I was really excited about it (well, maybe excited is stretching it a little; I admit I am not a fan of team sports) and I was totally rooting for England.
Those who know me know that I just love, love, love history, and my two most favorite time periods are World War II and Tudor England.
I recently finished reading Antonia Fraser's "The Six Wives of Henry VIII", and I would giggle to myself throughout the book because even back then, England and France had been "natural enemies", seemingly since the beginning of time. However, there were fleeting moments when England and France were allies, mostly because England was stuck between France and Scotland, who had a strong alliance since The Beginning of Time, so if the English befriended the French, then they wouldn't have too much trouble with the Scots up North. As always, a very important game people played back then was Marrying Your Children Off To People To Create An Alliance. And it was certainly a hard game to play back then, since it was very important to create the Right One. It would leave Henry VIII in a bit of a quandary, and he was all, "Hmmm, well, we could marry the Princess Mary to the Dauphin of France, and then we would create peace between England, France, and Scotland...BUT...France IS our natural enemy, so maybe it would be better to marry the Princess Mary off to Spain or Germany, because then we would have an ally AGAINST the French...oh dear, what to do?"
So I was all excited for the England-France showdown because in my weird mind, it was just an extension of the whole England and France being natural enemies. It was like a modern version of the Field of Cloth of Gold, when England and France made a big show of being allies, and then Henry VIII and Francis I would have these little "friendly" jousting tournaments (which Henry VIII usually won, given that he was probably about the same size and stature of a modern rugby player).
Anyway, I was really psyched that England won, though it was awfully nerve-wracking since France had been leading by 1 point throughout the entire game, until England scored 2 goals in the last 10 minutes.
The H had to put up with me screaming at the beginning of the match "Come on, England!!! CRUSH THEM!! CRUSH THE FRENCH!!!" "You know," he said calmly, "France might win because in the second half, we will unleash our secret weapon: Sébastien Chabal." "Oh, the Cro-Magnon?" I said.
For those who do not live in France and thus are not force-fed rugby and Chabal until your head bursts, Sébastien Chabal is a Very Important rugby player for the French team. I have always fondly referred to him as "The Cro-Magnon". This is because Mr. Chabal does, indeed, look very much like one. He is quite "costaud" (or, as I like to translate it in English, "Big and Beefy") and has long straight dark hair that he always wears loose during games (which I think is actually a liability, because, you know, someone could always accidentally step on his long hair when the players all pile on top of each other, and then Chabal would have a big hole where his hair should be - plus it must be quite painful). The Cro-Magnon generally has a big scowl on his face and recently, when he was interviewed by foreign journalists here in France, he refused to speak English, saying that he was French, and in France, and basically, tough shizzle to those foreigners who did not speak French. It is pretty rare to see the Cro-Magnon smile; I suppose he needs to keep up that Cave Man Glare in an effort to intimidate his adversaries.
So when France lost, it was quite a surprise to see the Cro-Magnon cry:
That was when I was all, "Oh, my gosh! The Cro-Magnon has feelings! The Cro-Magnon is a very sensitive person with emotions!" And yes, Cro-Magnon literally sat down in the middle of the field, put his head in his hands, and cried like a baby. It was almost touching, and maybe a little bit creepy.
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