Racing Métro 14 - 3 Stade Francais

The atmosphere before this game was one of the most intense that I have ever experienced. Again, this was one of the games that stood out on the fixture list when I perused it in a balmy Edinburgh summer evening instead of revising. A win was all we were looking for, all that we cared about. And so it arrived after a drop-goal and 2 penalties from myself and a try from the big 2nd row. We didn't play especially well, but we really didn't have to. This sort of attitude is worryingly prevalent in our team. We seem to raise our level just high enough to win, and no more. Stade were poor, turning out to be everything they were said to be - individuals, flaky when the pressure came on.

The first half was tight, just an exchange of 3 points. But with a favourable wind in the 2nd half, and a surprisingly nice pink ball with with to play territory, we began to turn the screw.

There was a titanic battle in the scrum and I truly believe our props had thought of nothing other than the Clermont humiliation since that sad day and this brought them to a crazy level of scrummaging. Personally, it was the usual, flashes here and there but littered with silly mistakes. At times I became like a forward with the lines I ran, still inexplicable to me. Perhaps a moment of madness caused by a brain strained by the colour in front of me.

I wrote earlier about what Stade would be wearing and they didn't disappoint.

They were fairly big, and powerful when they wanted to be. But we were the more disciplined, tight-knit team. We really should have won by more.

Pretty in pink, which the fans were too. This was our biggest crowd of the season, the pitch flanked by adidas tracksuits with three stripes in pink. One guy had brought a vuvuzela.

If you look closely you can see that I am putting in very little work here, our France under 18 number 8 is pulling more than I am pushing, though I put a good face on it.

The ultimate individualist full-back, odd socks 'n all.

Extraordinary array of colours, flowers, lightning bolts...

The two old foes go head to head with the typical backdrop of the, at times, grim, north Parisian suburbs. The traditional combative play of the ciel et blanc, with our pure, unadulterated shirt won out over the colourful, razzamatazz, yet individual and mentally weak Stade Francais. On Sunday, Paris turned Blue and White, not pink, and we absolutely loved it.


(pictures taken by Charlene Panis...)

Picture Postcard, take 3

 I was overly harsh about Antony's Christmas decorations, they are actually quite impressive. This is heading down the High Street, with a H + M advert in the foreground.

 This is the main training pitch at the training ground. My ego likes training with sponsorship boards flanking the pitch, something very professional about it, suggesting that photographers are going to be present.

 The lights were off in the gym but I thought I would take the opportunity to take some photos at a time when no one would see me and think I was a creep. The advertising poster on the far wall has since been defaced using some letters taken from the pictures below. One prop now has 'fat' written across his chest and the other has a large blue phallus. 

 I can confirm that there are more than enough weights.

 So these are the words that the club lives by. I think attitude is a different word in french, often being used to describe body position going into into contact.

 Pride. 

 Humility...

 Pleasure!

 Unity.

And from the other angle. The upper section above the words is where all the cardio machines are and also where the pros get massaged. Through the windows on the bottom floor on the far wall are the hot and cold baths.


We trained well last night and so long as the weather holds out, I'm confident about tomorrow. This morning I headed into Antony where I played a Frenchman enjoying a casual Saturday morning. I sampled Antony's best and only Art Gallery, La Maison des Arts where there was an exhibition entitled 'de la Russie a Paris' which was an excellent 45 minutes and my culture for the week. It was also free, which is worth noting I think. I then bought a Midi Olympique and sat understanding a surprising amount of it with a chocolat chaud at the café de la Gare, clearly where anyone who's anyone spends their Saturday in Antony.

Picture Postcard, take 2

 The busy junction at La Croix de Berny, office-block central.

 The tennis courts which looked so attractive in August and September.

 A nice view from the edge of the Jardins down the...

 Street made famous in Hemingway's A Moveable Feast because of the residency of Gertrude Stein.

The 6th Arrondissement captured in one photo: old-world, traditional, academic, literary, exclusive.

