To the girl who was stewarding down in front of the press section at Tuesday night's breathless semi-final between Germany and Italy in Dortmund. All through the game, she'd been half-watching the pitch and half-watching the press box, torn between her desire to observe these magnificent athletes in full flow and her understandable interest in the football. She kept catching these two Israeli journalists smoking in their seats and kept telling them it was verboten. Only after much haranguing did she manage to get them to comply.

But then, as extra time rolled on and the Italians twice hit the woodwork, it all became too much for her. Out came her own box of Marlboros and up she lit.

When the two Israelis made a kerfuffle, she shrugged and pointed to the pitch and gave them a look of thorough helplessness, as if to say, "Well, how else do you expect me to deal with all this?" At that point, they could have started smoking crack cocaine out of a swastika-branded pipe and she wouldn't have lifted a finger to intervene. She cried when it was over. The Israelis consoled her in the only way appropriate. They offered her a fag.

To the Berlin anarchists who, bored with all the happiness and clappiness, took to filling footballs with concrete and leaving them dotted at various points around the city. Beside each one they left a sign saying, 'Can you kick it?' Apparently, so many fell for it that the Berlin polizei decided to get involved. "We think they could have been left by someone who is sick of the World Cup and we are investigating the matter, " said a police spokesman. "The balls seem to be deliberately designed to injure people." You think?

To the person . . . whoever he or she may be . . . who wrote the gloriously literal sign plastered to the window of a World Cup souvenir shop in Munich's main train station. The shop has been selling t-shirts and flags and wristbands and such to all nations throughout the tournament but by Thursday morning, the buying public had naturally thinned out a touch. Whether or not lashing up a sign offering '50% REDUCTION ON ITEMS OF THE FAILED' was quite the best way to shake the last of the apples from the tree must be debatable.

To the English Sunday hack who started a fight on a train . . . a proper fight, now . . . over whether or not Bryan Robson was any good at Middlesbrough. To the English daily hack who, suitably emboldened one beery Baden-Baden night, tapped Joanne Beckham on the shoulder to sweetly say, "You're bruvver's a facking disgrace."

To the Cologne taxi-driver who picked up a tired, haggard and cranky Sunday Tribune journalist and his creaking, heaving rucksack at half-three on the Sunday morning after England had finally packed their Wags and said goodbye to the circus (copyright L Mackey, Irish Examiner). What should have been an hour from ground to hotel had, by this stage, become four and a half and the prospect of small-talk was about as welcome as scabies.

"English?" "Irish." "Ah, Irish.

So I must not say sorry for you that you are out." "No, that's England."

Silence. "They do not like the Pope I think." "Eh?" "England. They do not like the Pope." "Ah, I don't know about that now." "I think they do not like the Pope because he is German. So, now they go home. Germany wins the World Cup because Germany has the Pope." "Well, it's a theory, I suppose." "DEUTSCHLAND! DEUTSCHLAND! DEUTSCHLAND!"

To the supporters of Australia and Croatia who turned the Gottlieb-Daimler stadium in Stuttgart into a bouncing eddy of raucousness in the half an hour before their all-or-nothing final group match one Thursday night. Either they were just that energetic and enthusiastic or 'Country Roads' is some sort of Croat/Aussie cross-cultural anthem.

Whatever the reason, the place was convulsing before the teams even came out.

It was as if the stadium was one of those souvenir paperweights and some unseen hand had given it a shake.

To the German man interviewed by BBC World by the Brandenburg Gate on Tuesday night after the defeat to Italy. "A disappointing night for Germany, " offered the BBC man. "Did you expect more from some of your players, I'm thinking especially of Michael Ballack?" "Yes, " said the German. "Ballack is a frustrating player. I couldn't understand why Chelsea were so keen to have him. I think he doesn't ever have the final solution." Final solution, eh? What happened to not mentioning the whatyoumacallit?

To those, in short, who provided cause to laugh over the past month . . . be that with, at or about.

Danke.