It’s not been a typical quiet Thursday and there are some things to report.
My usual sleepy Thursday lunchtime lecture on ‘Théatre du 20eme siecle’, which is always interesting, became eye-opening. The prof, with his three-piece suit, pocket-watch, goatee beard and apple mac was getting suitably excited about ‘Un tramway nommé Desir’ by Tennessee Williams when he suddenly burst into a rant on the times we live in. “L’humanité est un catastrophe. All the young people all around the world are dressed the same. Capitalism has led to all difference being squeezed out of us, obviously it’s ‘economies of scale’ to produce more jeans so everyone just walks around in jeans. There’s no political difference, we aren’t allowed to differentiate between anyone on any grounds.” I sat up straight, hid my half-opened babybel and awaited his grand finale, “it’s neo-fascime.” Strewth, we all collectively said in our mother tongues as he shrugged his shoulders, smiled and went on with Williams.
When I got into the club, I walked straight into a debate about the merits of the LNR, the organisation who run the Top 14. Seb Chabal had just been handed his 30 day ban for criticising referees, which also includes having to do a refereeing course and referee at least 3 under-17 matches. Some surprising points emerged: Serge Blanco is President of the LNR and President of Biarritz; Biarritz always play Toulouse during the 6 Nations (when they’re weakened); Biarritz begin each season with several games at home; when Biarritz and Bayonne both wanted to be the first to take a Basque derby to Stade Anoeta in Spain, the fixture list got changed from Bayonne v Biarritz to Biarritz v Bayonne. The fixture list is not computer-generated.
Toulouse, in the past 5 seasons, have been refereed by only 5 referees in domestic competition. That’s quite an extraordinary statistic. Allegations of corruption are growing in French rugby, as are worries about the standard of refereeing. For my part, I think the referees in the Top 14 are worse than those in the Magners and English premiership, except for the way they referee the scrummage.
This evening I went to an Eden Park ‘private sale’. My good friend the physio got me an invite and so I took 3 trains and explored a pleasant suburb to find this sale. Any dreams of a champagne reception where I could mix it with the Paris aristocracy discussing the latest lines with the opportunity to kit myself out at discount prices were dashed. It started well, with an impressive array of bouncers on the doors. But effectively it was a large space filled with rails and piles of clothes through which people were rifling. The price-cuts were amazing and though I found myself very lost very often, always picking up shirts that others had already taken and getting in people’s way, and leaving my bag on the floor, I got stuck in.
ANKLE UPDATE: Hmm...The state of this complex joint changes daily, wednesday was very positive, thursday was less so. The doctor denied my request for an injection on the grounds that it would give me a dangerously false sense of security. I’m weaning myself into a state of mind which says, “You will start the match, adjust your game according to your capabilities, do what you can, plough on, and if it fails on you then it fails on you.” I am feeling the pressure from various people, teammates keen to find out if I can play, coaches phoning me, people at the club asking about it. I want to play, I want to contribute to a victory but I’m not entirely sure what I can contribute; they are expecting miracles when really I’m playing after 2 weeks on a 6/8 week injury.
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