I'm going to make this my quest--to find out what he said that p'ed off Zizou so much.  Granted, he's known to be a hothead, but what would it take to make this icon of French soccer, at this moment, on this world stage--blow up and head butt?
"Hey, you know how I cut my nose?"
"Your Mama just called....."
"Eewwww. What's that smell?"
Anyway, if you have an idea (or would like to make one up) leave a comment here or send me an e-mail. Winner of the most imaginative gets a free Kronnenburg. Lord knows, I don't need it.  I don't drink any more. Not after this past month of debauchery. I'm going on a diet at my Rehab Center.
As Cuzzy says, "Back to real life. Sigh".
And another thing--how are we going to persuade Casey to keep blogging?
Any ideas?

Game 68 -- The Big One
France vs. Italy Score: Italy wins the World Cup 5-3 on penalties

Chez Rock
Biere: Kronenbourg
Birra: Moretti

We tossed ideas back and forth about where and how to watch the Final...how to get there, when to get there---how to get home? And then we realized we really wanted to see the game, and where better than on the big screen downstairs? Maybe we wouldn't have the ambiance of insane, boisterous crowds, but we knew we could round up a reprensentative, only slightly nutty bunch. Plus, as Jamie pointed out, the countries with the world's best food were playing each other, so his menu planning would be a dream.

Et alors, he laid out a table of antipasti and quiche, Italian and French cheeses and pate, croissants, and baguettes, Italian cookies....vino.....Buon Appetito!
We squeezed into the basement tv room - maybe 15 of us in all --but with a fan going and a few breaks, the carbon dioxide did not totally overcome us- and everyone had a nice clear view.
And what did they see? An initial fluster as the teams were a little agog, then a settling into some fine play. Zinedane on a penalty kick - and the Italians answered before the half on a marvelous header. Italy looked very powerful and dangerous.
In the seond half, France came on strong. Looked like they might make the most of their chances eventually...but then....but then...the cameras recorded the inexplicable, unbelievable head butt by ZiZou. .Will we ever know what prompted that? what he was thinking? The French had the talent left on the field to still win, but the red card turned the tide. Maybe it is instructive... if you attribute your success and inspiration to one person, .then when they are gone (or crack) the centre (literally and figuratively in this case) cannot hold.

And then it's a shootout, and everyone moans and clutches their hair. Not that the goalies stopped anything, either one, but you just knew that Buffon was more up to it. The Italians were more up to it. All month. All tournament. All day today.
(Rocco called from the Corso afterward. We could barely hear him on his cell over the noise. His cold seems just fine thank you very much.)

And this is your cub reporter signing off for now - thanks James for the guest gig on your blog. If anybody has any other quirky assignments...please let us know..
God bless Toronto!

Playing for Third
Germany vs. Portugal            Score: Germany 3   Portugal 1

Amadeus
Augusta Ave.
Kensington Market on a perfect summer Saturday afternoon

 We wondered initially what it would feel like to play for third. But then it occured to us that the opposite of consolation is desolation. Desolation is very bad. Consolation implies hope - you get to win one more time. But what a different game - what a different atmosphere - to play, and to be a fan, without the pressure of "going on". The crowd at Amadeus was much changed from our last foray there for the Argentina/Germany match. It still was crowded -we got there early to snag a seat - but our fellow viewers were a mixed bunch. Possibly they were more in favour of Portugal (there was much cheering at their lone goal, but it may have just been face-saving approval). Mostly people just wanted to see more soccer. All of us idlers are in denial that this time-out-of-time is soon coming to an end. We just want to see another game. There was a long table of older boozing gents of very mixed heritage, very loud, very full of opinions and arguments. The only thing they agreed on was their utter disdain for Vic Rauter as a commentator.

The first half was neither here nor there. The Portugese had their usual  flashes of wonderfulness, but simply could not finish. Kahn came back in goal for Germany and looked to be about nine feet tall and about as wide, with a visage like the Incredible Hulk. Then in the second half,  the wonderfully and appropriately named Schweinsteiger stuck it in the net two times and was responsible for another goal . The German determination to win must have been fueled enormously from the fan fervour in Stuttgart.

