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.
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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...
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.
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. 
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.
Impressive Lens dungarees man got first go!
Pierre finds his vocation!
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.
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