My final evening in Zurich was spent with my brothers and sisters in arms in the volunteer centre and surrounding area. After the fans had long made their way home and car horns signalled the end of the road of Euro2008 in the city, the team dressed in blue who gave up their time for the last few weeks were able to let their hair down and celebrate a job well done.

It takes a special sort of person to spend their free time working at a tournament where the hours can be long and unsociable, for no pay and no compensation for travel or accommodation. Fortunately, these are exactly the sort of people you want to meet when you do embark on such a trip. Though officially not allowed to watch the matches in the stadium, it was great to be able to see our work rewarded on the pitch. Each person who wore the uniform had a role to play in putting together what happened out on the field.

Even after the the VIPs and press had all long since gone home, the volunteers were still celebrating in a bar in the stadium overlooking the pitch. With not a soul about we had free reign of the Letzigrund and I swear I could still hear the faint ghostly songs of the Italian fans echoing around the stadium. We drank until the sun came up and embraced each other and swapped contact details, though in truth we could never expect to create the same atmosphere anywhere else.

Though a hackneyed phrase, it probably was a once in a lifetime experience. Filling the void between being a student and future employment, I can only hope to recreate the feeling another time. But with Germany recently having hosted the World Cup and Austria and Switzerland as co-hosts, I’ll probably not get the opportunity to throw myself into a volunteer position as a German-speaker again.

For 15 days I watched football, met journalists and famous ex-players, spoke German, drank beer, met new people, made new friends, took day trips and didn’t pay a penny for accommodation. If volunteering sounds like work, then I can’t wait for a life of unemployment.

Headline translated from the German of my third article in the Tagblatt der Stadt Zürich: “Zum Abschied, eine Tasse Tee”

Perhaps it was just due to my elevated vantage point behind the Italian fans, but the atmosphere for the Italy versus France game was something quite special. Throughout the game Italian players acted as cheerleaders, windmilling their arms to a rabid reception. Certain fans faced away from the pitch as they conducted the gathered masses through the Inno di Mameli whilst the French sang La Marseillaise with pride reminiscent of Casablanca.

From the early stages though it was clear cries of Allez Les Bleus were not going to be enough. Ribery’s early injury summed up France’s shortcomings in through the match - unfortunate but laced with idiocy. With no hope of reaching the ball, the FC Bayern talisman launched his body towards the advancing Italian, damaging his own Achilles tendon and effectively ending the tournament for France. His replacement, Samir Nasri, then had the ignonimy of being brought off soon after being brought on, when a clumsy and poorly judged challenge by Eric Abidal took the French down to ten men.

France played their best football of the tournament but never looked likely to disrupt the Italian’s flow. Despite criticisms early in the tournament, I haven’t been convinced that Italy were ever playing that badly, and but for Luca Toni’s wasteful finishing they might have qualified with relative ease sooner.

As full time approached Antonio Cassano resumed cheerleader duties, taking it a step further after the final whistle by stripping to his underwear and throwing his kit into the crowd. Gigi Buffon initially took to saluting the crowd, but overcome with emotion he mounted the advertising hoardings to be one with the fans.

Walking away from the stadium I was pleased that I had managed to watch what could prove to be a defining game of football. The Italians have finally awoken for the tournament according to most, whilst France’s failure surely marks the end of an era for the likes of Thuram, Makelele and Henry. They may still have cameos to play, but no longer will the team be reliant on them.

As the stadium cleared the volunteers all met up in the volunteer centre to spend one final night together at the Letzigrund. In the morning the dismantling of anything connected with the championships at the stadium commences, and I suppose now is the time to be leaving Zurich.

Although Zürich is tomorrow hosting the biggest match of the tournament so far, it certainly feels as if things are winding down. Both France and Italy have already played here so journalists and hangers-on are already registered and acquainted with the Letzigrund. Over the last few days there has been increasingly less work to do, which has freed up time for more active pursuits.