Our energy was stoked by a couple of Stellas and the engaging company of Daniel and Salvador. We beercycled home and did not encounter a single flag waving hornmeister. Ah, it is truly almost over.
Tomorrow, there will either be cacaphony throughout Toronto - or a big dance party on King St  West.
I may not sleep tonight.
Rocco has a bad cold and is feeling quite under the weather.
No surprises there.

Final Semi Final
France vs. Portugal Score: France 1 Portugal 0

"Incroyable!" is what the man from Paris said when the game was finished. He and his wife had gratefully squeezed in at our table as the match began. I think incredible had two meanings for him. First of course, that Les Bleus were going to the final - who knew - based on their indifferent beginnings and the mystery of the early wins. We remarked ourselves weeks ago on the existential defeatism of the French fans. But also "incroyable" because this man and his wife had chosen this week of all weeks to spend a first time ever seven day holiday in Toronto. Now they found themselves, most improbably, watching the home team in a small tricoloured enclave on King West. During the street party at the end he was scurrying around the crowd, camera in hand, with a delighted look on his face. (Now maybe every four years he will plan to watch the Cup in a different country...)

The fan base has certainly grown from the loyal bunch we saw play Togo. Yesterday they were charging a $10.00 cover (with a drink ticket) at Zazou, and it was crammed--tv cables, reporters, etc, so we sniffed at that and found a civilized environment (avec Fischer and frites!) downstairs at Le Saint Tropez. Rocco met us there because of course he must scope out the competition for Sunday. (Rocco actually talks when Italy isn't playing, so I learned a bunch of soccer stuff which is always great).
Rocco knew by half-time that Portugal was stumped by the French mid field and unless they came up with a different plan----no chance. And so it was, even with an exhausted French side by the end, holes were almost non existent and time ran out. Cristiano's face might launch a thousand ships, but it could not score a goal.

All three of us rode our beercycles to the game and felt very hip in our helmets and very virtuous.
Check out this link that Cuzzy sent. A man with a similar idea (and with perhaps a somewhat finer touch) has recorded his world trip around Toronto:
http://josephmichael.ca/worldcup2006/
Only two more games--yikes. Then we what will we do?

If you live in a town where there is absolutely no one of any Italian blood ANYWHERE in their background... I'll let you know that Azzurri won yesterday, in extra time, 2-0. The first FABIO-lous goal sent the Regal Bistro on St. Clair West into pandemonium. And before the  reality had even sunk in that they were actually on their way to the final, another dazzling goal  nailed the coffin shut on Germany. No ugly business this game, no questionable calls at the end, nothing for the Italians to be accused of, except, maddeningly for their opponents, superior play.

Now I'm not just saying all this because our friend Rocco was with us again, even though about half way through I realized that if Italy lost, we would be stuck either with a catatonic Rocco or using the CPR I just recertified for. No one, I repeat, no one we have watched with over the past three weeks of soccer, has kept their eye so glued to each play as Rocco. He and coach Lippi knew what was happening at all times.

But fortunately for Rocco, for us, and for the thousands of fans around this city, they will live to see another day. The Big Day. Already I am bracing for the euphoria, or the melancholia. Someone in our World Cup travels, I've forgotten now who, said that only last year did the number of Chinese immigrants in Toronto surpass the Italians. H-O-N-K !!!!!!
ciao for now

Judgment Day
England vs. Portugal                  Final: Portugal 3-1 on penalties

