Paris versus New York

Just come in from my usual Monday evening weights session which is sometimes a bit of a struggle the day after a match. Tonight though it was the best thing I could have done as it removed the tiredness from my body and set me up for the week. 


This morning in class we had to choose an article from '20 Minutes', one of the free newspapers and explain it to the class. One person chose an article on this blog which I searched tonight and found quite cool. Sadly it isn't Paris versus Edinburgh, and I feel my creativity doesn't stretch this far, but it might offer an insight into Paris life.


http://parisvsnyc.blogspot.com/

I'd heard somewhere that people who have blogs like to blog about other blogs, so here's my contribution to the 'blogosphere'...

Table as of Sunday Evening 14th November

CLUB  PTS  J  G  N  P  GA  PB  NEI  NF  1   A S MONTFERRANDAISE  27  6  6  0  0  127  3  0  0  2   ASSOCIATION RACING METRO 92  24  6  5  0  1  120  4  0  0  3   MASSY PUC  23  6  5  0  1  111  3  0  0  4   C S BOURGOIN JALLIEU  22  6  5  0  1  59  2  0  0  5   STADE FRANCAIS PARIS  20  6  4  0  2  74  4  0  0  6   LYON OL U  16  6  3  0  3  26  4  0  0  7   U S OYONNAX  5  5  1  0  4  -65  1  0  0  8   ABCD XV  3  5  0  0  5  -63  3  0  0  9   A C BOBIGNY 93 RUGBY  0  6  0  0  6  -202  0  0  0  9   U S BRESSANE  0  6  0  0  6  -187  0  0  0

NEI : NOMBRE DE RENCONTRES EN EFFECTIF INCOMPLET NF : NOMBRE DE RENCONTRES FORFAIT PB : POINTS DE BONUS So this is where we stand after today's romp against US Bresanne. Final score 6 - 69 and a walk in the park it was too. More of a match report and tales from my weekend to follow. Big game next Sunday when Massy traverse Paris. Like I said, more to come...

Paris in the Autumn with Serge and my Class of International Misfits

Before I launch into a fairly unexciting week, I would like to point out that I have no idea why Bourgoin Rugby have a dolphin in their logo given they are absolutely nowhere near the sea, never mind dolphins. Suggestions on a postcard –221 Avenue........

The weather has been foul this week and has brought about a cough. When I try and explain my cough as being down to the weather people look at me as if to say, “Don’t try that one, we know you aren’t Fijian”.

I don’t think Paris does autumn very well, not like Edinburgh which I think is at its best when the wind is blowing and the city is bleak, like it’s meant to be, or when the autumnal light shines off the stone. In Paris, autumn is a time for digging up the Luxemburg Gardens and preparing for the next batch of tourists, the lovers of spring. I’ll wait till Paris in the spring-time to see if it’s all it’s cracked up to be...

From the Jardins du Luxemburg to the weights room... One thing that is directly responsible for my enjoyment of my weights is Serge. Serge is the 63 year old Preparateur Physique and he is keen to improve his English. He greets me every day with a booming shout, “Hello, how are you my dear boy!” in a very posh English accent. He’s everything a ‘gym guy’ should be: knowledgeable without being pedantic, sympathetic (to my occasional aches and pains...), and a very interesting person to talk to in between sets. He’s a fan of golf, Glenlivet whisky and a true man of the world who has recently booked his passage to New Zealand for the Rugby World Cup which he is very excited about. So I think ahead to tomorrow, Friday, and remember that sadly good old Serge only works Monday-Thursday. The Serge Diaries, to be continued...

Today, the 11^th of November is a public holiday in France. For some reason, I have an issue with it being a public holiday and prefer the way we do it. I probably just have unfair images of the French all making the most of the holiday and just sleeping in past 11 blissfully ignorant about the day itself after going out on the lash last night – oh wait, that was just my flatmate. So I’ve had a day with no school and just a dull weights session in the afternoon (no Serge). The wind was howling and the rain lashing against the glass doors to the gym and the artificial light made it not a very pleasant place to be. Better get used to it for the next month, I suppose.

An update on my class is needed. People are being recycled weekly so Rita the Italian-Argentine matriarch figure who confused Korea and Japan to much embarrassment (not her own) has moved on to be replaced by some South American whose pronunciation is grossly and hilariously inhibited by the extreme amount of botox her face has received. The level is getting harder and I’m in a period of transition where the bar is shunted up and it’s a struggle to keep up. To form the subjunctive...i’ve forgotten already. So that keeps plodding along, me and the prof are clashing regularly on topics such as politics and the strikers and more politics. Also, I went in a huff for a whole morning when she said she disagreed with the idea of Victor Hugo’s novel Les Miserables being turned into a musical when she hadn’t even seen it.

