December 2024 Lens v Seville (Champions' League)

 Arsenal had really shaken my belief in Lens and my ability to keep travelling to see them. I was fighting all sorts inner demons and struggling with the lack of work from gardening, the slow recovery from my Hernia operation (did I mention it was a double... and open?) and it was probably a combination of all these things that was causing me sleepless nights and making me completely paranoid about everything. Now there are probably people reading this thinking they had this, that or the other operation, childbirth being a big one of them, but I can only comment on my progress and it was out of my very limited comfort zone. I was not used to being unemployed and although I had plenty to do each day (parents and daughter moving, radio show, household chores to name but a few). Unfortunately, I was also spending my nights worrying about the most important things in life; Wahi's lack of goals, the impending end of Lens' European football, the impotence of Lens' midfield and the current injuries and suspensions situation. I felt lethargic during the day. Useful productivity was down. In fact, the one bit of gardening work I was getting paid for in December, disappeared out of my pocket somewhere between the job and Whitley Bay Lidl. I needed a holiday!

But was a holiday to see two potential repeats of the Arsenal game the tonic I needed?

My plan was to stay in London the night before and get an early Eurostar so that I could catch the Eufa Youth League between Lens and Seville. The ticket cost me €2: a princely sum, but worth gambling on in case I couldn't get there. 

Arriving in London, I decided to search Camden Market for some last minute Christmas gifts. It was there I received the second good omen; the first had been finding Lens Wally in my coat pocket.

Good Omen #1

Good omen #2: 

Lens umbrellas... not the man

with a rucksack!

The sight of Umbrellas in the Lens colours (yes, I know there were orange umbrellas as well) lifted my spirits. It was a sign, I told myself with very little conviction.

Lara Croft, the tallest 

Lens fan I've met!

Presents purchased, I returned to the site of my previous English breakfast (an Irish Bar on the Euston Road). I figured that after the enormous breakfast that had lasted me until teatime, a big meal would see me through to whenever football allowed me to feed. Although the food was fine (a pulled chicken flatbread), The miserable state of the bar manager and the staff member who served me was certainly not welcoming. The lack of any kind of interaction was disappointing. There was no thank you, or even a half-hearted nod of the head. A solitary "Yes?" was followed by a card machine being shoved at me. Eye contact was definitely avoided when the food was delivered. I had no intention in engaging in any kind of conversation if they were afraid of that, but a simple recognition that I existed and was contributing to their wages would have been nice. The price of modern living in the capital maybe. 

 I retired to my hotel room and was confronted with one of the drawbacks of booking a cheap hotel room: I had to share a toilet with eight other rooms and this one was full, literally! Later on, the blockage had been cleared, I was able to make use of the facilities and retire to my room that was comfortable in every other way.

Turning to the news on my phone as a form of distraction I read with incredulity that the Seville fans had been banned by the region's Prefecture: the day before the game. Another example of fans being abused by France's powers-that-be. They had decided that the 400 fans who had wanted to abandon the warmer climes of southern Spain for Northern France represented a safety hazard. Lens needed a win or draw while Seville needed a win to qualify for Europe's second tier competition. Their reasoning centred on the desperate need both teams had for the points. The response from the Red Tigers, and other supporters groups, was instantaneous and left a warm, fuzzy feeling inside me. They declared that the Seville fans would be welcomed into the ground in their place and they would give up their tickets so that the badly-treated visitors could attend. No respect had been given to the fact that travel and accomodation would have been booked in advance. Sadly it was nothing new to French football fans. As the Spanish authorities tried desperately to work on their fans' behalf there were rumours that the local police had said it was unworkable anyway and weren't going to bother enforcing the order! 

First thing next morning, the nerves were growing so it was necessary to drag my bag to see the big man himself for some intervention from above. The usual picture took on a more desperate tone...

I did hope he was listening to me but wasn't convinced.

There was also a painful reminder of the precarious situation Lens were finding themselves in when my idea of a perfect role model was stood in front of me waiting for his Eurostar to Amsterdam and on to Eindhoven. My mate, Paul The Arsenal Fan, informed me that he was a familiar sight around the ground and he suggested I repeat his half and half trick with a couple of my Lens shirts. This idea was politely ignored then declined. 

A throwback to the 90s, a 

decade of sartorial elogance.

Once onboard the Eurostar to Lille, it was then I realised I would be arriving into Lens just 10 minutes before the Youth League Kick off and I would still have to get across town with my bags: a fete I did not relish. I decided my best plan was to eat then take the bus up to drop my bags at Pierre's before heading into town. So a Fricadelle Americain at La Loco it was. 

I was glad to see that La Loco had gone all out on their Christmas display, with a few trees, some tastefully decorated, and a great set of theme-painted windows.

Well done La Loco!

I was also quite taken aback by the welcome from the manager, who shook my hand, welcoming me back like a long lost friend. It gave a warm feeling. The trip was going well! In fact the trip was going really well because there was something I hadn't felt for quite some time and that was the warmth of a sun that beamed in the crisp wintery-blue sky. There was none of the drizzle that Whitley bay's sun had had to hide behind; I had forgotten how good it felt! Maybe it could be my winter retreat after all! 

