August 2022: Lens v Rennes

 Unbelievably, Lens had briefly gone top. Even so, they were third behind Paris and Marseille: not bad company. 

The writing had been on the wall when Doucoure went to Crystal Palace and Clauss ended up at Marseille. The €40 odd million was spent upon a range of players: Brice Samba arrived after helping Nottingham Forest get into the Premiership after a Wembley Playoff penalty shootout. Jimmy Cabot arrived to replace Clauss from Angers, the Poles: Lukasz Poreba and Adam Buksa arrived from America and Poland. Salis Abdul Samed arrived from Clermont to replace the Douc and Belgium starlet Lois Openda arrived from Bruges after setting the Dutch top league alight, not literally, with 28 goals for Vitesse Arnhem in 68 appearances. 

The big surprise was that superstar Seko Fofana had not gone but until the transfer window closed, nothing was certain. The rumours of English clubs sniffing about were numerous!

In the first three games: the vastly underrated Sotoca had grabbed a hat-trick against last season's bogey boys, Brest (3-2), a heatwave ruined any chance of football at AC Ajaccio (0-0) before Monaco were absolutely hammered 4-1 in the Principality. 

Tonight's opponents had jumped ahead of Lens in the last two seasons and the lads were definitely out for revenge. Of the new forwards, Openda has scored his first goal of the season at Monaco but Polish wonderboy, from MLS outift New England Revolution, had been injured in the Summer, representing Poland, and hadn't played for his new club. 

This game, for me, was to be the first of two consecutive games and to say I was delighted to be getting to two games was an understatement. After a relaxing night spent with Alex in Lille, it was off to Cambrai to see the amazingly friendly but absolutely mental folk of Cambrai. 

Nico was kind enough, once again to put me up, and after a tasty meal at a new pinza restaurant (amazingly like a pizza restaurant) there was to be no early bed for me as the crew took great delight in dragging me to another nightclub: the private club B19. My hopes were raised when the bouncers told us they didn't like to admit people wearing shorts. But sadly my chums weren't to be denied their chance to watch me squirm as they waved us in, patting everyone on the back and bonsoiring the lot of us! 

Not my kind of music

My first (and lasting) impression was of a nightclub for my mum and dad (even though they can't stand any non-classical music). The number of over 60s and 70s on the dance floor was disturbing, especially as the insisted on Salsaing their way though various dj mashups of French hits. I was however impressed with Pipo's mum, who, well into her 70s, seemed to be having a whale of a time and was the life and soul of the party. Delighted that I had told her she was a fashion-setter for wearing odd shoes, she decided to drag me onto the dance floor. However, my lack of connection with the music made me look like the worst of dad dancers and she soon gave up on me. Things went from bad to worse when a vodka platter appeared, complete with glasses, orange juice, coca-cola and ice cubes. Remembering how things had gone downhill when vodka was introduced at a nightclub in Boulogne, I managed to convince Yannick to extract himself from the corner he had hidden himself in and so, at the early evening hour of 2am (for Cambrai), we wandered through the busy streets of the beautiful town. 

The others followed at 5am.

In the morning, I felt reasonably sprightly. The sun was shining and it was matchday! Although it was a 9pm kick-off, we set off just after midday for Pierre's, where Yannick took the opportunity to peruse through our host's collection of 80s Lens shirts. Eventually, he decided upon a rather fetching yellow Europe 1 1985 shirt.
 

Shirt chosen, it was time to make our way to La Loco for a leisurely lunch and drink. A venue that we hadn't visited in quite some time, it was good to be back. Both myself and Alex decided upon the healthy option of Merguez sausage baguette and chips while our French counterparts decided upon salads. We are class acts indeed!

 Next, it was Chez Muriel, and I was delighted to see that there were a good number of visiting fans who had beaten the blockade the police had erected around the town. In their wisdom, they had decided that the thousand or so visiting Rennes fans were likely to run amok around the town centre so had decided they would escort them straight to the stadium. I'm glad to say, this failed completely. What a nice bunch they were, chatting away with everyone, and a great reflection upon their region.

It was also great to see our old mate Kim the Kortrijk fan, who was finally making his first visit to Lens, accompanying Jeremie. When I asked them, where they would be standing, Jeremie quickly informed me they were meeting other friends in the Marek! I tried not to take it too personally.

There was just time for the traditional (ish?) lighting of the flare that had been held by a rather nervous child. THe youngster seemed only too happy to hand the industrial-sized firework over to any adult that would take it.

It was also good to see that shorts and miner's helmets were still in fashion....

Inside the ground, there, directly in front of us, were Kim, Jeremie and and all his friends. 

The game itself was a bit of an anti-climax, yet the Marek, ably supported and complemented by the Delacourt and Trannin stands roared the team on. There certainly had been an increased volume to the ground as the lower levels of these two had been declared as standing areas. They jumped, bounced and sang as loudly as the Marek, despite the paucity of chances. 

