PARIS, France — After the joie de vivre (this French malarkey’s not so hard!) of an opening-day victory for the tournament hosts, my Euro 2016 journée – that’s journey – took me north towards Lens. A sleepy town, Lens well and truly awakens when football comes to the Stade Bollaert-Delelis.
Its population of 40,000 – about the same as Umm al-Quwain – may barely fit into the stadium, but Lens is fiercely passionate about football, determined not to be outshone by its bigger, and recently more successful, near neighbour Lille. Despite being relegated to Ligue 2 in 2014-15, RC Lens still attracted an average attendance of more than 25,000 in the French second tier last season.
On Saturday, Lens hosted its first match of the 2016 European Championship and once again, football brought the town to life. Turning rouge for the day, Swiss and Albanian fans poured in for the second match of Group B, creating a colourful show to rival France’s opener against Romania.
Special mention here for the Swiss, whose chant for Manchester United target Bree Embolo must rival ‘Will Grigg’s On Fire’ as the ditty of the tournament so far. To the tune of ‘When The Lion Sleeps’, it goes: “Oh Embolo, Oh Embolo, Oh Embolo, Oh Embolo…” I didn’t’ understand the rest, but it nevertheless raised a smile.
For Albania, it was an incredibly special occasion – their wide-reaching European diaspora brought together for the nation’s first ever match at a major championship. The atmosphere was electric, the noise deafening as Albanian fans savoured every second of their continental debut.
Their hats were also, it has to be said, incredible. Supporters proudly sporting their plis – a white brimless felt hat that is part of Albania’s national dress. They did slightly remind of a bald head, meaning the stadium appeared at times like it was packed by baying hoards of Fabien Barthez.
EMBARRASSED TO BE ENGLISH
After the game it was back to Paris on the train with a short stop into the tiny town of Arras. While the hotel l’Angleterre offered an obvious place to watch England vs Russia, I opted instead for the Eurostar Bar, which was packed to the rafters… with Swiss and Albanians. I only saw the first-half, and am quite glad I didn’t have to witness the end of the game, which brought disgraceful scenes. (Read my thoughts on the hooligan problem here).
It’s a frustrating experience being an Englishman in France right now – guilt by association is certainly a concept I am familiar with. Back when I spent a semester in Prague as a student, I was constantly trying to distance myself from the stag parties simultaneously destroying the city’s streets and an already fragile reputation of ‘Brits abroad’.
This embarrassment came to the fore when I ordered a drink in Paris on Sunday, the response – clearly down to my terrible accent – was, “English? You are not a hooligan are you?”
“Let’s go with British,” I responded. “As in the ones who are trying to leave the EU, not English, as in the ones trying to leave your country in a state of disrepair. Seems like the lesser of two evils.”
What a goal it was from #Modric! #CRO 1-0 #TUR https://t.co/62ApIhuhYX
— Sport360° (@Sport360) June 12, 2016
MODRIC MAGIC EASES THE PAIN
I needed an antidote to the anger aroused by the scenes in Marseille and fortunately Croatia vs Turkey was the perfect tonic, the soothing skills of Luka Modric doing the trick nicely on Sunday.
In the pouring rain at Parc des Princes, the spirits of the supporters were certainly not dampened and, remarkably, the Turkish fans were even more vociferous than the Albanians had been in Lens. Another day, another amazing atmosphere at Euro 2016.
Modric stole the show and also my affections (read more on that here), also gaining revenge for Turkey’s dramatic penalty shootout victory over Croatia at Euro 2008 in the process. The Paris Metro was, quite literally, rocking thanks to those resplendent in those famous red-and-white chequered shirts.
Now it’s on to Lyon, and arguably the best game on my Euro 2016 itinerary. Belgium have been built up, Italy written off – but by my mind, you can never count out the Azzurri….
