My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 4

Day 4: Going back to your first love

I knew I would love everything about the Olympics, I have always been following them very closely. The furthest I can remember goes back to 1992 with Albertville hosting the winter Games a few months before the Olympic torch settled in Barcelona.

Every time, during two weeks, I could show what some consider as fanaticism others as madness, swallowing hundreds of hours of sports on television. Even the most surprising ones (yes I have a deep interest in curling and weightlifting every four years).

Despite this long lived love affair, one thing (wife and kid apart) easily makes my heart beat faster and has been doing it ever since I started to store childhood memories into my head : football.

The Olympic Games area huge event but overall football is bigger. And everybody has to agree on this. A football World Cup draws way much more passion (and money) than the Games can do.

What always got me sad is the fact that these two could not get along at all. The world football governing body, scared of losing some sponsorship deals to a top level Olympic football tournament, always did everything it could to make sure the football event of the summer Olympics remained quite uninteresting. Their main leverage to this extend is to forbid players over 23 years old to take part in the tournament. This way, they are making sure most of the best players in the world usually attracting crowds to the stadium are missing out on these tournaments.

Despite all this, I could not help but staying in love with football, even during the Games. This is why my combined passion for stadiums and the people's game led me to Wembley on this evening.

Following some shopping, a traditional east end curry lunch and a goodbye waving to Andrew's godfather, I was turning myself towards the biggest stadium of the island. Tonight, a women's semi final game was happening there with France facing Japan. As Alexia does not love football enough (yet) to join me when she does not have to and as the Wembley stadium policy about babies was a bit unclear, I would go there with Matteo, an Italian friend of us leaving in the Olympic city.

I already came once to the UK largest football venue but I was only here to start a ten kilometres race from the pitch. This time, I would discover it in my favourite configuration.

When the game was kicked off, I was very surprised to notice that large parts of the stands were completely empty. Later on the official count would prove me right with only the two third of the ninety thousand seats having people officially seating on. I knew that football tickets were not all sold for this tournament but believed apparently naïvely that a semi-final encounter would be sold out,

The women's display was interesting, full of will and energy. But even if their abilities improved considerably in the past 15 years or so, you cannot feel sad for the numerous technical and tactical mistakes still happening during the course of a top level game. Nonetheless, the pace of it added to the importance of such an encounter, made it very enjoyable to watch.

The scenario did help the crowd getting emotional though. At half time, the world champions were leading France by a single goal, thanks to a deadly mishandled ball by the French keeper.

A few beer and sandwich minutes later my friend and I came back to our seats just in time to witness the second goal scored by the Japanese. It was 2-0 even if both teams seemed to play on even terms so far.

The remaining 40 minutes would see the France team outrageously dominate its opponent, Japanese players never looked so tired and so small on the pitch. France was creating great chances every minute or so, the atmosphere was rising, even more following the French first goal with 15 minutes to go. Then I could tell for sure that there were more French fans in the stadium than Japanese or British or Swedish (Sweden was eliminated by France in the previous round), Despite some crazy chances to score an equaliser in the dying minutes, the score did not evolve. Japan secured a medal while France will have to play one more game for a potential bronze.

On our way back home I had to face my first and only transport dysfunction of the week. The tube was jammed and we had to wait for almost an hour standing in the Olympic way linking the stadium and the station. The colourful and joyful atmosphere helped the time go by. Mexican waves even took form, until the horse mounted police asked us politely to stop in order to keep the animals calm.

A few trains later I was home and asleep, recharging batteries before the following day.

My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 3

Day 3: Walking around in sunny London and discovering the BBC coverage

The third day begins with a brunch in the city, at the “Giraffe” restaurant selected by Jean-François. On this Sunday I had tickets to see the evening fencing finals in the men's team foil event. But this time, my wife would enjoy it with our fencing friend and I will take care of our baby. Before hand, we had some sightseeing to do.

The weather was exceptionally kind when we left our empty plates behind us, permitting an enjoyable digestive walk through empty streets. The scariest of all the city veins were the ones used earlier in the morning by the ladies running the marathon. Still closed for traffic at the time we walked by, they really made the place look like a post apocalyptic ghost town.

I took advantage of my location to cast an eye on the site I have been working on for my 18 last months in London. The Heron Tower was now fully completed, including an enormous fish tank in the reception lobby and a sushi bar at one of the top levels.