A bus was taken, bags were dropped at Pierre's then it was a familiar and welcoming route to the Stade.

It's a bright! Bright! Sunshiny day! Wahey!

It wasn't long before the lads started streaming into the town centre. The first to arrive was Code:Name Richard (that's only his facebook name I learnt) and after buying him a drink (or trying to), I took my seat in a relaxingly comfy chair to enjoy the entertainment: dog fighting!

It's always nice to have something to break the ice when I arrive in France and on this occasion, it was two dogs having a marvellous time playfighting. There was a big fluffy white one that reminded me of a wolf and another smaller one that didn't but was definitely the more aggressive. To be fair to the larger 'wolf' he/she was extremely patient; especially when the little pest managed to get its teeth around his/her neck where it proceeded to dangle.

Initial stand-off...

They're only being playful!

Fun as it would have been to watch them all night, it was getting stuffy and there was a game to go to so we downed drinks and nervously headed to the stade. Gone was the sun and now there was a murkiness that I knew only too well. The rain was catching up with me again.

No sooner had I stepped through the turnstiles, I was assaulted by a policeman. This time, however, it was one of the lads from my Worldnet visits, it certainly had proved to be a great way of getting to know the great and the good of the Lens World. During our conversation, he said that the people of Lens were 'good people' and not very much trouble at all. This was based on his years as a policeman in the town and was comforting to know. 

After finishing my socialising, I turned around to find  Pierre, Code:Name Richard and the others had disappeared. A quick Facebook message failed to yield dividends so headed for where I thought there'd be and ran into Jérémie. I decided to make my debut at the Trannin end of The Marek and since Lens were attacking this end, I had grown enough confidence to think that I might be able to see some attacking action. 

Tifo-tastic!

There were three Tifos tonight and I was under the largest one, calling for a continuation of the European adventure: even if it was in the Europa League. I remember discussing with a Newcastle United fan about the prospect of not playing in the Champions' League. I had said how delighted I would be to see Lens in the Europa but he couldn't think of anything worse! After all, it would affect their Premier League placing. The crazy money that gets handed out to teams in the Prem in England has such a detrimental effect on every other competition. 

The only competition that can rival, or better it, financially is the Champions' League. Both of them leave me with mixed emotions. The big prizes for the top teams has created a haves and have-nots situation. Teams that get promoted from the Championship rarely do well and often get relegated a season or two after. The only exception to this is those clubs that have been regular top-tier clubs relegated through mismanagement. The riches on offer mean that competitions like the FA or League Cup can't offer the same rewards and this applies to the Europa League and its younger sibling the Europa Conference. As a result, their value has been massively downgraded.

However, you only had to look how excited West ham fans had been after winning the Europa Conference Final the previous year to know that money isn't everything. My friend the Newcastle fan was willing to trade the excitement of cup football for a higher league placing. You only had to look at how bonkers the town went when the Toon reached the League Cup final the previous February to know that Cup success meant more than just money. It also showed how Premier League-obsessed the various Newcastle boards have been when you look at the St James' Park trophy cabinet: it has been bare since 1969 (the year I was born). 

Tonight, the Lens faithful wanted one thing: a place in the Europa League, a competition they had last graced in 2006. A fun fact about that particular season was that Odessa's Middlesbrough had reached the final only to be comprehensively beaten (0-4) in the final by... Seville. That was to be the first of their seven UEFA Cup / Europa League titles. The visitors position as the current reigning Europa League Champions made so many Lens fans nervous and that included the complete nervous wreck that had arrived on the Eurostar that morning.

Tifo-tastic

The Marek and Xerxes weren't the only ones to be Tifo-tastic as the Trannin and Delacourt behind each goal got in on the act. As the three Tifos were gathered in, the atmosphere was ramped up throughout the ground.

My first night of Champions' League football hadn't been a pleasant experience as the Arsenal goals had sped in and tonight's didn't look as if it was going to be any better. A nervy backpass from Danso after 7 minutes that Samba had no option but to catch and give away a indirect freekick set the scene for the first half. With every extra corner and shot that Seville had contrasted with Lens's efforts to come up with anything of their own, home nerves were being torn to pieces. Samba had to leap athletically to tip over a swirling curler from the edge of the box by Rakitic. Looks like I had picked the wrong day to give up... each and every one of my bad habits! 

Yet still the fans pushed from every corner of the 

ground:willing Lens  to score.

 By half time, my experiment of standing near the Trannin end (the end Lens were attacking) to see all the Lens goals fly in was looking wildly misguided. A corner count of 7-0 combined with a shot count of 6-1 in favour of Seville. Lens couldn't pass the ball or generate any sort of attacking plan, however thankfully, they'd managed to deny Seville many opportunities and that had to be a source of hope for the second half. I decided that I would have to change position. With that in mind, I was delighted to see Pierre coming out of the toilet so I joined him nearer the half way line in a much busier part of the Marek. 

