Au Stade

Of a winter’s Sunday afternoon and weather regardless, the great and good of Monpazier de camp to the rugby ground. Given that kick off is at 3 o’clock (or thereabouts, depending on the punctuality of the ref), it’s a bit of a rush for most as lunchtime has to be trimmed to an unnaturally brisk couple of hours. Fortunately though, it’s only a short walk, and having had the chance to digest a four course lunch (and the accompanying bottle or two of red) the crowd arrive in good voice.

The bar is briefly overrun, but once the whistle goes the stand fills and the boys in green and white are cheered at every touch of the ball. The visitors, however, get a somewhat rougher ride and are roundly booed at every opportunity. And here’s the thing – for six and a half days a week, a more affable, diffident bunch of folk than the Monpazerois you couldn’t wish to meet, but fuelled by loyalty and a post lunch tipple or two, they can be less than even handed in their support. So should any of the opposition be unusually rotund, tall, spotty or short, they’ll be persistently reminded of the fact for the next 80 minutes. And God forbid that they have the temerity to lamp one of our own, as they’ll not only incur the wrath of the arbitre (assuming he’s reasonably local and sufficiently fit to keep up with the players), but it’s almost guaranteed that one of the spectators will run onto the pitch to extract revenge.

Then all too swiftly the fun’s over, kids are fetched from the far corners of the ground and the barman reluctantly closes up shop. And as the mist descends and the floodlights are switched off, the trainer extols the virtues of the squad to anyone who’ll listen (and who hasn’t heard it all before). And with the team’s current spectacular form, why not. Allez les verts.