Irish Indignation and French Kissing

How the reputation of an otherwise feted star can be ruined by a single, callous act. It was like switching on the TV and seeing Julie Andrews in a porn film or seeing a fly-on-the-wall documentary about the Pope and finding him swearing like a trooper, swigging down neat whisky and looking through a little black book to see which prostitute to summon to the Vatican that night! Worse - it was like seeing Vera Lynn slap a beggar who had the effrontery to ask her for some money so he could buy a hot drink.

I’m referring, of course, to Thierry Henry’s blatant handball in last week’s World Cup qualifying match, which helped a rather lackluster French team reach the finals in South Africa next year.

Now I’ m no great fan of Thierry Henry, the man. As a footballer he was magnificent (note the word ‘was’) and on occasions still is, but his breathtaking arrogance leaves me completely cold. The way he celebrates a goal by holding his arms out, waiting expectantly for the adoration of his teammates. The way he nods when scoring a goal as if to say, ‘there is no equal on this earth to my brilliance’. But of course he’s French and that’s probably the nub of it.

So, for those of you unaffected by, and unaware of the huge diplomatic row brewing between the two nations, a quick explanation: Ireland, against the odds, were winning by one goal to nil on France’s home turf last Wednesday night. This made the two match series all square and they were heading for penalties to decide the contest – probably a 50-50 chance that Ireland would win. Not bad odds for a team regarded as minnows when compared to the French.

And then the ‘hand of gaul’ struck. Thierry Henry stopped the ball from going out of play with his hand, guided it onto his right foot with his hand a second time and crossed, unusually with his foot this time it for his teammate to score the decisive goal.

Now, I quite accept that the first ‘handball’ might have been instinctive (i.e. not deliberate and premeditated) but the second was quite deliberate, and then the way Henry ran off after the ‘goal’ had been scored, as if it was a stroke of sheer brilliance of a footballing nature, was quite stomach-churning.

And this is where the row has broken out. Whilst the Irish team are philosophical and accept that there is a miniscule chance that the game will be replayed, the Irish government are apoplectic and are ready to break off diplomatic relations with the French.

The Irish people are, of course, terribly upset and who can blame them. The economy is sinking like a stone in line with their property prices and it’s been raining constantly since the turn of the century. The Irish team making the World Cup Finals would have given the whole nation a fillip, but, alas, unless the Gods (otherwise known as Fifa) intervene, nothing will be done and the French will turn up in the sun next year instead of the deserving Irish.

The last word from an Irishman on the subject (and you need to practice your Irish accent here): Oim bloody disgusted, oim giving up French bread and French Fries. And oim, oim giving up French wine. In fact I’m so bloody disgusted oim even giving up French kissing!