Fox and Fiddle
Danforth Ave.
Beer: Lager and Lime

Nobody prepared me for the slow disappearing of the flags---now only four left. Now what you see left  are lots of Canadian flags.
And this being Canada Day, we chose the England game (that, and the fact that we hadn't seen their fans yet, and we knew Cuzzy had his heart set. It was the least we could do.) We figured Brazil was going to win (cough, cough) so we chose this one
And it was tense. At the half I really thought the Lions were doomed. Portugal seemed to be pressing -  inevitably. But England came back strong and it was lovely to see. They really took it to them - and that half and the Extra Time was raucous at the pub...I began to see that these fans had sat in disappointment way too long. And then Rooney did the stupid thing, and then the announcer HAD to say that England had never won on penalty kicks, and then,  like that,  it was over. Again.
And just like with the Argentines yesterday, a great, hellish noise turns dead silent and people leave--- and I guess,  go and take the little flags off their cars.
Guapo del dia: Sister Molly joined us today, and she surprised even herself by calling the entire English side attractive,especially Terry. Oh well, there's no accounting for taste, boys, rest assured. Someone finds you handsome.
Can't sign off without commenting on the Brazil/France game....ohmigod! Molly went out and bought the tricolor - I haven't done that
 yet.....

Quarterfinal
Germany vs. Argentina               Score: Germany 4-2 in a shootout

Amadeus
Augusta Ave.
Beverage: Stella ( the table in front of us had Sangria ...which always looks like fun but it gives me a headache)

Justin and Daniel have found this marvelous Portugese place in Kensington Market  to watch the Cup. They both have regarded watching soccer the last few weeks as a Job. They are serious, committed, focussed. Their mothers should be proud. Now if only it paid.....But they shared their insider info with us, so we got to sit in the heart of Argentine fervour, while on a pretty patio. Bueno! It was great to have Justin at the elbow dishing out little tidbits - like the fact that the Argentine coach was a cab driver 20 years ago. Never was a player, and the German background of Heinze, who plays for Argentina. Things That Make You Go Hmmm -all those Germans who went to South America....
The table right in front of us had some hilarious, scary, large loud women in blue and white. They shook their fists  at the refs and laughed and screamed and swore vigorously. Everything ended with.... "Putan!"
Spirits sank of course when Germany tied it on Klose's goal...and then Extra Time, and then yikes....the shootout. Monsieur LaRose called it - he knew the German keeper was better.
Und zo, the Stade in Berlin was crazy with flag waving, which used to make a lot of folks nervous, but hey, those young people got a right to come out from under.....eventually......eh?

Last of the 16....phew
France vs. Spain                  Final score France 3    Spain 1

Zazou,encore
Biere: Fischer -ooh la la , tres tres delicieuse

Well we really tried to go where the Spaniards were, 'cause they have a special place in our hearts. Jamie called the Spanish Language Centre. They suggested phoning the Spanish Tourist Office. I did that, and they invited us to come and watch with them on their computers, as they didn't have TV. But they also gave us a few restaurants to try. Jamie phoned The Flamenco (on the Danforth near us) and the very friendly owner said, pretty much, "There is no place the Spanish gather. We hate each other.Seriously. Even people from adjacent towns -don't have time for one another. The census says there are 3,000 people from Spain in Toronto and we do not hang out"  We laughed in recognition of something we picked up while there. And yet---the warmest, fun-est people on earth.

So allez allez back to Zazou. Which was fine with Rosie and Clare, because their grandfather either really is French or really hopes to be French. Anyway, their hearts were solidly behind Les Bleus, and fortunately Les Bleus were behind each other - backing each other up, executing, planning, pressing. They were confident. Which team did we see the other day? If it is this one that comes to play Brazil - mon Dieu! watch out!

But while France rules on the pitch, I have to say  that Espagne rules the Handsome Field. They know guapo.
Guapo del dia? del semana? del mes? Torres, Raul, Garcia....Take your pick from any nombre of them.

Well, thankfully, time to catch our breaths.Time to sober up and settle down When we come back,
a whole new ball game.

Day 9,252
Italy vs. Australia         Final score: Azzuri 1   Aussies 0

Hemingway's
Cumberland St.
Beer: Foster's

Hemingway's is a far cry from Betty's in terms of flag waving  intensity. Lots of green and yellow (shirts, balloons) but no singing, chanting, or stomping. What it DID have that I thought quite charming was several groups of women fans - the sheilas - watching every play, and every so often belting out: "C'mon Boys!". And you haven't heard anything until you hear a woman from Down Under yell "Dominate!" in that oh so Aussie accent.
Thanks to Clare and Rosie for continuing to be such enthusiastic sherpas on our World Cup vacation.