Nervous half time throng!

Into the second, nervous bladders emptied, the nervousness was still there. But, wait! Lens were on the attack... Wahi was clear on the right... but he shot into the side netting. It was still a sign! This was followed by the pesky Rakitic passing to the overlapping Pedrosa who flicked the ball nonchalantly onto the crossbar. Everyone watched its flightpath as it dropped... dropped... into Samba's grateful arms as Seville's forwards closed in. 

Wahi was away on the left this time. approaching the Seville penalty area, he spotted Medina charging through the middle and layed the ball into his path. Medina's run was brought to an abrupt conclusion in a tangle of legs. I didn't dare mention that I thought he had tripped over his own feet. What mattered was the referee's decision and he thought it was a blatantly shocking penalty. What a fine fellow he was as he waved away the indignant visiting players! 

It was up to Frankowski to do the honours... breathing stopped...

Never in doubt? Of course not. The ground exploded with joy. All except for the small pocket of Seville fans: what a time they were having! 

There was soon something for the visitors to shout about and it was every bit as contentious as Lens' penalty. El-Nasyri's arm was delicately brushed by Medina and accordingly he fell like the proverbial sack of spuds, spinning with aplomb in a manner that any highboard diver would have been proud of. Up stepped Ramos and Samba dived to his right to beat the penalty away, then the rebound from Rakitic was similarly dispatched and the ball cleared. The joy that filled the stadium was shortlived as the referee ordered the penalty to be retaken after words in his ear from VAR. Brice had come off his line too early. This time, Ramos panenked Samba, who could only watch as the ball sailed over his head. 1-1. Seville had hope of the win that would give them qualification to their favourite competition. My faith in Lens' ability to get the point needed was being severely challenged! 

Still believing! Still singing!

Still leading from the flagship.

The lads were looking tired suddenly and Seville had their danders up. They pushed forward but still the home defence held firm. Seven minutes of stoppage time was added and Lens hearts pumped even faster. Another attack was building in the 96th minute when Sotoca challenged and won a ball out on the wing. He ran full pelt for the Seville penalty area. His low pass in front of the onrushing Fulgini was perfect and the hero of the first game in Seville bore down on goal. With a coolness that reflected his freekick equaliser at the Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán Stadium, he slid the ball past Seville's Dmitrovic. It rolled casually towards goal, bounced off the post and in. Mayhem! Lens were in the Europa League and once the chaos of the goal celebrations had been and gone, the party was in full flow. Eight points had been earned in the Champions' League and victories over Arsenal and Seville to boot!

At the final whistle, chorus' of "Merci Lensois" and "We are ze best" rang out. Although totally outplayed in the first half especially, Lens had weathered the storm and now the sun was shining on them. You could keep the Champions' League, that was for the moneybags clubs who could throw their cash about without any comeback from supposed fairplay rules. You only had to look at current winners, Manchester City and the investigation into possibly 120+ infringements of Premier League rules to see that the fat cats could do what they wanted. Losing so heavily at Arsenal had been a wake-up call. We weren't in the same class as them and I was glad of it. I loved supporting 'Little Lens' and its tiny 38000 stadium and the Europa League was their pinnacle. 

Post script:

The following night, Newcastle lost 2-1 to AC  Milan in the closing minutes of their final group game after leading 1-0. This was a result that deprived them of any more European football this season. At least my Newcastle supporting friend could concentrate on the Premier League. Sadly, it also meant there was no chance of a Newcastle-Lens tie to welcome my friends to, but there's always next season.

November 2023 Arsenal v Lens Champions League

 During the pre-season, it became clear that Lens were lacking a striker, since goals were in short supply. The search started with Middlesbrough's Chuba Akpom, who had allegedly agreed to hold talks with Lens for a £8 million price tag. 

This transfer would have resulted in me having to sleep in the chicken coop on the orders of my Boro supporting wife, so I was obviously wary of getting too excited about it. However, after the initial couple of days when discussions were confirmed to be taking place, no more was heard. I began to wonder if it would take place. The prospect of losing my place at home, for a player who had only had one very good season, didn't appeal. Would Lens be doing Boro a favour? After a week of cold stares and shoulders from Odessa, I was relieved to hear that Akpom would be joining Ajax instead. The underhand way he talked to both Lens and the Dutch, probably playing the two teams off each other, left a bad taste. 

A number of other players were inevitably linked with Lens until finally, Montpellier's youngster Elye Wahi arrived for a record fee of €35 million. The France Under 21 striker with a strike rate of a goal every 3 games looked the perfect replacement for Openda and there were high expectations when he finally arrived. The first two games he featured in, Lens were defeated 3-1 at Paris and then 3-0 at Monaco: not the games a young striker really wanted for their opening games. To compound matters, a defeat at home to Metz sent Les Sang et Or to the bottom of Ligue with a solitary point out of 15. A couple of goals for France U21s were a boost to him, as well as the winners against Arsenal (2-1) in the Champions League and Strasbourg. An equaliser against PSV Eindhoven (again in the Champions League) proved he could score goals for Lens as they began an unbeaten spell in both League 1 and Champions League. 

