Well, where to begin? Where to begin?
As many of you already know, there was a sleight of hand that allowed Les Bleus to go through. There are arguments about how the game should be replayed, about how Henry has tainted his soul and the such. I think what everyone is truly forgetting here, being a voice of reason, is that it is FOOTBALL!
We know this game. We love this game. We hate this game. We take this game out for dinner, grope it in the backseat and do that thing we are not suppose to do, then profess we didn't mean to do it this time and later that evening tell it about how sexy it's younger sister is in that mini-skirt she wore at Christmas last year.
See that is what the handball is, telling the love of your life how hot the younger sister is in the mini-skirt. Yes it may be true but no you really shouldn't say things like that. Sometimes you get lucky and end up in a threesome, however most of the time it is a right cross to the jaw and being very lonely.
Let me spell it out for the Scum...
You win some. You lose some. Either way, you're still a sneaky bastard.
In some quarters, you may be seen as clever, but that's only if you win. In others, well, I am sure there are some who can come up with better words than I can at the moment. For France, Henry was clever. For Ireland, he's a cheating sneaky bastard.
I could use this on other players, in other situations but what's the point? There is none. WHY? Because it's fucking football, a fucking beautiful game played by artist, judged by those who have a passion for the art.
Wait, I lie.
I will make another reference, one that the Sheriff might appreciate. A young big eared Scouse bastard who looks like Shrek will be our villain or hero, however you want to put it. On the other end, there is this beautiful team in Red and White who have gone unbeaten for several games, hell they may have even broken a few long standing records.
Now our hero/villain decides to take a run into the box. The big eared man is not known for taking advantage of the rules, being English and all that. Now during his run the Shrek-like lummox decides to go against his usual nature (chuckle) and takes a spill. The man in black points to the spot and the beautiful team in Red and White has given up a penalty. This penalty basically ends the longest unbeaten streak by the team in Red and White.
HOWEVER, no one will put our hero in stocks for this, and the fucking scum does it again a couple seasons later and again to another team and again and again. He is lauded by his followers as a hero and by supporters of the beautiful team in Red and White as a sneaky fucking bastard.
Fuck Rooney!
So, I do not blame the Irish for saying, "Fuck Henry!", as I know they will. I can only shrug at that, because it could have easily gone the other way and I'd be saying, "Fuck Keane!", actually I say that all the time cause he is a sneaky little bastard who couldn't cut it at Liverpool.
The reality is, I actually missed the whole thing.
I do want to take a moment and thank all my comrades for sending me updates while I was trying to save people from their legal messes. Good looking out!
I headed down to the pub right after work. I found it to be one of the longest drives that I have ever endured. I parked and metered my car, of course my card wasn't working in the stupid pass machine, so I grabbed some assorted coins and dropped them in, not paying too much attention to how much time I really had. I ran down the street, into the pub and bounded up the steps, knowing the scoreline was 1-1(2-1 agg). I got a ticket, later in the evening.
Some of the Irish supporters that were familiar with me either gave me a solemn nod or a glare followed by something along the lines of cheating bastards. ChelskiGirl and Irish both gave me shit for about 10 seconds and all I could do was shrug and say "I didn't see a thing."
I braved the mass of angry green and found myself in the French Quarter. A very different mood all together. I kept my head low, but had a big grin on my face as I watched the clock keep on ticking. I was really hoping Les Bleus would put in another, just so the one goal would be a mere footnote but to no avail.
Peep. Peep. Peep. It's all over in Paris.
The rest of the evening was spent imbiding Carlsbergs with Vinny, MiniMourhino and the eventual arrival of Sheffield. We kept it going for some time and finally I was able to see the play. Yes about 2 hours after the game was over.
I can say this. Yes, it was a handball.
~LeChat
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