Brive V Racing Metro 92

After a morning training session that didn’t inspire a tremendous amount of confidence, we set off for Brive, a town steeped in rugby history and right in the heartland of French rugby union country. I suppose it’s like Edinburgh Accies, city slickers, making the journey into the deepest recesses of the Borders for a game against Hawick. Anyway, it was extremely hot and the ground, where the junior teams play, certainly had character.

The warm-up felt like it was never going to end, I was absolutely dripping and the heat was oppressive. And when the French go for their pre-match jog and call everyone in to run close together, they mean close together, stepping on toes and treading on heels sort of close. I was relieved to be able to get away and do some kicking practice, if only so I had some puff left for the match.

When the jersey’s were handed out (just chucked from the bag, no Lions style ceremony here) I felt a little surge of pride, I was actually going to play a match in Brive for Racing Metro. That was replaced by a chuckle about the whole blue and white stripes thing. The first half went very well, making some good penalty kicks to touch and putting people into some gaps. I was enjoying playing with a nice dry ball behind a pack that was going forward. It was the sort of warm-up game where scrums were taken and penalties kicked to touch rather at goal. We took one early on and then opted for scrums and lineouts.

The second-half was more testing as we made alot of changes and had a couple of players sin-binned (over-officious referee). Brive started to find some rhythm and scored a try in the corner. Then we went down the other end, had them camped under their posts. Their scrum-half passed back to their 10 who cleared the ball. In my lumbering attempt to charge him down I realised he was over the dead-ball line. “Monsieur, monsieur, il etait ici, ici, la ligne, la ligne!!!” I cried out to the ref. He looked at where I was standing and agreed with me, giving us a scrum from which we scored. I, rather than the try scorer, seemed to get all the praise for the try for my piece of Sherlock Holmes play.

In the end, Brive scored a try with the final play of the match to win the game but we weren’t that disheartened. I think we have the makings of a good team with forwards who can maul the ball, a Betsen-esque flanker, a scrum-half with hair like Fabien Galthie and a stepping 15. With the new combinations, return from injury and new calls in another language I was just glad I didn’t sink without trace!

'La Stage' - 3 days in Central France

So we set off on Wednesday morning at around 8.30 for Bugeat which is 360 kilometres south of Paris. It was nice for me to notice that lots of people seemed just as nervous and apprehensive as I was. Or maybe they were just tired. Anyway, we got there about lunchtime in heat that was far too much for me. Two squads of about 30 players were in the party, the ‘Crabos’ (under-19s – my team) and the ‘Reichel’ (under-21s). At first I thought that everyone there was in my team and fairly bricked it before being told that half of these behemoths were older.

We were staying at one of France’s Olympic Training Centres – seemed a good place for it, away up in the hills with excellent weather and zero distractions. We trained Wednesday afternoon, though I was still non-contact so actually did very little. That evening we had a meeting where we all had to stand up and introduce ourselves. A slight murmur went around when it came to be my turn. I stood up, tried a smile and said, “Bonjour, je m’appelle Fraser. Je suis Ecossais.” I then got a surge of confidence and went for it! “Pourriez vous parler francais a moi” Who knows what they were expecting but they loved that and the whole room applauded. I felt great.

What also struck me was this squad is not by any means Parisian. There are boys from Normandy to Marseille and some who had previously played for Stade Francais (cue booing).

I returned to my room with my room-mate who I got on quite well with – he was playing in the team for the first year too, didn’t know anyone and was a bit of an outsider. With his shyness matching my lack of language, not much was said.

Thursday morning started with a depressing handling session at 7.30 am. The balls were covered in dew and people were tired and hungry. After breakfast (where I dipped my bread in the chocolat chaud) we trained at 10 am and the standard was far higher. Perhaps expecting French teenagers to do anything at 7.30 am with an empty stomach is asking too much...

After this morning session, which I thought I had done quite well in, one of the elderly gentlemen who is part of the squad (manager?! Kit man?! Doctor?!) said something to me about Townsend! I got very excited at this, especially when someone translated what he said to mean that I resembled Gregor Townsend. I took this as the utmost compliment, and couldn’t quite believe it, especially considering how much I knew the French admired ‘Toony’. However, it was too good to be true. After some seconds of further conversation it turned out that he meant that I looked like Townsend, my face resembled his. With some confidence still remaining from the earlier misunderstanding I then jokingly questioned whether my play was like Townsend, as well as my face (in French) and he eventually conceded that my play was too. Still felt quite chuffed.

Friday had the same programme of training, however, the size of the challenge of training and playing rugby in France fully dawned on me. As training became more technical, I found myself being left behind a little, needing everything explained and getting very frustrated. The same could be said in the afternoon session. This was certainly well out of my comfort zone. However, Saturday was game day and I relished the chance to prove myself in a match. It would at least be more fun than training.

Rugby Turned Pink!

