Cracking Weekend!

It is an outstanding day in Antony, the sun is blaring down. A day I am enjoying from the comfort of the flat, and more specifically, my bed. This is the same Antony which seemed to be rocked by the sight of people in kilts. Cars weren’t exactly swerving off the road but I did receive several honks in the morning, people swerving round me on the street and a great deal of awkwardness on the bus. By the evening, this pleasant curiosity had been replaced by something more sinister. Local ‘youths’ thought it funny to shout, have a pop, act the hard man, “Qu’est-ce que tu regarde, toi?” all from the safety of the other side of the road, as another person leered from the door of a pub. But to dwell on these incidents would paint an inaccurate picture of a wonderful day.

Paris’ Left Bank regularly sees far weirder sights than an invasion of Scots, not to mention what is to be found in the Marais, so the reception in the centre of town was slightly different. We spent the morning walking around, taking in the atmosphere and greeting fellow people in tartan as if they were neighbours walking down the high street. We ended up at the Pompidou Centre and squinted at some modern art before lunch at a restaurant specialising in pig’s trotters. By the end of lunch, we were the only people within earshot so the iphone came out and begun blaring the Murrayfield Pipes and Drums, to get us in the mood.

The train up to the Stade de France was good fun, made even better by the news from home. The Stade rose up in front of us, mightily impressive. We were expecting poor seats, but I don’t think they exist. With not many Scots around us, our singing attracted a lot of attention, and I am currently taking up some space on some poor soul’s mobile phone. The crowd went eerily quiet at time and then would suddenly burst into La Marseillaise. The result was definitely secondary when it became clear that the French had a new found respect for the rugby we played.

Sunday was a different proposition. Bobigny were so poor it barely merits a match report. We were fairly clinical and did well to wrap up the bonus point so quickly but it was a match I never really got into. I felt like I should have been carving through this lot but it just wasn’t happening. There were numerous knock-ons from both sides and the lineout and scrum were messy. I got even more frustrated which only served to make things worse, kicking out on the full, little uncharacteristic things like that. Maybe I just wanted to perform in front of the family. I was taken off after 60 minutes, simply as part of our rotation policy when we are thrashing teams.

The most exciting part of the whole day was having a Scottish referee. I met him before the match and had a nice chat and it was the sole interesting about the match. When he would say “dernier pieds” to the French, he would say “last foot” to me, in an effort to keep us onside. However, it wasn’t all niceties in Scottish. I must admit that playing in France means I occasionally allow myself to slip into shouting frustrated unpleasantries in English, safe in the knowledge that no-one will understand me. I got caught out yesterday although we both found it quite funny.

Usual week this one, still not started my much awaited Sorbonne course yet though so it's just about keeping boredom at bay. Will just be making sure I’m in top nick for our tricky away match to Lyon on Sunday. We only just scraped past them in October when I wasn’t playing so we expect a big one.

Stretched, Refreshed, and Playing By Myself

Since returning to Paris two weekends ago, a physical and mental rut had set in. Maybe I was all rugby-ed out, but my hip, injured in October, was causing me some bother. So after a lot of stretching over the past 10 days, today I put my boots on, took a ball and just went out and played by myself. Thursday is a fairly light day so after doing some weights and running on the treadmill, I laced up. There is something very fun, amongst all the drills and coaches talk and ways of catching the ball, in just going out and grubbering the ball around, throwing high passes to yourself, sidestepping imaginary defenders after extragavant dummies and taking the occasional drop at goal. There was no one around to hear my sound effects as I burned some poor made-up soul.

And so after a short period which my teammates would call ‘nul’, I’m feeling refreshed for the weekend. It is, after all, a long season and there will inevitably be peaks and troughs, mentally and physically. Maybe the best thing to do is not to fight them, let them work themselves out. This promises to be an excellent weekend as the family come to Paris. Arguably the biggest game of our weekend will be at the Stade de France as I get to unashamedly flaunt my nationality without feeling like a weirdo. Doubts have been raised at the club as to whether I will actually wear my kilt when it’s so cold, but I don’t think they really understand. The kilt will be worn and pictures taken to prove it. If Scotland win, it won’t come off for days.