We continued our route and realised quite suddenly that we were just next to the "Club France", the temporary bar opened by the French Olympic committee on the Thames north bank. We walked once past it without noticing any entrance. When we found it in a backstreet, we got disenchanted. There were a hundred metre long queue ahead of closed doors to cope with if you wanted to cheer on Olympians in French atmosphere. We turned our heels on it, being not enough interested to bear the wait.

What we did instead was going to Switzerland. Figuratively. Right across London bridge was located the Swiss House, the red and white nemesis of the Club France. We felt much more welcome here, with an open air bar, a giant screen showing the sporting action, free chocolate tasting and even a climbing wall...

The fact that the biggest star in Swiss sports, Roger Federer, was currently being trashed by Andy Murray in the men's tennis final, did not alter much the atmosphere. After all it was a silver medal he did not have yet in his trophy cabinet.

Later in the afternoon, when the time came to get closer to the Excel arena, we moved away and decided to try a scenic way, using the brand new cable car line linking the docklands and North Greenwich over the Thames. We surely enjoyed the view (for those daring to look through the window) and did not waste any of the few seconds it lasted.

Next, it was time for the men in this family to go back home and leave wife and friend who were getting into the fencing hall.

Once there, I had the chance to discover what the BBC meant by a full digital coverage of the Games. When I arrived home, I noticed that my Italian friend providing me shelter for the week was watching the athletics on the television screen. During the few minutes I needed to take care of my baby boy, I had a few glances at what happened in the living room. And I successively caught sight of a water polo game, some fencing, some volley ball and much more. When I finally settled down, I understood that there were actually 24 BBC sports channels dedicated to the Olympics. Basically, every event was broadcasted live, you just had to choose the one you preferred. You could (and we did) watch the 100m semi-finals and check the evolution of the scores in a few other sports between races, then change to the channel dedicated to the triple jump event and then get back to the fencing...

What a revolution it was for the French TV viewer I was, forced to watch what the programmer decided to put forward (meaning either a French medallist or Usain Bolt) on the single French channel showing the Olympics back home...

The night went like this all the way, moving virtually from an Olympic venue to another as we fancied, until a Jamaican superman decided to bring the whole media attention to him.

Alexia came back home and we quickly went to bed, once again exhausted.

My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 2

Day 2: The sun rises in the east

Today’s event was leading me back to the Excel centre in order to witness the first rounds of the men’s team epee event in fencing. Wife and kid were resting at home while I woke up early to meet my friend, godfather of my son and keen fencer, before the morning session starts.

On my way out towards the east of the city, trying to get after the sun setting ion the horizon, I realized that London was strangely very quiet. My district line travel from Putney to the east end would not have scared an agoraphobic. I did not meet more than a dozen living souls before stepping in the DLR train. It was around 8 in the morning nonetheless my former London life never got me used to this public transportation emptiness at any time of the day. Apparently the Mayor Johnson scared the Londoners off efficiently.

My fencing expert was awaiting for me on the arrival platform, we then eased past the security checks and made it to our arena an hour before the show was due to start. A few video clips, an orchestra playing movie themes and a guess-whose-flag-is-it game (which one goes between Taipei and Thailand by the way?) kept us busy until the first contestants walked in.

Bizarrely enough, the event started with the quarter final encounters, having only 8 nations registered for it. Not really the idea I had about universality of the sports held during the Games… The room was only partially filled in at the beginning but we already noticed some very interesting neighbours: a nervous epeeist from New Jersey and her very proud American boyfriend, a couple of very shy Russian fans cheering discreetly on their team but also a half dozen of South Korean fans equipped with their mandatory tiny flags and their singing leader. This was already a lot more multicultural than the day before.

The encounters went on under the accurate explanations from my personal expert every time I had a technical question. The break between the quarter final and the semis allowed us to (have a beer and) begin a geopolitical talk of some sort.

In my memory, fencing was almost exclusively a European sport. But today the last four teams fighting for medals were China, South Korea, Russia and the USA. Basically ten years ago these countries (exception made of Russia) did not have enough people practicing fencing at a serious level to register a team for the Olympics. Since the 2008 Games were awarded to Beijing, Chinese institutions set up a scheme to be represented and competitive in every single Olympic event. South Korea and the USA followed their lead and were already rewarded. Countries fencing for over a century had been wiped off the charts by others learning it in less than a tenth of this time.

The outcome of the semi finals would reinforce our thesis as the gold medal would finally be decided between the two Asian countries.

