Part 2: Complete. 1st November- 16th December

At the end of October, I spoke of Part 1 being over. Well Part 2 has now been completed and it’s been quite a 6 weeks. From struggling to get back into it all at the start of November to enjoying a lovely evening tonight, no wonder I’m noticing tiredness lines under my eyes!

Tonight was the Centre de Formation Christmas Dinner, and it was excellent scran. I had worried that the French Christmas speciality of escargots would be on the menu but thankfully not. After my hirsute housemate and I eventually arrived at this college in the upmarket neighbouring suburb of Sceaux after 2 buses, alot of running, asking strangers, being sent to Bourg la Reine and then back again, we were thankful for the melted cheese in filo pastry as a starter. Then came some sort of leg (I think duck) with dauphinoise potatoes. Then some lovely cheese followed by a crème brulée. Can’t complain. I was sitting at a table with Henry Chavancy, 22 years old, 30 matches for the pros and product and therefore poster boy of the RM92 Centre de Formation. He’s a very nice guy who complimented me on how much my French has come on. He combines playing pro rugby with going to business school. Benjamin Fall, 2 caps for France was also there, as were all the back up and support staff. This was one of those comfortable occasions where I realise that I really feel part of it all..

When reading the equivalent ‘summing-up’ post from October, many of the same thoughts are prevalent, probably given my rose tinted view from my seat on the plane home. But in the last 6 weeks I’ve gone forward in all the ways I can think of. My language is what I am most proud of. I now understand 90% of what anyone says to me, though a new accent gets in the way every now and again. I can now discuss tactics with coaches, a surprisingly welcome ability.

I’ve lost in Bourgoin and Clermont and learnt more in those two games than in all of the others combined. My place kicking has come on leaps and bounds under the tutorage of Xavier and convinced me that my age old theory that I’m better when I don’t practice is, in fact, false. It is possible to just nudge them over without over-analysing, to just swing the leg to a chorus of “J’aaaaime ca”. An irritating knock to the left wrist has hampered my passing game and got me through rolls and rolls of tape but when playing and training this frequently, small knocks will appear that aren’t anywhere near big enough to stop you playing so you strap it up and get on with it. The more professional you become, the more you strive for 100% and the more difficult it becomes to achieve. Not a bad paradox, just one that it’s better to accept. Not every session will be perfect, or even enjoyable, or even worth the bother. I come away from about 40% of sessions with a smile on my face thinking ‘that was good fun’. The other 60% I come away too tired to smile, or angry, or whatever. Getting the smile percentage up has to be a goal for Part 3. It’ll only happen if I continue to relax in these sessions almost to the point of not caring. I’ll play better rugby then too, though that’s just a positive side-effect of enjoying it.

I’m also making some friends. That has to be the most tragic sentence of the blog yet, I cannot belive I typed it. However, it still stands. Can’t have friends if you can’t communicate at a certain level. My scrum-half/captain and I are now at that level and life is so much the better for it. Me and the hirsute housemate are also becoming closer, perhaps helped by this evening’s revelation that he hates ‘The Piece’ (housemate 2) almost as much as I do.

Some time to relax the body, allow it to put itself back together through the nutrients only obtainable from British milk etc is what I need now. A small trip to Aberdeen with the national squad will keep me sharp and remind me what to do when a session is in English (or Borders dialect...)  – can’t just drift to the back, switch off and day-dream about 40m drop-goals or my rousing fluent speech in Toulouse in April...

I am sufficiently ingrained here that the thought of leaving at the end of the season is causing me some considerable bother. I’ve now opened a can of worms, I can tell.

And with that I shall sign off for the festive period. Joyeaux Noël à tous.

ASM Clermont Auvergne 27 - 22 Racing Métro 92

Before every match this season I have felt a strange feeling that made me not want to play at all, to run and hide in a hole. But I didn’t feel it at all on Saturday evening or Sunday morning. The ipod was charged, the McVities^© Digestives were packed and I was ready for the 5 hour bus journey. And what a bus: a double decker coach and a fine looking piece of kit with which to head into the Massif Central.

