It was probably no surprise then that after Jamie Vardy pulled England level, this geezer wasted no time in hoisting himself onto the bar - much to the dismay of the French bar staff.
Not content with just being elevated above his peers, he began to strut along the bar; stumbling and kicking pints as he went. Expressions of the staff switched from concern to fear as the unit sprayed beer and mud into their faces.
After enjoying his brief stroll the man was soon back amid the crowd, mainly comprised of fellow jubilant England fans, but he had now taken up a game of hitting pints out of people's hands toward the ceiling.
Then off he swayed, arms aloft into the distance to the tune of 'don't take me home'. Please do take him home, I thought.
This was the scene at the Carlsberg bar in the Lille Fan Zone, during England's Euro 2016 group stage equaliser against Wales - a game which The Three Lions would later go on to win 2-1. Cue belly slides through the mud.
Albeit the behaviour of the English during the Wales game was generally good, just days earlier fellow patriots besmirched the country with their behaviour in Marseille. It has to be said though that some things didn't fall in favour of the English - there were certainly factors out of their control.
A French man I spoke to in Lille summed it up perfectly: "Well Marseille is a little bit rough - I know let's send the English and the Russians there. What were they thinking?" If Mr. Jacques Smith could foresee the potential dangers, then those in charge should have.
The English, a nation known for its football hooligans, and the Russians, a country with rising football factions and a history of physical, racial and xenophobic abuse; in Marseille, a city once described as 'Europe's most dangerous place to be young'.
Perhaps we are sometimes victims of circumstance and our reputation. But the ugly truth is that England fans never help the situation or their reputation at all. Congregating in public and having a sing-song is obnoxious, but fairly harmless - until they become aimed at passers-by and locals, or littered with lyrics about the IRA and German bombers. Which they always seem to.
Gary, Steve and Tony from Carlisle do little to calm the nerves of local police, or tempers of local hooligans, while they wave their customised George's cross and chant: 'Who are ya?' and 'the city is ours'.
When the tensions on day of the Russia game seemed to be at their lowest, the simple action of a local man displaying a Chelsea shirt from a balcony caused uproar among the horde. A volley of bottles rained up towards the sixth story window, with most smashing below and spraying glass onto a group of women on the veranda below. That was shortly before things escalated.
When you take away the football element, things don't entirely improve. In Amsterdam, somewhere around the Red Light District, a bald English man in his forties doubled-back to speak to one of the prostitutes. As she opened her door to greet him, he barked: "Phwoar! How much and how long?", for the whole avenue to hear.
This shocked and offended many of the working girls - some shouted insults back, and 'pimps' (presumably) banged on upstairs windows and cursed for the hen party to swiftly move. They were definitely not the people to trifle with and this was definitely not the place to cause a fuss.
Over in Thailand, after a bar crawl in Chiang Mai attended by a myriad of nationalities - you can rest assured that it was an Englishman who urinated on the floor of a sixteen bed dorm room.
Abhorrent behaviour may not be solely confined to the English (or British), but we are surely the best at it. Plus no one remembers or focuses on those trying to keep out of the way, because the spotlight is taken by those fitting the universally renowned 'Brit abroad' stereotype.
So why do they do it? Drinking is obviously a factor, as is football - but they both exist back home. They cause problems there too, but people aren't as quick to disregard all morals and trash their home city. Maybe it's the excitement of being away from the monotonies of work that clouds people's judgement, coupled with the unfamiliar dose of sunshine having an adverse effect on the brain.
Perhaps foreign soil evokes a sort of command and conquer trigger deep down that once contributed to forming the British Empire. We do organise very effectively, using sun burn and chanting as a means to identify and assemble into large, difficult-to-handle groups.
I don't think it's easy to diagnose a single, principle reason; but until someone does, our reputation isn't going to improve and the cycle will continue. I hope my next trip -to Vietnam in March doesn't involve too much cringing and apologising for my countrymen or worrying about menacing, heavy-set gingers. But maybe the disease is in my blood too.