At half time there was an appearance from Rennes' new €20million signing, Kalimuendi. The player had been omitted from the visiting team sheet and gave a heart-felt thanks to the Lens fans for their support over the last two years. Everyone hoped that Openda, signed for half that, would prove that Kali would not be missed. Nevertheless, his words were well received: a really decent bloke!

In the second half, it was as if a switch had been flicked. Lens set about their illustrious visitors. Chances started to be created by the home side but there was no way anyone could have anticipated the quality of Fofana's strike.

This was followed by a great piece of trickery from Openda. We were in dreamland, Jeremie and co were on the floor, while Kim could only stand and scream his respectful delight. 

However, Rennes showed their class, with a string of chances that either rolled past the post or were dealt with by the impressive Samba in the Lens goal. Just when we thought it was going to be our day, Rennes pulled one back. The crowd whistled and shouted their way through the final minutes before the referee blew the final whistle. 

Lens had won 2-1 and in the process leapt to the top of the league... for a few hours at least!

The team engulfed Seko Fofana as the fans showed their appreciation for the captain's performance. We could only hope that it wasn't a sign he was on the way out.

There would be a few days to recover before my final game of the trip against Lorient.

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21st May 2022 - Monaco (h)

 There's something about the last day of the season: games played on the same day, at the same time, all over the same country! Genius move. If only someone had thought of it before!

It conjured up memories of fans crowding around tinny, crackly transistor radios, usually belonging to the strangest, scent-natural members of the crowd (yep that was me!) waiting for the inevitable updates that would seal your team's fate. 

These were the same individuals who used to shout out random scores throughout the season, which were usually met with complete indifference. Nevertheless, they soldiered on regardless and final day would be their reward. Their day in the sun. It is an image that belongs in the 60s to 80s when transistor radios descended upon the young and-not-so-young. The calls for hush as results were relayed to the crowd via the chosen tranny-man (they were usually male). Endearing image? 

Mobile phones and staggered kickoffs, at the request of tv companies, has meant those individuals have lost their power as the oracle of vital matchday information. In these modern times, there are usually hardly any other matches to relay results about and those pesky mobile phones will tell you straight away what's the crack. No crackly reception or inhaled body odour as you leaned closer to hear! Such a shame. 

The one exception is the final couple of days of most countries' football seasons when the authorities decided that in the element of fairness, all the games should start at the same time. Grrreat.

The final evening of the season hoping for promotion or playoff qualification were behind Lens for a second successive season, thankfully, but all the memories of what might have have been still niggled at each fan. Today's goal was the amazing prize of European football: not the Champion's League or its less popular brother, the Europa League but the afterthought Europa Conference. The big clubs considered both Europas as beneath them but for Lens, it would mean the difference between losing or keeping a good number of our top performers. As always, I travelled in hope rather than expectation: "Blind faith, it'll be okay?"

Friday

Friday morning's plan were generally smoothly operated. The Metro successfully delivered me to a packed Newcastle Central Station at 7:30am. Sunderland had reached the playoff finals and their fans were there en masse, dreaming of Wembley victory. Even though I was brought up a Newcastle fan, my years living in London and working in Sunderland means I have a strong desire to see every North east team do well, for the simple reason, it sticks two fingers up at the South, which (IMHO) patronises or ignores the region in equal measures, unless it wants something. It's a bit of a bugbear to me so I often mention this. Oh, and yes, I did vote labour in the last few elections. Don't get me started on the Red Wall!

Getting off my political soapbox and taking a few sedatives... the journey down and across the channel went fairly well. The French customs official was a Lens fan and wished me well and there was another supporter on his way home and he was going to the match. We carried on a conversation every time our passport queues looped past each other. Like distant voices in the darkness of passport control.

Ignoring each other!

With only a few delays to the train to Douai, where I was to meet Nico, the journey was relatively painless. I was delighted to see him sporting the Whitley Bay FC polo shirt I had bought for him last time. He's a class act, that one!

I was never going to get away with a quite night in Cambrai once the phrase, "just 5 minutes" had been uttered. Even though Pipo was working and Thomas had the homme-flu, Yannick and Nico still had plenty of friends to call upon and we were joined by Will the policeman and his manic wife, Blandine, who instantly bonded with me as a fellow disgruntled teacher. For the first half of the evening, we moaned about our respective educational lots. Then I was led down the memory-lane steps: The Metropolitan Club-Bar! 

Just those few steps down into the depths and the way the solid metal door swung open, seemingly by itself to lure us in filled me with dread. I was fading fast. The fantastic food and drink combined with a long day of travelling was now draining my old bones. 