The feeling that we were climbing was tangible as bodies became strewn round the bus, in the aisle, across seats and on the stairs. We had lunch in a road-side restaurant. This was no Little Chef, this was road-side, French style. I ate far too much.

The first sign that Clermont was approaching was the sight of smoke and chimneys. This was not a place to go for your holidays, but it is clearly a place that breeds very hard, very intelligent rugby. I'd love to report that the smell of Michelin tyres hung heavy in the air but that would be going too far, however industrial the place was. We got off to a poor start, our failure to deal with restarts and then silly offsides left us 3-0. An exchange of penalties and a scruffy drop goal (as per...) from me left us about level. Then we really turned it on, stretching them wide, finding holes and eventually going over. We were 11-16 up at half-time and feeling good, we’d have the wind in the 2^nd.

As so often happens to a team winning at half-time, we got blitzed at the start of the 2^nd half. A flurry of 11 points in 10 minutes left us all looking at each other wondering what happened. I don’t think we are the most mature of teams. What we should have done was stayed calm, reverted to playing like we had been in the 1^st half, but some heads went down as the chests of the Clermontois got puffed out. But it would be scrummaging that would decide this match. We were only 4 points behind, but that’s a huge margin when we were getting turned over in every scrum. We had the weight advantage but as Telfer knew, smaller can be better... One Clermont prop looked like a direct descendent of the Pro team’s Georgian prop Davit Zirakashvili and the hooker was a mini Mario Ledesma. These were all thoughts I was having mid match, which says alot about a stand-off who spent most of the second half with his jaw on the floor at the power of this scrummage.

The match ended with me holding my nerve amongst a chorus of whistles and boos (from the parents) to nail a final penalty which gave us the losing bonus point. Scant consolation. 

We got the hairdryer treatment in the changing room from the coaches, and were then left alone to discuss it as a team. Our captain lead the way, laying down his reasons – a lack of focus in training since the departure of the aforementioned forwards coach, inviting others to add their views. No one was saying anything, and I had views, this way my chance! Quick, formulate some sort of sentence. So I ploughed in and held the room’s attention for about half a minute with my thoughts about training and our standards and what needs to change for Stade Francais. This was one of my proudest moments in the last 4 months, without a doubt.

The bus back was spent with me helping one Reichel prop with his English homework, which was a great way of getting to know him better. He, a Muslim, talked at length about the racism he had experienced in his year playing rugby in Aix-en-Provence. I then mirrored his homework, a presentation on myself (classic), in French! It was fun just munching away on Percy Pigs, chatting with these guys. I managed to give a short politics lesson on the United Kingdom/Scotland distinction and a history one too. I also spoke to them of Leith, portrayed it as a proud industrial area stereotyped with prostitution and played them what I described as Leith’s national anthem, ‘Sunshine on Leith’...obviously. They loved it.

It was really an excellent day. Of course it’s frustrating to come away from a place like Clermont with a loss like that – as was the case in Bourgoin – but personally, I learnt a lot, most of it about appreciating good props. The bus back was 5 hours to remember, as was my post match intervention. I’ll never forget the day I lost in Clermont-Ferrand. Next thought, bring on Stade Francais...



Note the similarity in colours between the company and the club. This is a company town! And I'll point out the similarity between the Michelin man and one of their props...

Arsing Around with some Gifted 3/4s!

I don’t think there’s a full-time rugby player anywhere who doesn’t enjoy a little snow break, a few extra days off and some time to relax. I would even go so far as to say that there are players who don’t mind the odd knock during a week, that, so long as they can still play on the Saturday, some horrible midweek sessions are pleasantly avoided. I am one such player and this week I have taken no risks. A stiff neck kept me out of ‘terrible Tuesday’ and the snow cancelled Wednesday. I also avoided Thursday in the snow, and put in a cardio session on the stationary bike.

That’s all very well, and I enjoyed some time to relax, but was definitely ready for team training on Friday night. I hadn’t seen these guys for about 2 weeks and hadn’t run for a while so was ready for some rugby. Amazing what a break can do for the appetite. So it was the usual story on the bus, meatloaf fighting a rearguard action against the French rappers. Training was on an Astroturf pitch which was covered in snow and there was a very childish feel to the session. Ali ‘Betsen’ turned up wearing one luminous green boot and a fluorescent orange one, waving away advice that he’ll twist an ankle... The backs were as exuberant as ever, with one drill descending into a snowball fight.