Things That Make You Go Hmmmm Department:

Beginning to notice a real cultural split round the World Cup. Both the Dutch and the Australians vocally mocked the Mediterranean (what Stephen Brunt calls "thespian") behaviour. One voice yesterday bellowed, mockingly "he looks as if he's about to cry!" as if that were a sight more amazing than Beckham puking on the field.
Hmmm. What is macho actually?

But the Socceroos played their hearts out and it is a shame that the game had to end with that piece of poor reffing.
Honk if you  live withiin three miles of College and Bathurst!

Portugal 1 Netherlands 0
Back at Betty's on King

We're about to leave to go watch our nine hundred and fifth (seems like) soccer game, but I have to get yesterday's out of my head (or off my chest) in order to keep the world and the cup in order.
Cuzzy did a fine job on the Brits yesterday...meanwhile we were delighted to have the Dubifforders from Rochester on our flanks as we followed the Orange army once again. But it was hardly the same experience, though the bar was fully bedecked, much to the amusement of our guest Yanks. Not the same because as the announcer put it, the Dutch "lacked creative talent mid-field". By the second half, the lack turned into frustration and frustration into impotence, and then of course we all know what impotence leads to....(well, violence if you didn't know)
yeah, yeah, the Portugese were not angels, but they played like the always do..and were cool as could be on defense.
what happened at our table was that four Holland fans and one Portugal fan (Clare always her own person) turned into five Portugal fans. Right there, in the sea of orange, Grolsch at the elbow, at Betty's of all places, disgusted with the Dutch. Disgusted with the Dutch? who knew ?

Here's a special guest blog from the East Coast English fan (Don't neglect to check out his blog site--the address is below)::

Day Whatever
France vs. Togo                                             Final score: France 2     Togo 0

Zazou Lounge
318 King W.
Biere: Kronenbourg

Just to confuse you, we'll talk about yesterday's French match. What the hell - it is after all,  la fete de St. Jean Baptiste today, and last night was Midsummer's Night, so everthing gets to be  topsy turvy.

Topsy turvy. That's one way of describing the French team and the fans. They don't really believe they will do anything but embarrass themselves. The start of the game the large turnout of tricoloures at Zazou Longe was dour and pensive. Then, when they scored,  they went beserk, as if Lazarus has just walked out of the tomb. Tears of joy. Then they sat down to prepare themselves once again for the worst. Another point in their favour. Sheer disbelief and and amazement. They are hilarious. I got high fives and hugs from total strangers - first time on this madcap World Cup journey.

We met Magali (la belle at the bar). She is in Toronto working for a media company that gives her half-Fridays in the summer. She was feeling down, prepared to go to her apartment and watch by herself. (Justin, are you listening?) Then walking down University Ave. she saw the jerseys and asked les enfants de la patrie where they were going. .She was so delighted and excited to discover that the French hung out somewhere in Toronto.
Me too.
Guapo del dia: I think Thierry is a cutie, but cuter than Jamie? mais non.

Casey was still on her Bruceback adventure with her best friend, Suzie (she just can't quit her), so I was happy to go to the Italy/Czech game with my good friend and passionate soccer afficcianado, Rocco. Passionate especially about the Italian team, Rocco is certainly the most informed soccer fan I know--and not just once every four years, either.
He brought the Italian paper to the restaurant so that he could show me the new configuration that the Italian team was using (4-3-1-2 instead of the old 4-3-2-1) because of player injuries and changes for yellow-card holders. And, of course, De Rossi being out because of the elbow he threw.
Italy scored at the 26 minute mark, but that didn't really keep Rocco in his seat every time the ball got near anybody's net. He cheered and groaned with every change of possession, like a real fan should.
After the red card to Polak in the added time of the first half, I relaxed a bit, but Rocco scrunched his face and held his breath until Inzaghi (Rocco's Dad's favorite player) scored the second goal.
Fianl score--Italy 2 Czech Republic 0
Drink of the day--cappucino
Guapa del Dia--I hope that girl comes to her senses and just comes home.