Blandine, however had rediscovered a new lease of life and she was pulling out the shapes from every corner of the room. Nico gamefully joined in but I was glad to see that Will the policeman had also last his energy, He did have to go to work the next day, policing the match, so I felt he had good reason to want to find the sanctuary of his bed. But Blandine and co weren't having it. 

Will maintains his manly stance
at the bar despite his fatigue!

And you'd want to do that because....

Being positioned right outside of the club's Fumoir meant that we could have a view of the majority of comings and goings in the club. Those Frenchies certainly still enjoy a tab!

 Like a magnet, it drew the revellers to it. Its nicotine-laden delights meant that the door had to be closed at all times. No drinks were allowed in and had to be left outside. Its a good job nobody spikes anybody's drinks in France!

Finally, the draw of the fumoir and the never-ending beats, that everyone agreed were not to their tastes, wore off.  I finally got the chance to lay my tired little head down, at 3:30am, as the sound of Gallic arguments drifted away below me.

Saturday

Cambrai was bathed in a golden sunlight when i surfaced.

To add to this piece of meteorological good fortune, there was also the fact that my body had survived the previous evening's onslaught. The switch to cokes had done the trick. I would be able to enjoy today's excitement. 

On my way to collect breakfast, I walked past the scene of last night's finale.

The Metropolitan looked so innocent in the daylight. Its sturdy doors hiding the scenes of any great drunken debauchery that might have taken place. It was like on a horror film when the vampire's crypt is visited in the daylight by the heroes. If I could have forced open the doors, would I have found its denizens all sleeping, waiting for the night to return? I decided that it was probably better to move on and gat my breakfast... I certainly wasn't going to share any of it!

Yannick arrived a little later than planned and I was extremely glad he decided not to insist on the morning run he had suggested. It was off, instead, to hero Pierre's house for a barbeque. A much more sensible option.

In between sausages, the main attraction was Pierre's collection of retro Lens shirts from the 1980s and beyond which led to an impromptu fashion show...

Maybe a life as a male model is awaiting me... they said they'd let me know.

The one thing about making arrangements to meet people when I go to Lens games is that everybody I know seems to want to meet at opposite ends of town. Trying to meet up with Jean-Marie to pick up my ticket then Pascal was proving as difficult as ever. The BBQ crew were quite happily chatting, while Pascal kept texting every time he moved location. When we finally arrived in town, Pascal had headed off to join the Red Tigers' ceremonial march to the stadium. With Jean-Marie also on the move, I decided the best bet would be to meet him outside the ground an hour and a quarter before kick-off. That just gave me time to follow Yannick and his mates to the hotel where the players were having their 'siesta'. 

Their chances of getting any rest and relaxation definitely looked remote as a few thousand fans had turned the street outside into a veritable party. Joining the throng, we waited, sang and generally enjoyed the sunshine. Eventually the lads emerged, heading over the road to the waiting bus.

Before the players could get across the road however, there was the little matter of a 2 foot barrier to overcome. Being professionals though, they took it in their stride, awkwardly howking their wheeled club luggage over it, as fans reached out just to touch their heroes. It was bizarre to think of players worth millions risking an unnecessary injury just an hour or two before a game... do Real Madrid or Liverpool players have to do this? This is just proof of how grounded each and every one of this squad are. They are treated like heroes but are still accessible to the ones who have made them what they are. Professional football without fans would be non-existent, something the bigwigs who run the game often forget. 

Kalimuendo's final farewell.

The last time for Jonathan Clauss?

This is what Lens is all about for me. Humility. All my years watching Newcastle all over the country and players were rarely seen by fans away from the pitch but occasions like this strengthen the bond between both sets. The town, team (including the board of directors) and fans all in it together: what better recipe for success can you have? When one part feels it is bigger than the others, the problems begin. At the moment, in Lens, the perfect equilibrium exists. It hasn't always been this way.

Once the players' bus had disappeared into a swirl of red and yellow smoke, we joined the throng on its picturesque walk to the ground, a route I haven't taken for a long time. Passing the new mural dedicated to the heroes of these last two seasons... it really was a new treat artistic around each corner. A contender for the nearby Louvre Lens?

I arrived at the meeting place with Jean-Marie just as the Tigers appeared with their fanfair and flares. Chances of finding him dropped dramatically in that instant. After shouting at each other over a phone call, I thankfully spotted him. Profuse apologies later, I had my pass for the sold-out game.

Ticket in hand, I realised that the others had disappeared and there was no sign of Pascal. I would have to brave the turnstiles on my own!

Memories of previous escapades with sniffer dogs, suspicious riot police and the rest suddenly gripped me. I would just have to be brave! As it was, there was none of it. I was straight through. My reward was the smiling face of Pascal! A sight for sore eyes!

