cklarock

Poor Zizou. It's really sad to see a true legend go out like that in his last international. Particularly when a win would have set him at the rarest of plateaus, along with Pele and Maradonna (and then, had he stayed away from the blow, the 17-year-olds, and hosting ultra crappy talk shows -- coughcoughMagicJohnsoncoughcough -- he could have really been at Pele's level).

I wonder what Materazzi really said?

We watched the final with a squad of friendly Italian guys at a very good Italian restaraunt while enjoying fantastic food and wine. It definitely felt more of a wine than beer final to me, and despite all my bitching and pissing about Italy and their tricksy diving and general cantenaccio ways, I found myself pulling for them.

Don't get me wrong, I love Zinadine Zidane, and I wanted to see his story end where he gets his second championship and becomes more than just the best player of his generation, but a true living legend. However, as DC2020 said, "the Italians may not be much of a political force anymore, but they know how to live." Viva Italia! Yes, more wine please! Yes, the food is fantastic, grazie. Sure we'll root for whatever country invented Chianti and arrabiata! Viva Italia!

However if any of you know or see Zinadine Zidane socially, please don't tell him I rooted for Italy.

In fact, next time you're sipping Claret with him in Marseilles, let him know that his targeting for his head strikes could really use some work, and if he's interested, I could train him up a little and make sure that the next guy that gets him kicked out of a match will have to leave as well, except he'll have to be carried off.

Also, if money's going to be an issue for him now that he's retiring, I'll trade for services; combative in-fighting lessons for footballing stories and anecdotes.

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As an interesting side note, for the second half, we shared our table with the Guatemalan ambassador to Germany and his wife; charming people, very sweet and friendly. She was facing the television, and therefore not us, so she said "Sorry about the back.' (Showing us her back.)

He husband said, 'But it's such a beautiful back.'

I said, 'Aw!' (Because I though that was really cute.)

Sophie said, 'It really is gorgeous.'

She turned to Sophie with a sly grin (and satisfied expression now that her beauty had been roundly praised) and said, 'You are mischievous!'

I said, 'And her back is beautiful, too.'

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Also, I got to actually use the magical hand-waving powers that all Italian men seem to be born with. I tried to get our waiter to put a drink on our tab for himself, and he demurred, so I argued, raised my voice and waggled my fingers at him. And to my surprise, it worked!

Magic!

Later, in order to get out of paying our bill, when the waiter handed it to me, I fell to the ground clutching my face and screaming in agony. The manager -- who hadn't actually seen the incident -- had to come over and call guys in to spray me with water from a bottle before I could even get up. The waiter was sent home, and we got a penalty which decided the match.