2013-14
Season
August
– Lens v Auxerre
The moment
the fixtures were published in May, the visit of Auxerre was pencilled in as a
possible trip over to France. The only problem was whether it was going to be
on the Friday, Saturday or Monday?
For the first
time I decided to choose the coach to go over because:
1: it was
cheaper (£60 return to Lille was better than a minimum of £130 Eurostar and
train from Newcastle).
2: for the sum of only £5 you could
change your travel plans: essential if you want to avoid paying for hotel or
campsite for four nights. Once I knew it was on the Saturday I then changed my
return date to 23:45 on the Saturday night.
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| Newcastle town centre: 23:00 |
A few
quizzical glances at my shirt – which was certainly not a Newcastle one – were
all that I attracted as both the Metro and Newcastle Centre were eerily quiet.
Standing at the rain-soaked bus station, only the drag act, wearing only a
sparkly bikini and brightly coloured head-dress of feathers, entering The
Powerhouse nightclub managed to raise any eyebrows.
My journey
down was uneventful as I tried to get as much sleep as possible and we arrived
into London at 6am on the Friday morning. Victoria coach station was crammed
full of bodies heading to all parts of the country and Europe. Passengers for
Paris, Amsterdam and Seville battled with those for Wolverhampton, Glasgow and
the strangely titled destination – England in a day - for seats or standing
space and tempers were frayed and there certainly weren’t any quarters given as
every inch of space for yourself and your luggage had to be fought for. One fight loomed between a bulky Midlander
and an old man (who had desperately pushed past a young girl to get to his
delayed bus) but the old man managed to nimbly escape with only an ear bashing…
”Come near
me again and….”
It wasn’t
even his daughter who had been pushed.
Thankfully
the bus to Lille boarded at 8am and once the “England in a Day” bus had cleared
out of our way we were off to the Euroshuttle and eventually France. After arriving at Lille it was a short, and
very familiar, trip to Lille Flandres then onto Albert where I was camping that
night and enjoying a fantastic example of French home cooking at the house of
my friend Thierry and his family. Another Lens fan, Mac came too and it was he
who picked me up at 7:40 the following morning ready to get the train to Lens:
the first of many acts of kindness from him, and many others that weekend. When
the station looked closed at that unusually strange time on a Saturday morning
he showed me where to get in and how to get my ticket on the antique ticket
machine that relied on a spinning handle rather than a touch screen. Finally he
came onto the platform with me. His familiar greeting to old ladies and young
lads alike was another sign of the community that amazes me every time I visit
the region and is certainly a breath of fresh air.
Having an hour to wait for the
connecting train to Lens, I decided to get some breakfast in Arras (in addition
to the squashed pain chocolat and banana I had found at the bottom of my bag).
Five figures on the other side of the road seemed to be acting suspiciously,
pushing one of their number in my direction and when he was spun around, the
others exposed his Auxerre shirt.
Sensing a
photo opportunity, I charged after them, shouting in French “Wait!”
“Non, Non!”
they replied as they ran off, sensing a fight. However, with a burst of speed, I
caught them up and showed them that I wanted nothing more than a photo,
although that wasn’t what I told the Lens Red Tigers when I met them later.
Any trip to
Lens wouldn’t be complete without a raid on Emotion Foot and this was no
exception. It is the one shop where I feel like a kid in a sweet shop, wanting
everything I could see. The smell and feel of new shirts, training kits and
equipment was everywhere although I was disappointed to see a rack devoted to
other Adidas team kits: Spain, Chelsea, Inter Milan and Real Madrid kits were
surely not worthy of this hallowed ground (ok, Spain wore the same colours),
yet in these desperate times for the club, any chance to make money could be
turned down. Thankfully and rightfully Marseille were denied any space. That
would have been the ultimate insult!
With a new retro 70s style training shirt
and mini kit for the car purchased I headed for my first meeting point at La
Loco to meet Loulou who was to give me a lift to the Lens-Paris cfa game that
started after the Auxerre game. I loved the relaxed atmosphere at La Loco…food
in one half and drink in the other. Loulou and his family sat with the other
tigers, his son bouncing off each of them and although there was the occasional
shout at any passing Auxerre fans, there was no fighting, no aggression, just
one big family enjoying the afternoon sun and my chance to get my Fricadelle
Americain: just don’t ask what’s in it!
Mac took me to my next stop: Chez Muriel’s to
pick up my ticket for the game from Denis. Altogether a different pub: more
sedate in some ways and mostly filled with a mix of young and older men. Once
again Mac knew everybody there, as he continued to look after me.
Did they
know Denis?
Heads shook,
smiles disappeared and faces looked quizzically at me.
Friends with
Pascal….?
Ah! Pascal!
Denis! Smiles returned and Mac explained I was an English Lens fan. Heads were
nodded approvingly. I was accepted, once again, by these complete strangers.
Denis
finally arrived and with the match looming, I joined the red and yellow streams
of fans converging on the Stade Bollaert-Delesis, there was a buzz that I
hadn’t felt around the ground since the ligue 1 years: the buzz of expectation.