The bus back was the same, with my Reichel prop friend up to his old tricks. This skin-head who looks like a racist Polish football hooligan is actually a lovely guy, and has an extreme amount of Scotland rugby shirts. I think I’ve mentioned him before. Every time I try and discover why he has so much Scotland kit, he points to ‘The Famous Grouse’ and explains something about his father. As far as I’m concerned, he’s an alcoholic. Anyway, I was trying to find out the timings for the weekend and Victor was giving me wrong times in an effort to be funny. Naturally, I flicked him the Vs, the French finding this cultural difference absolutely hilarious. I then explained to the person next to me why I was frustrated with him, the translated version of which is, embarrassingly, “He had given me false council”. Change the ‘had’ to ‘hath’ and I’m Will Shakespeare.

This morning’s session was on a 4G surface at a place called ‘Houille’ which I cannot pronounce. “ooeeee” is close. We got through a good run through before the forwards headed off to hit the scrum machine. They always finish with the most important part of the game. This left the backs to practice our kicking, which we did for about 10 minutes before succumbing to the lure of the football goal-posts and a penalty spot. We all took turns to fire the rugby ball past a hapless ‘keeper.

These players behind the scrum manage to combine the playful arsing around of a bunch of 10 year olds with pulling off some extraordinary rugby. If my day-to-day training with the Centre de Formation can be a bit of a pressurised drag, my actual team sessions and especially the backs training are a great laugh where everyone has a say. Often left to our own devices, we come up with some sumptuous back-play. It’s a wonderful environment to be a part of. I just hope we can transport some of the fun to Clermont tomorrow as our team has a tendency to tighten up. If we can stay loose and play with some confidence then we have a good chance. 

Au Revoir, Alliance Francaise. 'It's been emotional...'

It’s only taken me 4 months but I’ve realised the sort of people that hang out at the back of the RER B in the middle of the day. I always board the train at the back so I can get out easily, and in time-honoured transport fashion, the back is where all the fun is had. By fun, I mean sitting with some sort of ghetto-blaster and smoking some sort of pungent illegal drug. It’s a pleasant idea to think that I turn up to kicking practice thinking every strike is the best ever, as I am transported to some sort of elevated sense of being, or that instead of sprint practice, I’m flying...

Tomorrow is my final day at the Alliance Francaise, and it promises to be an emotional one. As us pillars of the class, Seung-Hee, Helene and I are all leaving, we’re having a small party to celebrate the times we’ve had. It has been fun. Yes, something shifted in my attitude and mindset after my sojourn in October, but that wasn’t deliberate and probably had more to do with the turnover of people in the class and the ambiance changed. From smiley Luis from Bueno-Aires to Larissa the over-smiley Rheinmädchen to unidentified depressed German male and Robert the Texan who ‘never understood a worrrd she sayddd”; from Israel to Beirut to Brazil to Australia, from the lovely Swiss Laura to the deluded 28 year old portly Peruvian who would share her dreams of celebrity and fame with me. I hope she’s worked out in which field she intends to find her fame...

The Venezuelan with the pronunciation impeding plastic surgery, the Chinese wannabe pastry chef and the Australian ballet dancer: clearly I’ve met some extraordinary people.

Then there’s the prof. The most French person I’ve ever come across. She is a Jean-Jacques Rousseau-ist, and a follower of Buddhism and Cartesian philosophy. She enjoys balancing a dictionary on her head and walking round the room as we ‘umm’ and ‘ahh’. She represents Paris: a fervent traditionalist, staunchly believing in shops being closed on Sunday yet extremely open-minded to however anyone wants to spend their life, a fan of pure opium as a painkiller for a toothache, anti-American, pro-Sarko one day and raging against him the next. All that, and always with the round red spectacles on the tip of the nose! Crazy...

