For any of my U.S. readers (still love that), the name, Thierry Henry, probably means nothing to you, although there are articles about him on the front page of the NY Times and USA Today websites this morning. But for my Irish readers, Thierry Henry equates to getting a paper cut and pouring a little lemon juice on it. Not nice.
Last night was the second World Cup qualifying match between France and Ireland. Ireland lost to France last Saturday and if they didn’t win last night, their World Cup dreams were scrapped for another four years.
I’m really way more of a rugby girl, but when I woke up this morning and saw all the angry Facebook posts from my Irish friends towards my new homeland, I knew something was not right.
Apparently (I wasn’t watching, I thought my boxset of The OC would be more entertaining) Ireland was holding there own in the French stadium until in extra-time, France cheated. More specifically, Thierry Henry cheated. But what’s the difference really? They cheated! They’re cheaters! What are they, a bunch of five year olds? And Thierry even admitted it. After the match of course. After the damage had been done, when there were no take backs. He said,
“I will be honest, it was a handball. But I’m not the ref. I played it, the ref allowed it. That’s a question you should ask him.”
So basically, I’m a big fat cheater weater but I got away with it so there, nana-poopoo!
He should have tee shirts made.
I’m sure little Thierry must have had loads of friends on the playground.
What now? How can France just go on and play in the World Cup? Can they do it with a guilt-free conscience? I know I wouldn’t be able to (I’m sure that’s not the only reason I couldn’t play in the World Cup but you know what I mean). I can’t do anything out of bounds without guilt haunting me, keeping me awake at night. Like even throwing gum on the street. That’s at least one night of tossing and turning, just not worth it. So cheating your way into a huge international competition, that’s gotta equal a life time of tossing and turning and some serious tummy troubles as well.
This is one time that I am happy that I can’t speak French. Because honestly, I don’t think Le Petit Villagers would like what I have to say about little cheater weater and the rest of the French team. So I will remain mute. Nothing new there.
P.S. The Boyfriend asked me to tell you that he does not support the French football team and was rooting for Ireland. But please, if you happen to bump into any Le Petit Villagers, don’t tell them that.
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