The game started well for Lens with
the team, sporting the new shirts that looked like Miss World sashes, passing
and moving well. There was barely time to settle when there was a Lens handball
followed by an Auxerre free kick that fizzed into the net via the far post. I
hadn’t seen Lens win since October 2010 so naturally I started to prepare
myself for another disappointing result: after all the sun was shining and I
was amongst good people: the best! Yet still the Marek sang and still I joined
in, the months between each match well spent learning as many songs as I could.
The supporters were still there and every Lens attack was greeted with yet more
noise as they roared them on.
Then
Touzghar was on the edge of the penalty box, spun and blasted a great shot past
the keeper. The Marek went wild! Not soon after the stripy-headed Ljuboja
chipped to the far past for the Argentinian Chavarria to head gleefully into
the net for the lead before accepting the applause from on top of an
advertising hoarding…more joy in the sun! I needed this lead to last though,
and it was the Serb journeyman Ljuboja who broadened the smile on my face when
he managed to spin on the touchline to knock the ball in. For the first time
since Maoulida’s triple in April 2010 I had seen Lens score three goals. There
was no chance now I would witness my favourite score of 2-2! In the second half
it was up to Chavarria to jink his way past a couple of challenges to score the
fourth goal and my smile couldn’t be wiped away. Areole, on loan from Paris,
kept the visitors at bay as the celebrations began in earnest. I had witnessed my
first victory in three years!
The
traditional reunion between the Marek and the players was followed by the march
of the band out of the stadium to round off my visit and as the fans streamed
out I stood and savoured the moment, knowing I would not be experiencing it for
a good few months. It was also something I had waited three years to experience
once again as well as my first win in the Marek.
 |
| Chez Muriel - no doubt where their allegiances lie! |
The reserve game against Paris was an
anti-climax in some ways but a more chilled affair, as I’d become accustomed
to. The first team players as usual sat on the terraces at the far end, each
one welcoming supporters like friends and more than willing to have photos
taken and give autographs. I preferred to sit and watch the match that Paris
dominated after a bright start from the Lens reserves. A hard-working Pierre
Ducasse featured, who actually seemed bothered that he was stuck in the
reserves when he should have been basking in the glory that the first team
players had experienced that afternoon. A lively Ducasse pushed and prodded the
others forward and there was no way that Lens deserved to be 2-0 down at half
time.
Once decamped to Avion and
were thoroughly enjoying the chance to goad the Paris players, especially the
ones who were warming up by the side of the pitch…it was a shame I didn’t have
a clue what they were saying although they certainly managed to wind them up
and when Paris were reduced to ten men and Lens scored to make the score 2-1
the substitutes chose to warm up away from the Tigers’ taunts. As the final
whistle blew, the over celebration of the Paris team showed how close they had
come to giving away their win. There was even a bit of fun with a Paris flag
waving at the end that seemed to annoy the locals but the relaxed evening’s
entertainment had been worth all the effort.
Before my
ride back to Lille with another Tiger, Vianney there was time for a gift from
one of the Tigers which would see me through the winter in the North East of
England. Before getting into his car he advised me to change my Lens shirt if I
was to be wandering around Lille and it was at that point that I realised that
nearly every piece of clothing I wore betrayed my allegiance to Les Sang et Or:
right down to my yellow laces on my red trainers. The best I could do was
swelter in my red cagoule as I stepped onto the pavement in Lille. Bidding
farewell for the last time to another Lens friend who had put himself out to
help me, I felt a great sense of belonging as well as the humility everybody
had shown. Every thank you from me was met by a simple…”De Rien”, “Pas
probleme”.
Everybody from
Pascal who gave me his ticket to Thierry and his family who welcomed into their
home to Mac who organised me, to Denis who waited for me and also missed the
first Lens goal because he was waiting for someone else to arrive to Loulou and
his family who combined taxi driving and bag minding to Vianney who had to
suffer the reserve game so that he could take me back to Lille. Each of them
had contributed to such a fantastic weekend although I might not take up my
friend who said I could come fighting next time…a bit too old for that,
perhaps.
After
wandering around Lille searching for a pizza I eventually found a takeaway that
was showing the Ligue 1 matches on multi-screen. I chuckled as Lille conceded
another goal at Reims as did Valenciennes at Bastia. Valencienne’s anger at the
prospect of Lens sharing their stadium, while Stade Bollaert was being
redeveloped ready for the Euros 2016, had soured relations between the two
teams so I felt they deserved to be treated the same as Lille.
I kept the owner of the take away
informed of the scores and he seemed disappointed that both Lille and
Valenciennes had lost. When I consoled him with the thought that Lens had won
…his only response was “but they’re in Ligue 2.”
For the
moment, I thought as I waited on the Leeds Boulevard for the 23 45 Eurolines
bus that would start my journey back to Newcastle and my family who would be
waiting for me at the bus station.
I would be home in Newcastle at 15:30 the
following day: my birthday. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday
present.
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