About three years ago, a beautiful and very intelligent aristocraatic Argentine woman named Maxima was vacationing in Spain, and there she met the handsome and dashing prince of Holland. They fell in love at first sight, and now she is the crown princess to Prince William of Holland. She is beloved by her people, both at home and in her new Dutch state. So this game today was deeply imbued with Romance with a capital Ro before the ball was ever kicked.
At least that's the story that the only two brunettes in the room, Thaniella and Mariaellena, told me. They were two lovely Argentine woman who recently moved to Canada, and were the sole cheering section for Argentina. I, natuarally, joined them in cheering for the underdog. We were essentially the only people in the room not wearing orange.
But the Dutch are a gentle people, and no nasty loooks, harsh words, or punches were exchanged in the ninety minutes of deadlocked play. Both teams performed well, if a bit defensively; and now Argentina goes on to meet Mexico in the next round.
Drink--Grolsch (two, in the middle of the day--yikes)
Guapa del dia--she's out of town. Not even a close second.

Day 11
Ukraine vs. Saudi Arabia           Final score: Ukies 4  Saudis 0

Ukrainian National Federation
145 Evans Ave.
Beer: Slavutich

We were enticed over to the west end by a newspaper blurb which said it was a huge hall with six screens..and it proved to be perfect. We just followed the flags off Islington Avenue at noon, as they careened around the corner and into the oops, large but full parking lot at Evans Ave. No fear, we followed the pace car which led the overflow to some side street they knew about,  lined with blue and yellow flags. Inside, lo and behold, a cavernous room that must be used for weddings. The photos show you the chafing dish table of pierogies and sausage, and the bar that only served 2 kinds of beer - both Ukrainian. With each beer you got a ticket for a draw for one of six  teeshirts being given away  at the end. You can see that Jamie was Victorious - though he did long to win the vintage Shevchenko jersey -- still.... what are the chances? pretty great!

The game. The crowd, almost all men except for the pierogie ladies, was tense at first. They had been embarrassed signifcantly by Spain last week. So each goal was a great celebation. And though possession clocks might not have shown it, the Ukraine dominated the entire match. Greatest adulation was reserved for Shevchenko, their oldest and most esteemed star, injured before the WC, thankgodfully returning, and he rewarded them all with the third goal.
After the teeshirt draw, the mc encouraged people to return . "See you  Friday night!". No doubt.
Guapo del dia: I wanted to name the very handsome Dokhi for Saudi Arabia just so I could say "Okey Dokhi!" But then my heart was stolen by Shevchenko's grin.

           

Day 10
France vs. South Korea         Final: France 1   South Korea 1

Somewhere on Bloor near Clinton
Beer: Blue  (everybody, I mean everybody, was drinking Bud. What exactly, is that about?)

Now I have been told that the Brasilians are the craziest -- salsa bands materialize out of nowhere to play when a goal is scored. And perhaps I will experience that shortly, but as of Day Ten, hands down, the Koreans are the absolute nuttiest. On the scream-o-meter? an Eleven, no question. After France scored first, I was confused because there was so much noise. I thought maybe I had wandered into a Vietnames/French bar. But no, it was the deafening sound of Koreans groaning - high pitched agonizing that bordered on euphoria. Same thing with a goal NOT scored for their side. Mad cheering and clapping for the effort of their countrymen. And singing. Lots of singing. Chants and patriotic songs - not always the same one, but three, or four  choices. My favorite sounded a lot like "O, Peace and Gloriiia!" (I'm sure Gloria is Korea). Later a fan told me that the words to that one translate roughly as " We must win Korea!". He was the one who also told me that the name of the restaurant - which is only in Korean on the outside (good luck finding it) translates as Bistro Seven. I love that.
Here's a tip: if you choose to see a match next time Korea plays, arrive at Bloor and Christie WAY ahead of time. The fans come early. I tried a few places before I squeezed in at Bistro Seven which was full of young people crammed into traditional wooden booths that looked like they were hammered together let's say, oh, ten days ago. Nothing on the walls. Screw holes where other stuff used to be. Mercifully air conditioned. The waiter, (the cutie in the picture with the beer bottle) ran out repeatedly with trays of Bud and dishes of popcorn and slices of watermelon. (?) On the TV,
it was a Korean station at commercial time, but the play by play was in German -  a new touch. Instead of talking heads at half time, there was quite a long highlight reel from recent and long ago games. That was a treat. 85% of the fans went out for a smoke.
And then, after the glorious goal and the hanging on, then they poured out into the street, for the dancing and the honking and the celebrating. For a tie.
Overheard on my way to the subway (by a non-Korean): "You can always count on the French to blow it". Ouch.
Bring on the Brasilian fans!
Guapo del dia: the waiter, natch.

