England: Nothing much left to say about Kev's Krew but we were a bit taken aback by the ferocity with which Spanish newspaper AS laid into goalkeeping man David Seaman after the Portuguese defeat (as reported by Football365). Under the headline `After Shilton, The Nothing' they described Our Dave as a "piece of meat with eyes". Lovely. England's weak link? No question, Big Ron "Nuno Gomes is not a goal threat" Atkinson.
Portugal: A swipe of a feather would have had us rocking on our feet after their 3-2 win over England. Why? Well, there was so much pre-match hype surrounding Luis Figo we assumed he'd flop miserably. But he didn't, he was fabalis, almost as fabalis as Rui Costa. Delicious football so far by the Portuguese, keep it up lads.
Romania: Should have been 18-0 up after 14 minutes on Monday but snatched a draw from the jaws of an annihilation of the Germans. Hate that. Hats on to Viorel Moldovan who managed to miss two open goals in the space of four seconds.
Germany: "Don't make me the scapegoat," pleaded Lothar Matthaus after the Romanian game. Try and stop us Loth. You were brutal and frankly you're giving 39-year-olds a bad name. We looked up the definition of `sweeper' in our Cambridge Long-Winded Dictionary and it says `he who sweeps', not `he who is nowhere to be seen when the opposition ventures forward' - take a note, Loth.
Belgium: Forget Figo, forget Zidane, the undoubted star of the tournament so far is Belgian midfielder Yves Vanderhaeghe who, for a fella who died 12 years ago, doesn't half have a good engine. Explanation: he had a brain tumour 12 years ago and his death was announced in the local papers . . . and his club held a one-minute silence at its ground after, well, someone got their wires crossed.
Sweden: Out-Belgiumed Belgium in the `not-all-that-thrilling-to-watch' stakes on the opening day. What happened Roland Nilsson? "He got a brainshaking against Belgium," revealed Magnus Forsblad, one of the Swedish medical team. Know what you mean Mag, we felt much the same after watching your team play.
Italy: We have a theory and it goes something like this: Italian coach Dino Zoff picked Lazio's Simone Inzaghi for Euro 2000 but a breakdown in communications resulted in Juventus' Filippo Inzaghi being told he was in. As we speak Simone is playing swingball in his back garden in Rome and Filippo is proving to be as effective a striker as Mark Stein was for Chelsea a few years' back. Of course, having said all that, he'll now go on to become the tournament's top scorer. And will we be mortified? Oh yes.
Turkey: Football has a lovely habit of helping form bonds between the most unlikely of partners - in this case Bhoys and Turks. Before last Sunday Celtic's lack of appreciation of the refereeing skills of Hugh Dallas would have gone uncommented upon in Istanbul but after he gave Italy a penalty against Turkey (when the mere sight of Ogun Temizkanoglu's shoulder sent Inzaghi into the middle of next week) Turkey will probably annex Parkhead, in a completely friendly takeover.
Yugoslavia: Funny bunch - they need to go three goals down before they show the slightest interest in playing some football. Still, they marked that handy Slovenian lad Zlatko Zahovic a mite better than we reckon Gary Breen and Phil Babb would have done. Sometimes non-qualification for major tournaments is a good thing.
Slovenia: Don't want to talk about it. Oh, okay then. Three up against Yugoslavia. Final score: 3-3. ****. Why so sad? I drew them in a lottery and damn it, gutted wasn't the word.
Spain: "Un portero de Segunda, una Espana de Segunda," (a second division goalkeeper in a second division team) screamed a Spanish newspaper headline on Wednesday morning after that 1-0 defeat by Norway. The first bit was a tribute to Jose Molina, which is Spanish for `David James'.
Norway: Before you start slagging them for their `score early through your 6 ft 8 ins striker and then place your 11 men on your own goalline and hold out for a 1-0 win' approach to international football ask yourself, what does it remind you of? Truly, they are the sons of Ireland.
Holland: Last week's Guardian translated the traditional Dutch football supporters' song for us, and it went something like this: "Come on Holland, come on, don't let the lion stand in his underwear; come on Holland, come on, don't put the beast in his slippers". Soft drug alert. Future quote of the tournament: "Boudewijn doesn't half Zenden good crosses from the left," Big Ron Atkinson hasn't said yet, but give him time.
Denmark: Didn't Peter Schmeichel look hale and hearty? But didn't Fabien Barthez look haler and heartier. "Mmmmm," said Alex Ferguson, in his post Denmark v France interview.
France: God put the Swedens of this world on this earth just so we'd be grateful to Her when we saw France in action, and not take their sumptuousness for granted. Only their belief that no one deserves to be on the same field as their goodselves can stop them now.
Czech Republic: He may have got a haircut but there's no disguising the awful truth - he's still Karel Poborsky.
