April – Lens v Niort

As soon as I started watching Lens I found a like-minded soul in Alex who lived in London. He had started a Facebook page around 2008 entitled RC Lens - UK division which had precisely one member – himself. He had supported Lens all his life thanks to his Ch’ti mother who had brought him up not only to support Lens but speak French – a useful skill in a French football trip. I joined his group, that he had forgotten he had created, and we were soon joined by Adrian from Lancashire who had started supporting Lens after his team Blackburn signed Aussie Robbie Slater from Lens. From these humble beginnings the group gradually grew in membership until it boasted 66 members in April 2014 – not only from England but also all over Europe – most bemused by the fact that there were Lens fans in Britain.

My ambition since that day had been to get as many of us across to see a game together as possible, however that proved harder said than done! Alex I had met most regularly but Adrian’s trips never coincided with my own due to work commitments. The one time we managed to get ourselves organised, the game at Boulogne was called off the day before we were due to set off – the temperature of -20 degrees Celsius hadn’t filled us with much hope of the game being on anyway.

Nevertheless we often chatted about our shared love of Lens over Facebook and vowed that we would get our act together one day. That day arrived just five years later!

The game against Niort seemed to be just another game at the start of the season but by the time the game arrived it had become huge. If Lens lost then Niort would unthinkably be level on points with them, second in Ligue 2. The fact that Niort had been the visitors at my first French football fixture just six years earlier made it all seem bizarre – at the time there had been only four fans at their match against Tours – each filling the stand we were sat in with smoke from their four red flares. These eventually flickered out to be largely ignored by the Tours faithful. Would those four be there this time? Possibly as the travelling support was due to be more than 150 – a good result in French Ligue 2, unless you were Lens who had sold more than 35000 tickets by the time we were due to set off.

No matter how many times I had made this journey (in all its different forms – bus, car, train, ferry) – I had never managed to get a good night’s sleep, the excitement of the trip had combined with worries of missing taxis, trains, ferries and forgetting tickets, passports to keep me tossing and turning. You name it, I would worry about it.

This time it was a 4:30 get up, ready for the 6:10 train from Newcastle to Leeds. I was to be joined by my friend Andrew – Silly Andrew to be more exact – who had joined me on a trip to see a Lens game the previous season, only for it to be moved without notice by Ligue 2. This forced us to watch Lille v Troyes instead: not much of a compensation. This time he would get to see why I was so in love with Lens, the region and its fans.

The only person I met at Newcastle Central Station when I arrived was a man called Tony the Fridge who was off to run the London Marathon on Sunday with his fridge on his back. Typically, Andrew only appeared five minutes before the train was due to leave, always loving a dramatic entrance, and insisted on getting some pastries even though the train was due…even then he couldn’t decide which shop to get them from…I was trying to keep calm!

Luckily the train we were booked on left with us on board and by the time we arrived at Leeds the sun was shining and chauffeur, Adrian was waiting.

On family trips to France we pass the journey spotting red Norbert Dentressangle lorries and tankers and sure enough once I had introduced the others to it the trip passed even quicker. Andrew, in the back of the car, at first hated it because he was losing, we even gave him sympathy points to keep him happy but once he had spotted three Norbert tankers (which carry a five point bonus) he was soon crowing about how he was uncatchable and what a great game it was.

Alex was picked up just past London in the not so beautiful car park of Swanley’s Asda and Andrew decided it would be a nice touch to get Easter eggs for the Lens fans who had given us tickets for the Marek, although he hadn’t thought about the effect heat in the car might have on their egg shape…but it was the thought that counted!

Finally we had the first three members of the Lens UK division together in one place with a newer recruit to fill the car. The trip that had been five years in the making was here!

Boulogne on a warm Spring evening is a wonderful place to be and as soon as we had found a decent place to sit in the sun we did that. Having never visited the town, it was a pleasant surprise to see how beautiful it was and the chance to relax with a beer was extremely welcome.

