Letter to Marthe
I have been writing to you since the end of June 2021.
We are soon reaching half of this vintage and the days will soon shorten, the fratricidal struggle between Julyists and Augustans will inevitably resume, toro-pools will flourish and our life expectancy will give way again under the battering of the bad rosé. and foam evenings at the Palavas-Les-Flots campsite.
And as I hurtled down the slope of that spring rush, I crashed violently on the wall of disappointment that suddenly stood before me.
The hour is serious my sweet Marthe, we lost against Switzerland. Let’s dispel the misunderstanding right away, I’m talking about Euro football 2020 … which takes place in 2021 because this damn pandemic will have robbed us of everything, including our most obvious spatio-temporal landmarks.
And yes, losing against Switzerland, a country renowned for its bellicose timidity, quick to retreat into its shell like a frightened snail at the slightest sound of boots, is to unlock the last level of humiliation. Because Euro football is a bit like the Second World War except that it sometimes happens that the Germans face the Italians and that is also the magic of the round ball. Note in passing that since the 1982 World Cup, it has become very rare for the French to support Germany, which has not always been the case; on this subject send my cordial greetings to your grandfather, I hope he has good weather in Vichy.
EXCLUSIVE. Kylian Mbappé confides in “l’Obs”: “I know the weight of my words and my actions”
So we failed in the face of the Helvetic Confederation that we had thoroughly defeated during Eurovision 2021, resiliently breaking the chains of sung defeat. Our Blues wore handsome and we were announced as big favorites. It reminded me of our first meeting when you chose to galocher this gourgandin lantern by Sylvain Brannelec on my 14th birthday, when you assured me that you were promised to me. You should never start as the favorite, losers are always magnificent, especially when they win.
We so hoped for triumph. Nothing like a good victory to unite a team or even an entire nation, that’s what I felt in the depths of my being no later than this morning when, helped by Lestage and Mourmelain from the control management, we resolved a severe printer jam.
I was so moved by this solidarity in the face of adversity that, for a moment, I found faith in humanity.
With Etienne Dorsay, we chatted about telecommuting, celery remoulade and longer days
But, back to the ball, Switzerland has decided otherwise, shattering our dreams of jubilation on the altar of a wholly Swiss pragmatism, well established since 1940 I agree.
Football divides as much as it unites and it is in this that it is deeply human, unbearable and popular and that, every four years, firmly anchored to its television set and its can of beer, the whole of humanity vibrates. to the sound of drunken chants from supporters and comments from consultants, these syntactic tightrope walkers whose errors of agreement are, despite their violence, far too rarely sanctioned.
Speaking of faults, I must take an aside concerning video arbitration (the “VAR”), which although very dramaturgical, owes nothing to Molière, and has become a subject as divisive as the Peugeot-Renault conflict whose cripples haunt Citroën dealerships.
This consists, for the arbitrator, in asking a third party to view a disputed action a posteriori in order to know if he made a good decision. Impossible not to think about this unfortunate misunderstanding with Fabienne Bitailloux from the purchasing department (I have told you a thousand times that it was a passing incident due to an excess of Fernet Branca when Peltier retired). And, if you had been able to resort to video assistance at the time, I am convinced that my penance would have been less heavy (six months without eating an apple I was able to bring myself to do, but deprive myself of shellfish. for a year you have the stubborn grudge dearly).
But enough technical blah, the round ball is also, and above all, the opportunity to vibrate the patriotic string on the harp of pleasure … uh no, excuse me, the hormonal disorder of the ambush andropause leads me astray … This What I wanted to say is that our team of France, colorful and resilient in devil, looked great, and it was almost certain that it notched its record of a new title. Moreover, even more than the other players, I would have been happy to see N’Golo notched.
But I know that all this is far removed from your concerns as a loving and devoted woman (I never understood how the dishes were distracting but who am I to judge your hobbies?) And I will leave you after having enlightened your lantern in all good honor of course, we are not Saturday as far as I know.
In these troubled times when masks have replaced smiles, it is time to put the church back in the center of the village, and finally to make joy and lightness the nourishing and inexhaustible breasts of our daily life.
Football is life and no printer will stop me from living it to the fullest. And now I must leave you, it is time to hate Belgium.
I send you a thousand loving thoughts at halftime.