In Paris for the World Cup 2018 Some Musings about Fútbol.It has been 20 years since France qualified for the final round of Fifa.Trip to Paris to attempt a view below the Eiffel Tower became obligatory.After a white-knuckle drive, in which I narrowly avoided the roundabout around the Arc de Triomphe-where I may have screamed like a banshee avoiding lions, we were able to navigate down some side streets.

Floods of humanity in red, white, and blue (Liberty, equality, fraternity) inundated the grill of the bulky rental car. I may have parked blocking a partial driveway in a mad attempt to escape the absolute oblivion to traffic rules. It was 3PM, and already the Seine river was jammed with people attempting to cross the only open bridge. Huge barriers blocked all other entrances. We joined the mass and went across. Fortunately, we found a café that would feed us and joined in the merry atmosphere with five fiery Frenchmen who had already had too much to drink. There were several scares, and people running away from tear gas. The police decided that too much fun was being had, and they blocked off further entrances. This caused many angry young people to kick down other barriers, Antifa style. The Frenchmen looked at us “bah, how can I be afraid of this! I’m Parisian!” they declared. I decided to ask a policeman how to get around, and he smiled “Pas possible, Madam!”

We were determined and doubled back to walk about a mile further down the river. A teenager approached us speaking in French, and asked if she could join us. Turns out she wasn’t only French, but Peruvian! We were glad to find our new friend, and continued on to the boat docks, where we found a monstrous hashish-smoking crowd in high spirits all watching from a little screen. This was when France made a 2nd goal and everyone was subsequently soaked in water and beer in a frenzy of joy.

The docks were rocking.

A bit later, we decided to continue walking and see if we could find a way around to the Champs de Mars, directly under the tower to watch. Along the way we picked up another friend, William, a French-American who had never been to Paris before. Our

group again grew with Michelle’s mother, who somehow found us. We all formed a nice group and found our way to the barricade around the big screens. A group of people pushed through the barricade, and we happily followed, much to the annoyance of the French police, who threw up their arms in hopelessness. We watched the final goal made by France and joined in the singing of the Marsellaise! Our group was now thousands upon thousands of happy and adrenaline fueled Parisians. We all turned to march to the Seine, singing and hugging, crying and laughing. People parcoured up balconies to view the scene. Others climbed lampposts, and bus shelters to wave their flags and chant “Allez les Bleus”We pretty much near had a cavalcade of cars that we joined in later, and the freeway was at a dead stop on one side, with fireworks and people riding shirtless on roofs of cars. Crazy motorcycle driving flag wavers wove in and out. This went on for an hour outside of Paris, where every driving alert sign blinked “Bravo les Bleus”.

Voila France, you really are the best!