Only a 1-0 defeat in the return at Eindhoven put a dampener on the Lens party but then a last minute winner against Marseille and a 3-0 victory against Clermont steadied the boat before the visit to North London and the anticipated return game with Arsenal.

Memories of Wembley resurfaced once again (they'd only been muttering quietly in the back of every Lens fans' minds). Even the match programme (a very thick £4 affair) featured that fateful evening. 

As the gardening work continued to dry up, I decided that I would go down to London anyway, with or without a ticket just so I could meet the friends I hadn't seen since April and share in the pre-match activity. I had no expectation of getting a ticket but thought I'd go anyway. The UK Lens Division lads and I were all prepared for the general sale of the remaining away tickets after the associations had taken their fill, however when it came down to it, nobody was successful. A few hundred of the original 2900 tickets were gone in a flash although the system kept us believing there were tickets, for well over an hour, before it was announced they had gone. There was nothing for it, but for me to traipse off to the gardening job I had delayed in expectation. 

 A hopeful message on one of the major Facebook fan forums offered me 62 declarations of support and a mixed up lady who tried to sell me a ticket for the Marseille game as long as I picked it up from her house. It was only late on that I cottoned on to the fact that she hadn't read my original post. 

Finally, with about a week to go to the game, that diamond Pascal, came up with, not only a ticket for me but also Alex. We were going to the ball after all! I would have done somersaults but for the fact it would have ended up very messy and ruined my chances of actually making the trip altogether. The other diamond, Pierre, said there was room for me in the dormitory they had hired in South London; Clapham to be exact. Near my old University stomping ground. So at Least I had a place to stay.

The ticket arrived in my inbox some days later, complete with the smallest terms and conditions print and a bewildering array of objects not allowed into the ground.

It seemed we went allowed any: dynamite, rockets, laser guns, hot water bottles, cups, cameras, petrol canisters, guns, knives, hammers, dogs, motorcycle helmets, shoes and charging phones (they had to come pre-charged). Talk about a nanny state ruining our fun! Luckily I had an invisible dog! Haha!

A cramped Lumo train made good time to London and afforded me a glimpse of my final destination.

The view from my window.

I was dropped off in London and my first encounter with some Lens fans. Despite a lack of colours, it was easy to spot them outside a teeming Kings Cross Station and as we chatted they recognised me from my tattoo story. They were delighted to see me and I was able to help them negotiate the bewildering London Underground map they had been given. The writing was too small for my glasses even, so how on Earth they expected some pissed up Frenchies to make sense of it, I had no idea. An online pdf version proved to be much more popular!

Obligatory photo call!

Another essential photo... 

the anger at Big D's 'arrest' 

quite evident.

Next mission was to help a solo fan who had contacted me on Facebook asking for help navigating London. It may have been a mistake me telling him Camden Market was a great place to spend the afternoon when he messaged me an hour before the game saying he was lost. Thankfully, I was able to help him get to the ground in one piece. Sadly, I missed his final message that arrived at 11:30 pm saying he was lost and couldn't find his hotel in Paddington! He did thankfully make it to bed but I'm not sure he will be returning to London soon!

Next task was to meet up with Pierre and co, who were arriving on a train from Dover. But there was a snag. One of their number had been taken off the train and was being held in handcuffs by a couple of policemen!

You're nicked!

Pierre wondering what could go wrong next?

Half an hour later than expected, which wasn't that bad considering, the lads trooped off the train at St Pancras. But what had been Big D's crime? (I have changed his name to protect his family's shame).

His cardinal sin had been to carry a knife! The fiend casually whipped out a knife on the train. If this wasn't bad enough, he had followed this up by whipping out some paté and half a baguette in a heinous attempt at making himself a bit of breakfast: as you do! This act of violent aggression towards breadkind was immediately reported to the police, who stopped the train at Ashford where Big D was detained. On the platform, the police determined from their head office whether they had intercepted one of Lens' top boys or a French tree surgeon with a passion for paté.

They soon decided that the fine figure was no threat but decided to confiscate his knife just to be on the safe side. Thank goodness they didn't find the chainsaw in his bag!

Hotel found and bags deposited, it was time to brave the growing rush hour Underground crush but the lads seemed to take it all in their stride...

First stop was to exchange my printed voucher for an actual match ticket. There was slight uncertainty when the pub I was supposed to be going to wouldn't let me in, saying it was too full. A typically unhelpful London bouncer stood in my way, ignoring me when I asked where I had to get my ticket from. Finally, Alex appeared and led me to another bar further down, while Pierre and co headed off to visit the old home of Arsenal, Highbury, now exclusive flats. 

Pascal met us at Highbury and Islington tube, after we had visited KFC. It turns out the French much prefer MacDonalds to KFC as the queue was out of the door for Maccy D's. All the other pubs and restaurants were for Arsenal fans only. That was nice of them!