My daily Olympic event was now over, it was mid afternoon, and we decided to try our luck at the Olympic Park and have a taste of the real deal. Arrived in Stratford, we followed the mass of people being lead like cattle towards the entrance. Then we realised that there was no possible entry to the park without a ticket for an event happening on the same day within the park. Too bad for my mate who won't have another chance (I will...).

In despair, we walked away, across Victoria park (met along the way Fabrice Boraschi, the most famous Frenchman in London with his family), picked up my wife and son to finally reach Broadway market where friends joined us for a traditional Belgian beers stop followed by the most amazing Argentinean steakhouse in town. And then the curtain was down on my second Olympic day.

My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 1

Day 1: British organization, British cluelessness and French madness

We landed, we collected our luggage, we commuted to our West London house for the week, we dropped our bags, we travelled to our first Olympic venue, we had lunch in the tube, we are there, we are at the Olympics.

The London Excel centre in the Docklands is normally a conference house. During the Olympic fortnight, it turned into the second biggest sports place behind the main Olympic park. Judo, taekwondo, table tennis, boxing, fencing, weightlifting and wrestling were happening there.

Our first date is with the heavyweight judokas, and their most famous face in the name of Teddy Riner. The youngster, aged, is already a  5 times world champion and did not lose a single official fight since the Beijing Games in 2008. He was a firm favorite for gold and French fans knew it. Along the runaway leading to the sports halls, you could count as many tricolore flags than the cumulated amount for all other nations.

Walking along this path, one couldn’t miss the omnipresence of the Games staff. Hundreds of smiling volunteers were ready to share your Olympic spirit. The security checks were also of the highest standard, better than in any international airport I traveled through. The fast lane dedicated to the disabled and babies was a certain plus for us. A few smiles later from the volunteers and we were inside the arena.

A fight just started before we reached our seats. A first sudden crowd reaction made my 8 months old son instantly cry. He was then swiftly equipped with a noise reduction site helmet that my caring wife asked me to buy before we left home. Tears were easily wiped away from his face and quickly replaced by a delighted smile at the sight of all these colors and people without the noisy part. Seconds later he fell asleep and enjoyed a long nap.

Colorful it was for sure as a major part of the attendance was painted in blue, white and red mainly in order to cheer on the French fighter but also helped by some curious GB fans.

Curious is the most polite I could tell about them. I already knew that there is not a big attraction between British citizens and martial arts (yeah, those sports were not invented in the UK). So when in the second fight of the afternoon a team GB woman tried to make her way towards a medal winning encounter, I was not so surprised to hear the local people in the stands only react when the score was adjusted on the screens.

They clearly did not have a clue about what was happening on the tatami, unable to understand the movements executed by the fighters or even the referee’s hand gestures. The funniest part of it is that it could take up to ten seconds for the score on the screens to be updated, making us feel like there was a long delay between what we could see and hear.

Shortly after that came the French giant for his semi-final fight. That was exactly when I had my first tears of the Olympics. That was also the moment I realized there was far more than 50% of French fans into the room!

The atmosphere was unrealistic, way more enthusiastic than in any football stadium I ever visited. I guess the fact that the venue was relatively small and closed amplified the noisy feeling.

The Frenchman made it comfortably to his first Olympic final, extending a little bit the cheering time.

Following a break, came the bronze medal encounters and with one of them came (again) water to my eyes. Together with the non French part of the attendance, I got emotional for a rare judo medal obtained by a British athlete. She had very messy hair but fought hard and deserved her giant bronze coin.

While I was still carrying my sleeping baby, I had just enough time to dry up my eyeballs before they got flooded for the third time in the dying seconds of the men’s final. Only after the final buzz did the giant collapsed. Following his surprising exit in the previous Olympics, Riner set himself a 4 years deal: training over and over again until he could bite this gold medal. Biting he did a few minutes later, congratulated by French IOC and judo federation members (who both bet on a French win to be appointed here).

I could then enjoy my first ever Olympic “Marseillaise”. Despite being my national anthem, I must say I hate its lyrics, but couldn’t avoid singing along this time round with my wife and my son (who just woke up smiling by the way).

A few minutes later, the cheering and applause were interrupted by the venue voice telling us we could all get out of here now.

We needed some time to get the overexcitement down and take care of our baby before we made our way towards the long travel back home.