Just like my daily routine, from class to rugby. Preparations for Clermont are being stunted by this snow! Training was cancelled last night then cancelled again tonight. Hopefully a thaw will arrive tomorrow and we can train tomorrow and then another session has been added on Saturday morning. Pilgrimage...

On the 1st Team front, we have superiority in Paris after beating Stade Francais. Several exciting games coming up though. Racing v Toulouse will be played at the Stade de France next year and Perpignan v Racing will be played at the Camp Nou in April. Half-thinking about travelling to that if possible. Now that’s a pilgrimage of a different sort!

not my own...

# 60: Quick Update: late, on Wednesday 8th December

Before I crack on, I am told that this is the 60th post of The Stand Off and The Seine. Begun in June, we now have 3 official followers and a few more unofficial but just as appreciated regulars. I'd like to think I would still do it if no one was reading it...but... 


So the snow has properly arrived. When I said it had arrived before, I was wrong. This stuff is lying and causing some havoc. It begun at about midi today and hasn’t stopped. Clermont is apparently free of snow though we are waiting to hear about the condition of their pitch. The rules are that if the game is cancelled for a second time then we get the points for the win. Without a shadow of a doubt, I’d rather go to Clermont and lose by 50 points.

I didn’t train yesterday as I had woken up like with a neck like a robot on Monday morning and felt training would not be ‘prudent’. So I had a long hot shower, worked my legs a bit and got my neck rubbed by the physio. Much the same happened today before I had to walk home as the ‘ligne 197’ was not running. They had earlier got into my good books by wishing me a good holiday on their in-bus screen but this evening, as my feet were soaking and I was scrambling around in slush, my thoughts were that they can stuff their good wishes.

On Wednesday I always have a little time to spare before heading to training and today I found myself in a different part of Paris, as I had to go to the bank. I could have picked up a sandwich somewhere like I normally do and munched it on the train but the blizzard was setting in and it was time for a hot chocolate. As I, a foreigner, sat alone in this stereotypical Parisian cafe eating a croque madame (the femininity coming from a fried egg on top), sipping my chocolat chaud, I looked down at my moleskine peeking out my bag and thought: ‘I’m such a cliche’.

Finally, I was wrong about Antony's Christmas lights. I saw the very centre of Antony and this place which I have been disparaging about actually scrubs up not too bad. 

My latest French test is tomorrow morning so I have to be on time, for once. Planning to prove my prof wrong by pulling the 'gerondif' tense when she least expects it. 

Next post to follow soon about getting high at the back of my train!

A Postcard from Antony - do they exist?!

So Antony's Christmas lights are up and I must admit, they look poor. Though the Champs Elysees - "Greatest Street in the World" - also have theirs up and, while I haven't been in to see them, I imagine they're of another level. This snow is not going anywhere, in fact it might be turning to ice as the temperature is really falling. I have a kicking session this afternoon and then possibly up to Colombes for training with the team. Though a text from my coach would suggest otherwise, if I've got it right...

I saw my crazy South African friend the other day on the bus, which is of course the only place I do see her. Thankfully she didn't see me, the advantages of wearing two scarves and a hat. For those of you who aren't aware of this lady's existence, we met at a bus stop, she recognised my foreign-ness simply from watching me give up my seat to an old lady (manners). She then made full use of the opportunity to speak English as she launched herself into a tirade against the French. She's been living here 15 years, married to a frenchman. She lambasted the French press for their portrayal of Africa when Paris' northern slums are just as bad. After she calmed down, she began trying to weasel an invitation to meet Francois Steyn, who she appears to have a deep passion for. I said she should hang around outside the training ground... So I am now extra vigilant when taking the bus, who knows when she'll pop up and ask me round to tea, or to borrow some english books.

The French are obsessed with Handball... To me, this was a fun part of the PE curriculum aged 13 but the French take it very seriously, advertising the national team like they're taking on the world. The US Metro handball players come into the gym in the evenings and work on strengthening their throwing arm. Maybe by the time the year is out I can attend a Handball match. I know what you're thinking, I shouldn't be talking about bigging up obscure sports, I'm the guy who stays up late listening to cricket on the radio...

