The glorious republic of France yesterday steamrollered their way into the last sixteen of the World Cup with a glorious 1-2 victory over host nation, South Africa.
Reduced to ten men after a vicious South African challenge where one of their lot blatantly hit one of our lot on the forearm with his face, the French lads emerged triumphant, as they did at Agincourt, and on the Maginot line.
The glorious French team coach, Raymond Domenech refused to shake hands with his Bafana Bafana opposite number, Carlos Alberto Perreira, seeming to accuse him of being a cheating bastard and telling him to sniff his flipping finger.
At least French football fans can take some consolation from the knowledge that the glorious French national team at least qualified for the last sixteen - meaning the sixteen who came last, not the sixteen who qualified.
Observers blamed internal strife for the French team's poor showing, and also terrible ragging from the Irish in Dublin who said that the French team were only in South Africa in the first place because Thierry Henry was a bit handy.
Patrice Evra put it all down to an Irish gypsy curse:
"It's all down to an Irish gypsy curse," he told somebody.
Expert observers report that the English will be next.
Service in Paris restaurants is expected to be even ruder than usual until the French get over it, and tourists to the French capital are advised not to ask for directions or anything unless they speak really good French.
French footballing legend Eric Cantona told our man:
Which just about sums it all up really. Shit. French fans will now support Algeria - until tomorrow. Even though they hate them.
More as we get it.