On both Saturday and Sunday along with some other volunteers I headed up to the ‘burbs for a spot of football. Sporting full Adidas regalia and bringing with us an official 75 quid match ball, we must have looked quite the class outfit.

As a game was already underway on the pitch in the grounds of some sort of athletics club, we had to pay our dues to the bigger boys by collect errant balls and applauding shanked shots that somehow ended up in the top corner. As injuries occurred and wives came along to tell players their tea had gone cold, we were eventually allowed to join in.

One of my favourite parts of these sorts of games is that it’s generally accepted that names needn’t be learnt - the only real information needed is nationality, which aids in giving someone a right rollocking in the correct vernacular.

It is disappointing that the town was still quiet by the time Switzerland played against Portugal. Despite a victory that would have kept residents up until the wee hours had it meant anything, I was instead left to figure out the Turkey versus Czech Rep result from the tone of the car horns outside my host’s apartment.

Knowing that the Turks were 2-1 down going into the closing period, the sounds of Zürich were suddenly and unmistakably car horns celebrating a victory. Having not seen many Czech fans so far in the city, I knew they could only be Turks. I have heard that in days gone by, news of regal happenings were often conveyed by the ringing of bells, and this bleating of car horns and hanging out of cars must surely be today’s equivalent.

Though tonight is set up for the Austrians to shock Germany, I shall instead be tucking into a traditional, home-made Swiss raclette, as seemingly well-known Swiss magazine “Schweizer Familie” is coming to tea with the prospect of writing an article on my stay and the role of Swiss residents as Euro2008 hosts. Normally a unique event for me, such media attention has now become standard fare during this two week stay in Zürich.

I just hope I’m not hounded by the paparazzi when I return home.

Following the disappointment of the Swiss and German teams tonight, Swiss residents from various locales had the chance to resurrect their belief systems in the guise of both Italy and France. Unfortunately for those involved, both failed to kick-start their Euro2008 campaigns. Going into next week’s game, a re-match of the World Cup Final lest we forget, both sides will be sitting on a cumulative two points with 8 goals conceded between them.

Via methods unbeknown to Michele Platini and other UEFA honchos, and at the risk of exposing my Jason Bourne methods of infiltration, I can only now confirm that I didn’t have to watch the Italy/Romania match on television. From a high vantage point I was able to sample the atmosphere from the get-go as both sides produced much more attacking promise than their opening games had suggested.

I don’t fear Italian fans, but it certainly felt dangerous to celebrate Adrian Mutu’s opening goal. The Latinos are an emotive bunch and at the very least you can expect palms to be outstretched in your general direction and cries of what I can only assume were “mamma mia” if you dared to go against them. In one of those saucy stories that football often throws up, it was Fiorentina’s Mutu who scored past Juve’s Buffon, following a mistake from the soon-to-be Milan’s Zambrotta. 

Despite an inspired performance from Lobont, Italy scored almost immediately after as they had threatened to do all game. What was surprising was that the goal came from Christian Panucci. Having been excused for being denied any decent service in the first game due to poor tactics, Luca Toni was just poor today. Whenever Pirlo moved forward, Romania sat back deep and that should have allowed someone of Toni’s calibre to wreak havoc inside the box.

Adrian Mutu’s penalty following a seemingly dubious decision (which I have yet to see since) held the interesting paradox of being poorly struck and superbly saved. Buffon celebrated as if he had just won a knockout tie, which in many ways it was.

Alas, yet again I was left somewhat devoid of emotion following the match. Italian friends were inconsolable and Romanians jubilant, and all I had was the France/Holland match to which to look forward. The Dutch were regal but it the result was perhaps not so surprising.

Whilst Italy had their chances against Holland last week, France were generally week today. Dropping Benzema for Thierry Henry seemed to make all the difference, making the team seem over-the-hill. The likes of Thuram, Gallas, Sagnol, Makelele and Henry didn’t seem to have the desire to dig their heels in against an increasingly impressive Dutch side. Despite three goal margins in both matches so far, I can’t help but think the French are a doomed side.