At the end of my first Olympic day, I was mentally exhausted with the surprising rushes of emotions hitting me harder than expected. I finally fell asleep wondering how many times would I cry before the end of the Games…

My London 2012 Olympic diary: The prequel

On the 6^th July 2005, I was still a newcomer in London, living in town for less than 6 months. Nonetheless, I already met the one whose destiny was to become my wife and mother of my son.

But on this precise day at lunchtime in Trafalgar Square, I felt alone amongst thousands of locals. This feeling was due to a vote result displayed on the purposely built giant screen. On this screen, I could read: 

“1 London, 2 Paris”. This meant that the 2012 summer Olympic Games would take place here in the UK and not in my hometown before a few more decades…

At first, and for quite a while, the ‘London 2012’ word made me feel sick. During the course of the 7 years wait before it all started for athletes, my feeling progressively shifted. When did I precisely decided to get overexcited about the London Olympics (and together disenchanted about the Parisian life), I cannot really tell. What is certain is that when I moved back to France in August 2010, I had my summer 2012 holydays all planned. I’ll embrace the Olympic spirit with my family and happily come back to London.

All the checkpoints met in the long run before this Olympic torch got set alight, just added a new layer to my excitement: the (rather  disappointing) first round of tickets purchase, the birth of my son (yes! I’ll discover the Olympics with my son!), the (much more successful second and third round of purchase, the plane tickets reservation…

The plan was perfectly set up. We will stay for 10 days in the British capital and will have 10 pairs of tickets to use for various events including judo, fencing, football, hockey, horse riding, taekwondo, canoe and handball.

A few good friends were invited to share this moment with us, some surprisingly declined, but on the 3^rd August 2012, Alexia, Andrew and I were actually boarding the plane to live our first Olympic experience. And it will surely be remembered for life. Let our Games begin!

This is England

Londres, 9 avril 2011

C’était mon premier séjour en Angleterre depuis que je n’y habitais plus. J’étais là pour célébrer pendant 3 jours le départ d’une de mes meilleures amies qui à son tour après de longues années chez les roastbeefs, retournait vivre sa vie en France.

Cependant, j’avais parfaitement planifié mon timing pour me permettre de faire un pas de plus en avant dans mon tour des stades de football professionnels londoniens. L’étape du jour me mena dans les bas-fonds de la first division (troisième échelon professionnel), à Victoria Road, antre de Dagenham & Redbridge.

Historiquement, ce club n’est pas grand-chose : né en 1992 de la fusion de 2 clubs eux même nés de la fusion d’autres clubs locaux… Ils atteignent cette année le plus haut niveau de leur courte histoire mais à l’heure du coup d’envoi se trouvaient en position de premier relégable, un point derrière Notts County, leur adversaire du jour.

L’après midi débuta - pour moi et mon acolyte séjournant habituellement le samedi parmi les Magic Fans stéphanois – à  Liverpool Street Station où nous espérions rejoindre un ami anglais avant de monter dans le train filant vers l’est. Mal remis d’une soirée trop arrosée la veille, il ne se montra jamais, mais cela nous laissa le temps d’apprécier la vague multicolore qui déferle sur une des plus grande gare de la ville à quelques heures du traditionnel coup d’envoi du samedi après-midi sur de nombreuses pelouses de la ville. Tous les supporters « extérieurs » se rendant en visite dans un stade de la capitale se croisaient dans cette gare. La variété des couleurs de maillots présentés avait de quoi perturbé aisément des yeux daltoniens…

La deuxième étape nous mena à Romford où je retrouvais un ancien collègue pour quelques pintes de mise en appétit. Celui-ci étant un véritable East London Cockney Boy, me confirma qu’il ne valait mieux pas trainer dans le quartier de Dagenham à la nuit tombée, celui-ci n’étant pas réputé pour son ordre et son chic nocturne. On ne trainera donc pas au coup de sifflet final…

L’apéritif nous mit bien entendu en retard sur l’heure d’arrivée prévue à Victoria Road Stadium qui se trouvait coincé au milieu d’un bloc de maisons pas très reluisant… Le coup d’envoi avait déjà été donné, la billetterie etait fermée, et ce fut donc au pub servant de club-house aux Daggers que je récupèrai mes billets.

Entrée au stade en cours de match, nous nous fîmes discrets et nous nous assîmes là où nos billets commandés un peu au hasard nous dictaient d’aller : en tribune latérale « Carling ». L’alcool n’est plus servi dans les stades professionnels anglais depuis quelques temps mais les commerciaux savent toujours bien se placer.