Day 9
Italy vs. U.S.A. Final score: Italy 1 U.S.A. 1

Rock Residence
5 Playter Cres.

Well I meant to watch the game at Corso Italia...but what the? is with this weather? Freakishly stifling, so I decided to watch where Americans hang out (no, not where Justin suggested "at the McDonalds in the Eaton Centre") - the Americans I know hang out close by - in the cool dark of my basement in front of the Big Screen!

Good thing too, because before I knew - what the? - I was doing something I haven't done in like, thirty years...I was rooting for the Yanks! I mean, like full out screaming and shouting "Get In!!" everytime a ball came near the Italian net. Something primal and completely World Cup-ish took over. What the?
And what the? was with that Uruguayan ref? At least he seemed to hate both countries equally.
But really, even the most ardent America hater would have to admit that that short handed team played with a lotta guts against big odds. Not to mention the crucial stops by the aging but marvelously named goal keeper Kasey Keller. I was all ready to agree with the announcer who referred to them as Nine Resolute Men, but then he had to go and wreck it by mentioning that George Bush would likely be calling them later...and s-s-s-, the air went out of my Happy Balloon.
I tried to take photos of me, the flag, and my basement, but my poor camera skills may come to the light when Jamie gets home.
Jamie and Joe also intended to watch this match from a sports bar in Cleveland, so hopefully we can look forward to a report from the field.
Guapo del dia: Landon Donovan - receding hair line and all. No problem.

Day 8
Netherlands vs. Ivory Coast                  Final Score: Netherlands 2    Cote d'Ivoire 1
Betty's
240 King St. E.
Beer: Heineken and Grolsch

Well they weren't kidding about the Dutch fans dressing up in all things orange. I have several photos which will delight and amaze.....but unfortunately I don't have Jamie to download them. ( I know. I know. But it is enough that I have learned to publish the blog.) He will post them upon his reurn from Cleveland.
I was smart enough to bike down, a) because parking there mid-day is a nightmare. b) still working on the beer belly. c) that's what the Dutch do! Seriously, the only thing more prevalent than orange shirts was bike helmets! I used mine to save space in a booth for Jackson, Marijke, her mom Gillian, and Justin. They all came in after watching Marijke graduate (yay!) and even Ms.Marijke Anbeek was a little stunned at her countrymen and their, uh, er...enthusiasm!
Justin and Jackson showed their provocative natures by chanting "allez Elephantes allez!" in the midst of the sea of orange. (Elephantes the team name of Cote d'Ivoire) They received many shocked looks....but of course nothing more.
Food was tasty, beer was cold, service good natured. One lovely Spanish bus boy who ran his ass off was headed immediately uptown to La Mexicana to work his second job, and second Cup game of the day. He acted like he had the best life in the world.
The game: Holland's goals were pretty and sharp and back to back almost. It looked like they might run over Ivory Coast.  But then Kone responded with a brilliant one, which settled Betty's down considerably. The second half was tense and defensive, with the dikemen managing to hold on for the victory.

Guapo del dia: should be the bus boy but I didn't get his picture. Probably then it should go to Ruud Van Nestlerooy. Ruud is a stuud