Allez les bleus.
It's not often that I go to a live sporting event. In fact, the last time I was present at anything that could be considered even vaguely athletic was probably a Philadelphia Kixx soccer game in 1997. Last week, however, when I was ever-so-slightly inebriated, I agreed to go to see "The Rugby" under the pretense that there would be attractive Frenchmen there. Today, I went to The Rugby, and it did not disappoint. Sure, it was fucking freezing, I had no idea what was going on, and I was more than mildly hungover to the point where I wanted to turn around and strangle the whistle wielding eight-year-old two rows behind me, but it was totally worth it.
The city has been filled with French people all weekend, and it is completely fabulous. You just walk down the street, and you can spot them, you can hear them speaking French, and if you've had enough to drink (and I am by no means saying that I had), you might just call out to them and say something like "You are French, and you are hot!" even if only the former part of that statement were true.
The Rugby itself was like cultural stereotype overload; you had Scotsmen wearing kilts and tartan scarves, Frenchmen wearing berets (and also, sometimes kilts, just for a laugh, apparently) and so much bagpipe music that you actually began to believe its the only type there is. Plus, everyone is waving flags, and the French people are singing "Allez les bleus" in support of their team, but then the Scottish, in a maneuver that makes it unnecessary for me to remind everyone what country we're living in, counter it with a very to-the-point SCOTLAND!
At the end of the day, Scotland beat France in rugby, we in the east end of the stadium beat Germany for the Guinness world record of the largest human flag, and my disagreeable, anti-athletic side was forced into becoming a little less rigid. Plus, I saw the HOTTEST pair of French brothers ever, never mind the fact that one of them looked like he could be 13. Not bad for a girl with a hangover.
The city has been filled with French people all weekend, and it is completely fabulous. You just walk down the street, and you can spot them, you can hear them speaking French, and if you've had enough to drink (and I am by no means saying that I had), you might just call out to them and say something like "You are French, and you are hot!" even if only the former part of that statement were true.
The Rugby itself was like cultural stereotype overload; you had Scotsmen wearing kilts and tartan scarves, Frenchmen wearing berets (and also, sometimes kilts, just for a laugh, apparently) and so much bagpipe music that you actually began to believe its the only type there is. Plus, everyone is waving flags, and the French people are singing "Allez les bleus" in support of their team, but then the Scottish, in a maneuver that makes it unnecessary for me to remind everyone what country we're living in, counter it with a very to-the-point SCOTLAND!
At the end of the day, Scotland beat France in rugby, we in the east end of the stadium beat Germany for the Guinness world record of the largest human flag, and my disagreeable, anti-athletic side was forced into becoming a little less rigid. Plus, I saw the HOTTEST pair of French brothers ever, never mind the fact that one of them looked like he could be 13. Not bad for a girl with a hangover.