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.
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.
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...
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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!
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.
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