The second match of the weekend is versus Bobigny up at Colombes. We beat Bobigny earlier in the season when I had a fanclub in the stand too (James). At the time, I had my best game of the season so hopefully the same will happen in another bonus point win.

The hot/cold baths are where I’ve enjoyed some of my best conversations with people. Today it was the turn of the espoirs stand-off, a really nice guy who was in my situation last year in playing for the crabos. We talked about everything from international rugby to the club (and who’s leaving and staying) to what we were having for dinner. He told me he was from Alsace to which I said something about the turbulent history of that area. Apparently some French still think it is part of Germany. I mumbled something about the town of Berwick being English/Scottish etc. but I don’t think it really stood up for comparison with Alsace-Lorraine, so I shut up...

Mercenaries Galore / Possible France Team

Yet another day when the rugby world is rocked by French money. Interesting to compare to today’s ‘soccer’ transfer deadline day. Perhaps rugby is starting to see the rise of ‘superclubs’ like we have seen in the lesser code for years. Maybe I can show how some of these clubs will become all-star lineups with players from all around the world. I’m not sure how much of this is reported in the UK, maybe some but I highly doubt others.

Firstly, looks like Brad Thorne, the Kiwi lock, will join Clermont after the World Cup. His adversary Bakkies Botha is heading to Toulon. Drew Mitchell, the Aussie wing will join Stade Francais at the same time. Toulouse have been flaunting their status as Europe’s wealthiest club and more than making up for the loss of David Skrela by bringing in Lionel Beauxis and Luke McAlister. The paper seems certain that Lee Byrne will definitely play for Clermont Auvergne. Bayonne, mentioned in the last post, will be where Shane Geraghty will play next season after not fulfilling his potential at Northampton.

More of a rumour is the possible joint-move of Aussie captain Rocky Elsom and once world's-most-expensive player, Matt Giteau, to Toulon. Apparently Giteau is the more likely.

Toulouse are arguably the only superclub in rugby, with heritage and class and trophies to back up a large wad of cash. Toulon are fast approaching, and Clermont too. A second rung would be made up of Racing Métro, Perpignan and Stade Francais. England’s answer would be Leicester, but only just, evidently hampered by the salary cap.

Given that The Scotsman’s analysis of the French team for Saturday will inevitably be dire, here’s the Midi Olympique take on the French team for Saturday. Some positions are dead-certs (in blue) and others are undecided (in red)

1.       Domingo

2.       Servat

3.       Mas

4.       Pierre – Either Julien Pierre or Jerome Thion, not a particularly exciting tussle.

5.       Nallet

6.       Dusautoir

7.       Ouedraogo – Or Harinordoquay? Really depends on who plays #8.

8.       Harinordoquay – Or Chabal?! Extraordinary debate to be even having...

9.       Parra

10.   Trinh-Duc

11.   Médard

12.   Mermoz – Could Jauzion be left out?! Mermoz has been in sparkling form, though still risky...

13.   Rougerie – Depends on the 12. If Jauzion, could go with more physical Marty.

14.   Clerc

15.   Traille – The audacity of Poitrenaud or the solidity of Traille. Lack of a decent kicker in the midfield points to Traille.

Midi Olympique could turn out to be totally wrong, but it’s an exciting debate to have. Lievremont seems to have got tired of experimentation and picking players from smaller clubs from obscurity. This is undoubtedly his best squad and quite formidable they look too.

Money, Money...Money

Everyone must love a free day! I’ve just got back after my morning in Antony and I feel I’ve earned my lunch. The French love art and the fact that there is a free gallery in Antony of quite a high standard says a lot. I know very little about art, as I explained to the little old women inside, but I was impressed. They were running a vote for the best piece in the gallery and this woman was keen to practice her English on me as I stood staring at my choice. I was impressed at how convincing my arty BS sounded.

