May 2018 - Auxerre (h)

Adrian was getting married so it only seemed logical to have his stag weekend on the final weekend of the ligue 2 and 1 season. So it was that the wheeler-dealer of continental travel managed to get us cheaper group bookings on the Eurostar and train from Lille to Lens. He also managed to find accomodation for 20+ Brits in both Lens and Lille: no mean feat in the former and not desirable in the latter (for Lens fans).
Arriving in Lille five hours before kick off, we boarded the train to Lens and as we set off, Adrian and I treated the rest of stunned party to Les Corons which was not appreciated by the remainder of the carriage (Philistines). The female guard was swiftly along and asked us to keep the volume down. That was the last time either of us tried entertaining the troops.
The lunchtime start to the drinking had dampened my ability to remember anything beyond the route to the ground and it took me a long while to process the fact that the person who had been chatting to Alex, Jeremie and I outside the ground was Geoffry, a Belgian Lens fan and one of the regular contributors to the RC Lens UK Division. It was at this point that I should have remembered the visit to Boulogne: barely five weeks earlier. But I didn't. A long night lay in wait.

Apologies to Geoffry...and whoever those other two are....

The team had secured their Ligue 2 safety by beating Paris FC 1-0 in the penultimate home game of the season so true to their word, the majority of the Ultras made the decision to boycott the game. The Marek was substantially emptier than usual. Only one of the supporters' groups had decided to support the team to the end and they did their best to raise the rest with limited success.
Alex and I were delighted to be in the Marek with Pascal, despite the boycott, and could make out Adrian and the rest of the crew in the Delacourt so we didn't feel as bad at being separated from the others. Adrian had tried his best to share his enthusiasm with his friends by buying a bulk-lot of Reebok-era Lens scarves for the group but while this noble effort was appreciated by most of the party, it didn't inspire the team.

The lack of atmosphere in the ground was made worse by the most appalling half of football Lens had conjured up that season...and that was saying something. Auxerre were just as bad. It was like watching two aged dinosaurs of France's golden era of club football sizing each other up but deciding not to bother doing anything more than nudge each other a bit. For some of the Brits, they had seen enough and headed for the safety of an Irish bar on the other side of town. On reaching it they were disappointed to find out that the regulars still spoke French and had never visited the Emerald Isle either. Some were drinking Guiness though. "You take the boy out of Preston but....." They simply missed home after a whole half day away and Ireland wasn't that far from Deepdale, after all.
In their absence, the game picked up. Pre-match, the sad news was that Christian Lopez was not to have his contract extended, despite his desire to sign one. He hadn't reached the heights of the previous season but none of the strikers had fared very well and the blame for that had to lie squarely on the constantly wayward crosses from the wings. In his expected final game for Lens, the Spanish matador rose high to head home fellow departee, Karim Hafez's cross in the 47th minute. The latter's season had similarly not got going after a long-term injury and would prove too expensive to sign on a permanent deal.
Walid Mesloub popped up again with another great strike a couple of minutes later. 2-0 they led but the fans in attendance hadn't the fervour that they were famous for. For many it was the least the team could do to finish on a winning note after this let-down of a season. The visiting Brits were not to experience anything more than a larger than usual Ligue 2 crowd in a half-full stadium: a sadly underwhelming experience. Auxerre pulled one back late on as Lens tried to throw the game away with traditional late nerves. At the final whistle, there was little more than polite applause and the players went through the motions of applauding the crowd and ignoring the Marek.
Groom-to-be Adrian was most upset when he run to the front and saw Christian Lopez trotting towards him. The Lens player was approaching Adrian's outstretched hand and taking off his shirt! However, the number 9 trotted straight past. There was to be no consolation game-worn shirt or even a sweaty high five for our leader! No, CL ignored Adrian and handed his shirt to the little boy standing screaming excitedly behind him on the front barrier. Lack of presence, there AJ!

The rest of the evening was much more enjoyable. We were able to say "Bonjour and Felicitations" to newly qualified headteacher Arnauld before we bid farewell to both he and Pascal. In complete contrast to the match, an entertaining evening was spent at Chez Muriel, La Reinitas and Le Pirate. There were plenty of enthusiastic fans to talk to and the chance to play 'Reversing Lorry Beep-Beep-Beep' as the staff of La Reinitas gave us extremely unsubtle hints to head home by removing all the tables around us. Yes: they reversed into the bar each time...hence the game. You had to be there to experience the true genius: honest!
Yes,] and also, I didn't head my own advice...
"Beware well-meaning, friendly Frenchmen offering you drinks."
Late drinks of particularly strong Rince Cochon and Tripel Karmeliet beers were a step too far and I was extremely glad to reach our appartment in one piece.
Hopefully twice bitten...shy for the rest of my life!

A forgettable season was at a close. The last two seasons had ended in massive disappointment: surely things can only get better!

April 2018 - Nancy (H)

JB helps look for the elusive
luck Lens needed

There has been one of my footie friends who I have wanted to bring over to join in our contininetal experience and finally we managed to get Tully to join one of our weekends away. The only one with young children in our group, he was the hardest to extract from the grip of his loved ones but it was managed, by means of a New Year's Eve coaxing. Alcohol may also have been involved.
Our journey was the tried and trusted train to Kings Cross then Eurostar to Lille. Once at Lille it was hire car to Boulogne for our first match: Boulogne v Creteil, a mid-table third-tier National clash. Everything went swimmingly, we met Jeremy, in a bar, Boulogne won the game with a couple of well-taken goals, 2-1, then we returned for an after-match drink at the same bar.

