Since the first match in Zürich the mood seems to have turned with the weather as spirits have dampened considerably. Monday provided glorious flag-cracking weather and so agreeable were the conditions that both the French and Romanians players took it upon themselves to not bother playing football.

At the risk of breaking into an unnecessary sweat, both sides ambled around with the pretense of moving towards the goal, but really playing with all the pomp and vigour of an end-of-season charity match. However, it was Zürich’s opening match of the tournament and there were plenty of fans who were willing to make the occasion one to savour.

Many of us volunteers were surprised at the number of Romanians, who provided a wall of yellow around a quarter of the Letzigrund. Watching the opening salvos on a TV screen, I could hear their cries and jeers moments before they appeared on the box, further heightening my lust to get into the stadium. 

With no work to do I ventured up and towards the ground, hoping to at least sneak a glance through a fire escape and at the hoards of cheerful Romanians and increasingly uncomfortable French. As I approached, people were already leaving the stadium. None, it should be noted, were wearing jerseys of any particular partisan stance. These were clearly people who had for one reason or another found themselves in possession of tickets for the show and left early when it appeared the understudies were performing.

Already having shown my accreditation, I edged slowly towards the entrance to the stand, alongside the firemen and stewards. Tentatively taking out my camera in the hope of not looking like I shouldn’t be there, I hastily took some photos and videos, half expecting someone to come out of a nearby wall and throw a black bag over my head, take me away, never to be seen again. As it was, a cheery steward motioned that for the last few mintues I may as well just take a seat - there were plenty going spare. Like a punter who’s just been offered a free beer by a stranger, I ventured forth hesitantly but without looking back.

Satisfied that I’d stuck two fingers up at the establishment, I took a look behind me at the vast expanse of fans of Les Bleus. Except they weren’t there. They weren’t there because as I turned round all the people who were sat around me were volunteers, who judging by their bored faces had been sat there quite a while. For the majortity of the match I’d been holed up in an office trying to second guess the tone of each cry (“ooh, that sounds like a nasty foul”) and somehow I’d made it into the stadium and I was still disappointed. There’s no pleasing some people.

Worse was yet to come. As we Holland put Italy to the sword the atmosphere declined ever further. For all their faults, no one can begrudge the Italians’ spirit when it comes to football (unless you consider all the deaths and corruption, which you almost certainly would). Outclassed and even more worryingly, without playing that badly, the Italians were humbled by a Dutch side who even managed to be wasteful in front of goal.

So tonight the Swiss play again, and it really is crucial that they get three points and bag a couple of goals. I daresay that if Switzerland lose tonight, the atmosphere in Zürich may be killed irrecoverably, just 5 days into the tournament. It could be worse mind - it could be raining.