"Je declare ouverte la seizieme Coupe de Monde du football en France." You have to hand it to the French President Jacques Chirac. As 12-word speeches go, it was just about perfect, and what is more, few needed a translation.
In the awesome setting of the state-of-the art Stade de France in Paris, the French head of state was officially opening the greatest sports show on the planet, clearing the way for the opening game at these World Cup finals, Brazil versus Scotland (Brazil won 2-1).
Perhaps Mr Chirac had heard the boos with which his name had been greeted seconds earlier, or perhaps he had always intended to make it short and sweet. Or maybe he had been listening to the stadium announcer who, minutes earlier, had summoned the 80,000 present to attention, warning them that three or four billion viewers were about to tune in: "Ladies and gentlemen, TV viewers all over the world are about to join us so you are now part of the show. Get ready to greet the entrance of the players onto the field by holding up the card you'll find under your seat . . . Remember, the magic word is Tifo".
In the multilingual world of soccer, the Italian word tifo means "supporting your team", while "tifosi" are the fans. Yesterday, the Brazilian and Scottish "tifosi" gave a good account of themselves.
Reports of scuffles and arrests after Tuesday evening's downtown World Cup parade had prepared us for the worst, but the scene on the RER high-speed train out to St Denis yesterday afternoon might have been choreographed by people from Benetton - Footballing Colours of the World Unite.
Scottish fans had coupled their impressive kilts with the Brazilian shirt, adding Brazilian-style colouring to their faces. Brazilians were wearing tartan T-shirts. Thousands of fans were mingling, working hard at overcoming linguistic differences and everybody seemed determined to enjoy it all.
Even bewildered lunchtime Parisian commuters were forced to smile when the Scottish fans broke into a series of hearty football chants. For the sake of the old entente we can only hope that the commuters failed to understand the less-than-charitable, definitively unprintable adjectives applied to both England (auld enemy) and France (host enemy).
If there were grim faces around, they belonged to those Scottish fans, some of whom had spent the last three days in a fruitless search for match tickets. Nor would cheerful be the correct term for the mood among the 1,100 Brazilian fans who yesterday discovered that their expensive transatlantic World Cup package tours had failed to deliver the principal item - match tickets.
Their travel company said all clients would be financially compensated, although money will hardly make up for having lost the chance to see Ronaldo, Rivaldo et al, in the flesh.
Nor did the soccer spectacle let us down. Brazil won and played some bewitching soccer periodically on the way to winning. Neutrals all over the world can lick their lips at the thought that Brazil can only get better from here on.