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!

February 2023 My first Derby du Nord

 Feb 2023 Lens v Lille 

Newcastle v Sunderland, Newcastle V Middlesbrough, Portsmouth v Southampton, Whitley Bay v North Shields or West Allotment Celtic or Newcatle Benfield... I'd been to all the big derbies but had never had the chance to go to this one! 

Games between the two big teams from the northwest tip of France were just as ferocious as the above great encounters with a similar amount of needle so I was looking forward to a tasty spectacle. 

The two towns were barely 25 miles apart but their histories varied greatly. Lille, historically, was the home of the middle classes and a thriving textile industry while Lens was the working class, poorer relation filled with mines and their accompanying slag heaps; known as Terrills. therefore the rivalry wasn't that of two neighbouring towns but of different classes. When both industries faded then died, it was Lille who managed to recover quicker, turning themselves into a tourist destination and welcoming the service industry in the 1990s. Lens continued to struggle and it has only been since the Louvre Lens opened in 2012 that the town has finally been put on the map. 

After 26 years teaching in North Shields, I had decided to leave to set up my own gardening business. As a leaving gift, the staff raised £100 in Eurostar vouchers: presumably to get rid of me. Little did they realise they had given me enough to come back again!

There was only one match I wanted to spend my voucher on: Le Derby du Nord. An end to school commitments meant I was free to organise work around a mid-term trip. A bit like going out on a school night!

Super Pierre came up trumps and so my accomodation was sorted, I was to stay with him. The usual routine was followed... photo with Johnnie B...

... then it was off to the Eurostar. The lack of Eurostar availability on the Friday meant I was actually getting a cheeky extra night in France as I arrived on the Thursday night. Even though it was a school night, Pierre took me to a new eaterie and bar in the centre of Lens. Bearing in mind, the lack of options available for my vegetarian wife, Odessa to find food on our previous visits, this new bar could be a clincher in enticing her over!

The opening of L'Imbeertinence was another sign that Lens was on the up: a gastro-pub with big garden, own micro-brewery and great food. This was all I could want to entice the traumatised Odessa back to Lens after subjecting her to an unbearable MacDonalds Fillet-o'Fish, indescribable indian cuisine and a hotel that served as a homeless hostel. There had been successes - Le Jardin D'Arcadie and a very nice italian but the culinary successes had been limited. 

Another nice touch in L'Imbeertinence was the music wall... A tribute to the great and the good of modern rock music... it was crammed full of so many classic album covers: from blur to Nirvana to The Cure and on top of that, the music being piped out of the speakers reflected all the greats on display. It reminded me how similar the musical tastes could be in both Britain and France. It always amazed me how much respect there was here for British bands: yes there were really great French bands (dare I say Indochine?) but they could also enjoy music from outside of their borders.

Feeling refreshed, fed and watered we made our way back up the hill and the time to unveil Pierre's present: a thank you for his hospitality. A disciple of the classic football shirt, he was delighted with his 1997-8, Newcastle United shirt: a classic Adidas shirt worn in the 1998 FA Cup final. He was well chuffed, now all I had to do was manage to get him into St James' Park for a match. A feat just as difficult as getting into Stade Bollaert.

We are just two old men who love pouring over football shirts. There are those people who think footie shirts are just for children but to the connoisseurs there is a real majesty to some of the shirts produced in the 80s, 90s and beyond. Although in the push for even cheaper production costs, a lot of the modern day shirts look just that: cheap. Transfers used instead of embroidered team badges, printed sponsors logos instead of the classic 'fuzzy felt' ones of the past... footie shirts have become another example of a throw away fashion market that values nothing. Yes, we used to have clicks on our shirts after a while and at £20, the shirts were expensive in the 1980s but you had a shirt that you could take pride in. Maybe it was a false pride but it was our false pride! 

The Newcastle shirt I gave to Pierre had the classically sewn Adidas piping on the sleeves, embroidered Adidas logo and Newcastle club badge. this was finished beautifully by the 3d Newcastle Brown Ale badge: a disgusting drink in my opinion but still a symbol of a proud city. The fact that the company moved production to Gateshead then Cheshire disgusted the region but just showed the power of money and how greed had no interest in respecting tradition. Thankfully, for the time being, the Lens board of directors seem to be respecting the club's traditions.

The following day, I took the opportunity for a wander around the town and past the new addition to the Boulevard Basly: Grizzly Waffles. A Waffly Belgian experience that had sprung up since my last visit. It was great to see all these new ventures opening in the town as, just like my own town, Whitley Bay, the residents could definitely say they had been through some extremely tough times. 

Lens under construction...

The new swimming pool opposite Emotion Foot

There was the traditional climb up up Fosse 11-19, that looked down upon Loos-en-Gohelle, selfie at the top, with Stade in the background, and an attempt to take more 'arty' photos of the slagheaps than the previous few visits.