We headed up to the ground after our drinks because we had found out we wouldn’t be able to get any food until seven o’clock. Why was it in England they never stopped serving food? It certainly was more convenient that way…but not as civilised. Our empty English stomachs complained all the way up the hill. However we soon found that the ground wouldn’t be opened until half an hour before the game – much to our stomachs’ and full bladders’ discomfort! A trip to another bar beckoned to use their toilet facilities… and just one more drink, perhaps.

Resident English Lens fan, Jeff soon arrived with a bag full of programmes from all the previous Lens games I had missed. I had a bag full of English football magazines that I had collected for him. We must have looked like some cheap international spies exchanging our plastic bags.

Once inside the Stade de Liberation we wasted no time in ordering massive portions of chips with the optional fricadelle (I still don’t ask what is in it) and by the time the game started we were refreshed and watered…and everything else.

The stadium itself is set in a beautiful location on the edge of the old town and the cathedral provided the perfect backdrop for the collection of ramshackle stands that had been quickly put up when the team had been promoted to Ligue 1. The match itself didn’t match the back drop, however a sublime chip from Baidy Dia lit up the first half and in the second half we decided to form our own Kop at the back of the sparsely populated stand – entertaining the home fans with our renditions of YMCA (with the changed lyrics USBCO) and our own tribute to goalscorer Dia. Our vocal support obviously had such a great effect on the team that Jonathon Tehoue scored a breakaway goal in the 87^th minute. This delighted Adrian who realised that Tehoue had come from Orient and with Andrew’s help had managed to make up a chant to sing for him. As the final whistle blew we taunted the two Ajaccio fans who stood on their own and dejected in the empty away end: unsurprisingly disappointed with their reward from their 1,384 km, 18 hour journey. In comparison our 11 hour journey seemed like a short hop. They totally ignored us so we set off home after a tuneful rendition of Les Corons, which again was completely ignored as the 1000 fans had long since abandoned the stadium.

The next day, fog surrounded Lievin’s Formula 1 inn we were staying in. Adrian joked that perhaps the game would be called off just to annoy us, yet some of our recent experiences of arranging trips and having disappointments made me think it was not so far-fetched. A quick trip to Carrefour saw us emerge each with a lime-decorated Carrefour bag. Mine would go nicely with my collection of two with peas on, one orange and a kiwi fruit – my wife winces every time I return from France uttering the phrase: “No more bags!” but her pleas always fall on deaf ears: this was no exception. Andrew got his wish to visit the Canadian Monument at Vimy Ridge before we arrived a little later than planned in Lens.

Once again the welcome in La Loco was familiarly friendly. However, we were amazed at how many English there were there as we met yet another English Lens fan –Kevin, a translator from Brussels who supported Watford (another yellow team). He was there with four lads who had come down from Lille University for the match. Amazingly Kevin had the innate ability to talk as quickly in French as he did in English and his conversations never seemed to end. I thought he could probably exist without oxygen. However in the end I was able to briefly jump into his conversation to organise where I was going to meet him so that I could hand him his match ticket.

Northern Lensois flag's debut appearance.

When he appeared Kevin was delighted with it: it would go straight on his wall he said as he also compared it to various works of historical art. As a collector of match tickets I had to agree it was a corker: art and football, another great combination to go with music and football, women and football….

The only person missing was Alex – who had stayed in the pub chatting to people and “Rarely saw the start of a match anyway” so we headed in.

Without a doubt, this was the most vibrant atmosphere I had experienced in the Marek. We managed to shoehorn ourselves into a space and Andrew was clearly amazed by it all.

“I love terracing,” he shouted above the din.

“This is the seats…and we are on the walkway.” I pointed out.