We were in the right place for the Lens Cortège to the ground so after a chat and brief search for some cans to drink on the way (which ended in failure) nigh on 2000 Lens fans, clad in red hats given out to some lucky early bird ticket holders, sang and marched to the main event.

2000 Christmas Lens Elves?

There was such good humour on the march (Pascal was desperate to get near the front and kept pushing us on) and there was a great reaction from the onlookers. It was everything I had hoped from supporting Lens away on a European night. People waved from windows, bystanders clapped as we walked by. The sight of these red-hatted fans contrasted with marches I had witnessed by Paris (aggressive) and Dortmund fans (uneventful) in Newcastle's Champions' League games. This was turning into such a perfect day: North London was sharing in my love-in with Lens.

Waves from the windows...

A netball training session didn't stop for us!

As Arsenal's stadium grew before us, I certainly felt my hopes were raised; maybe unrealistically so. but how could we not win with this backing?

Destination achieved!

In time-honoured fashion, the Lens players were greeted as heroes as they emerged: gladiators being thrown at Arsenal's 'lions'. There then followed, an intro to the match straight out of the over-the-top-whip-the-crowd-up-by-deafening-them handbook. The Lens fans held their scarves aloft in anticipation of singing the Lensoise but we were completely drowned out by the PA system so just held our scarves up defiantly. Next was the similarly OTT Champions' League theme which I had so looked forward to hearing, but seeing the players reverently standing to attention, as if listening to a national anthem, it made me feel uncomfortable and think of it as another tool for UEFA's corporate and all that was wrong with the game. The corruption, the power of money and the greed at the top end of the game: all show signs of getting worse under the current regime. Watching the Lens fans light up their illicit flares made me think that they were in fact holding them up in defiance at this corporate juggernaut that shows no sign of slowing down. Had I been that desperate to be a part of all this?

Still, once the PA had finished and the smoke from a 100 French flares had drifted across the pitch, it was still the traditional 11 v 11 on the pitch and 3000 v 60000 off it, fighting our own sonic battle. 

The misgivings grew right from the first whistle as Arsenal stormed forward. Headers bounced wide and I thought it was all part of Franck's plan: lure them in and then hit them with the sucker punch. Sadly, Lens' attack was as potent as a wet lettuce. The defence was watertight as a sieve (with a massive hole in it) and the midfield were non-existent. 

So it proved after 13 minutes. Samed headed a cross up in the air. When the ball dropped it was headed goalwards and Havertz tapped the ball embarrassingly past a floundering Samba. There then followed the ignominy of the Arsenal players rushing over to celebrate by the corner flag where the vast majority of the Lens Ultras were gathered. A few plastic cups were thrown at the jubilant gunners but they simply knocked them away. 

Soon after Saka knocked the ball to Gabriel Jesus, who side-stepped a challenge on the edge of the area before drilling past a forlorn Samba. The silly Brazilian then cupped his ear and headed for the self same corner to celebrate further. Once again there were objects thrown and quickly cleared by the players themselves, as if to rub salt into the wounds. 

Twenty three minutes gone, Martinelli charged into the penalty area, jinked then shot. Samba flapped and the ball bounced of Saka's chest and in. At least they had the good sense to celebrate in the opposite corner.

Barely four minutes later, Martinelli shot again and this time, his curling effort flew past the flying Samba. 4-0 in 27 minutes. Which corner did he head to? This time, there was hell on as bottles and a lit flare flew in his direction and also into the home fans on the side of the Lens contingent. I was disappointed that Saka, a player who I'd loved watching play for England and shared posts supporting him when racists attacked him after missing a penalty in the 2021 European Championship final, chose to wind up the Lens ultras with his celebrations. Yes they were out of order, and would eventually see the club sanctioned by UEFA, but he needed to show a bit more class, in my humble opinion. All said and done, his team were 4-0 up and the contest was over: Lens were beaten.

Hopes of avoiding complete humiliation were raised when, first Wahi's blistering shot was palmed away and then Medina's piledriver from outside the area crashed off the post. but that was as good as it got for us. Odegaard's volley slapped Samba on the stroke of half time: 5-0 to The Arsenal.

Yet still the Lens fans sang on. Into the second half, the match had become irrelevant as they strove to become top dogs on the terraces. Much like the on field match-up. The 3000 were more than a match for the library-loving home fans with their occasional chant of Ar-sen-al. 

A stray elbow caught an Arsenal player in the face with four minutes remaining and Jorghino stepped up to score past the befuddled Samba. Our only relief was when the final whistle was blown. Lens had been utterly humiliated. Arsenal had had one of those nights. Out of six shots on target in the first half, five had gone in. Lens hadn't had a single corner yet possession had been 50-50. The home team had just been ruthless in converting. 6 - 0 the final score, as a number of Arsenal fans remind us of later.

Alex and I had not been amused. However, we had fared slightly better than Adrian, who had convinced his boss that they needed to go to London on business, which he readily agreed and the pair were sat amongst the home fans. He had been amazed at how many tourists there had been around them speaking a myriad of languages but not joining in with the singing. The price of success in the modern football world?

