17th August 2019 Le Havre (h)

The playoffs turned out to be quite a rollercoaster of emotions. The lads played out of their skins. Penalties saw them through against Paris FC, when 8,000 Lens fans stormed Paris. This was followed by the away trip to Troyes. Leading 1-0 after three minutes, Leca had been sent off for arguing, in his usual manner, with the ref. His petulance had been because Troyes had been awarded a penalty. The home team subsequently scored and against 10 men were pushing for the winner. When the game became 10-a-side thanks to another sending off, Lens hearts and hopes grew. In extra time, Simon Banza scored the winning goal that took them to the final playoff against Ligue 1 Dijon. In the two-legged encounter, the teams were locked at 2-2 with 20 minutes to go when young Orleans-bound Vachoux made a complete pair of howlers that sealed Lens' place in Ligue 2 for at least another season.

Today, for my 50th birthday weekend, where else would I want to be? So, Mrs Lensois and I headed south for the charms of Northern France.

Lens is my oyster!

The journey down proved to be one of the worst journeys south we had ever had. Setting off from Tyneside at 10am, traffic jams, tailbacks, lights, roadworks, demonic possession. All these delays congealed to make it one long journey. Instead of arriving about four o'clock, as planned, we finally arrived in the town of Hyde and a welcome couple of drinks and meal, five hours late. Luckily, Mrs Lensois and I were still on speaking terms, if unable to converse. The A1 is now on my blacklist of roads to avoid.
The next morning, after an early start, it took only ten minutes along the back roads to reach the Eurotunnel and we were able to get an earlier train under the Channel.
From then on, everything went smoothly. No delays on the Eurotunnel or on the A26 and we arrived in Lens about 11am. The town centre was beginning to fill up. I decided that my first priority would be to purchase the new shirt.
I decided that Mounir Chouiar would have the honour of decorating my back. The youngster had already turned down a move to Parma and seemed destined to stay. His first two goals of the season had also secured the first two wins. I also thought he had been different class in the playoffs so Chouiar it was. After showing the club shop's printing man the correct spelling, the visit was over. Mrs Lensois was mightily relieved I hadn't bought her the extremely tasteful Lens logo ear-rings. Nice!
From our hotel balcony, one of Lens' finest car parks welcomed us. I was later told, by Pascal, that it had been the site of the club's first pitch. Apparently, the rich young men of Lens used to play home games on the very spot on which 'my car park' stood. My imagination really wasn't feeling it.
A trip to La Loco, a welcoming Ch'ti and a Fricadelle Americain would cure that feeling of apathy. As a birthday present, Bruno had come up trumps and, although it was a lot harder to get VIP tickets, he had provided tickets in the middle level of the Delacourt: the stand my girls and I had sat in nearly ten years ago. A repeat of that 3-0 win would have been nice, I wasn't even bothered who got the hat-trick
It looked to be quite possible. In a tight first half, with few chances, a lobbed effort was clawed away by the Le Havre keeper and in the second half,  Gillet guided home a cross to give Lens the lead! This was going to be some birthday, I had decided. However Lens created, and missed, a sitter then they seemed to go to pot! The players were completely unable to pass to each other and Le Havre suddenly woke up to the fact they were on the same pitch.
Soon the vistors were on top and after some comedic defending, they were level then ahead. They had not read the script! This was my 50th! Chouiar came on. Surely, he would work his magic! No, he was as useless as the rest of them and the exodus started early for many.

A sad-to-see exodus before the final whistle.

Nothing Mrs Lensois likes
better than shopping at an
Adequate shop!

Another goal late on, sealed the defeat. Once again, Mrs Lensois had failed to see Lens win live. Just once, they could have obliged, but no! The run of draws and defeats would continue.

Lonely steps!
The ground
emptied quickly.