A Picture Postcard from Paris

 So this forms one of the most pleasant morning walks in the world, across Les Jardins du Luxembourg. Not at its best here, they spend the Winter preparing it for lovers in the springtime acting out their own personal clichés.

 La Croix de Berny. How very French to stick a beautiful fountain slap bang in the middle of a roundabout at a busy suburban junction. Probably just because they can...

 Les Jardins on a nicer morning, lovely light falling on the French senate building, formerly a Medici palace.

Bit extreme I felt, and worthy of a photo. The snow was literally 2 inches and yet this woman looks like she is off up Mont Blanc, or even Dundas Street at its worst. Her sherpa is just out of shot.

"Bienvenue en Écosse"....

Training tonight was a session of extremes. Extreme weather as the uncompromising rain lashed down and extreme contact as we were equally uncompromising with each other. Endless phases of team vs. team always begun with a #8 pick up right down my alley which got rather tiresome to say the least. But as always with sessions like this, the masochist in me found it strangely enjoyable. We are in a good place for Sunday. Throughout the session I was thinking, “it’s good that we have not forgotten the harsh words we said to ourselves while locked in the changing room in Clermont”. Clearly the chances of me getting the opportunity to say this to anyone were slim but it still went round and round in my head as I refined it grammatically in the rain. This is something that happens more and more as I think in French.

Come the end of the session people were bantering with me about the rain and being Scottish etc ha ha ha... In the first few months when chat was rare then I would happily exploit Scottish stereotypes for a cheap gag here and there. “Oh look, it’s raining, I love the rain” ha...ha... But these days I feel I don’t really need to lower myself to that sort of conversation. It is cheap and a bit patronising, especially when I indulge in it myself. “Oh look, a ginger person, they must be Scottish” ha...ha...

Our coach went on a huge tirade about Stade Francais at the end of the session. He spoke of this generation of Stade players never having won anything and lacking a winning mentality. He also said...um, basically...they’re soft. That’s the gist of it. I just can’t wait to see what strip they wear, as surely they can’t let their youth teams trot out in the same outrageous concoctions that the pros parade. Having said that, my flatmate says that last year they played with the flowers on their chest. 

Lazy Mornings, Sore Afternoons

These free lazy mornings that I’d envisioned full of reading and comedy DVDs are becoming ever so slightly tiresome after the second day. I end up just slobbing around counting down the hours till I have to wake-up properly and head in to train, a time which normally I don’t want to arrive as slobbing about is at least warm. I suppose it’s no bad thing giving my body time to recover as it is shocked back into becoming the not-so-well-oiled, slightly creaky machine it was before Christmas. 

Training today was not warm in the slightest, but at least I’ll sleep well tonight. We begun with a cardiovascular session, which was actually okay when my second wind eventually arrived, I think it had been left in the mother country. We had to take our pulse intermittently and then multiply by some number. I could never do the maths in time in French so ended up just taking an educated guess which seemed to impress everyone, especially Serge who seems a little disappointed at the lack of Glenlivet or at least Smoked Salmon – but I blame Easyjet’s small print and harsh regulations...

We then went to train as backs. This is one instance where I prefer the French, trios-quarts, and feel that we, in English should use three-quarters more, like back in the day. Anyway, we begun with some kicking which, at our leisurely pace, put me in a great mood. When this moved on to cross-field kicks I was positively ecstatic, wishing that every Tuesday could be like this, as I congratulated myself on another egg that dropped into the outstretched arms of some punter on the wing. But, as always, I was wrong to allow myself such an emotional peak as we moved on to some passing. Oh well, I thought, could be worse, kicking and passing is a session I would take every time. Again though, we moved on to something else. And we kept moving on as the drills kept appearing. I couldn’t keep track of the cones as they seemed to change their positions every time I turned my back. After an hour and 35 minutes I was well and truly finished and could barely feel my hands. I shall buy some gloves.