I then took my seat at the Café de la Gare with a hot chocolate and some bread and butter and my Midi Olympique. This paper never fails to amaze me and I’m building up a nice pile of them in my room. Some interesting stories are as follows:

Bayonne have become the latest club in France to join the ranks of the nouveaux riches (spelling questionable). Their new sugar daddy has employed former French coach and Minister for Sport Bernard Laporte to act as an advisor to the President. With his connections in industry and commerce that he has garnered from his time in government, even more sponsorship is flowing into the ‘real’ Basque club (i.e., not Biarritz). So far they’ve bought Byron Kelleher and the outlawed New Zealand alcoholic Sione Lauki and came extremely close to prising Thierry Dusautoir away from Toulouse. The list will grow, I’m sure.

David Skrela has moved from Toulouse to Clermont Auvergne on a 3 year deal where he will earn an absolute packet. On the topic of Clermont, Coach Vern Cotter is about to return home to New Zealand for what seems to be a mid-season break. On his way back he is scheduled to fly to Suva, Fiji, in an effort to persuade the wonderfully named Napoleoni Nalaga to return to the club. He appears to have pulled a Caucau-like runner and is determined to stay in Fiji for some reason...

French rugby is becoming more and more crazy every week with an extreme amount of money changing hands with more about to flow into the game from a new Canal + TV deal. The league is extremely close and the final few months are going to be compulsive viewing. Only 9 points separate 2^nd placed Clermont/Racing and 9^th placed Stade Francais.

In amongst all this money and glamour and transfer talk and foreign mercenaries, it’s worth reflecting on the plight of Bourgoin. This immensely proud small town club are the victims of all the above and are almost certain to be relegated after getting themselves into some financial trouble for which they were docked points. I have never seen a stadium with so much character and remember writing that it looked to be one of the most intimidating places to play when the whole town would undoubtedly turn out to fill it with noise.  

The face of rugby in this country has been changing for a few years now, and therefore rugby in Europe is changing, but I do get the impression that it is starting to be ramped up a few gears. Who knows where it will leave us. 

Morning in Paris, Random Musings On My Physical State

Today was one of the more exciting days, though since my return to Paris on Saturday, that isn’t saying much. I was up early to sample the foul stench of the metro on the commute into Paris – Chatelet Les Halles has to be the foulest smelling, in case you were wondering. I ended up at the bank where I jabbered away in French until the nice chap said, “you can speak English if it’s easier, mate”, straight out of Birmingham. Turns out he’s a rugby player too, though only played half a match. He plays for a club I had come across coincidentally the other day and done some research into: The British Rugby Club of Paris. He then invited me to their pub crawl of the Scottish pubs in Paris on Saturday night.

I then headed to the Sorbonne to register for my new course, comprising some language tuition each day as well as lectures on French ‘civilisation’, history, literature and the ahhts (arts). The location is impressive, right next to the Pantheon, and I’m looking forward to filling my mornings up again.

Something I haven’t mentioned is a dodgy wrist I’ve been harbouring for a couple of months. Nothing major, never going to stop me playing, but an irritant nonetheless. I’ve had a couple of scans and next week I’m to get a small injection into it which should get rid of something...it gives me the willies so I’m keen not to think about it. I suppose with training upon training little things like this can build up and it’ll be a relief to get rid of it.

I don’t want to keep going on about injuries but...no, I’ll stop there. My soreness and endless physio appointments do not make good reading. Got me thinking: professional rugby players aren’t necessarily the best, they’re just the most resilient and driven people – the ones who have made it to the top by getting injured less and managing to get through the boredom, not always the best rugby players on the pitch. The route to the top is probably strewn with outstanding players who either couldn’t hack being a pro – doesn’t make them a worse rugby player – or didn’t fancy it. This is not a defence of myself...yet... At the moment, after a tough period of training, I’m feeling aches a lot and my ‘body confidence’ is feeling low, a term normally used by counsellors to teenage girls.