Lens had missed the chance to go second and although the town was busy, there was no jubilation to be had. Was it too much for Mrs Lensois to enjoy the sound of celebratory horns being honked and excited fans shouting as they drove past Chez Muriel? Obviously.
There is nothing better than a good old chat with Pascal and the lads. However, with a small, hungry French child in tow, intent on mischief, the drinking and chats were shortened and Mrs L and I were soon heading off to find somewhere to eat.
Being Northern France in the middle of August, everywhere we tried was closed. Bruno was hosting a wedding reception so Le Jardin was closed to the public. Finally, we struck lucky, or so we thought, with an Indian next to La Loco.
It all looked nice and we had had some brilliant curries in France before. Unfortunately, this was not one of them! Later described as the worst meal Mrs Lensois had ever had, it really summed up our luck on this trip.
At least our room was pleasant, despite the lack of a view: regardless of its history. Sadly, to go with our worst meal, we had the worst sleep.

That toilet looks a little too close to our bed?

Unable to stay at our favourite appartments on Rue Gambetta, I had settled upon, what looked, and was, a smashing room. Spacious, balcony, central location... it had it all. Perfect spot for my 50th birthday celebrations?
However it also had a toilet that was not far from the bed (handy if you were feeling worse for wear, I suppose). On top of this, its cistern decided that it needed to fill up every half hour. When it wasn't filling, there was a steady dripping from inside the pipes: the hotel's version of water torture? If I was being picky, the plastic blind-door millimetres from the toilet was also not ideally placed.
Come Sunday, we were only too ready to escape and head to see Bruno and thank him for the tickets. He had hosted a great wedding, that had gone on until 5am but was still the ideal host, charming and a credit to the city. He also seemed delighted with my gift of my home town Whitley Bay FC's shirt and a signed copy of my Newcastle United book (The 89th Minute: available at bit.ly/89thminute : just in case you didn't know!)
After that, it was off to enemy territory (the outskirts of Lille) to spend a memorable day with Mr Lens himself, Pascal and his family. These two encounters with Lens' finest made the trip. The trip down had been long and tiring, The match, hotel and evening meal had bordered on disastrous but every visit is worth it, when you get time with these warm, caring and down-to-earth people. The whole region is filled with them and they are the reason I keep coming back.
Our spot for Sunday night, was in Lille's city centre, From outside, it looked to be just what the doctor ordered: spacious, balcony, central location. Perfect spot for 50th birthday celebrations?

However, getting in was another thing as the door jammed. After half an hour, and a phone conversation with an elderly landlady who only spoke fast and furiously fluent Ch'ti, her son finally arrived and dismantled the door so we could get in.
Our final night of the weekend was to be spent in Lille's Rue Solferino. There were few bars and no restaurants open for us to celebrate, so it was left to a street take-away to provide our feast. Okay, so they were from Lille but they were still Ch'ti and warm-hearted.

The food of kings!

Party venue!

On the way back, we missed the turning to visit the massive shopping and the chance to stock up on Ch'ti. The final blow was Chouiar leaving Lens to join Dijon at the end of August.
C'est la vie!

17th May 2019 - Orleans (h)

This was the third time I had witnessed the final game of the season. The previous two had been victories that had proved meaningless in terms of promotion. I hadn't expected there to be anything for the team to fight for. April defeats to L'Orient and Brest had seemingly sealed Lens' Ligue 2 destiny. Out of the playoff positions with Paris FC and Troyes sweeping all before them, the writing was firmly on the wall. The following week, Lens were struggling to break down a determined Clermont resistance when, ten minutes from time, youngster Simon Banza's diving header had given Lens a tiny glimpse of a ray of light. This was followed up by victory and an assured performance at Ajaccio (2-0). Suddenly it was all to play for against Orleans.
Superstitious fears consumed me: third time unlucky? Surely they couldn't win again on the last day? What shirt should I wear? Why not hedge my bets and wear two! Which scarf should I wear? 21st century problems only sports fans get consumed by. It was a welcome distraction from worrying about how to keep control of year six children driven mad by crazy SATs!
My train arrived at Newcastle and the first good omen was the train colour!
The journey passed without incident. All my fears over massive queues at customs caused by Brexit came to nothing. Straight through no problems. Brexit chaos had been temporarily shelved, thank goodness!

