It’s quite fantastic that I find myself in France on the eve of the big game. There’s nothing particularly in the news about the weekend’s final, but there’s plenty volunteered on the boulevards / in the shops / in the bistros when my country of origin is revealed.
How about that? I came 10 000 miles to not talk rugby. And I’m talking rugby.
The one piece of news I did read about the final was this magnificent tirade from the french coach: “I told them they are a bunch of spoilt brats. Undisciplined, disobedient, sometimes selfish. Always complaining. And it’s been like this for years. But at the same time, we’re in the final. And as I said yesterday we have to believe in this destiny. In the end a cigarette, a desert after dinner or a couple of drinks will not affect how you play in the final”.
Somehow I don’t think their national identity will rest on this weekend’s outcome.
Elegant stumble into a rugby themed bar for lunch today – one that apparently Jonah had stopped into one time (the owner told me because I was a kiwi). I was a lot more interested in this black and white beauty though. Finally – rugby I can relate to.