We'd been promised a spectacular tifo and it was a bit unusal to see that yellow and red flags had been taped to the Marek terracing. 

We've done this before, I thought but as we waved them, the effect for L'Epagnot opposite would prove to be spectacular. Like a rising sun, the old Lens badge rose, shedding its yellow and red rays across the Marek and Xerxes. It was a belta!

Picture courtesy of Facebook group:
 Si toi aussi tu es supporter du Racing Club de Lens et fier de l'être

The sense of anticipation filled every part of the stadium and every touch, tackle and turn was greeted with roars of delight as the lads pressed for the all-important goals. Monaco were being swept away in a tidal wave of yellow shirts. Despite calls for phones to be ignored for the duration of the game to focus on the team and its efforts, the temptation for some was too much and news began to filter through: Reims were winning 2-0 at home to Nice. Then the goal came. 

Jonathan Clauss charged forward then crossed. Alexander Nubel palmed the ball away, but only into the path of Frankowski steaming in from the opposite wing. His shot beat the forlorn keeper, bouncing up into the top of the net via an unfortunate defender. Bollaert erupted.

Then came the news that Marseille were beating Strasbourg. In disbelief, I turned to Pascal: 

"We're fifth?" Like the veteran he is, and really I should be, he replied:

"Ce n'est pas fini!" 

How right he was!

Sadly the euphoria died just four minutes later when Benoit Badiashile forced the ball home during a moment of panic in Lens' six-yard-box. Like a pin popping a balloon, the atmosphere fell flat. Try as they might, the Capos couldn't raise the volume back anywhere near its previous level. The ground was in shock.

Into the second half and with results still going our way, the crowd was lifted once more. Just one goal was all that was needed. The shock of going behind had been replaced by a determination to push the team on... whatever the result. The Capos led and we followed. At times, even the Capos were mesmerised by the soap-opera opening up before them as we filled in the gaps they had left for us to sing.

But the lads were struggled to make clear-cut chances and were certainly not troubling Nubel too much. Then, it happened. A quick break up the wing, a cross to Monaco's annoying top scorer (I don't like the Musketeer tiny beard and moustache thing he has going on there), who stooped to head past Farinez: 1-2. 

Europe was now a long way off for us and Monaco were in the driving seat to finish second. You'd have understood if the Lens fans had given up, especially when the news filtered of a goal back for Nice, yet, if anything, they grew louder. All four stands (a lot quieter in the posh seats, obviously) pushed disappointment to one side and roared the team forwards. 

David Da Costa, whose tiny frame belied his competitiveness, battled on but eventually joined Sotoca and Frankowski on the bench as their best efforts came to naught, yet we still hoped. On came Corentin Jean, whose highlight of the season had to be his late equaliser to delay Paris' coronation as Ligue 1 Champions. Kali came off and on came Ganago. None of the other substitutes had a recent track record of scoring. All seemed lost, yet still Bollaert sang and danced. 

Into injury time. Nice's Andy Delort, who had at one time seemed destined to join Lens, had inspired Nice to a match-winning hat-trick in little over 15 minutes. Bollaert didn't miss a beat.

Stoppage time ticked by, 4 minutes... 5 minutes... A free kick in the 6th minute, close to the Marek touch line was fizzed in, and when the ball landed at Ganago's foot, he didn't waste the opportunity to blast in the equaliser. 2-2. 

This third time I had witnessed this exact scoreline between these teams became the sweetest. Monaco players dropped to their knees as we celebrated. They would have to settle for third place and a qualifier to get into the Champions League. They had deprived us of European football twice in the past two seasons, knocked us out of the cup but the last laugh was ours. 

Bollaert was determined to celebrate and celebrate we did. This small town team, with the 4th smallest budget in the league and achieved so much. Three derby victories out of three. Unbeaten against Paris. Winners in Marseille and Monaco, lead superbly by the indefatigable Seko Fofana, their never-say-die attitude had rescued so many late points. Their points tally had been the highest since the early 2000s. this was a team to celebrate. A team with humility and loyalty. Each and every man lined the tunnel entrance as Captain Cahuzac left the field for the last time as a player, his retirement confirmed weeks before at the ripe old age of 36, they applauded him, the fans applauded him. His manbun had driven the team forward in the Ligue 2 days and he had earned this accolade. 

Long after the players had disappeared down the tunnel, the fans were still partying all over town. Shame I had an early Eurostar the next day... but that is another story!

Sing-a-long-a- car park?

Chez Muriel still going strong at 1am.

February 22 - Olympic Lyonnais (h)

 After Covid, came storms Dudley then Eunice. 

Thanks to my sister-in-law inviting Odessa and I over to Paris to share in her 50th birthday celebrations, the blatantly obvious opportunity to stop off in Lens on the way presented itself. It would be rude not to.