Le match se déroulait sous nos yeux et les premières impressions ne tardèrent pas :

Dans la tribune, l’ambiance était très calme, celle-ci étant majoritairement composée d’anciens, peu réactifs. La tribune visiteur etait garnie à moitié, la latérale opposée semblait également calme. En revanche, un peu d’agitation semblait venir de la « Bury Road End » qui était à ma grande surprise une « stand » à l’ancienne, sans sièges. En effet la législation britannique oblige uniquement les clubs des deux premières divisions à n’avoir que des places assises dans leur stade.

Sur le terrain, les 22 joueurs me confirmèrent ce que j’avais déjà remarqué auparavant : il y a un gouffre au niveau technique entre la premier league et les « lower leagues ». Le kick & rush est toujours vivant et mieux vaut être bâti comme Jan Koller que comme Lionel Messi… L’ouverture du score des Daggers fut d’ailleurs parlante : longue balle en cloche sur l’aile droite de la part du défenseur central, reprise de volée par l’ailier pour un centre en cloche dans les six mètres repris faiblement du plat du pied par l’avant-centre mais assez puissamment au goût du gardien adverse qui décida de laisser passer.

Un homme chez les Daggers cumulait ce jour-là la somme des notes techniques fournies dans championship manager pour tous ses coéquipiers. Après enquête, il se nomme Danny Green et était alors un jeune milieu de terrain anglais agréable à voir jouer. Il était ce jour là l’auteur de deux buts, un très beau coup-franc suivi d’un penalty, et semblait également être le seul joueur à être capable de réussir un contrôle enchaîné d’une passe correcte. On en était à 3-0 à la mi-temps et il avait fallu pour ça 3 occasions de but seulement. En prime un défenseur central adverse avait été expulsé. Game over.

De l’autre coté, celui que l’on avait le plus remarqué était l’avant centre (au profil de Jan Koller) qui se distinguait par un bon jeu de tête, un mauvais jeu de pieds et surtout un jeu de lèvres brillant. Il passa tout le match à vociférer après tout le monde : gardien adverse, défenseurs, arbitres mais également ses coéquipiers et son entraineur. Après enquête, il s’agissait de Lee Hughes, capitaine en fin de carrière et ayant déjà fait plusieurs passages en prison.

La mi-temps venue, faute de bières, on visita la boutique du club et ses produits dérivés au design très discutable, même pour un daltonien. On en profita également pour se faufiler au cœur de la « Bury Road End » exposée plein sud sous un magnifique soleil et relativement plus vivante que les autres tribunes.

Si le match devint ensuite ennuyeux, juste un but de consolation à se mettre sous la dent pour Notts County pour un score final de 3-1, l’activité en tribune se développa.

La tribune en question, très populaire, est entièrement composée de familles du quartier dont aucun membre ne sera jamais un grand cerveau de ce monde. L’accent east londonien plus le vocabulaire populo-footballistique est un mélange pouvant aisément choquer les plus sensibles, surtout lorsque cela provient d’une vieille dame ou d’une petite fille d’à peine 10 ans…

Le spectacle sur le terrain ne les passionnant guère ils se rabattaient sur leurs téléphones portables pour se tenir au courant de la déroute du voisin West Ham à Bolton ce jour-là.

La plupart d’entre eux sont également supporters de West Ham United, celui-ci étant le « grand » club de la banlieue est, mais souhaitaient vivement leur relégation à la fin de l’année afin de pouvoir se délecter d’au moins deux oppositions face à leurs meilleurs amis de Millwall la saison suivante en Championship… (la fin de championnat leur donna raison, il y aura bien deux oppositions à très haut risque l’an prochain)

Le match s’acheva et comme conseillé, nous ne trainâmes pas et rejoignîmes rapidement le centre de Londres tout en rediscutant de cette plongée dans l’Angleterre profonde aussi bien au niveau social que sportif.

This is England.

Le scandale

Clermont-Ferrand, 18 novembre 2003

            En début d’hiver, les rencontres à enjeu sont très rares. Les équipes nationales sont au repos, les compétitions européennes n’ont pas encore atteint les étapes intéressantes, les championnats sont encore loin de leur climax.

            La seule lueur dans ce triste mois de novembre venait en cette année 2003 de matchs de barrage qualificatifs pour l’euro espoir (joueurs de moins de 22 ans) de l’été suivant. En quoi ceci est-t-il passionnant?