It was a quiet group who headed back to Clapham and finally fell into bed about 1pm. The highlight of the walk from tube had been the sight of an urban fox, who just watched us, paying her respects after our dreadful end to what could have been a dream evening.

There was only one thing to do the next day... annoy the commuters on our way back to Kings Cross by daring to travel at 9am with rucksacks. And they were annoyed!

Rush hour at Clapham

A fry up consolation.

August 2023 Manchester United v Racing Club de Lens

 English football and Lens had always been separate entities to me. I had always been amazed by the tales from my Lens friends of the European adventures of the 1990s and 2000s. The one tale that they would come back to time and time again was Lens' win at Wembley. Every one of my friends had been there as Debeve slid in to give the Frenchmen a 1-0 win and earn his place in French footballing history. Coincidentally, my best man and best friend at university were there that night as Arsenal season ticket holders. The former enjoyed it as a spectacle, while the latter, allowed it to fester in him. Even though arsenal went on to win 8 FA Cups and 2 Premier League Titles, that evening remained engrained in his memory: an irritation that these Frenchies had come up trumps against his Arsenal. 

When Lens qualified for the Champions' League, for the first time in 21 years, all these memories were rekindled. Thanks to a belting end to the season, Lens had finished second in Ligue 1, only one point behind Paris. Although, they were always playing catch-up, Lens' run-in to the end of the season was nothing short of miraculous. Only a 3-1 defeat in Paris stopped them overtaking the moneybags from the French capital. The downside of this great form was that the vultures had started circling and a number of Lens' key players were being targeted. Throughout the Summer, Seko Fofana, Lois Openda and Kevin Danso were being linked with all manner of clubs. In the end, Lens fans were dismayed to see Fofana depart for big wages (rumoured to be well over £15 million a year), but a relatively low transfer fee, to the Saudi Pro League. Openda headed to RB Leipzig for a big money (for Lens) move - €45 million. Bonkers money being paid for Lens players was becoming a regularity. It was extremely easy for fans to become a touch  blasé with all these eye-watering amounts flying about. 

A number of players were brought in to replace them... mostly young and inexperienced in respect of  the Champions' League and some of Ligue 1. Andy Diouf arrived from Rennes, after a season-long loan at FC Basel, Morgan Guilavogui from Paris FC, Neil El Ayanoui and Oscar Cortes arrived from Millonarios in Columbia. The last deal was probably brokered because Millonarios and Lens shared the same President and owners: just a couple of the clubs Joseph Oughourlian, Lens' President has shares in or owns: a sad state of affairs that is creeping into the professional game. Lens, Chelsea, Manchester City and others found themselves being part of business portfolios of football clubs owned by rich individuals or organisations. Is this really for the benefit of the game?

For me, when the fixture at Old Trafford was announced, I had to make the grown-up decision to bow out. Odessa and I were off on holiday in France so I wouldn't be going. There were no screaming tantrums or holding my breath until she said we could cancel our holiday... no I accepted that it was not to be, in a manner befitting a 53-year-old man (I just swore a lot... no... honestly, I didn't!) 

As it turned out, our camping holiday hit storms half way through and so it was a unanimous decision that we would wimp out and come home. It really was unanimous. I didn't even mention the impending Lens fixture! On our last night, the wind shook our little tent about. I ran in and out of the tent vainly repositioning tent pegs shaken out of the sandy soil; getting soaked in the process. The prospect of worse to come only firmed up our thinking on the subject.  After slipping back inside the tent, weaving in and out of the growing puddles, Odessa must have taken pity on my soaked form. With a loving look she uttered the fateful words: "You can go to Manchester when we get back!" I played it cool, not wanting to take too much delight at our vacational misfortune. "Are you sure?" I replied, giving her the chance to change her mind but she didn't. 

The only thing that surprised her was the speed with which I was able to book trains, register as a member of Manchester United's ticket office and purchase my dream ticket. I would be able to go to the ball after all!

It certainly made the torrents that beat us the next morning, as we pulled the tent down and drove back to St Malo for our rearranged Ferry to Portsmouth, a lot more bearable.

St Malo... not the hotspot we had hoped it would be.

Matchday

The Summer storms that had battered the whole of France were but a memory as I tried to dodge the downpour on the way to Whitley Bay Metro. Thankfully, my packed lunch was safe from the weather's saturating effects. Not being able to work for the last three months, thanks to an open surgery operation on a double hernia, meant I had to make savings somewhere. It also meant no vigorous bouncing at the match: always a price to pay!

I was off to meet Pierre at the Airbnb he had hired for the weekend. When I got there, I was amazed to find that he had hired out, what must have been the penthouse. The flat he and his daughters were staying was enormous and also looked like it should be the cockpit of Captain Nemo's Nautilus (had it once been the area above the altar?). A development in a former church, it certainly was an advert for Britain turning Secular and selling all its churches to property developers. Don't worry I'm not turning into a Tory, but it was an amazing property.

The great man himself! Who wouldn't worship that shirt?

