dimanche 28 avril 2013

Being a Munsterman

I am Irish. Born in Limerick, but living in Paris. Work for a bank from Monday to Friday. But when saturday comes... I'm a Munsterman. A Proud Member of the Red Army. The Justified and Ancient, Unbeatable Red Army. So thought I...
A few weeks ago, I decided to come down on my own to Montpellier to see my favourite playing against that famous French team which is said to be able to beat Les Bleus... The harder they come... I struggled to get some tickets for the game, but finally found one : right in the middle of the Yellow Army fans stand. Surrounded but not sunk, I was meant to be a red partisan in a yellow but not mellow ocean...
Drove down to Montpellier, rather than going by TGV. Don't know why. Maybe I wanted to meet L'Auvergne before the match, see where those fantastic fans were living and check if the volcanoes were really asleep... I was not disappointed : I will always remember my journey through the Col de la Fageole. I could not imagine it could be so snowy in the so-called "French enchanted April"... I eventually found my way through the blizzard... But most striking was that long and unfinished blue and yellow motor snake which winded from Clermont until Montpellier. For sure, I was on the track. For sure, the afternoon would not be a picnic on the pitch for Paul and his team mates...
Registered in the hotel, then headed to the stadium. Proudly wearing my red jersey, I must admit I was not so confident, alone in the yellow tide... But I felt reassured when some happy, friendly and joking French faces came to me to offer me a beer - French I was afraid, but always good to have... We began to talk : the few French I took vis à vis the worst English I ever heard in the world...
"Munster ! Good ! Good ! Red Army ! Good game ! Good !" they kept on saying, with the smiling face of the too-early-in-the-afternoon drunkeness... I did my best to reply "Merci beaucoup ! Santé !" but I was quickly separated from my new friends, in the search of my seat in the Canigou stand.
Once again, I was not disappointed : if you saw a little red spot in the middle of a yellow field, that was probably me... What an atmosphere ! I could not hear myself shouting during the game ! I was deaf after the end of it !
Indeed that was a huge game. It was a test match intensity down on the pitch, no wonder ! First half scared me : we were promised hell, and that was it... No ball, no scrum, no line out... A machine was walking on our side and no one could stop it... I was even happy to be only ten points below at half-time. Could have been worse...
Anyway, I felt more and more comfortable : the stadium was smelling beer. I took advantage of the break to look for a buvette. There, I found a lot of Yellow Army Fans in lively discussions about the game. I fraternized with some decent chaps speaking a better English. We spoke about that incredible blind-side flanker, jumping on every ruck, named Bardy. A Portuguese guy, they told me. I thought they were making fun of me, but, indeed, he was Portuguese... What a warrior, I said... We drank and spoke for a while. From that moment on, my memory is not so sharp it should have been...
I only remember that when I was back in the stand, the second half had begun a few minutes ago... The Reds were attacking in the Clermont side and suddenly, the thunder stroke from ROG. Yeeeaaaaahhhhh ! And the conversion ! Six below and twenty minutes to go ! Come on Munster ! That was a game changer and everything was set up for a nail-biting climax... I thought it was done when Nalaga got muddled up on his line. But then again, no... I was furious against Nigel Owens when he whistled that forward pass in the last minute. And then it was over... Incredible atmosphere : those guys were shouting, jumping, singing La Marseillaise, dancing, even crying, everywhere... For sure, they deserved their win and their joy. I was absolutely gutted, but forced to admit our defeat. And very proud of my team : they struggled until the end and never surrendered... I congratulated my French neighbours who told me several times "Sorry good game". I don't know why they all keep on telling the same line...
I staid a little while in the stand, waiting for the team to salute the fabulous Red Army, which had merrily come along from this marvellous Erin Shore I miss sometimes in the French capital... All these fighters, Paul, Keith, James, Casey, Conor, Ronan... Well done, boys, see you next year for the strike back of the Red Empire... I almost cried when I saw ROG saying good byes with his son in his arms... I don't know why, but when I saw him, I had in mind that silly Top Gun song from the Righteous Brothers You've lost that loving feeling...
Fuck ! I love you Ronan ! I love that team ! I love that game ! I even love you, you French Bastards, with your fucking great team and fucking great supporters !
Merci pour tout, les Auvergnats. Les Munstermen vous saluent, vous souhaitent bonne chance et vous disent à l'année prochaine pour la revanche !

3 commentaires:

  1. C'est parce qu'on sait pas repondre en anglais qu'on aime pas, hein !
    superbe... Etincellant aurait dit un certain ministre

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  2. Merci de partager sur le forum de Munster. J'ai bien aimé votre blog. Excuses mais mon blog est uniquement disponible en anglais. J'espère que Bing translator a fait un bon travail de ce commentaire !

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  3. thank you from a munster fan enjoyed it

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