Trois raisons à cela :

-          ces barrages sont également qualificatifs pour les jeux olympiques d’Athènes, compétition majeure pour les joueurs de moins de cet âge,

-          les deux équipes impliquées dans ce barrage présentaient ce que beaucoup de gens appellent une génération dorée avec quelques joueurs ayant déjà évolué en équipe nationale A, rappelés chez les espoirs pour l’occasion,

-          le match retour devait se disputer à Clermont-Ferrand, soit la possibilité de visiter un nouveau stade, à moins de 2 heures de route de mon domicile stéphanois.

Quelques jours de lobbying auprès de mes camarades (notamment un propriétaire d’une voiture capable de nous emmener à destination) et nous voici dès la fin des cours, sur la route de la capitale auvergnate.

Le synopsis était le suivant : l’équipe de France espoir revenait d’un match aller au Portugal avec une brillante victoire 2 buts à 1 en poche.

Des joueurs comme Philippe Mexes, Djibril Cisse, Patrice Evra ou Cristiano Ronaldo coté portugais ont alors mis de coté un match amical avec les seniors pour assurer la qualification des espoirs pour les prochaines échéances.

 

Le stade Gabriel Montpied n’était doté que de 2 grandes tribunes latérales, sans aucun virage ou moyen pour le public de mettre un peu plus de pression sur le gardien adverse. Le théâtre de la rencontre était cependant plein et l’ambiance très animée pour un match de cet ordre.

Sur le terrain les choses ont très vite pris une tournure nerveuse. Les portugais prirent rapidement l’avantage au score alors que les fautes se multiplièrent et les cartons commençaient à sortir facilement de la poche de l’arbitre.

Les visiteurs doublèrent la mise avant que Djibril Cissé ne réduise la marque de manière rageuse. Les équipes se trouvaient alors dos-à-dos sur l’ensemble des deux rencontres et la tension ne faisait qu’augmenter sur le terrain comme en tribune.

De manière prévisible, une petite bagarre générale impliquant joueurs et staff technique finit par se déclencher à l’autre bout du terrain, à la fin de laquelle le buteur français se fit expulser (suspendu 4 matchs, il fut privé de l’Euro seniors disputé en 2004 … au Portugal) et quelques autres joueurs avertir.

Le public, comme traditionnellement en France pour des matchs de sélection était beaucoup plus enclin à réagir à l’action se déroulant sur le terrain qu’à anticiper avec des encouragements continus.

Le scénario de la rencontre venait pour une fois justifier cette attitude. La tension ambiante empêchant réellement toute prise d’initiative détachée de ce qui se passait sous nos yeux.

Les prolongations auraient fait une très mauvaise publicité pour le football à une personne extérieure prenant la rencontre en cours. Les deux équipes ne voulaient plus prendre de risque et annihilaient rapidement toute tentative d’offensive par de l’antijeu si nécessaire.

Les tirs au but devenus inéluctables étaient finalement là. La première tentative fût déjà un fait de jeu. Nicolas Penneteau le gardien tricolore stoppa la tentative portugaise avant que l’arbitre n’ordonne de le retirer, jugeant que le portier avait quitté sa ligne de but trop tôt.

Bien évidemment, le lusitanien ne laissa pas passer sa 2^e chance. Au contraire, le premier tireur français, Mexes, vit sa tentative repoussée.

Evra allait quant à lui manquer le cadre alors que les portugais allaient toucher le fond des filets à chaque tentative.

La messe était dite, les portugais verraient l’euro et les jeux olympiques, la France non.

Nous reprîmes tristement la route vers Saint-Etienne, refaisant le match durant tout le trajet, mettant en cause un arbitrage sans doute défaillant, jusqu’à finalement qualifier cette élimination de scandale.

Une courte nuit plus tard, les medias nous apprirent que la soirée ne s’était pas terminée avec notre départ de Clermont-Ferrand.

Les portugais avaient semble-t-il un peu trop laissé exploser leur joie à leur retour aux vestiaires, ravageant tout le matériel s’y trouvant, jusqu’à la présence de trous dans le plafond.

L’UEFA ouvrira une enquête concernant l’attitude des deux équipes sur les bancs de touche et dans les vestiaires.

            Le mot de la fin (plus tard sanctionné financièrement par l’UEFA) revient à celui qui entraînait alors cette équipe espoir, j’ai nommé Raymond Domenech : « Une fois de plus, nous avons connu des problèmes avec l’arbitrage ».

            Un scandale je vous dis.