“Right, so we came back from 2 goals down in our first Group Stage match against England, nicking a 2-2 draw, then followed that up with an uncomfortable win over Georgia and a narrow one over Denmark.”
“Sorry?” Bechkoura looks up from his morning newspaper in bemusement.
“In the Second Round we finally turned up,” I continue, pausing for a moment to sink my teeth into a slice of buttered toast. “Smashing 6 past Spain and showing our credentials as one of the favourites for the tournament.”
“Boss, are you… Are you recapping?”
“No I’m not recapping.” I scathe, through a mouthful of buttery mush. “I’m merely getting the events of Euro 24 so far clear in my head.” Bechkoura frowns.
“Yes. Out loud. Problem?”
“For who’s benefit though?”
“Mine!” I throw him an incredulous look. “Look, will you let me…”
“It just feels like you’re recapping, which is an odd thing to do given that the Ukraine game was 4 days ago. I’m fully aware of…”
“UKRAINE!” I beam at my assistant as I plough ahead. “Ah yes, Ukraine in the Quarter Final. They were heady days, Bechkoura. Heady days indeed.” I ignore his pointed sigh.
“It was Saturday!” He protests.
“And what a heady Saturday it was.” I agree wistfully. “Tankov had us on the ropes in the first half as we struggled to keep up, but BAM! BAM!” I slam my fist on the table twice. “Mbappé! Tolisso! And then SKADOOSH!” I hurl the remaining toast towards my assistant dramatically. “5 more goals! Fomba off the mark! Sissako with his 2nd for France! Un triomph magnifique!”
“I know! I know all of this!” Bechkoura splutters as he brushes toast crumbs off his front.
“You do now.” I concur with a smile. “Because I recapped it for you. Actually no, not recapped. I reminded you, that’s all.”
“But I didn’t need-”
“And now Belgium await! Belgium in the Semis, then the Final and then glory! Victory!” I make for the door, stopping only when my assistant pipes up once more.
“Boss, what are you doing now?”
“The same thing I’ll be doing every 4 years from here on out, Bechkoura.” I turn back to him with a grin. “Trying to take over the World.” And I step out of the hotel room, content with the dramatic nature of my exit.
“You remember this is the Euros, don’t you?” He calls after me. “Not the World Cup?”
“Europe then!” I call back. “You fucking pedant.”