Barbequing the French...

It’s getting cold up here on the top of Death Mountain and I think the vertigo's starting to set in. Or maybe it’s the hangover.

Two games… two recent world champions… seven goals scored…six points on the board… no complaints…its all getting rather boring.

Drinking and working has delayed the update of the orange summer scribbling but the break has given me time to reflect.

Genuine excitement has now set in as I believe that we’re going to be difficult to stop…unlike many of the petrol stations round here we show no signs of running out of gas. My sincerest apologies for the Americanism, I promise it won’t happen again.

Friday was brilliant. It was my dads fiftieth (sorry for the age reference Dad but happy birthday, oh and Fathers Day) and the game was taken in during a family BBQ. Once old Herby Fandel, (the German referee attacked by that mad Danish bloke in qualifying) had blown the final whistle out came the singstar and with it my urban roots.

While rocking the rapometer with a performance of Summertime by the Fresh prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff I realise how much of a carefully crafted orator Mr. Smith actually is:

“…you're invited to a barbeque that's starting at 4

sitting with your friends cause y'all reminisce about the days growing up and the first person you kiss

and as I think back makes me wonder how the smell from a grill could spark up nostalgia...”

And just like a pregnant mother watching Jeremy Kyle the nostalgia was definitely sparking up.

I think refreshing to watch a team so ruthless in front of goal. Many of today’s teams try to walk the ball into the net, try to score the perfect goal. But we don’t, the boys in Orange look desperate to hit the net. Were playing in a similar style to a testosterone filled eighteen year old lad looking to score on a Saturday night. Told you it’d sparked nostalgia.

For the first, Kuyty, who’s fast becoming my favourite player, doggedly won a corner on ten minutes. Only to then get his curly mop on the end of it with Malouda deciding to give out a bit of bump ‘n’ grind rather than marking.

For the next instalment we had to wait until the hour mark. The French had been piling on the pressure but inspired decisions from Van Basten put an end to that and on came Robben and Van Persie.

Then after some silky skills from the number nine at Sandown substitutes Robben fed Robin to make it two nil. Another superb breakaway, although maybe Coupet was a shade unlucky not to keep it out. Never mind.

Henry superbly struck back after good work on the overlap from Sagnol but their fight back lasted as long as a Paris Hilton jail term. Within a minute Arjen fired the ball past the hapless Coupet. Never mind.

Then right at the death, Sneijder gorgeously struck the ball beyond Coupet via the crossbar. Never mind.

So we’re looking down from the top of Death Mountain as smugly and arrogantly as an Apprentice contestant.

Now with 2006’s World Cup finalists beaten lets see what we can do against the lesser teams.

Bring on the Romanians.

Up the Dutchy!