So it’s back down that same neck of the woods this Sunday versus US Bressane. But, and more excitingly, Saturday, and the Scotland – New Zealand game means my glorious return to the Scottish pub!

A la prochaine...

Bourgoin v Racing Metro 92

This, along with the Clermont-Auvergne and Stade Francais games, was one of the fixtures I was most looking forward to from the day I saw the fixture list in the summer. The romantic notion of travelling deep into a rugby heartland like Bourgoin was intoxicating. It certainly lived up to what I expected it would be.

The incredibly long day began at the Gare de Lyon, Paris, from which we took the 2 and a bit hour TGV to Lyon. The train has to be my favourite mode of transport and although the area of France between Paris and Lyon is interminably dull, some Steinbeck made up for it. We arrived to pouring rain and got on the coach to the Stade Pierre Rajon. Bourgoin-Jallieu, to give the full title is exactly what a small, rural, rugby dominated town should be. The stadium is much the same, made up of 10 stands that have sprung up over the years. The place won’t be able to hold more than 10,000 people but as I said to myself (FYI - I speak to myself alot) as I looked in through the railing, “I bet they don’t lose many home games”.

French rugby hospitality is really special and we were treated to a fine 3 course meal in the stadium restaurant of couscous and salad etc (at this point I thought that was it), and then pasta with chicken and then some sort of very sweet yoghurt with fruit. I was stuffed and thought there was no way I could play a rugby match in this state. Kevin (real name, but pronounced Keveeeeen) the prop was in his element, after the pasta it seemed like his day’s work was complete. We weren’t to actually play at this ramshackle old place, like Brive, we were to play on the junior pitches - 5 minutes away.

It was cold, very cold, and wet, very wet. However, we started like the bunch of psychos we are, psyched up and playing for our forwards coach who one might have thought had recently passed away on a scrum machine given the amount he was mentioned in the huddle. I was still rubbing my chest from where the captain had decided to punch me. Florian, our ginger-afro-ed, life-loving hooker was feeling my pain. I nailed a couple of long range penalties which I celebrated exuberantly. Our maul was on top despite the amount of abuse he was getting from the touch lines – I made out the word ‘putain’ – but we kept giving away silly penalties. Their 10 dropped a goal to keep them in touch. Then our maul worked sufficiently well enough for us to score though a lack of concentration meant I missed the conversion. Poor.

We were leading at half-time but things started to go wrong. Our affable second-row got sin-binned (mainting my record of someone being sin-binned in every match I’ve played in France, and Bourgoin were heating up. We were ahead when I got substituted with 15 mins to play. I’d happily stop there but you might want to know that we ended up defending a penalty 5 metres out from our own line, some people switched off and they rumbled over for a match winning try. I was left cursing very loudly in English amongst the Bourgoin fans. Interestingly, the men were actually wearing berets. No one wears a kilt when they go to watch the Accies! This place was proper rural France, the air was alpine and the hits were big. So we were left licking our wounds, wondering what might have been.

Final Score: Bourgoin 17 – 14 RM92

The President Always Wins, French Rugby Politics

Scandal has torn through the squad this week. In fact it’s been brewing for a while apparently, I’ve just been wonderfully oblivious, which is something I’m getting quite good at. The first I heard of it all was at the Lyon match 2 weekends ago when I wasn’t playing. I was chatting to fellow injured person who said something along the lines of, “It’s good he (our forwards coach) isn’t leaving isn’t it!” to which I obviously replied that I had no idea he was ever going anywhere... Apparently there had been some disagreement somewhere in the hierarchy, as my chum shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes. He expressed what seemed to be a deep-seated passion for this particular coach which I didn’t quite share, though I wholeheartedly agreed with everything he said. Great coach, wonderful man... That’s where this chat ended and I thought nothing more about it until this week.

Turned up to training on Wednesday night and was told there was a meeting beforehand. I asked someone what it what about and they told me, as if I should have known, it was about the departing of our forwards coach. The backs coach who I am very fond of gave us a rousing speech about sticking together after explaining what the situation was. No one seemed to be buying it though, disgruntled faces were everywhere. No one enthusiastically nodded when he tried to get a response out of the guys, they just sat there with their arms folded and stared, clearly unhappy with the way things had been allowed to happen. I didn’t really understand as I didn’t share the connection with this coach that the others did, perhaps he was a little frustrated about having a stand-off who couldn’t speak fluent French, can’t blame him really...