Sometimes you go to the bench press, do it a bit, feel a pec, try to massage it into action. But no, neither body or mind is having it. You can get up and walk around, do a pull up as you walk by to try and inspire yourself into the right mood. You can even go to the changing room, stuff your hand in your bag and pull out a handful of Bonne Maman mini muffins and stuff them in your face in a vain hope that they'll lift you to the mindset needed. But no, a certain type of machine can probably do it but I can’t yet. I simply could not be bothered to lift weights today. So I consoled myself with the fact that I did it on Monday and Wednesday and just went home. Undoubtedly feeling much the better for it!

Update of the Crabos League

CLUB  PTS  J  G  N  P  GA  PB  NEI  NF  1   A S MONTFERRANDAISE  41  11  9  0  2  171  5  0  0  2   C S BOURGOIN JALLIEU  40  10  9  0  1  145  4  0  0  3   ASSOCIATION RACING METRO 92  38  10  8  0  2  190  6  0  0  4   LYON OL U  35  11  7  0  4  92  7  0  0  5   MASSY PUC  32  10  7  0  3  99  4  0  0  6   STADE FRANCAIS PARIS  29  10  6  0  4  74  5  0  0  7   ABCD XV  14  10  2  1  7  -62  4  0  0  8   A C BOBIGNY 93 RUGBY  10  11  2  0  9  -212  2  0  0  9   U S OYONNAX  6  10  1  0  9  -168  2  0  0  10   U S BRESSANE  2  11  0  1  10  -329  0  0  0

NEI : NOMBRE DE RENCONTRES EN EFFECTIF INCOMPLET NF : NOMBRE DE RENCONTRES FORFAIT PB : POINTS DE BONUS Given that the top four in each pool go through to the knock-out phases, it's maybe worth taking a look at the other pools.  Pool 2: 1. Grenoble 2. Montpellier 3. Perpignan 4. Toulon Pool 3: 1. Toulouse 2. Colomiers 3. Armagnac 4. Tarbes-Pyrenees Pool 4: 1. Bayonne 2. Brive 3. Bordeaux 4. Pau

Jet-Setting, Sleeping, and Freezing Pitches - in that order.

I returned to the flat last night to find it in a bit of a state. It is incredibly heartening to see that living standards do not go up when I’m not here, as I (and close relatives) thought they might have.

After a flight shared with that sort of middle aged Caucasian male who reads “New African Woman – Lifestyle Magazine”, it was well and truly time for bed. It was up at 6.30 though for a trip to Dijon. The thought of a second match inside three days was hard to take, and on Saturday night I thought to myself that this would be one of those occasions when my ‘professionalism’ would be put to the test. I find the sort of people who go on about living a professional lifestyle, being professional etc. very tiresome. But they would look at how I responded to such a situation and then gauge how professional I am. I would do this a little myself. I could either put my mental and physical tiredness to the back of my mind, focus on my team-mates, the job in hand and the need to win or I could indulge my feelings of soreness, relax safe in the knowledge that it was an easy game, I could easily cruise through relying on those around me to do enough and we could go home happy. It was not immediately obvious which route I was going down.

In the end, it didn’t matter a jot. We didn’t play a single minute of rugby today let alone get changed. Instead we arrived at the ground (after our standard lavish lunch, this time complete with Dijon mustard) and got told that the referee was deciding whether the match should go ahead. In fact, he was sticking his car key into the ground and deciding that no rugby could be played on this pitch. It was a horrible limbo period as we waited; I was trying to ensure I didn’t let myself desire any particular outcome, match or no match. But eventually we got back on the bus and drove the 4 hours back to Paris.

It’s been an odd day solely spent exploring France’s pot-hole-free motorway system. I’m sure the views were lovely but I had my eyes firmly shut for the majority of those 8 hours, and I feel much the better for it. My mornings are once again free this week but my inevitable boredom should be delayed by having to ‘run some errands’ in Paris...and Partridge series 2.