..

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