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