Tully not concentrating
on the game!

Our favourite spot for pre and post-match drinks.

However, after that it all got a bit messy. It was like a scene from a bar-room brawl when some opposition fans were barred from coming in. A massive rumpus ensued with flares, blood and shouting. We all sat there, acting in a typically English manner straight from a Carry On film: supping our drinks as fans ran about us pouring with blood, screaming to get outside, others, females, screaming for their testosterone-charged companions to not be allowed outside. Children ran past us screaming in fear to hide in the toilets...not advisable on hygenic grounds. All the while, we tried not to show concern or look anybody in the eye and find ourselves in the middle of anything else.
Finally matters calmed outside, we thanked the barman, who was by now brandishing a baseball bat, and headed to our next bar. Our next port of call was our favourite rock bar. Nothing had changed and I was recognised by the big beardy bloke I had talked to last time. He was impressed we had been to the game, didn't like the fact that I supported Lens but thought it was ok to declare his love for Marseille. We were joined by another Lens fan, Stevn, who lived in Swindon but was in fact from Le Portel and had walked into town. The blame was laid firmly at Stevn's feet for our delicate state the following morning: that and the green, home-made shot the barman had insisted we imbibe.
The following day, thankfully was a rest day with no football so we left the Boy Mark to sleep once we arrived at our appartment in Lille. We headed off to an all-you-can-eat Chinese Buffet and enjoyed the ice creams with unlimited chocy toppings.
The next day I was upset when still I couldn't find my top-price Lens scarf purchased in August. I hadn't been able to find it since we left the Eurostar. Unbeknown to me, that hilarious prankster, Silly Andrew had had it all the time and I discovered it once I looked to check we had closed the windows in our Lille Old Town appartment...

Thanks lads!
The following day we made the short trip to Mouscron to meet our Kortrijk friends. It was the weird and wonderful world of the Belgium Playoffs and Kortrijk were in the Europa League qualifying playoffs. The winners of each group of six teams would meet to contest for the prized spot in Europe's second competition. The game hadn't excited the locals and there were very few fans milling about before the game.

Form an unruly queue to get in......

After wandering around a number of similar streets, we finally found Kim and Fred, and we entered the away end...and another step back in time: beer on terraces.

Let's put empty cups in Silly's hood to show how sensible we are!

The game never really got going and despite Kortrijk taking the lead, Mouscron won 2-1 with a penalty in the final minute. Kim and Fred were not impressed!

Can I have a football ground at the end of my garden?
The view from the away end.

The final day of our trip was the awaited trip to Lens but all was not well. The season had rumbled on after they had lost the first seven games of the season. Casanova had lost the love of the fans, if he ever had it, and went on gardening leave. He was replaced by Captain Siko. The bearded club devotee stepped up once again to try to avoid the drop. The club had had a slap on the wrist for August's pitch invasion but all was not well with them. The Lens Ultras had agreed to support the club until their place in Ligue 2 was safe but after that they were on their own...whatever that meant!
It was the 25th birthday of the Ultras group Kop Sang et Or. We arrived late and missed the start of their parade but the lads were particularly impressed by their march to the Marek: with plenty of flares, flags and photo opportunities.

Nice opportunity to use that background blur feature on your phone Tully!

Under the Kop sang et Or banner

No sooner had the giant Kop Sang et Or anniversary tifo passed us than a loose ball on the edge of the Lens box was driven home through a crowd of players. Vachoux had had no chance. The atmosphere was almost sucked out of the stadium. January signing Mesloub carried on his recent good scoring run with a cracking strike from the edge of the area to equalise but the team looked short on confidence and luck. Sadly so did Captain Siko. There was plenty of huff and puff but they couldn't blow down that Nancy rearguard. The visitors seemed satisfied with their point in the second half to help them stave off relegation to the National league. They kept Lens at bay whilst creating the only chances of a dire second half. Siko's sustititutions were more desperate than informed and the boys had long since lost interest by the end of the game... The chance to win cash on the Quizzup app proving too much temptation for them to ignore. The home fans had begun leaving well before the final whistle so the lads were only mirroring the malaise that had descended. It was sad to think that this was the same team that had had so much fire just a year earlier. It was like watching the decline of a close relative: one that had been so full of life and joy. The team would escape relegation but this club demanded and deserved so much more. In a country that didn't count football as their top sport these fans were streets ahead of the rest: traveling in large numbers the length and breadth of this big country. Only Lille fans could claim to be further north.
To cheer us up, Pascal decided to take us to meet some of the Worldnet lads at a bar on the other side of town but after a single drink we had to leave when a minibus of Nancy fans started causing a rumpus. Leaving out of a side entrance, drinks in hand, we headed in the opposite direction to the blue flashing lights of the police. By the time we reached the town centre, everything was dead, bars closed, sot there was only one thing to do: head back to our favourite appartment. It was hard seeing the kind, and endlessly helpful, Pascal looking so dejected but just like my disappointment at a flat end to another great weekend, it would pass. Thankfully there was not long left to this forgettable season.

Only another seven hours until we reach Newcastle...