AT A FOOTBALL MATCH IN PARIS

Evening Star, Issue 20024, 15 November 1928, Page 16

AT A FOOTBALL MATCH IN PARIS

AN IMPRESSION For one accustomed to the dignity and grandeu. of Twickenham on a Rugby international day, the spectacle of 6,000 Frenchmen assembling at the Stado de Colombes on a recent holiday to see their beloved countrymen matched against the Pays de Gallos ' (which being interpreted is Wales) was a unique experience. Was it possible to expect a French victory? For twenty years Franco had been trying for one without success. A lending article in tho newspaper ‘ Auto' on tho morning in question entitled * Pcut-etre ? ’ (‘Perhaps?’) gave a brief summary of all these matches, which were played cither in Franco or Wales over that period; and what a series of defeats! From the very first occasion in 1908 tho account seemed full of disappointments and disillusionments, which must havo caused many a heart to heat sadly among those who had the interests of French Rugby football at heart. But to-day, with the sun shining brightly overhead, warm enough to bring out tho cheerful crowds, but not so strong as to dazzle tho players, there was something in the atmosphere which seemed to betoken that, if ever a run of defeats might bo broken, it would bo in the coming game. A char-a-banc from the Madelaino rattled through the Parisian suburbs to tho Stado de Colombes where, for tho sura of fivo francs, wo received, through a small pigeon-hole in tho wall, tickets of admission. Wo arrived on the ground about 1.30 and took up a position on tho roar flank of tho goal posts. The first impression of Stado de Colombes is very good indeed. There are plent yof covered seats and largo slopes at each end, obviously designed to give 'one a good view. And the crowd—well, could anyone get any idea of a French hank holiday crowd except by being present on a similar occasion? Tho noise, +),e laughter, the chocolate sellers throwing their goods over people’s heads and catching the money, the cheerfulness, all simply beat description. “Mademoiselle” was naturally well represented. Perhaps she had not. come further than from the Boulevard Poissouniere or Rue des Petits Ecuries, but what did that mattr? Some wag throws a screwed-up newspaper at an acquaintance in the neighbourhood, and that is sufficient to set the crowd going. A band strikes up amid general dicers, and the friendliness of tho crowd lakes a further leap forward. “ Monsieur,” one asks the gentleman on one’s right, “ esl-il possible that le President do France arrives pour voir the game, peut-etre he will shake hands avee les joaeurs, n’est-co pas? Peutetre General Joffre? Le Roi George V. does this beaucoup a Lonclres.” The reply to this seems to bo in the negative, but at any rate the ice has been broken, and an enjoyable conversation follows in pidgin French and English on the respective merits of the players and other points of mutual interest. Three o’clock. The tea pis ■ omo out of what seems'to ho a largo hole in tho ground, amid frantic handle turning by an army corps of cinsma men and deafening huzzas from the crowd. The band strikes up ‘ God Save tho King’ (the crowd standing to sttention), and eventually struggles through it, though with difficulty, followed by the ‘Marseillaise,’ with which it is completely at home. Tho game commences and the crowd proceeds to work itself up to a frantic puck of excrement. One thing is perfectly cl. ar afte» a short period of the gar’m—and that is that every spojtator looks upon each member of the team as brother and will see only the good in him, whatever mistakes he may bj making. Ah! Polissier! Lo brave ' full-back! Prenez gardo, Monsieur! Ah-h! La! la! la! Hurrah! Amid daefening cheers the full-back clears the hall into touch by fhe halfway line, and Franco is saved again. Et les freres Andre and Henri Beholet'uv! The ball conies out to them. Aji-li-h! Vito! Allez! Allez! Allez! Allez'! (rising to crescendo accelerando from 5,000 throats). Ach! tho fullback of the Gallos—Monsieur Male—sends Andre Behoteguy > nearly into the spectators with a magnificent tackle. But the favourite of the crowd, who else could it be than Dupont, the scrum half—ah le petit Dupont! Ah mon ami! look! look! A la! la! la! la! la! Just like nn eel he wriggles Ins way through only to finish up with three of the biggest Welsh forwards sitting on top of him. Back, forward flies the gaine. Twice tho French are over tho line, but are called back for a scrum. Half-time is within n few minutes, and no score on either side, when—oh! la! la! Towel! intercepts a pass aud dashes over tho line to give Wales the lead for the second half. Ah! mon ami! How shall we do? Vic are now only fourteen players, lo brave Camel having had to retire early in the game. But, oh, what a change within a short period of recommencing! Un effort tres maguifique—in which all the French back division have a share —sends Houdet iu lor an Uticonvorkd try, after a 40yds run for the line. Then both sides wake up—also the spectators! Oh I La! la,! Allez! Allez! Allez. A droite! a gauche! Tho Welsh forwards are , sweeping down the field, the ball at their feet. La! la! Alas! who can stop them? Ah, but the brave Dupont, with a magnificent fall-on-the-ball, stays the rush, and the huzzas of tho crowd rise higher than the Eiffel Tower. Whisk! A la 1 dal la! The Bchotcguys have it, voilal Mon ami! Allez! Allez! Allez! Vito'! Vito! Allez! Allez! Allez! A la! la! la! Passez maintenantl A' la! ; da I Encore passez Ah-h-h-h! Hourah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h! Houdet scores entre les postes and Henri Bchoteguy adds the two points. Now can wo hold them? Me must! Wo shall! The cry of Verdun ten years ago is heard—lls no passeront pas! but oh! they very nearly do. A Welshman is actually over the line, when somehow the ball falls out of lus Three minutes more of almost, indescribable scrimmage, and then the whistle blows. „ Can anything restrain tho crowd? dlie captain is carried off lire field shoulder high by the team, amid louder cheers than Caesar ever hoped for. In such manner is history made, and nobody can say that the fight was not glorious and ‘tho-victory dn the balance until tho last -moment. All that remains to be done now is to wot away from the ground as quickly as possible, and in this respect the Stado do Colombes becomes the exact reproduction of Twickenham, in that there is a charming slow march from "round to station, with 10,000 people Irving to catch the same train. ’Nevertheless we eventually reach the Gare St. Lazaire, and sink into a comfortable seat in the Cafe d’Ecosse. Bon. soir, Monsieur!! Bon soir, mon ami Take care of yourself!