A day of French rugby

I happened to be in the South of France last weekend, where generosity provided my colleagues and I a set of tickets to the European Rugby Champions Cup quarter-final knockout match, in Clermont.

On paper and according to history, Clermont should have lost to RC Toulon, whose backline from 11 to 15 reads like a nightmare for opposing defences: Leigh Halfpenny, Bryan Habana, Mathieu Bastareaud, Ma’a Nonu, Drew Mitchell.

With Liam Gill, Duane Vermuelen, and Juan Smith raiding the breakdown for the red-clad visitors, and the memory of 2013 and 2015 (Toulon knocked Clermont out both years), none of the locals were overly confident.

So, they ate and drank and sang. So did we. Eggs, chorizo, champagne, salmon, bread, pudding, rose, red, beer, ham, and yogurt.

The wind was cold as we staggered to the tram. Seven stations later, with another seven or eight more singing, chanting, inebriated yellow-and-blue-festooned fans squeezing in, we were sweating and swearing.

The stadium housed about 19,000 people, but felt bigger. There’s not a bad seat, with the players just in front of you. The songs (about specific players, like fan favourites Aurelian Rougerie and Flip van def Merwe) and the drums started early and never ceased. A small phalanx of Toulon fans herded into a section, where they were continually taunted, amidst heavy police protection.

The rain came, turning the mixed artificial turf into a sliding, fast track for the skidding ball.

Before the game, a military helicopter airlifted two men into the stadium. One lost his glasses, I believe that man was referee Wayne Barnes – how else to explain the bloody mess that confronted each scrumhalf as they tried to clear rucks?

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The first half was far more entertaining in the Yellow Army grandstands than on the pitch. Both Camille Lopez and Halfpenny missed sitters, but it was a forgettable 6-6 draw at oranges. The beer flowed, and presumably so did Clermont’s coach’s words.

Clermont came to play in the second half; finally expanding their attack past garryowens. Toulon grew ever more listless.

At the stroke of the hour, Lopez fed Rougerie, whose strong run into the red zone set Noa Nakaitasi free in the right corner. From then, it was territorial warfare. The Clermont halves (Morgan Parra was exceptional) won the war.

The scoreline, 29-9, was flattering to both teams. Clermont weren’t that much better, Toulon were awful, with no shape or ambition in attack. Their superstars seemed mildly interested at best.

I was happy to see the locals happy, because I worried how ugly it might have been otherwise.

Then we ate more.