Friday 10th April 2015
As early morning French trips went, this was practically a breeze. Up at 6:00, Whitley Bay Metro by 7:00 then train from Newcastle just before 8:00. I managed to sleep most of the way down and arrived at Kings Cross at 11:00, in good time to meet Alex who had our tickets for the Eurostar at 12:30. There was plenty of time to see our mate John Betjeman for the traditional trip pose: this time with a Lens scarf which he probably wore in real life he looked so relaxed in it.
The journey ran like clockwork: hire car picked up at Lille Flandres (so much easier than going to Euralille and having to search for hours to find your hire car in the cavernous car park there).
Unfortunately we then tried to leave Lille during rush-hour which was when everything ground to a halt and I certainly had practise at starting the car quickly every time I managed to stall in the stop-start traffic jams.
Finally we arrived at our hotel in Boulogne just after 19:00 and raced off to meet Jeff and Debbie outside Boulogne's ground. We only paused to nod at the hotel owner as she reminded us not to forget the code to get back in the front door afterwards...as if! From our hotel we could see the ground's floodlights onto the hill before us so a quick jog up a back alley and a couple of right turns later we could see the bar we were meeting Jeff and Deb (now both USBCO season ticket holders - €30 each well spent) .
Inside the bar, our friends were chatting to a quartet of Boulogne fans, one of whom had an incredibly impressive moustache which twirled away either side of his upper lip. These fans supported both Lens and Boulogne, jumping to as many matches as possible from both teams and seemed very impressed with our weekend's effort of three matches in three days.
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| The four musketeers... |
A bright start from the home team was undone when
A drive from the angle of the penalty area found its way into the home net. This was followed by each post being hit and a goal being ruled offside. Jeff had said his new team played some good football but couldn't score for toffee and that proved to be so true until finally they managed their own goal from the angle of the penalty area to make the half time score 1-1. A lofted ball in the second half found a Colomiers forward bearing down on goal. The Boulogne goalkeeper charged out, pole-axed him and was duly sent off. A free kick on the edge of the box was then awarded to the visitors which was calmly blasted past the static replacement goalkeeper.
Ten-men Boulogne continued to create and waste chance after chance until an equaliser was turned in after a ping-pong scramble. Although they continued to create chances, there were no more goals for the home team and their dream of promotion disappeared in the chilly (by now) evening air.
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| Boulogne at night... |
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| Of course we will get back in. |
Unfortunately, she had. We tried all the possible combinations we could think of. No joy. We Tried ones we hadn't thought of. Still no joy. We tried knocking quietly...then loudly. I looked for something to throw at the one window that had a light on...nothing to throw. Alex decided it would have been a good idea to have taken a photo of the number before we left...or before it had slipped out of my pocket. Note for the future! He rang the out of hours number...no joy. He rang it again...still no joy. He tried again....nope! The code was tried again. Nothing. Boulogne certainly was a lovely town centre but the thought of spending the night in it certainly didn't appeal. Alex's suggestion of spending the night in the car also didn't seem appealing, especially given the relative size of it and Alex's 195cm frame. Try the owner again...Bingo! This time a groggy sounding lady answered and told him the code. Yep we had had the right digits but not the correct number of them. Sleep, at last and apologies to the landlady.
This plan went well until 6:00 when I was woken from a great sleep by a tapping at a door...was it ours? Deciding, as the best option, to ignore it, I tried to get back to sleep but the banging grew louder. Alex didn't seem to be stirring so eventually I had to go see. Opening the door, I was met by a shady character with drooping handlebar moustache, open-chest, large crucifix and black leather jacket. He studied me in my stripy pyjamas and in French told me he was trying to wake his big brother. Nodding, I went back to bed, contented that it wasn't the landlady getting her own back.
Saturday 11th April
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| The future Stade Bollaert: impressive for any league. |
A stop-off in Lens to first off put our luggage into the Formula 1 in Lievin then a quick stop off at the ground to see the redevelopments for ourselves. The ground model whetted our appetites for the return to Bollaert although the state of the club when they did return was still the big cause for concern.
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| Alex kindly holds up a couple of stands for the workmen. |
The amazing thing about the little bars that seem to be everywhere in France and Belgium is the fact that they continue to exist. The big, impersonal superbars that are more common in England cannot match the sense of community that exists in these smaller and more cosy versions. Kim knew everyone there and the barman enjoyed talking English to me about his journeys to the UK as a lorry driver and how he was the mascot for one of Saint Helens Ladies Darts' Teams. The locals certainly enjoyed chatting in English but the minute I tried a bit of French, I was quickly reminded "We are Flemish!" They didn't mind us being Lens fans as long as we didn't bring the language over the border too. Kim's friend Frederic taught me Flemish swear words that I couldn't repeat while I taught him Geordie phrases. An educational visit too!