 “I love terracing,” He was clearly impressed as fans crowdsurfed up and down in front of us, something I had come to expect from rock concerts and now from Lens matches. This wouldn’t have been allowed in England yet nobody was being injured and everybody was respectful of each other: we felt safe and that was the main thing.  Bedlam was the word that sprung to mind yet in all this chaos there was still order: when the stewards moved to remove a flare that had gone off, after a bit of pushing, order was restored and the flare removed, partly through the fans’ cooperation and discussion with the yellow-jacketed security. The over-exuberance of British stewards had helped remove the fun from their stadiums: thankfully it wasn’t evident here.

There was little time to take in the scene before we were all covered by an enormous Tifo celebrating ten years of the Lens Ultras group Galliboys. As it passed over our heads we were covered in a steady rain of flecks of paint yet the effect from above must have been stunningly impressive as it covered the whole depth of the Marek and some of the Xerxes seats above, stretching far off to our left and right. It was yet another example of everyone cooperating as members of the Galiboys coordinated its rolling out and gathering in from above us. There wasn’t one angry comment from fans around me at having their view of the pitch blocked or being showered with flecks of paint and as soon as it had appeared, it disappeared behind our heads allowing us to revel in the sun that had appeared.

The noise from kick off continued throughout the first half as Lens seemed to struggle with the occasion – balls were being given away too easily and mistakes made all over the pitch. Niort had managed to create their own threats so when the half was brought to a thankful close, Lens weren’t behind and the feeling was that Kambouare had his work cut out to get the all-important goals out of his team. A combination of unfit and inexperienced players needed to find a miracle in the second half to keep Lens’ promotion push on the rails.

The second half was much better as the players closed down their Niort opponents quicker and with more success. There was sheer joy when Chavarria controlled a Niort clearance to cross perfectly to young winger LaLaina, who had appeared on the edge of the penalty area. His header drifted towards the far post as the ground held its breath in the 58^th minute. The goalkeeper stretched out his right hand towards it yet the ball had already bounced into the net. Cue wild celebrations: not only amongst the native French fans but also amongst our little band. I had waited since November and the others even longer to see the team score at home so we didn’t mind being embraced by a number of the fans around us. Relief poured out from every part of the ground. If they managed to keep this score line then they would move six points clear of Niort and the other three teams locked on the same number of points.

The Marek still continued with their support as the game began to head towards its conclusion and things looked to be going Lens way as Niort’s defender Bong received a second yellow card and was sent off. However the away team decided that enough was enough and began to press forward and the nerves of earlier returned, although the noise didn’t drop.

The sight of five minutes of added time coming up on the electronic board increased the nail biting and invigorated the band of 150 blue Niort fans who bounced away in their corner of the ground.

Just like the previous night’s match there was a pleasant surprise right at the death. As Niort attacked en masse the ball was cleared to a struggling and off side Touzghar. He ignored the cramp that was affecting him and tried to get to the ball before the rapidly advancing Niort goalkeeper. Just as the ball bounced the keeper inexplicably slipped leaving a revitalised Touzghar to head for the gaping goal. Just as the embarrassed keeper was about to reach him, he rolled the ball into the need to seal the victory and begin the home fans’ frenzied celebrations.

We joined in with the traditional clapping and there was time for our final photos in the ground, much to the annoyance of the security who were desperate to remove us. The flag that I had spent an evening making and decorating with the name of our new group – Northern Lensois (everyone in Britain will be North of Lens) gave us an identity at last. What had been a trip six months in the planning had given us the perfect result. I had finished my visits to Lens for the season with three wins out of three while the others had finally got to see a home victory: Andrew at his first attempt. Our evening would continue with a trip to La Loco before sampling the goalfest that would turn out to be Belgian football. It ended with Andrew teaching Newcastle (Geordie) phrases to the occupants of a Lievin bar until two thirty in the morning before we disgraced ourselves singing Lens songs to a fan who had begun singing to us from his attic window. We said sorry to the lady who had quickly popped her head out to tell us to be quiet before stumbling back to our hotel: contented but worn out.

My journey back home tomorrow would end at 20:00 in Newcastle station yet it would have been another uplifting experience and worth every bit of the time and money spent pulling it all together.