 Therefore, since December I had been plotting and scheming away. A quick message secured my match ticket and on top of that, Eurostar had offered me the opportunity to rearrange my trip at no extra cost if needed; should the need arise. As for the match itself...? Arguably the biggest match of my supporting career: Lyon. I'd stood in a packed Stade Bollaert-Delesis for the 'might' of Ligue 2 but the prospect of seeing the Champion's League semi-finalists of 2020 and one of the great names of French football would be one to savour. Never mind that Bruno Guimares, their talented midfielder, had become the second of Newcastle United's Arab Spring of signings, they still boasted an incredibly talented team. Anthony Lopes, Moussa Dembele, Jerome Boateng, to name but a few. Lens' squad was valued at €65.00m while Lyon's came in at a mere €339million: a mere 5 times more expensive. Mind you this is nothing compared to Paris' squad value of €858million. Who says those canny lads are not worth it? Probably most people.

Dudley's on his way

Storm Dudley hit the UK on the Tuesday and Wednesday causing damage across the North of England, robbing thousands of electricity, cancelling the whole of the Scottish rail network and flinging a trampoline in the way of the recently named Captain Tom Moore train before swanning off. The following day, I was due to begin my journey South to the Big Smoke after finishing. My mind was ablaze with possibilities, from the chance of my train being delayed, cancelled to it being picked up and landing on a witch wearing ruby slippers. Of course my instant reaction would have been to chant: 

"There's no place like Lens...." Priorities, priorities!

Johnny Boy gets the
covid makeover.

After the usual bedlum of teaching an end-of half-term year 4 class that had been worn down by various bouts of Covid along with the usual colds, upset stomachs (not mentioning the d-word) and the like, I staggered off the metro at Newcastle station. There was time for a Zapatista before my six-o'clock train whizzed me off to Kings Cross and my Travelodging location for the night. Apart from Russia's continued invasion threat of Ukraine, I could final focus on the weekend ahead and avoiding the phrase: "Five More Minutes!"

Storm Eunice is too!

Friday morning, I awoke to the news that storm Eunice was on her way and would hit the moment I was due to leave London for Lille. Ramming everything quickly into my suitcase, I raced for the Eurostar office in the vain hope that I could get an earlier train to avoid the expected turmoil. Arriving at the ticket desk, at 7:30am, drenched in sweat from my quick sprint, I was delighted to learn that, because of the weather they were not only going to let me check on to the early train but I didn't have to pay the £140 the website had quoted me for changing! Result. By the time I disappeared under the channel, Storm Eunice was just arriving on the outskirts of London. I had dodged both storms!

Trapped in Lille?

Alex was glad to see me as his trip to see relatives near Lens had been given the heave-ho: Northern France had cancelled all trains so he was effectively trapped in town. His hope was that the storm would calm and then he'd be able to visit the following day. After a trip to Les Trois Brasseurs opposite the station for a very tasty 'Ch'timi burger' (named after the nickname for the Calais residents and containing a particularly pungent and strong local cheese: Maroilles). The cheese certainly had the effect of waking me up in so many different ways! 

Soon after, Yannick arrived in his car with two friends from Lyon (both called Cedric) to take me to Cambrai. Alex decided to stay in the hope that he could see his family the following day. We said our fond goodbyes in fromt of the strange yellow statue  of a woman in front of the old station. Singing "We'll meet again" I waved to him from the back of the car. Would our paths cross again? You couldn't help feeling that Storm Eunice had not finished with us yet.

There wasn't time to think about my 'lost friend' before Yannick had engaged us in a chase after the Lyon bus, spotted on the motorway. I couldn't work out whether it was Yannick who was more excited or the Cedric 'twins'. Each time they pulled near, their phones were out (so was mine - I can't deny or even know why). However, when we finally caught up with it, at Arras Golf Club, no-one wanted to hang around to meet the players so the idea was quickly abandoned in favour of a trip to an Arras town centre bar. A much more sensible alternative I decided!

Ch'ti cuisine

I was promised a more low-key evening from last time and that the phrase "Five more minutes" would not mentioned. It was, on multiple occasions but I resisted every offer of potentially lethal shots or strong beers. Instead, it was a diet of ordinary beers, pepsi (full fat of course) and water. Pipo's advances with a 35% bottle of pear cognac were constant and so as a compromise, I said I would try a little when Lens beat Lyon 3-0. I felt this was a particularly safe bet! Needless to say the Ch'ti welcome and food was fantastic although I wasn't so convinced by the look of Nico's sausage. It did however taste better than it looked! 

The more my hosts ate and drank, the faster and more excited they talked and the less I understood, until finally I was only a casual observer as they all danced and sang to a host of French pop classics from the years. The evening finally ended at 2am, when funnily enough, the bar closed. We all said our goodbyes as the Cedrics went off to stay at Yannicks and Nico and I set off to his. I felt it a real result when my head hit the pillow at 2:30 and sleep welcomed me into its relaxing grasp.

