You can’t say you didn’t enjoy that. You may be the most mild-mannered of individuals, you may even have reacted with more good grace than every FAI suit could muster in a generation when Thierry Henry put a dagger through our hearts last November. But you’re either not Irish or not human if you didn’t allow yourself a little smile on Thursday night.
If there is such a thing as sporting karma, this was it. France, in this tournament, have had all the hallmarks of a snide old lecher who’s kidnapped the pretty maiden, but must live out the rest of his days in fear of retribution.
When the moment arrived for that retribution to be delivered, you could sense that they were almost grateful to have been put out of their misery.
It was fitting that the Mexicans, with a green army of supporters, a tricolor flag, a long history of exploitation at the hands of a more powerful neighbour and no historical gripe with the French, were the ones to fill the role of Ireland’s avenger-by-proxy.
Few France players should escape the opprobrium. Only goalkeeper Hugo Lloris, who was the least complicit of all French players at Stade de France last November, seemed to possess the strength of spirit needed to make any mark at a World Cup. Franck Ribery is symptomatic of football’s new and unwelcome reality, in which players are overhyped before they ever look likely to overachieve, but he too was absent from Paris on that fateful night seven months ago and he too looked to be free from the guilt as a result.
Everywhere else, though, this France team was damaged goods. Has anyone seen more contemptible efforts than those of Sidney Govou and Patrice Evra against Mexico on Thursday night? Govou, who sauntered around the field with all the enthusiasm of a sloth in a sub-Saharan zoo; Evra, the captain, who were he to defend like he did for Mexico’s penalty in the colours of Manchester United, would risk being sold before sundown.
Thierry Henry, the man at the centre of the scandal, was confined to the bench throughout – despite the fact that his manager, the crap yet incredibly durable Raymond Domenech, used just two of his allotted substitutions.
With the French destined to board an early flight home, and new manager Laurent Blanc certain to wield the axe when he takes over after this tournament, South Africa represents the end of Henry’s international career.
He has scored more goals for France than anyone in history and lies second to Lilian Thuram in the all-time French caps list, but sitting on the substitutes’ bench, wrapped in a shawl, was an ignominious end to his international career.
After a decade at the top of the game, in which he became admired by millions, Henry is now defined by his most heinous act and, fittingly, its terrible consequences.
And that’s just the way it should be.
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