My
first taste of French club rugby…
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| The teams prepare for the match |
Parc des Sports Henri Cavallier was the
setting for my first experience of French club rugby, courtesy of the local
side, Union Sportive Fumel Libos (USFL) hosting Le Lardin. Initially, I thought I would be turned away
after realizing I had not brought enough money to stump up the €8 ticket price.
However, I quickly understood that they only charge students and soldiers €3,
which I had, and got my first glimpse of the local turf. I was pleasantly
surprised. The pitch looked perfect, the grandstand was full and the sun was
shining. The two teams, at first glance,
could not have looked more different. The black jerseys of the home side,
covered with the logos of local businesses, fitted tightly to the players
whereas the away side looked rather average in their baggy, old-school white
jerseys, with not a single sponsor’s logo. It had all the resemblances to a
Globo Gym vs. Average Joe’s showdown, although here, unlike in Hollywood, there
was to be no fairytale ending for the underdogs. The play was scrappy, to say
the least. I don’t remember a period of longer than 30 seconds without an
interruption. The sides traded penalties and at half time, the hosts lead by 3
points in a fairly uneventful 40 minutes.
After watching a few minutes of the game of
Pelote Basque, another sport to call the venue
its’ home, it was back to my place in the grandstand for the second half.
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| Pelote Basque in Fumel |
After fearing that the match seemed certain
to be decided by the boots of the two fly halves, I was happy to see the first
try of the match scored, even if it was a penalty try after persistent scrum
failures on the away team’s 5-metre line. The roar that followed the ref’s
whistle could easily have been from Kingsholm on derby day, and made me leap to
my seat to cheer on my new team. A further period of dominance followed and
another try was scored, this time due to a rolling maul from the 22 that
culminated in the captain touching the ball down.
Despite the home team clearly dominating
the game , and set for the win, the crowd still voiced every disagreement to
the ref, the mildest of which was a sarcastic, “Merci arbitre!!!”
And so the Globo Gym of USFL had defeated
the Average Joe’s of Le Lardin, albeit unconvincingly, but I was glad. The
victory meant I could experience the post-match festivities in full flow. The
garden shed that was the bar, hardly evoked images I have engrained in my
memory of the thousand strong Gloucester fans squeezed into The Kingsholm, but
it served the same purpose and to the same end. Players and fans alike gathered
to one side of the grandstand to exchange opinions on the day’s proceedings,
with members of the 2nd XV still in kit, keen to remind everyone
that they had been involved too. Pain, pression et pâté was distributed and at this moment, I understood what rugby meant
to the south of France. I had previously known that rugby was the principal
sport of the south, and even when the majority of people whom I told I was
English asked me “Doo yoo layeek ze
rugby?” I did not begin to imagine what effect the game could have on a
town such as Fumel. Fairly dead 6 days of the week, rugby gave the town a sense
of pride and belonging, albeit for one day a week.
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| A daunting sight for the opposition |
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