My dear chap, you have got yourself into a rare old lather, what? Thankfully, I'm at hand to assist a fellow gentleman in his hour of need, so get your manservant to bring you a refreshing beverage (the sun's over the yardarm somewhere, old bean, and you sound in dire need of a medicinal tincture)
Now then, it sounds as if your old pal Sidebottom is a little out of touch. Slumming it with the hoi-polloi went out of fashion in the sixties and was ill-advised even then. Just look at St Tropez since those awful unwashed "rock and roll" types got in. As for Monaco, one can't move for nouveau riche eurotrash and racing car drivers, not to mention the gaggles of skinny peasant girls straight orf the steppes. Ghastly.
Of course, one can't turn down an invitation from a fellow chap so I'm afraid you'll simply have to attend this "soccer" match. However, blending in, lowering oneself to the level of the lower classes is unthinkable. The phoenix shall never parade as the common sparrow!
Our breeding, lineage, class and position has many responsibilities, onerous though they may be at times. This, I believe, is just such an occasion. You must not only attend as a shining example of the superiority of the upper classes, sprung from the loins of noble stock and forged in the hallowed halls of Eton and Oxford, but also to shame poor misguided Archie out of his grimy dalliance with the lower orders. It's one thing to let the great unwashed wallow in tribalism, but for a chap, it simply won't do.
So, get your man to lay out a well-cut suit, polish your brogues to a high gloss and dress you as befits a chap of breeding. Order a hamper from Fortnum & Mason (may I recommend the grey poupon, continental cheese and boujolais nouveau selection? Absolutely super and a snip at £120 guineas) and take the Bentley to whatever stadia is involved. I absolutely guarantee the sight of you will snap Sidebottom out of this beastly funk and reduce the soap-dodging masses to ranks of forelock-tugging toadys. The sight of a dapper gent comforts 'em see? Brings out the natural servitude. Restores proper order. With any luck, you'll be out of there before the cork's dry, mnah. Best of luck, old man and please, not a word of thanks. It's the duty of a chap to help a chap in need. Of course, if you were so inclined I'd relish a go on that smashing wife of yours. Her Laura Ashley twinset fair makes my blood boil, what?
Toodle-pip!
PS We'll see each other at Jonty's Hunt Ball, no doubt? Ta-ta.