Allez les bleus – all the way home!

So the French depart. And there was much weeping and annoyed shrugging and, outside France, much sniggering and cackling.

For Don Fabio’s brave boys the chance at the second round beckons clearly, over the skies of Slovenia. Wherever it is. I may have been there on a drunken bender back in the fifties, I’m not sure. I’ll have to check my diaries, or the stasi records my historian recently unearthed. It seems that the secret police of most of eastern europe kept a close eye on my false leg during our tours. They suspected me of using it to courier secret microfilms of honey-trapped communist dignatories back to blighty. You will have to wait another 30 years to find out the truth of this but let me just say – when Peter ‘pretty boy’ Zambezi put on a wig, he could pass for Zsa Zsa Gabor on a windy day!!

Enough said on that front (and what Eric Hoenecker didn’t know, didn’t hurt him!)

Now for the game. I expect an offensive formation, and not just that on Rooney’s face. Will the midfield paring of Gerrard and Lampard survive? My advice to Don Fabio is to borrow advanced surgery techniques from my prosthetic supplier and combine them into an unstoppable four legged football crustacean – the eight limbed Gerlamps Crab. Removing their arms and adding them to the James torso will achieve the doubled benefit of eliminating handball problems as the Gerlamps Crab scuttles around the six-yard box and will provide a 400% efficiency improvement in the performance of the James Calamity Engine. Football, and biological, history beckons.

Come on England, your shoreline bretheren expect!

Dave ‘seafood platter’ Ambuscade

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