There had even been time to visit John Betjeman for the traditional photo!

An overcast but warm afternoon greeted me on arrival in Lens. Fans were already gathering in La Loco. There seemed to be a different air in the town since my last visit when victory against Auxerre (2-1) had been meaningless after finishing 25 points off the playoff spot.
Pascal arrived and I was already tucking into Fridadelle Americain - that classic sausage - baguette - chips combo!

Never tire of seeing this!

Even found some visiting Orleans supporters!

Unlike two years ago, Lens' fate was in their own hands: win and there was nothing L'Orient could do to snatch that final playoff spot (except win at Le Havre by nine more goals than we did).

It was great to finally meet one of my long-time social media friends, Remi, who spotted me on the Marek.

I was just arguing with Pascal how top Lens, and ex-Orleans, striker Yannick Gomis had gone off the boil,when he scored. I said if he hadn't scored so many penalties, his record would have looked very meagre indeed.

 A corner was headed by Gillet towards the ex-Orleans striker. His chest control was sublime. When it landed at his feet, he managed to roll the ball home, in unspectacular fashion, before a defender dived in. Expecting it to be ruled out for some unwritten law, I was static, then the ground exploded. We were ahead. We temporarily leapt up to fourth spot and a possible home playoff placing. This didn't last long as we dropped down to fifth again when both Paris (at home to GFC Ajaccio) and L'Orient scored in their games. However, fifth was still the target. 

Gomis ran through on the far wing and a neat pass to Captain Walid Mesloub set up youngster Jean-Ricner Bellegarde perfectly to side-foot home. Even the Delacourt joined in and, in parts, out-performed the Marek on the singing front! It was that kind of evening!

Orleans spoiled matters when they pulled one back with a headed effort as half time approached. But there was to be a surprise ending to the half when Gomis was sent flying and the referee pointed for a penalty. Everyone was still in shock that we were actually having a stroke of good fortune when Mr Penalty tucked it home. 3-1 in injury time and life was unfamiliarly sweet. 

Into the second half and there was a carnival atmosphere around the ground. Crowd surfers of all sexes drifted up and down the Marek, there were Mexican waves, songs waving scarves, two more goals, another from Bellegarde, and Gomis completed his hat-trick. Bonheur had returned to the Stade! Even Orleans scoring a late consolation couldn't dampen the mood. My biggest win watching Lens and my most important. We had reached the playoffs. Three wins at the end of the campaign had turned things around when another season of failure had loomed. 

The whole team came across to the Marek at the end and they were joined by President Joseph Oughourlian.The Marek called out to honour him: a sure sign he was doing something right. 

There was a regal majesty about the ground shining in the night sky. The words ambition and respect beamed out from the Xerxes behind us as we descended. The fans had fallen back in love with a team that worked hard and never gave up, a feeling reciprocated by the team. It was a feeling that hadn't been present since the Promotion in 2014. Then, Mammadov had been on the crest of a wave that would crash down with his domestic fall from grace. Antoine Kambouare had held the reins and was respected by all. Could Montanier repeat the trick? He had been the fans' choice too, something Alain Casanova could never claim to have been. 

In contrast to the previous two seasons, the bars were packed, in all likelihood, this could be the last home game of the season. Away games at Paris and Troyes would have to be won in order to qualify for the playoff against a ligue 1 side so there was a long way to go.

Chez Muriel never tasted so sweet!

There was time for a trip to Chez Muriel with Pascal before meeting Jeremie, who had kindly offered me a place to stay for the night. 

Good bye to my host Jeremie.
Destination: Paris!

The following day, I was off to Paris to discover one of the places they filmed one of my favourite films, The Hunger Games before seeing two of my favourite bands play: The Ninth Wave and Yonaka. As the advert said: "If Carlsberg made weekends then this would be the perfect one!" Success in the Football followed by a musical road trip. Sunday, I returned back to Newcastle after an exhilarating weekend. The first playoff match in Paris was two days away: time enough to dream!

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...