I’ve never been in a meeting like it. I thought that any minute someone, probably the tall 2^nd row who seemed to be the spokesman of the group, would walk out in disgust or protest or both. Either way, the meeting fizzled out and the backs coach looked physically drained with the effort of it all.

It was only later that evening as I was on the train home with our captain that I got the whole story. Allegations of favouritism in selection, picking the wrong players and general mismanagement had been made by the President of Racing Club de France (French rugby legend, over 30 caps) towards our forwards coach and this resulted in an almighty bust-up which resulted in the resignation of the coach. Seemingly in French rugby, the President always wins. (For interest, Racing Club de France, out of which Racing-Metro 92 was born, helps to operate the junior sections of Racing Metro 92. Perhaps they were keen to keep the Racing Club de France name going even if it is just the juniors.)

So it’s all a bit of a mess now. Even last night in our final huddle, strong words were said about how we will play for him even though he isn’t with us. French rugby politics, crazy crazy stuff which I had heard and read a bit about before coming here. Never thought it would strike into the very heart of the Crabos though...

Part 2, Week 1

So this has been my first week back to full training after pretty much a month without rugby. Except, it hasn’t really been full training at all. It became apparent early in the week that a gradual comeback was necessary and going straight into full training wouldn’t be prudent – a very helpful word which is the same in French, I use it alot.

Tuesday brought back a recurrence of the old ankle injury so I didn’t take part in the final full academy session of the day. ‘Terrible Tuesday’, with its 3 sessions was never the best day to return with. Wednesday brought the first trip up to Colombes for Crabos training which went well though I felt very stiff on Thursday when we trained at Colombes again. Normally, we only train Wednesday and Friday nights but this Thursday was an exception, a sore exception. We played a match against the Reichel (u-21s) which was a bit of an eye-opener. They play a very fast style of rugby which I was pleased to realise I would enjoy playing in. We acquitted ourselves fairly well though my second contact session in 2 days after the lay-off led to me completing few tackles.

I have already spoken of the excellent support I received during my injury from the physios and physical conditioning guys and that has continued this week. When the ankle flared up on Tuesday, Nico the gym man gave me a pre-prepared sheet with an ankle injury prevention session on it. I haven’t done any other weights sessions apart from this session since. Injury prevention and preparing the body isn’t something that is done enough at home. Get massive, worry about the consequences later... And it may seem like I’m always injured. This worries me slightly, though it isn’t true. Perhaps it’s bad luck, perhaps it’s a consequence of my first year training as a pro as my body initially struggled to adapt.

Anyway, Friday night training was good fun, every rugby player loves a team run and the boys seemed very focussed in anticipation of the biggest challenge we’ve faced so far. Bourgoin are top of the league (joint with us) and apparently are one of the traditional powerhouses of French youth rugby as well as being one of the top pro clubs in France. Winning there would really announce us as a major force. We’ll have to deal with a two and a half hour train journey to Lyon and then who knows what else by the way of trains and buses. On y va!

That Sunday Evening Feeling....

I’m currently sitting in some depressing corner of Edinburgh Airport waiting for boarding to begin for my 5.30 flight to Charles de Gaulle International Airport and I cannot help but feel a bit glum. This past week has been one of the best and while I may be feeling slightly worse for wear, every day has been filled with good company or good food, more likely both and definitely a good bed at the end of it. Having my 18^th birthday combined with the mass influx of student friends from the ‘provinces’ for the opportunity to be recklessly Academical was priceless.

And so the thought of returning to my suburb, my commute, my rugby and my cooking is a tricky one to stomach...! The optimism of the last post has clearly been replaced by something else. However, all the reasons I gave for my optimism are still worthy.

The thought of returning to the full training schedule is ever so slightly daunting as I’ve been quite happy and very comfortable on my reduced programme of gym and rehab without the pressure of rugby sessions. But it’s only 5 weeks before I return home for Christmas.

Training resumes on Tuesday so Monday (a public holiday) will be spent with me in domestic God mode as I scramble eggs while starting the washing machine and chatting on facebook all at the same time.

Not the most uplifting or articulate post I’m afraid, or the most pleasant to read, but possibly the most true, borne out of a slightly dulled brain. It was quite a good night last night, after all...