You forget what a great feeling it is when you walk to a football ground. Every corner and turn introduces you to more fans and the growing buzz is intoxicating. It's especially invigorating when different accents are mixed with languages and this made more excited for the coming season and the prospect of Lens maybe being drawn in the same group as an English team. All those years ago, it had been Arsenal and that had turned out well: a 1-0 win at Wembley being the talking point for so many fans. They were all there that day, but then there had been 6000 away fans.

One of Pierre's bugbears is that nobody at Lens seems that bothered about erecting statues to their former greats. English clubs seem to have taken it as their mission to erect as many as possible, even Newcastle have 3 (Sir Bobby Robson, Alan Shearer and Jackie Milburn) and Arsenal apparently have them coming out at you from every angle! Old Trafford is no exception. 

It would have been rude not to!

Photoshoot over with, it was into the ground, and my first visit to Old Trafford since the late 1980s and a 1-4 New Year's Day defeat. It had changed a bit, although the terracing I had stood on, behind the goal to my right, was now all seats! 

That day, the patches of Newcastle fans on the terrace had gone mad when Darren Jackson (who I often got compared to because I was skinny with lots of dark bushy hair) put us ahead. It wasn't long before the floodgates  opened (an own goal from other Jackson (Peter), Norman Whiteside, Jesper Olsen and Frank Stapleton). The scoreline had actually flattered the home side but isn't it usually the case with these 'big' teams... the 'minnows' such as Newcastle (and Lens) can play well but make one, or four, mistakes and you're leaving with your tail between your legs. I was just happy to be here, I told myself.

Alex and Adrian were bringing their kids along for their first ever Lens experience so we had bought tickets at the back of the standing area. Rather irksome for me was the need to join the Manchester United database, giving all sorts of details that I didn't think they needed to know (inside leg measurement?). But needs must. 

The security guard at the back of the away end took it all in his stride that there should be a group of English Lens fans. I don't think he had anything to do all afternoon as the fans at the front jumped around and amused themselves. 

What a nice guy!

The away went through the full Lens setlist and there was great delight when new Manchester United goalie, Onana, was caught completely out of his goal by the deft Sotaca. His shot from just inside the home half drifted over Onana's head and into the net prompting great delight below us. The event missed the kids completely as they wondered why their dads had stopped trying to entertain them and were leaping about like loons. Normal service was resumed as Alex and Adrian returned to their fatherly duties. Matt and were enjoying ourselves immensely, however and there was a big part of me wishing I could be down at the front of the 'safe standing' area joining in with the festivities. 

We rode our luck when new £55million signing from Chelsea, Mason Mount, completely airkicked at a cross but at half time we were still leading. Unbelievable!

Soon after half time, however, three goals in 11 minutes proved our undoing. Rashford, Antony and Casemiro putting us in our places. 

Down below us, the Lens fans were still having a ball. They bounced, crowdsurfed, swayed, congaed and generally enjoyed themselves throughout the second half, earning great respect from the silently bored home fans. If only they knew how much these French fans had admired their British counterparts in the 70s, 80s and 90s. Now the Europeans were giving them a lesson in how to enjoy themselves. What has happened to British football fans over the years? My money is on aging crowds caused by high ticket prices and other things the youth of today likes to do. What will the British football grounds of the future look like if they don't manage to get the youth back? Yes the attendance today was 70000, with an average age of 52, but what about in 50 years time? I don't expect I'll be around to witness it, which is a rather sobering thought. Will Alex and Adrian's kids still be attending matches then? The British Premiership doesn't really care at the moment because it has loads of oldies and the big clubs have the tourists. But neither of those will restore the lost atmospheres of the past. 

Thank goodness for Lens fans!

The final score had been 3-1 to Man United but the fans score was 6-0 to Lens. That was the most important one!

There was one final treat for me, after bidding farewell to Pierre and the others... a ride on a Manchester Tram! How much of a sad and dull old man am I? Answers on a sealed envelope with a stamp addressed envelope to prove me right. I'll reply in 28 days!

 April 2023 Lens v  Strasbourg

The Boy Mark hadn't been to a Lens game since 2018... five years without a fix of French Footie / fricadelle and alcohol. For some, namely me, it would have been too much! But no, wor Markie battled through day by day, hour by hour. Wiping the tears back manfully (or womanfully... don't wish to be sexist) as he strove through the challenges thrown at him. Now a headteacher of a school in Northumberland, he had gone up in the world leaving myself, a lowly teacher, to bathe in his educational glory. This journey also featured new boy Matt's first visit. Matt had once lived in Ch'ti-Land as a student and fallen in love with Les Sang et Or. Work and family commitments ever since had meant he hadn't returned to Stade-Bollaert-Delesis. A regular on the RC Lens UK Division's facebook group discussions, I had worn him down with constant barracking and abuse about not going until he final gave in and agreed to join us. His children were old enough not to give a monkeys if he was there or not and his wife was probably glad of the peace and quiet. 

So it was that we set out on an overcast, with rare glimpses of blue sky, Tyneside morning to meet Matt at St Pancras.