My first ever Derby du Nord started in a low key manner. It was an overcast, innocuous Spring morning and we were off for a drive into Loos-en-Gohelle. Although it was only 11 in the morning, I was a bit worried that we were heading away from the stadium. The sleepy village on the edge of Lens didn't seem to be the appropriate starting point for the most anticipated fixture in the region. But maybe that was the point... the calm before the storm?

The bar was filled with footie memorabilia, including a metal street sign for St James Park along with one for Highbury and a myriad of scarves and shirts. This was a football bar... just one that was preparing itself to decamp to Lens. 

The lads needed the time to catch up on the derby-day latest in Le Voix du Nord and then, probably more importantly, place the group bet, which proved to be easier said than done. The form itself had everyone bamboozled and both Yannick and Richard (new Lensfriend) had to ring up their 14 and 21 year-old sons to tell them how to fill it in.

Bet completed, Lens win predicted obviously, beer drunk, we headed back to Pierre's and then Lens centre. There was still not the expected fervour I had anticipated and it was another chilled walk down with quiet chatter, that I was mostly lost with. It is one of the hardest things I've known to follow a conversation in Ch'ti. Not only am I trying to understand the French, but also the regional dialect that sets these Northerners from the rest of their country. I would love to see the day when they had to reciprocate with a bunch of full-on Geordies.

Chez Muriel is always the first port of call and there was the added excitement of trying out one of the lads' enormous flags. 

Impressive Lens dungarees man got first go!

Pierre finds his vocation!

What better way could you prepare for a derby match than standing in the middle of the street waving a massive flag? Yet still, despite the presence of the massive erected flag, the atmosphere was subdued. Pascal arrived, I picked up my ticket for the game... everyone was the same. 

There was an absence of away fans since the Lille fans' progress had been greatly controlled to prevent them entering the town centre unsupervised. This contributed to the mood but it was only until I entered the turnstile that the penny dropped. It was tension. Pascal's hands were gripped tightly in two nervous fists and the fear of a negative outcome was everywhere. The break for the World Cup had affected Lens' form, winning only three out of ten games, compared to the winning streak of 5 consecutive victories beforehand. Added to that, Lens' only defeat of the season had come in the return fixture 0-1 (a missed Lens penalty in the first half combined with a successfully converted one at the other end). There was reason to be nervous. the local rivals had been a veritable bogey side before the delights of the previous season (three wins for Lens out of three). Nerves were everywhere. No wonder they had had to have the calming bar visit beforehand!

Pascal manages to put on a smile.

Once the teams emerged, the mood changed. Yellow and red flags combined around the Stade to make Sang et Or stripes and an enormous tifo dropped down from the Xerxes onto the Marek of a Lens gladiator beating a Lille Lion. The first half was a whirlwind as Lens stormed forward. Openda slammed his shot into the side netting before a freekick from local lad Fulgini was flicked over his keeper's head by Fonté. The ground went wild. The crowdsurfers flew up and down the terrace as the fans roared their delight. 

Openda's shot hit the side netting again in the second half and Fofana blazed one high and wide.

However, try as they might, Lens were finding it harder to keep their forward momentum going. Then, it happened. Brice Samba worked miracles to keep out two successive efforts before the ball dropped at his left hand post and sadly Lille's Jonathan David was there to slide home. 

With the scores level, Pascal's only recently unfurled fists were tightly clenched again and the ground's wave of optimism was swept away. Twice Samba was called to pull out top draw saves as the Capos in the various Kops urged the fans to rise to the challenge; with mixed success. Finally, the referee blew the final whistle and a collective sigh of relief was blown. The only consolation was that the band of Lille fans would be disappointed they hadn't won. 

Around Stade Bollaert the signs of enormous investment in the town are everywhere... the skatepark  the first completed, then it was the swimming pool and now a cinema and who knows what other outlets are on the way. Each new building site is hidden away by the metal walls bordering our path as we headed back to Chez Muriel. The town had changed but the people hadn't. Relief was everywhere... you could taste it. Pascal had managed to relax now; the ordeal was over. The Derby du Nord hadn't quite been what I had expected but I felt so glad I had had a chance to be a part of it. Maybe I had been hoping for a party that never materialised.

The next morning, I stood on a chilly Loos en Gohelle platform, waiting for the train to take me to Lens then to Lille and the Eurostar. The cold March wind whipped across the pre-dawn platform. A lone commuter wandered onto the platform, ignoring my selfie-attempts. Had he been at the match? As always the people had been amazing, Pierre, Yannick, Pascal, Richard... friends who had shared my first Derby du Nord with me. We had come through it intact but without Brice's saves, things could have been a lot worse.