OK, I'll own up...I thought Notre Dame was gonna get thumped.

It's only Karma with a capital K, after all, firing Ty and all.

Yes, yes...I said the Irish would get thumped.

And yes, I was delighted to be proven wrong.

Hole, a Umich grad who had just arrived this afternoon from the other side of the pond, was less-than-thrilled.

We watched the game live from this bar called the "Great Canadian," along St. Augustin just a simple walk from the Notre Dame Cathedral.

Right there - the fact that the Michigan alum in Paris chose a Canadian bar at that location - you just knew they were in trouble.

There were various flat screen TVs showing the game and other sporting events...and then there was this guy wearing a Michigan cap...and yet, he was watching the Australian cricket match on another TV...are you kidding me? To be honest, it was only the first quarter, but that omen sealed the deal.

The Irish held off the psuedo-Wolves. Then I almost got in a fight with a pear-shaped-headed a-hole who wouldn't move from blocking the TV. Boss-one got up from our table and asked poiitely if he wouldn't mind moving a foot over so we could watch the end of the game, which had gotten tighter after Mich scored a touchdown to close within 17-10. I watch him talk to the guy for two minutes, who smugly wouldn't budge, and I finally got up:

"We're just asking you to move a foot to the left. Just *one foot over.* *Please.*"

Non.

"Please, just a foot. Just one foot, so we can see the end of this game - it's really important."

Non. I weel not do eet.

"[blood boiling.] One foot. And you won't do it because you're a fucking asshole."

Pees off.

"Vivre le France, asshole. Merci, merci bien."

And I held my Stella Artois up high, saluting him all the way back as I walked backwards to our table. He glared at me, but I just stared back with a shit-eating grin on my face. I swear, these fucking French...

Later, we joined up with friends in Montmatre - it was good to see others. We're like desperate survivors of a nuclear holocaust that wiped out all the other J-schoolers, and we met up at the pre-determined emergency location out in Paris to drink fabulous three-euro wine at the foot of the Sacre Cour. Under the white light of this landmark cathedral, the pact of the "Circle of Balls" was formed tonight - that is, those of us heading into semi-psuedo-possible-you-never-know danger: Egypt, Kenya, India, and Venezuela.

Those of us who will be constantly looking over our shoulder, at least for the next few months. Long live the Circle of Balls. Let's do good things.

And now, comme on dit, "pass out."