This was quite an experience, especially for me an callum - boys used to the odd depressing outing to a cold, wet, black and red Murrayfield, often with little rugby or atmosphere to warm us up! In shorts and t shirts, we joined the pink mob heading toward the stadium. Our e-tickets had been printed off the internet and just had to be scanned – a nifty initiative. Our cheapest seat in the house were still fairly good and the stadium began to fill up. It was about half-full in the end, 10,000 people. And most wearing some sort of merchandise, and alot of that was pink. In fact, even the posts and post protectors were pink!

The atmosphere was quite different from any rugby match I’d been at. There were alot more families, and alot more women. And a quite different sort of woman to those you’d find at an Edinburgh game. The sight of burly men strutting around with tight skinned pink t shirts was quite disconcerting, especially when one very fat grey-haired balding man had just bought a new pink t shirt from the merchandise store and was keen to put it on immediately.

There were pink flags on the seats and I couldn’t help myself from giving it a good wave like the crazy fans around us. We were actually very close to the drum section and they started songs, most of which involved “allez Stade” or “allez Paris”. The rugby was equally exuberant with defence taking a back seat. La Rochelle played their part, only having just been promoted.

The guy next to us asked us where we were from. Upon hearing our answer he then said something about Stade always having a Scottish player. His tone of voice indicated that this was something he wasn’t too chuffed about. Hugo Southwell had just scored a lovely try aswell!

I was made to think when the away team was being read out as I thought I recognised a name. Turns out it was the name that appeared on alot of the mail I was sorting through the other day that had accumulated in our mailbox. The player used to play for Racing Metro and lived in our flat a couple of years back! Not sure I’ll be getting his mail back to him though.

A great Friday evening and one I’ll be looking to repeat.

Friday 20th August

So this morning I went in for some physio and some cardio. I ran for the first time in a while and the ankle held up fine which was great to feel. Should be back to normal training on Monday. I then headed into Paris and joined Callum for lunch at a lovely Italian: Rim Ristorante... Having some time to kill, we hit the Pantheon (a church turned revolutionary monument) where a golden ball doubling up as a clock (tricky, you probably just have to see it...) demonstrates perpetual motion, something the scientifically challenged pair of us struggled to understand for a very long time. We then headed back out for my afternoon weights session while the others trained. I gave Callum a little tour around the training ground. Also met the man who I’ve labelled the ‘mentallist’ – the man responsible for mental preparation and pastoral care. Lovely chap. We then headed back a few train stops for the Stade Francais game.

Thursday 19th August

Today is my day off, except I’ll pop in and see the physio sometime in the afternoon. Very much looking forward to Callum’s arrival tonight – in fact, I attempted to clean the flat specially! As Racing Metro aren’t playing at home this weekend (away to Montpellier), we’re going to suss out the enemy and watch Stade Francais v La Rochelle on Friday night.

Passing The Time...

It’s been a fairly standard evening so far: an example of haute cuisine in my 2 burgers, gnocchi, parmesan, lots of ketchup and then some vanilla ice cream accompanied by the highly irritating Stan Grant of CNN...but one momentous occasion worthy of mention is my reaching 200 games of solitaire on my laptop! My statistics are as follows:

200 games

7 wins

3% win percentage

I’m not sure which is worse, the fact that I’ve played 200 games or that I’ve only won 7...Either way, an incredibly sorry state of affairs, but such is the life of the injured player. The words ‘This counts as a loss in your statistics’ are a feature of my day.

Wednesday 18th August

Today I had the morning off, then headed in for 1 o clock when our group would be training with the pros. I had read that this was a feature of French clubs and so was gutted to miss out on the opportunity to play against/with Mirco Bergamasco, Juan Martin Hernandez and so on. I’ll be looking to join them in their kicking practices soon though. Though there was an idea that I due to not being 18 yet, I wouldn’t be allowed to play even if I was fit. Humph, I trudged back to the gym. The afternoon was capped off with some physio, with the news that it might be Monday before I’m running L, and some aerobic work on the winch (a hand-bike type thing...) And just before getting on the bus I went to the shop. This mini supermarket has Racing Metro flags in the window and big life-size pictures of the players on the side. Also, they say you should never shop when hungry but I did anyway.

Ps, Racing get a crowd to their training sessions! About 80 people were milling about today. There was much autograph hunting and picture taking. I saw one little boy look at me, turning me over in his head, deciding if I was a real player he should know, and then look away and shake his head to himself. Too right, Francois Steyn was just behind him.

CNN

I may be out of the loop slightly with regards to UK news, but CNN, our one English channel, keeps me well up to date with every international catastrophe going. I know everything there is to know about the Pakistan floods, the China landslide and the Russian forest fires. CNN specialise in depressing news stories. Oh, and ‘Larry King Live’. Occasionally I might venture to change it to L’Equipe TV (a poor imitation of Sky Sports News) but I get bored of the pictures after 5 minutes.