I resisted Pipo's 
charming drinks offers.

Classic French pop was lost on me!

A stuffed bird!
No idea why.

Match Day

Waking up fresh as a veritable daisy, I set off for the patiserrie for that traditional of French breakfasts, pain chocolat. The signs of a good one are that, as you eat it, most of the pastry flakes off and you left picking it off whatever plate, table, bag, floor you are eating it off. These pastries were high on the flake-o-meter. As a result there was a good amount of cleaning for me to do once I'd finished. 

The first stop was to visit Pierre who, it turned out, was going to be our guide for the morning on a tour of the old mine and Terrills at Loos-en-Gohelle. 

I did my best to follow the explanations of the separate villages that made up Lens, their churches, the communities that built up and the treatment of miners once they had finished working. The last fact really brought home to me how poorly a lot of miners were treated. Yes they'd had houses provided for life with big gardens so they could get fresh air but like so many, Alex's own grandad, who used to take him to his first Lens game, suffered from coal dust on his lungs and would often have to resort to an oxygen mask. Hardly the sort of well-earned retirement he had envisaged!

I have to admit, my concentration did begin to lapse as Pierre became more animated but it was enjoyable none-the-less and from time to time he did try to draw me in by slowing down and mentioning football.  

Emergency! Alex is in Danger!

Leaving the mine area to head up one of the terrills (slag heap, basically, left over from the mining days) that dominated the region, I noticed that Alex had tried to reach me. Ringing him back, I was shocked and disapointed to hear that there had been no trains since yesterday morning and not only had Alex not managed to visit his family, but that he was in danger of missing the match! 

He'd stood and watched as each train on the departures board appeared then was cancelled by the great French train gods (the same ones that own half of Britain's railways). After finally asking a re-hatted- SNCF employee, he realised they hadn't a clue what was happening either but thought it unlikely there would be any trains to Lens that day. While my trip was going swimmingly, his was imploding like a supernova turning into a black hole in space. The Supernova was the chance to see his family (maternal and football-related) but now all of that was in doubt! 

It was at this point that Super-Pierre emerged to save the day! Our French Superhero agreed to forgo a couple of bottles of Ch'ti beer to drive into the darkness that is Lille to pluck our Alex to the safety of his Sang et Or family! 

Alex is saved!

So it was, after a brief baguette sandwhich packed with an outrageous selection of meats, that Alex was plucked from the outskirts of the dreaded town, where his Metro had deposited him. As the tears flowed from us all, Alex and I gave thanks to Super-Pierre and his superhero power of generosity. This power, of course is synonimous of the region and one that never fails to inspire us in our daily lives! What would Pierre do? I will repeat whenever I'm faced with a difficult situation. In a lot of situations, the answer might well be open another beer but then sometimes that is the only recourse. 

As it was, we were led towards a car, with its boot open, that was surrounded by a gaggle of men (and a couple of women) drinking and chatting. It was Pierre's wife, Elsa, who had opened up just one of many impromptu carboot bars in the car parks around the ground: the Lens equivalent of a British car boot sale I suppose. It was the oldest and bushiest of the drinkers who wanted his photo taken with me. He sought out his friend, equally bushy, although slightly younger, to take the desired image. Our eccentric cameraman struggled to complete his duty but finally was satisfied with his work so I waved at a tree and ran off from their clutches, not caring that my soul could have been stolen by his photographic device.

Marek revisited

The walk up to the Marek is always a 'religious experience' for Lens fans. Walking past a MacDonalds on one side and a rapidly growing building site may not seem the most romantic and spiritual experience. However, peering through the trees ringing the ground, the glowing stands gleaming red then yellow to complement the similarly attired fans then a fan can't help but be carried away with a tide of emotion that sweeps from the stands onto the pitch. 

Our friend, John-Marie was there, waiting patiently with our passes into the Marek and the atmosphere grew with every second. There was no dissatisfaction with the club this time. The fans involved in the pitch invasion during the Lille match having faced no more action as the powers-that-be trusted the club to police their fans better. There also seemed to be more liaison between club and supporters: not something British football could really claim in any way. 

Before the game a tifo was dropped over the Marek advertising the entry into the political scene for the Red Tigers Party. Their manifesto included the legalisation of fumigenes at matches and an end to the disproportionate treatment of football related crimes. I don’t think Macron will be worrying just yet!

The last few games, Lens had been guilty of careless errors. One of the guiltiest parties had been Argentinian central defender, Medina. His wayward passes had been punished by the likes of Monaco, Marseille, Lorient and Bordeaux but today, he was impeccable on the pitch. A looming court case for alleged violence against his partner must surely have been weighing on his mind. 