The rituals were observed when we met at St Pancras: MacDonalds (for cheapness and ease) then a visit to see Johnnie B and the essential photo: 

Matt seemed to be extremely excited on his first trip back to his former stomping ground while I have since decided that fiddling with John B's waistcoat buttons wasn't the desired effect I was after.

There was the sight of one of the French female footie teams swarming off the Eurostar in their matching tracksuits and luggage. They streamed past; a never-ending blue convoy. Sadly there was no Wendy Renard or Eugenie Le Sommer to photograph but, by heck, there was a lot of them!

Every time I decide to hire a car at Lille, I forget how slow the traffic getting out of town is and so, true to tradition we crawled our way towards Lens: part of Lille rush hour's metallic slug . Its never easy navigating your way out of Lille's chaotic peripherique (to me anyway) but finally we were free of Dogue City's clasping claws. 

Although we arrived at Pierre's with time to spare, it was still a rush down the hill to get our tickets... there was only time for the briefest trip to Chez Muriel. Pierre was nowhere to be seen! 

I never tire of this view or walk.

We did, however manage to bag oursleves a Pascal creature and Jean-Claude Van Spamme (Kev from Watford, our interpreter friend from Belgium who speaks French with a mix of a Hertfordshire and Belgique accent). Tickets acquired it was into the Marek for another photo opportunity.

With Yannick and Pascal this time... 

but where's Kev?

 (Like Where's Wally)

 

I really don't think Matt stopped smiling the whole time we were in Lens. The prodigal son had returned... wearing his 90s vintage Lens shirt (which greatly impressed Pierre).

We finally found Pierre... always carrying a big flag!

Just 11 minutes in, Frankowski was found by Thomasson and he guided a curler into the far post. Matt's smile broadened. All around him were dazzled by its brightness. He could have been seen from space (maybe). This was Mark's first visit since an extremely drab 1-1 Ligue 2 draw against Nancy in 2018 and yes, Lens were a completely changed team, but he couldn't believe how the town, the stadium's surroundings and the supporters had changed since then. The fans were back in love with the team, the team loved the fans: they were pushing each other towards a greatness that had seemed impossible five years earlier.

 In the second half there was double delight and doubled up Matt-smily time! A Sotoca cross was headed clear, but only as far as the lurking Medina, on the edge of the penalty area. The cheeky Argentine's volley slipped in between keeper Matt Sel's frantic fingers and post. Medina's smile was every bit as wide as Matt's as he wheeled away in triumph. The crowdsurfers swam past us on both sides as the Capos roared the fans to greater sonic achievements. 

We were all revelling in this performance!

The party was brought to a sudden halt when Kevin Gameiro curled a beautiful shot outisde of Samba's stretch. We sobered up immediately. This wasn't over. Suddenly, the team above the relegation zone on goal difference was back in it. In stoppage time, we held our breaths as the ball pinged about the Lens box, Danso launched his foot at the ball, clearing it before taking down a Strasbourg player, "penalty" they all screamed. Matt's smile began to waver. The ref quickly consulted VAR: no penalty. Strasbourg's Habib Diallo made his feelings know and was booked. Unfortunately for him, he didn't take the hint and a second yellow card swiftly followed and he was off. The final whistle blew soon after: was had survived and Mark could notch another win to his bedpost. Matt's smile grew so much that it interferered with orbiting satellites. 

It remained throughout the evening.

Another amazing Lens fan!

And I got to meet, but not eat, a giant fricadelle!

Our evening finished in fine style in La Loco, although, once again we were too late for chips to go with our Croc Monsieurs (although there was a pile left over that had been reserved for the first aiders from the Stade). But Matt's smile continued... we could still see the glow under his bedroom door in the middle of the night. Sadly, it interfered with my sleep patterns. All in a good cause though!

The rest of the weekend saw us 'enjoy' a couple of Belgian 0-0 draws. First there was relegation bore draw between Kortrijk and Eupen: the highlights of which involved seeing a big bunny, piling plastic cups in Kortrijk Kim's hood and visiting Hellend Vlak.

The hood was asking to be filled!

I think it's a bunny...

We've been to Hellend Vlak!

The following day was the slightly more entertaining Anderlecht v Westerlos. The away support was very vocal and it was entertaining to see the after-effects of a visit from Union Berlin (sticker-tastic). Beyond that it was a bit drab. Around the stadium, the streets were vibrant with some interesting artwork and strangely placed outdoor urinals. My choice of a red Inspiral carpets bucket hat and yellow jacket clashed somewhat with the purple clad Anderlecht fans. Hey ho!

Artwork outside a ground is largely ignored.

I don't think Red and yellow clash with anything, 

and neither does Mark. Although he's colour blind.

Stickertastic Berlin visit.

Odessa would have proud... sort of.

Piss in the open, you only piss in the open ....?

Our visit finished on the Sunday night with a visit to the site of the former Formula 1 Inn from our previous visits. It had been replaced by a big retail park... cinema, gastropubs, shops... and not a dodgy  shared shower / toilet amongst them. 

Final round of drinks, I think I won with my milkshake!