The big game had begun when we left the Louvre.  As we walked through the Tuileries, we would hear the occasional cheer and Jason would update his Google feed for news.  We headed homewards, running into cafe after cafe packed to the gills with captivated people:

I liked how they had no regard for the fact that this was still an operational street.  On one hand, the city was essentially deserted outside of these pocket-crowds so there wasn’t a lot of traffic.  On the other hand, what traffic there was could just make do and deal with the fans sitting in chairs in the middle of the street:

We got back to our street as the game was winding down, and when the clock ran out the crowds there, well…

After several rounds of their version of “We are the champions!” and La Marseillaise, more shirts came off and more alcohol was sprayed so we headed inside for a break.  We did come back out again for one more walkabout around 10:30, and the party was still going strong.  Revelers in cars were making the rounds with people sitting on the windowsills, their flag-capes flying as they screamed and honked at every passerby.

I woke up around 2:00 AM and could still hear the hollers, honking, and singing.  As always with sporting events for me, I was sad that someone had to lose, but the delight of the winners was an awful lot of fun to witness.