As a fan I'd love there to be no truth in the allegations but as a husband and father to two adult women, I can't condone it. Medina is still a young lad earning a lot of money but that doesn't give him the right to abuse anyone, whether male or female. But receiving all that money in a foreign country miles away from home can't be easy. My only hope would be that for the club's, Medina's and any individuals' sake there is support for all: both victim and accused aggressors. I'd like to think Lens would consider it their duty to help out in this way. I know a lot of clubs wouldn't make the effort.

 

Away from Medina, there were few errors as Lens battled away. Whenever a ball was won, there were passing options available. Whenever a ball was lost there was cover available. Lens had rediscovered the form that had deserted them in the last few games. 

When Kalimuendo broke the Lyon offside trip, his shot was saved by a well-placed Lopes. The ball broke to Johnny Clauss, who was delighted to see his rebound from 15 yards slid into the empty net. The ground went wild. The Marek mostly ignored the VAR check that confirmed Kali had been onside and the festivities continued. The pace of the game never slackened and there was VAR disappointment when Fofana had the ball blasted into his arm and his chest before he scored with a spectacular strike. He had had no way of pulling his hand out of the way, which was right next to his stomach, yet VAR disallowed the goal. 

This seemed to knock the stuffing out of the home team and Lyon began to press with increased confidence and purpose. Could the lads just make it through to half time? 

Sadly, no. With the break barely two minutes away, a Lyon cross was missed by youngster Walker Farinez (in goal for his second consecutive game) and at the far post, a Lyon striker headed goalward. Farinez did an impression of a mid-air starfish as the ball slipped between his arm and foot. The Lens fans would have been forgiven for being deflated but they continued to roar their team on, both before and after half time. Lyon were on the ascendancy but the best chances fell to Lens. Once again VAR deprived them of a chance as a Lyon defender's hand deflected the ball into Lopes' grateful hands. On this occasion, the computer said that an arm outstretched in the penalty area wasn't an offence. Strange that a one next to the chest was. 

Cedric #2 undercover Lens fan?

Super-Pierre!

 

At the final whistle, the draw seemed a fair result and if you'd said to me at the outset if I would have been satisfied with that, I'd have taken it like a shot. The likes of Lyon, Monaco and Marseille are the teams Lens wants to emulate and did emulate before relegation in 2008 disrupted the course of this happy boat. Now Lens are back into the top half of the table, these sorts of games are going to be a great indicator of whether European football can be achieved. On this form, they are almost there. A bit more luck with decisions might have gone down nicely!

Great to see Mac Def for the first time in nearly 
three years! Still singing, still fun!

For the next couple of hours, a party took place Chez Muriel as the little bar reverberated with Lens songs that grew and faded before growing even stronger all night. All this after only a draw! The strangeness of the evening was even more pronounced outside as I talked to the family on the phone and a bizarre fan joined in, telling my girls how beautiful they were and then giving me a kiss on my cheek! My favourite quote of the evening belonged to Holly:

“Did that Frenchman just kiss my dad?”

Only in Lens?

 All in all, the two Cedrics had thoroughly enjoyed their weekend in the North. They’d been great company and had certainly challenged my view of supporters of the big teams. With a weekend of amazing hospitality and all the alcohol they could possibly want, they were grateful for the chance to recover on the way home. Needless to say, the offer to visit them in the South was extended to me. I’ll have to bear that one in mind!

October 2021 -Metz (h)