Just as I come to the end of my time at the Alliance Francaise, I have discovered another wonderful boulangerie just round the corner. I've been very happy with my normal one, where I have become such a regular that they start putting my 'ficelles avec lardons et fromage' in a bag as soon as I walk in. However, recently i've become frustrated with the way i come across unpleasant bits of other flavours of ficelles as I bite into them, a product of cooking them side-by-side and I've had enough of the not knowing what i'm going to sink my teeth into. So I can heartily recommend the wee boulangerie just round the corner from Rue de Vaugirard, next to Metro St Placide, just past the Fromagerie and the Chinoiserie.

And finally, the Clermont Auvergne match has been re-arranged for next Sunday which is fantastic news.

Snow, snow, No! 'Old Firm' hots up...

I write very disappointed this evening as the snow has come. I'm also feeling rather sheepish as earlier in the week, I longed for snow after seeing photos from home, and now it's here and in Clermont Auvergne and the match on Sunday is cancelled. So that is a shame. It will be rearranged, so I'm told, and that is of great consolation as, just as I wrote about Bourgoin, heading to Clermont is one of the reasons I'm here! Pilgrimage is not too strong a word. The snow would have made it even more atmospheric as I tried to hype it up even more but sadly, not to be this weekend.

However, the hype is building for the big derby! Racing took 3 full pages in the Paris free newspaper "20 Minutes" this morning to publicise the game. It included a written piece by Eric Blanc, former player, club director and father of my back-up scrum-half. He was cranking up the niggle, making sly digs towards the flamboyant Stade Francais owner Max Guazzini and his penchant for pink shirts and the club anthem, Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive". Excitingly, there is genuine niggle in this game. For a start, the club owners hate each other. Guazzini laid into Racing with the typical snobbish Parisian attitude about the banlieu (suburbs) where our club is situated and Jacky Lorenzetti replied with "Our roots are historical not geographical" and lambasted Stade for playing around with their shirt and colours for commercial gain, claiming that the 'ciel et blanc' is something far too sacred to be messed around with. Those blue and white stripes are of course the same stripes of Cambridge University, re-enforcing the historical point.

I've watched the pros a fair bit this week, some looking a bit drained after the international month. Sireli Bobo is in top form though, as always. I inwardly smiled when I saw Francois Steyn but I don't think he even knows I'm Scottish and making myself understood to this proud Afrikaner (read into that what you will) would be tricky. I have been basking in that victory, however, especially in light of the previous week's drubbing. I also grew to 7ft when I heard that Australia had put 59 points past France. I displayed a total lack of taste and decency in the way I rubbed it in everyone's faces, but hey, the short-term wonderful feeling that it gave me was more than worth it. I just hope Scotland do the business come February 5th in the 'Tournoi de 6'...now that would make my life easier.

My big news from today is that I improved 5 kgs on my Bench Press score which I'm slightly embarrassed to say means quite a lot to me. Oh how I'd love to be naturally very big and strong and to be able to take or leave weights as I please. My initial thought was, wait till Serge hears. He was nearly dancing around in a Scottish jig yesterday when I nailed a huge squat and by the end of the session he was pretending to toss the caber. I cannot wait to see his face when I present him with a bottle of Glenlivet.

My class is trundling along, only a week and 2 days to go. I must admit I'm becoming very tired of some of my classmates. Two woman in particular interrupt and give answers when people are thinking and then repeat the prof's answer after she's said it as if to claim that they were saying it all along. I snapped this morning and have lost a 'friend' but I'll live. I am still resisting group work as I find working with my Korean chum simply a waste of time as, although his French is outstanding, I haven't the slightest idea what he's saying. So, on we plod to the test next week where I fear I will be horribly exposed. And as I write I remember that I was supposed to have written a short resumé of the life of Paul Verlaine. I hope I wouldn't be being too offensive if I simply wrote down hurriedly in the morning a general life of most French writers of the period which goes something like this: born to bourgoise parents, schooled in Paris, publishes poems written under influence of opium, marries, divorces, homosexuality, publishes some more, finds absinthe and dies.... And on that note, I'm off to dream of interception tries in Clermont...