The final moment of the 2007 Rugby World Cup
October 22nd 2007 16:41
It was a restless, edgy, Paris weekend, marked by strikes, protests, banner-waving, slogan-shouting street-marches and a heavy presence of armed and armoured police, as Railway workers, the homeless and French nationalists rallied to their particular causes. Against this grim background, Rugby fans gathered for the last match of the 2007 World Cup. There were still good numbers of New Zealanders and Australians, black, green and gold to the bitter end, although rumour had it that many had succumbed to irrestible offers from ticketless fans of the final teams. Thousands of optimistic, singing and celebrating English, decked out in their Knights' costumes, bowler hats, bobbies' and explorers' helmets, with and without match tickets, poured across the Channel and into the Parisian streets and bars. By contrast, in their dark green and gold, the South African contingent was small, unobtrusive, tuneless, tight lipped and marked by a singular lack of flamboyance. But, as they say, he who laughs last, laughs longest.
Saturday was edgy day for us too. Despite week long promises of tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, by midday we were still ticketless. Worse, there were rumours of misappropriations, high-jackings and sellings-out by unscrupulous French agents to desperate English and South African buyers with limitless wallets. At 1 p.m , we finally ran our frazzled vendor to ground in the splendid, baroque, palm shaded atrium of the Intercontinental Hotel. He not only handed over over the match tickets with shame-faced apologies but placated us with complimentary passes to the French Rugby Federation's Hospitality tent for pre-match drinks and dinner. Super!
However, getting there before the Champagne corks popped at 5.45 proved something of a mission. We descended into the congested bowels of Metro at Les Halles to discover that the route to Stade de France had been cut off by the Strike. "La Coupe de Monde is finished for us" teased an Agent de Police, "Now we mock you!!" he laughed as he directed us up a choked and frozen escalator, for the Ligne Porte de Clignancourt to Gare du Nord. The platform was clogged with commuters and fans. Two crammed trains came and went before we managed to squeeze into a carriage which refused to move until the passengers clinging to its open doorways were thrown out. We limped at a snail's pace to Gare du Nord, charged onto RER D and fought through St Denis, round the Stade to Salon Limoges, too late for Champagne, too late for the speeches from John Eales et al, but still, heureusement, in time for Potage de Fruits de Mer, Cotelettes d'Agneau aux Pommes Gratinees and gateau au chocolat aux framboises.
I can't deny that I stood for the Anthems with misted eyes, that I watched the game dispassionately, applauding half-heartedly at each team's successes and that at the final presentation, I chewed on the bitter pills of if only and what might have been. But even so, I was glad that, even just as an on-looker, I had stayed for the magic of the final moment.
Triumphant South African supporter
Saturday was edgy day for us too. Despite week long promises of tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, by midday we were still ticketless. Worse, there were rumours of misappropriations, high-jackings and sellings-out by unscrupulous French agents to desperate English and South African buyers with limitless wallets. At 1 p.m , we finally ran our frazzled vendor to ground in the splendid, baroque, palm shaded atrium of the Intercontinental Hotel. He not only handed over over the match tickets with shame-faced apologies but placated us with complimentary passes to the French Rugby Federation's Hospitality tent for pre-match drinks and dinner. Super!
However, getting there before the Champagne corks popped at 5.45 proved something of a mission. We descended into the congested bowels of Metro at Les Halles to discover that the route to Stade de France had been cut off by the Strike. "La Coupe de Monde is finished for us" teased an Agent de Police, "Now we mock you!!" he laughed as he directed us up a choked and frozen escalator, for the Ligne Porte de Clignancourt to Gare du Nord. The platform was clogged with commuters and fans. Two crammed trains came and went before we managed to squeeze into a carriage which refused to move until the passengers clinging to its open doorways were thrown out. We limped at a snail's pace to Gare du Nord, charged onto RER D and fought through St Denis, round the Stade to Salon Limoges, too late for Champagne, too late for the speeches from John Eales et al, but still, heureusement, in time for Potage de Fruits de Mer, Cotelettes d'Agneau aux Pommes Gratinees and gateau au chocolat aux framboises.
Gold leaves fall as the Webb Ellis Cup is presented to the South African team
I can't deny that I stood for the Anthems with misted eyes, that I watched the game dispassionately, applauding half-heartedly at each team's successes and that at the final presentation, I chewed on the bitter pills of if only and what might have been. But even so, I was glad that, even just as an on-looker, I had stayed for the magic of the final moment.
Fireworks and showers gold leaves
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