 If you'd told me in August 2019, on my last visit to Lens, that before I visited again, the world would be hit by a virus that would kill millions of people and leave millions more suffering the after effects of its vicious bite. Not only that, but a generation of children would miss out on months of schooling while class sizes would be no more than 15 per class. Add to this, the biggest immunisation programme would have taken place, world-wide and still the death toll would be rising. 
Coronavirus had been a tragedy in so many ways although there had been moments to feel proud in human kindness. With the elderly and at-risk being forced to protect themselves in their homes, there were many tales of friends, neighbours and relatives rallying round to fetch food and other supplies. The NHS workers were hailed as the heroes they had long been by everyone: even the government. Sadly though, this support from on high didn't extend to an increase in salaries to match their devotion. It was also no surprise to hear that Boris and his cronies, on the whole would have continued to be mostly incompetent and self-serving. 
It was also no surprise that the UK's relations with Europe took a nosedive after Brexit. On two occasions I had been all booked up to visit my favourite French destination when last minute rulings by Boris and co had led to cancellation and frustration. When I booked up to visit Lens for the match against Metz, I really was not sure whether I would really be able to get there and back, ever the optimist (or is that just blind faith?), return tickets were reserved from Newcastle to London, overnight stay and return Eurostar to Lille. A PCR Covid-19 test was also bought to take on my return to the UK. France didn't need any such test, just proof  of being double vaccinated and a self-certification that I was fit and well and where I was going to be staying.  
The previous season and a half had been virtually played without supporters as Coronavirus forced restrictions to be tightened and national borders closed. Watching so many matches taking place in empty stadiums was sobering for myself and all fans and a reminder, if one should be needed, of the virus' destructive nature. 
On the pitch, however, Lens had secured the long-sought-after promotion to Ligue 1 with a penalty converted by Frank Sotoca in front of a deserted Delacourt stand. The home encounter with Orléans, the final match of the 2019-20 Ligue 2 season, was won 1-0 and allowed les Sang et Or to leapfrog both AC Ajaccio and Troyes into second spot and a fortuitous promotion spot. The match had only been coach Franck Haise' s second game in charge. After taking over from the faltering Philippe Montanier, he had guided Lens to two victories out of two. As the affect of Coronavirus took hold, the French Football Federation decided to abandon the season and allow promotion and relegation between Ligue 1 and 2. Just like that, we were up. Franck, previously coach of the reserve team was thrust into the limelight and in the following season, almost achieved European competition but a 0-0 draw at home to Monaco allowed Rennes into the Europa Conference League. But hey! Lens were still in Ligue 1 and finished an unbelievable 6th!
In 2021-22, the fans were back and Lens continued to take the footballing world by surprise. By the time the Metz game arrived, they were second only to moneybags Paris St Germain!

My journey began on the Thursday night, racing away from work to catch a train to London at 5:30pm. Fuelled by a Zapatista takeaway, the journey passed swiftly and it wasn’t long before I was wandering around St Pancras looking for my usual photoshoot with John Betjeman. Obviously, it wasn't hard to find him.

The short journey from Lille Eurostar to Lille Flandres was for once, one to be wary of. The relationship between Lens and Lille has often been one of near-hatred and this spilled over in the recent derby match. At half-time, a small group of Lille fans threatened to break into the neighbouring section of Lens fans, which just happened to be the family section. So members of the Lens ultras decided to take matters into their own hands and stormed across the pitch to ward them off. At this point, the promised police presence had been absent, the ultras argued but the powers-that-be decided to imposed a punishment of two home games behind closed doors; my game just escaped this fate. This was rumoured to have cost Lens €2million in lost revenue. In the aftermath, relations between the club and their ultras became increasingly strained and it was with trepidation that I set off to France with another ultras strike looming. I thought avoiding a stadium-ban was going to be my main problem!

The sad thing was that the crowd trouble had overshadowed Lens' first victory against Lille since 2007.

 For the first time, my short journey from Lille Eurostar to Lille Flandres and the train to Lens had to tackled with my colours covered up. It was a throwback to those days in England before Sky TV et al sanitised football.

What is always guaranteed is the warm welcome I receive from every Lens fans I meet. From the French Customs Officials who marvel that I am travelling to watch their team to every one of the fans I meet who insist I never buy a drink or pay for anything while kindly inviting me into their secret bars and hostelry. This generosity has caused many a delicate head after nights out; as I tell myself I’m told old for all this! This time, I wished someone had warned me as my hosts took me on a night-time-early-morning tour of their town, Cambrai. Each had their own kind owner who insisted I tried his home-made brew or shot. All the while, the phrase "Just Five More Minutes" kept on being repeated to me. 

The following day, the trip to see the Belgian Jupiler Pro League contest between Mechelin and Zulte Waregem was not the totally enjoyable experience I had been hoping for. Nice though the town was and the exciting the game was: a 2-2 draw played in front of a packed crowd that drank its way through the full 90 minutes before picking up their bicycles to head home. 

My head had returned to a manageable state the following day, thankfully and I was delighted to be heading towards Lens on a sunny late-October morning. Our mood was not going to be dampened by the impending fan strike. 

Inside the ground, it was clear that the fans behind the respective goals, Delacourt and Trannin, had accepted the challenge to inspire the team along with the Ultras groups not joining in the strike. 

We sang and cheered our way through 90 minutes. The game swung backwards and forwards as first, Wesley Said gave Lens the lead before Nicolas de Preville equalised. Said wasn't finished, however and he gave Lens the lead heading into the half time break. 

In the second half, Metz pushed for the equaliser and had the ball in the net. After an agonising wait, the referee decided that the goal would not stand and that was all the home side needed. Substitute Ignatius Ganago came on for Lens and with virtually his first touch, he blasted the third goal home before shortly being substituted himself after a rash tackle on Metz goalkeeper Marc-Aurele Caillard. Polish legend, Frankowski, completed the scoring and the game finished 4-1. 

The celebrations leaving the ground were reminiscent of my first ever home Lens game and I was able to celebrate my first victory since May 2019 and my first Ligue 1 victory since October 2010.