France 1 Portugal 0

To the mad love of money and what it brings us,

After haemorrhage inducing match that was Germany v Italy, I was hoping that tonight’s match would have the same effect. End to end, sexy stuff all over, and a goal that would not allow a squeak or a shmeep from the losing bench. But that’s not exactly what happened, although the first half was full of field of dreams.

It’s not that I have been avoiding Cristina and the little Portuguese faction, but I really just was unlucky with what you humans call “timing”. So having not had the opportunity to hoot hoot for the red and green troops, I was insistent that I come over and watch the game with the fam. After hours and days of communicado and incommunicado, the game was on at 7PM Cristina residence. When I got there, John had his Portuguese bandana decorated with a Euro 2004 Portuguese shirt on, Shannon did change into a Portuguese get up and changed back to a pink shirt at the half, Daniel said, “I don’t have a Portuguese top”, but decided to not sulk and cheer for half of his country. And the queen of the evening? She had her scarf around her neck serenading a la Carl Lewis, but the loyalty, commitment, passion, and the desire for your own to do well was there all along.

Since I get good food whenever I come to their house, it is probably the most unnecessary thing to talk about the food I had tonight. Since it was Portugal noche, it wasn’t green and red food. As per Cristina’s obvious choice, we had a toast, with cheese, with ham, with sausage, with some red yummy sauce all over and a wee bit of tobasco to spice it up. It’s kind of like a big mac without the buns, the lettuce, the french dressing, the burger, and the tomato. You can leave the cheese there.

Final Four
France 1
Portugal 0

After the nerve racking 5 minutes before the match went on without any sort of Al Qaida attack, it was game on in Allianz.

1st and only goal came in the 1st half. Les Bleus were allezing the entire 45. With Zizou not ready to retire (again), he was the fulcrum which bonjoured the Portuguese. Why Costinha wasn’t getting him hard, hacking, and ripping him to shreds, only the Big man will know, but I was puzzled with the lack of intensity with the overall defence from the Portuguese. Although not known for their Detroit circa 1990, someone must have known that the maestro had astonishingly way too much of the time and space for someone of his fortitude, a man on a mission from some shell in the ghost.

What was happening now is that Va Va Voom was getting his Stella back Highbury style. Down he goes the left flank and was busy taking on defender after defender. Although the Thierry of the Gunners wasn’t quite there, 43 of the 100 was there to showcase his dips and swishes. But then what about the Portuguese, you say? Not much going on, really. With Deco and Costinha back, they had absolutely no excuse, well, they do get their excuse later. With Pauleta at the top of the Big Phil’s pyramid of power not being supported by the triumvirate, he was raped by the French defence time and time again. No support, no go.

With he who claims to never have cheated, got the ball in the box, and the first step kills off Carvalho, his right foot sweeping Henry and although Thierry could have stayed up, he did what all strikers do nowadays.

In comes Zizou and with one step and a non-congratulatory run to the centre of the pitch.

2nd half brought boring boring boring as the French decided not to run and the Portuguese decided not to finish. I fell asleep around the 70th minute mark amidst Ronaldo’s pathetic Oscar jumping and by the time I woke up, it was the 91st minute and John was next to me, his “Go Portugal” losing a bit of momentum and Cristina was busy with putting the undeniably bored kids to bed.

It was a decent match until the end of the first 45, but it did deteriorate. Of the “deserving” factor, it is a 60 40 to France. France had more chances at the goal, although I don’t agree with the penalty, which from the referee’s ruling up to that point wasn’t foul enough for a spot kick.

As for the Portuguese, their midfield is a super model, but up front it's a girl next door who looks quite hot when she takes the garbage out, but when she doesn't have her make up on, you're just glad she isn't doing you. The lack of strikers up front has always been a head ache and a half for Scolari's men. Last time I checked, Pauleta was playing in the Mehico 86 and he or Gomes or Postiga can't play on his own up there. Phil needs a young vibrant striker (or if you'r greedy like him, two) to lead the attack to the 2008 or have a complimentary striker to work with the aforementioned three. Now that Figo will say his obrigado to the peeps, it will be up to Deco and chronic cheater boy to re-create the magic of 2004 and 2006 with two steps further north. Beatiful football, shame about the absolute lack of potency up front which could possibly give them the best chance to win it all.

But France is through to meet the boys in deeper blue and perhaps for the first time in World Cup history, it is an all blue finale. I will and do and have congratulated Philippe (who is in Italy, but did send me the, “I’m sorry...” text yesterday) and the football nut plus the womenizer supremo Julien who is over the moon.

It was quite welcoming to get a text from Ben after the match saying that without me, the American only World Cup viewing lacks the excitement and the enthusiasm and to that I say, “doumo arigatou mr. roboto.”

The end is nigh, ladies and gentle homo eretcti. France have never played Italy in a World Cup final and from what I have seen thus far, Italy will have the edge. Why? Just because they have more fire power up front, with the big guy, the small guy, and the medium guy who can finish crosses. I’m worried about the old French men (highest average age in the tournament with a big three o) and from the nonchalant laissez faire walk about in the 2nd half indicate as well as one less day of rest, I believe they will not be able to match the overwhelmingly astute gun-ho ness of the Kristen’s boys.

But never say never, when the greatest is calling it this his swarovski song.

Tomorrow we bring you the excitement that is Chris’s birthday as well as me calling up Everton and Man-U for the friendly against Celtic.

Watch it (really, you must have better things to do than that)