We then had a meeting which was something to do with re-focussing our efforts for this next part of the season. It was mainly for the espoirs, but it was interesting to see how their set-piece percentage compared with the autumn test teams. I also learnt a new word: exigence which has something to do with demands/requirements/discipline. What a disappointment, now I’ve looked it up. It was said that the season so far has flown by, I looked doubtfully at the floor, and the rest of it will fly by quickly too, which is probably true.

Sometime later in the week I think I’ll head into Paris and soak up some culture, a museum, perhaps an art gallery, or even get lost in the sales...In fact, the sales in Paris don’t begin until the 11^th January which sounds a lot more civilised that half of Britain logging onto Argos as soon as Christmas Day becomes Boxing Day. So I’ll take my camera, a map and a guidebook and fill half a day pretending to tell my Manet from my Degas... I’m looking forward to it already.

ps, The Times says today that the French are the unhappiest, saddest and most pessimistic nation on the planet. My view: hmm...no comment...

Part 3 Begins: Planes, Trains and Nails

And so it all begins again. It’s actually nice to be back in this bed, in this flat with its totally white clinical walls, i feel like i'm now 'de-toxing' (horrible phrase) from the excess of the festive period, the plain-ness of my flat gives it the air of being some sort of clinic. As usual, holidays refresh in some ways but also end up increasing tiredness. It’s just as well I have my mornings off this week (finished my French class). So all I have to do is focus on the rugby when I have to and get through some box-sets the rest of the time. I’m flying home this time next weekend anyway as there’s a Monday-Friday camp in Edinburgh for the national squad. What a jet-set lifestyle.

But before all that, the Old Firm of French rugby will meet on Sunday when we welcome Stade Francais to Colombes. Racing first played Stade Francais on the 20^th March 1892. Racing won 4-3 and the match was refereed by Baron Pierre de Coubertin, who also happened to find time to found the Modern Olympic Games. It seems a bit of a cheek to me that this one game was classed as the French Championship: Racing were awarded the Bouclier de Brennus, still awarded to the winners of the championship today, though after around 30 gruelling matches. 1892 isn’t quite 1858 but it’s nice to be involved in games with history behind them.

We trained this morning but the quality was extraordinarily poor. I suppose early morning on the 2^nd of January isn’t bound to produce lovely rugby but even we were all surprised at how bad it was. Though now we have a big week before Sunday. The club President was around, dressed in his running gear – I thought he was going to slot in at full-back and show us how he used to do it but instead he came on and refereed. His refereeing style reinforced the image that I have created of him as this massively haughty, arrogant, talented dashing three-quarter who brought tonnes of his renegade personality to the game. I couldn’t help myself from laughing when, lunching with some props, they were complaining about the way he controlled the scrummage. Apparently “Crouch...Touch...........Push” is not the right way to do it.

We do get looked after. Instead of training simply finishing and all going their separate ways, we went for some lovely tartiflette in the fans tent at one end of the stadium for our lunch. This was brought forward an hour after the club president raged at some poor man who said it was at 2 and we would have to wait an hour. The issue was resolved, we ate well, and he drove off in his black Lamborghini. The Stade was looking excellent as folk rushed around preparing it for tonight’s pro match against Brive. I won’t be going as sleep, food and Alan Partridge are more attractive propositions. Though there are two attractive matches on Saturday. I feel I should go to see Racing play Toulon but the lure of the Stade de France is hard to resist where Stade Francais welcome Toulouse. I’ll wait and see.

While eating I was introduced to a guy who was new to me but not to the rest. I had heard of someone who had moved to Scotland, and here he was. Turns out he was in Edinburgh and had played for Heriot’s, though I think his playing ambitions are purely social. Older than me, he is a very small guy with an adult’s head forced on his neck. I tried to tease him about being a nail but he didn’t understand so I shut-up fairly quickly. I also asked him about some people at the club but he didn’t react when I said their names. Quel impression... I told him that Accies were my club but he didn’t know them, a sad indictment of rugby in North Edinburgh! I began to doubt this chap’s story and vowed to probe further into the mystery Nail!