The Injury – ‘Mon Cheville’

So I’m injured for 8 days – no running, no rugby. We were doing a strength/power session which involved wrestling, bouncing off swiss balls, pulling tyres and flipping tackle bags, and I somehow got my ankle in a bad position and felt a twinge. Fearing the worst, I headed to the Kine (Physio), got crutches and returned the next morning to the doctor. He then sent me for an X ray and an IRM scan. This was a testing experience as I had to catch a taxi into the centre of Paris and negotiate my way around this clinic all morning moving from one waiting room to the next. Thankfully trhe results showed that the ligament hadn’t torn, massively reducing the time out. So I have crutches for a few days, several physio appointments, lots of anti-inflammatory stuff and some free time in which I should boom the upper body.

Handshakes + Pros

In France there is a custom where you shake hands with everybody every day. Everyone you walk past who you know, not just randoms in the street, you shake their hand or tap palms twice. This has lead to me shaking hands with Juan-Martin Hernandez, Lionel Nallet, various Fijians and Francois Steyn on an almost daily basis.

Je ne parle pas francais.......

My biggest worry before embarking on this adventure was the language issue. With not even a GCSE to my name, it was going to be tricky. And so it has proved! But, it is getting easier for several reasons: 1) More French boys who at first were not confident in their English are now more confident in giving it a go – they speak to me in struggling English and I reply in struggling French. 2) I am remembering more French every day. Whether I’m learning new stuff is debeatable, but more phrases from Mrs Stark’s French classes are returning. 3) I’m becoming great at sign language.

Sometimes I’ll say something in French knowing that it’s wrong and massively cringing inside. If I translate what I’ve said into French into English I sometimes just laugh.

The number one lesson is simply to say “Oui”, smile and offer a handshake.

“Je ne comprend pas”

The Training Ground

The training ground is the multisports complex for US Metro, spoken about in an earlier post. The facilities are modern but in an old school setting. The gym is huge and has everything you could want. There are big deep pools of hot and cold water for the obligatory contrast baths at the end of the day. There are several pitches and also a running track.

Week One

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Sunday – we were taken to the flat. It’s nice and modern, spacious enough. There are three of us in it. The other boys are from Dijon (“the mustard place”, as he said) and Poitiers, which is in the South. Both nice lads, they’re 20 and 21 years old. The afternoon was spent with me and the family traipsing around IKEA looking for things like bins, scissors and towel racks.

Monday – I checked in officially with the club at 2, received some kit (3 training t shirts, a pair of shorts and lots of kappa socks...) and headed out for the first session. It was basically a fitness game, 5 on 3, lots of running, forfeits etc. And of course it poured, an absolutely freezing downpour. Jokes were already being made about it being like Ecosse which I appreciated. Everyone else seemed to know each other, obviously been playing here for a few years, especially if they’re all older.

Tuesday – This was the first day we would have the dreaded 9 o clock Teamrun. Basically the whole squad sets out to the local park, Le Parc de Sceaux and runs around it. I was bloody knackered by the end but thankfully so was everyone else. Lovely park though, one for strolling around, not sweating around. Then it was back for more fitness games. These included, shock horror, variations of Hawick Ball and other similar games. And then to finish the morning, yet more running! Lunch was taken, as it is most days, at a local office for the estate agency Foncia which is owned by the man who owns the club, Jacky Lorenzetti. We waited in the queue with the suited and booted chic business people who looked rather bemused.

That afternoon we did a weights circuit and then some tackle technique work. The coaching is of a high standard and it’s interesting to see different ways of teaching people to tackle. Very basic, but very effective, and I couldn’t even tell what he was saying!

Wednesday – Another team run, this time including hills...Ugh. But then we were free until 5 when it was another Fitgame session. The French do seem to prioritise running and aerobic fitness. Possibly it’s because the game is so fast here. I can already tell, from the pace of the touch and the lines and offloads that people go for and sometimes pull off, that it’s a different game. You have to be fit in order to play this way.

Thursday – We had the morning off and while some were in their beds, I was in the centre of Paris in an HSBC opening a bank account. In France you have to be 18, but since I’m not, my parents have to be heavily involved in the process. It was back out to the training ground, after a short train ride, for a weights session. It’s funny how something like the ‘Clean’ can be interpreted differently. If the SRU saw how it was being taught here then there would be some debate about techniques. Great chat right there. So afterwards I headed back into Paris for dinner with the family at a great restaurant up in Montmartre, and one I’ll try and take anyone who comes for a visit.

Friday – The morning was taken up with a French variation on the Bleep Test where instead of running 20 metres you ran about 100 metres, and then back but then 105 metres, then 110 and so on. The principle of having to run faster each rep remained. I felt I acquitted myself fairly well. After lunch we had a talk from Pierre Berbizier, first team coach and Director of Rugby. He spoke of the unity of the club and his philosophy. That’s what it sounded like to me. The training week was brought to an end by another Fitgame session, “catastrophique” as the coach said. Though I did work out that he said things about how it was the end of the week and people were tired. Hear hear, I couldn’t agree more.