"I am not a number, I'm a free man," bellowed the Prisoner. Greedy sod, he should have been grateful, because Coventry City striker Paul Williams is remembered in the tomes of football folly by just a solitary letter. Yes, one blessed letter.

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ALLEZ LES GERMANS!
THURSDAY 29th MAY 2008
A recent poll suggests that most England fans will be supporting Italy, Spain and France this summer.

(Incidentally, am I the only person who involuntarily associates the words 'recent poll' with an image of a bunch of spectacled nerds running through High Streets clutching clipboards? Yep, just me then .. )


So anyway, this 'recent poll' got me thinking of who'd I'd plump for in the world's (3rd) greatest sports tournament [TM].

Obviously, the proliferation of foreign talent on these fair shores has a great bearing on who we'd prefer to do well. The Scousers, for instance, will be adorning windows in the red and yellow of Spain, and pointing visitors towards the Crosby Oficina de Turismo.

Arsenal fans will be favouring the Gallic flair of the French - mais oui - while the Geordies, well, why should they care .. everyone knows King Kev is destined to take them to Premier League and FA Cup glory next season, so the Euros are nothing more than a time-consuming inconvenience. Best supporters in the land, y'know.

But all this 'second clubbing' did lead me to recall a slightly uncomfortable night in Frankfurt two years ago. A bunch of us England ruffians had ventured into one of the less salubrious parts of town where we were confronted by a salivating pack of Germans, celebrating victory in a Group match.

A street party was in full swing, with more lederhosen than would be deemed healthy for a man's constitution. Disguising our estuary English accents very badly, we soon found ourselves accosted by a group of young fillies armed with a distinctive combination of face-paint colours.

Now as a double-hard bastard, and make no mistake, face paint for me is a big no-no, but it was a case of being painted or being found out for the frauds we were. Soon the job was done, and I must admit, having our flushing cheeks christened Tony Hart-style by those exotic colours of our World War foes left me dangling somewhere between sinful (in respect of our proud forefathers) and mild arousal.

So anyway, for those reasons of mild arousal, for the fact that they were impeccable hosts, plus to satisfy a desperate attempt to inject some ruthless efficiency into my otherwise calamitous life, I'm punting big on the Germans for Euro success. If anyone wants to join me, I've got a job-lot of water resistant paints on the go, am sponsoring a sauerkraut promotion in my local Waitrose, and will be giving away free copies of Nena's eponymous 1983 classic '99 Red Balloons' outside the German embassy on matchday one. Bon chance!

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