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| On the way to Kortrijk and Kim's special parking spot. |
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| Who's got a new shirt, then? |
The match against Bruges was virtually sold out and a big flank of blue cheered on the visitors from our far left. Their allocation had been limited because of their decision to launch the seats onto the pitch after the previous season's defeat. The Kortrijk kop gave their traditional rendition of "You'll Never Walk Alone" which I didn't feel comfortable joining in with...Liverpool's anthem only reminded me how much I had disliked them in the 80s. There was also the usual mix of Flemish and English songs:"Come on you reds!" was a popular chant - even though they were wearing white away kits (one player was colour blind and had difficulty seeing red shirts I was told).
To win a big game all you needed to do was get awarded a penalty in the first minute. Kortrijk's attacking play from the off had Bruges on the back foot and when some great wing play ended up with a home player being chopped down in front of us, the Kortrijk Kop went mad as the fantastically named De Smet scored.
Another goal swiftly followed from Kortrijk's Capon and for most of the first half, Bruges hardly got a look-in. A fightback in the second half met with a solid defensive display for the home team and as Kim and his friends goaded the away fans (in Flemish) with "Where are your seats?" - Club Bruges haing been made to pay for the damage their fans had done the previous year. The game petered out but the home fans didn't mind, their day was already made: victory in the playoffs against the league leaders.
On the way to dropping us off at the town centre for a meal, Kim explained the format of the playoffs.
It turned out that the top six teams in the regular season made the Championship playoff group and had their points halved. Any points gained in the playoffs were then added on. The winners of the group would then be declared champions while the runners-up would be in the Champions League. Bizarrely the teams below these competed for a spot in the Europa League. What would you rather do if you were in their position: compete with the big boys or bash it out with the also rans? It certainly gave the teams outside of the top six a chance to compete in Europe so didn't seem that bad a deal. For the final, relegation playoff, there wasn't much variety at first as the two bottom teams ended up playing each other in a best of five series. The winner after that ended up in a playoff with the top three teams from the second division.
A bizarre set-up but one that certainly kept the excitement going until the end of the season.
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| Kortrijk...Courtrai...whatever: still a lovely place to visit! |
An early morning drive to Loos-en-Gohelle fulfilled one of my ambitions: to climb a Terrill (a slagheap). Famed around the region as Lens' equivalent of the pyramids, I had always fancied climbing one "Just for fun!" So after numerous visits without attempting a climb I had found one you could scale: Terrill 11/19.
Now a kind of country park, the trees that surrounded the heaps provided a serene environment for all sorts of runners, walkers and bikers to enjoy on a warm sunny Sunday morning. I felt distinctly under-dressed with a pair of jeans, pumps and a Lens shirt: not a bit of lycra to be seen on me! Nevertheless, I wandered onwards and upwards following the well-worn paths that snaked upwards and found myself following a path up to the top of one of the terrils.
I made sure I followed the guidelines and avoided digging, camping, lighting fires, cutting down trees, picking up the wild-life and riding my motorbike.
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| Sunburn? Me? No way. |
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| Meeting Jeremie and Maxim: thanks David |
We also met our friend Maxim who we had met on the train heading from Amiens to Paris in November to watch Lens at the Stade de France. Although limited in number, the lowest home crowd of the season turned up,7468, the kop did their best to generate an atmosphere. The pony-tailed announcer held his microphone out to the fans to add to the loud-speaker ambience (and save himself some work because he really did not look happy).
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| And we are pleased to see you because....? |
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| Northern Lensois: flag attached |
There was brief excitement when the previously empty away end suddenly filled with shirtless men, all charging down to the corner of the enclosure waving scarves in an effort to tell everyone they had arrived. Their hoped for applause and well wishes from the home fans never materialised, instead their was, not surprisingly, catcalls and derision. Bored with them we turned our attention back to the announcer.He kept nodding his appreciation but even our combined efforts couldn't raise the team.
The previous week they had battered Bordeaux and been so unlucky to lose 2-1 in the last second of play. Now they were too terrified to tackle and when they did get the ball their feet refused to move. A header from Coulibaly brought out a decent save from the visiting keeper but beyond that there was little excitement in the first half. |
| ...but it was all too much for this security bod |
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| David helps out... |
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| No way through for les Sang et Or. |
Still we had enjoyed the weekend: from the fervour of the small band of Boulogne fans to the warmth of the Kim and his Kortrijk posse and the valiant defiance of the Lens kop to keep singing to the end. We had been made to feel welcome by all the friends we had met, new and old, and attended three games in three days. A final beer in Les 3 Brasseurs opposite Lille Flandres rounded things off before our trip back to Blighty the following day. It was only left for us to be entertained by some Belgium Monty Python fans, heading off on their jollies to London. A constant stream of Python quotes in English, with a continental twist, "We are the knights who say "ni"!" to quotes gleaned from watching too many American adverts: "...the truck with balls!" While Alex slept I took the opportunity to fill in my Panini French sticker album: comedy and stickers: what more could a boy / 45 year-old man want? Maybe a winning team.
