The Beat Down- Part Two

Note: Please see part one of "The Beat Down" for all details concerning this entry.
Muchos gracias.

So, I made it through tonight. My left leg is totally sore, as I have been favoring it tonight. My right ankle is still swollen and is really tight right now. I am covered in dried sweat and tired as all get out.
It was an odd night. There was a wedding in the hotel tonight, so most of the guests are there, which means the restaurant is slow. So, I got pulled into the kitchen to work with the banquet team. It just isnt as much fun, though. Before I got there, they had made 250 Caesar salads. Little ones, for after dinner ('cause that is when they have salad here). I mean, what is the fun in that? There is no pressure; there is no rush. You never get slammed. At some point, all the servers line up, and are each handed four salads. They march out of the room, and everyone congratulates each other. On what? "Hey, I saw you hand that fourth salad to the short, blonde server. Nice passing work there." "Thanks for noticing; you're a doll."
It was my job to clean all the plates before they left the kitchen.
You may now take a moment to bask in my glory.
Done? Good.
At Kendall, it is mistake numero uno (that is not French, by the by, for those of you keeping track) to send out a plate that has anything, ANYTHING on the rim, because (everyone together now): "The edge of the plate belongs to the guest." Meaning, basically, that that is the part of the plate that the guest will handle, so dont get schmutz on it. It looks bad. Good servers can attest to being trained on how to carry a plate using only that fatty part of your hand below your thumb and the crease in your palm, so as not to touch the plate with your fingers. Why? Well, to quote another professor at Kendall, "Because you're greasy mammals, that's why."
So, I had the very important task of hobbling up and down the row of seven tables with a wet towel to wipe the rims of the plates. I think I should mention that I was going to name this entry to the blog, "Wipin' the rims," like it was a country song or something, but there is just something very wrong about putting the words "wiping" and "rim" together in the same sentance, at least in relation to food or anything else you put in your mouth.
Nuff said.
Regardless, the whole effort was a big let down.
And speaking of big, big let downs, we come to tonight's rugby match:
France versus New Zealand.
First of all, I had to work, so I could only really listen to the game from the plasma screen TV's set up in the lobby of hotel. Actually, I could only listen to the crowds who were watching the game in the lobby. If I heard, "Oui, oui, oui, OUI!!!!" then something good was happening. If I heard, "I never liked this sport anyway. Now handball, that is a real man's game" then I knew something bad was happening.
In short, there was a good deal of discussion surrounding handball.
Again, let me say, New Zealand rugby is reputed to be the best in the world, and the French were never favored to win this match. On top of all of that, they were forced to play in Cardiff, not even in France. The news kept referring to Les Bleus as playing in "very hostile territory."
But Ruta can attest to this: these people are nuts for this game. There is rugby stuff EVERYWHERE.
The whole world (except for us) is going crazy for this game right now.
Tonight was a big match too. In 1999 France played New Zealand for the cup, in the finals, and lost, so tonight was about revenge.
I told Sylvain (the guy with the boat), "But France has Chebal!" He told me, "Yes, but NZ has several Chebals."
Tonight was also a knock out match. Of the twenty countries who started in the cup, only 8 were left in the running at the start of the night. There are four matches, which will leave four teams remaining for the quarter finals, and then the finals.
So, it was a big game.
I dont know how to convey the feeling of disappointment of an entire country. It is like all the life goes out of you. You go on with the things you do, but nothing has a joy to it anymore. You look at the people around you, and you just have nothing to say. You make a joke to lighten the mood, but it just falls flat.
There are a loud and rowdy group of Kiwis staying with us at the hotel this week, so naturally, they were boozing it up and jumping and clapping everytime NZ scored.
They were having a gay old time of it, at the expense of the French, who just stood there looking like they were in a cross between deep depression and a coma.
Between scoring, the lobby and restaurant were dead silent. I dropped a spoon, and I swear people called down to the front desk from their rooms to see what all the racket was about.
We just stood there (I just leaned against a wall) and watched the past few weeks of win after win slip away. When you know your team is going to lose, when you finally resolve yourself to that fact, you start to let it go. You just know it, and you let go of the hope of winning. Maybe that is why Cubs fans are so special: they never ever let go, no matter how often the team loses (which, for those of you in other countries, is often).
It had been a good run, and maybe in 2011, for the next world cup.
In the final quarter of the game, the score was 13 to 3. The Kiwis were waving their flags and doing the little dance they do to celebrate their wins (really, the have a special dance; I dont even want to describe it, it is so embarrassing). The All Blacks (their team) seemed to be having a good time too. They were charging for another score, and were passing long back and forth. You could almost see them smiling as they charged down the field.
I think that was when it hit the fan for the French.
Chebal broke ranks and tore through the on coming All Blacks and pounded one, two, three of them down, ran right to the center of their offense, took him out by the knees and kept running at the guy with the ball. In terror, that guy passed the ball, to someone, to anyone, just get this mad Frenchmen away from me! So the passed the ball; it was a perfect pass. It landed firmly and squarely in Chebal's waiting arms.
The guy took off. I have only ever seen a living creature run like that on Wild Kingdom. The whole field turned around and chased him, but there was no chance. He crossed the end zone line, spiked the ball, and headed back on to the field to start playing again as soon as he could.
The French broke into cries of joy. If you're going to go down, go down slugging.
But something was different. That emptines was gone. That lifeless, colorlessness was gone.
The French rallied, and charged!
It was as though the whole country was on the field. Les Bleus pushed and pushed and pushed, and scored again.
The lobby was a melay in and of itself: the French screamed and jumped; the Kiwis screamed at the TV's and cursed, the kitchen crew were all piled on top of each other, trying to see the plasma screens through the curtains of the restaurant walls.
The whole hotel had gone to hell. The wedding party all came out into the lobby.
All pretense of professionalism was shruffed off.
The French launched into their cheer, "Tout derierre Les Bleus! Allez! Allez! Allez!"
The All Blacks scored again, and then the French again!
In a moment it was all tied up, but the All Blacks scored again! Now it was 18 to 13, and the final moments of the game, and as though on wings, the French flew against the All Blacks, pushing them further! and further! and further! until...
One of the French slammed into the defensive wall that was the All Blacks as the game time ran out.
He slammed into that wall, and kept on going.
He crossed the endzone line with less than a second left.
The final score-
New Zealand's All Blacks: 18
France's Bleus: 20

They had done it. The All Blacks, favored to win the whole of the world cup, reputed as the best team the world over, the champions over the French in 1999 and before; the All Blacks stood in defeat. They are out of the cup now. France will push on to meet their old arch enemies, the English, in the quarter finals, but the talk all over the radio, TV and web is that there might be nothing and no one playing who can stop the French now.