The French town of Laval is home to about 50,000 people, about 300 kilometres west of Paris and is the capital of the Mayenne departement, roughly in the bit of France where Normandy, Brittany and what was the historic County and later Duchy of Anjou all meet. Back in the Middle Ages it became rich on textiles and linen but nowadays is big in dairy products. The medieval dukes of Anjou made the city of Angers their capital and conveniently for me and my wife Paulene we are staying most of this week there, and it is only seventy odd kilometres south of Laval, which means that with Stade Lavallois taking on Clermont Foot 63 tonight it shouldn’t be too taxing a drive up the D775 and D962 to experience some Friday night football in the French second division, more properly known as Ligue 2.
It’s been a bright, unseasonably warm and sunny morning beneath a pale blue autumn sky. But cloud has begun to roll in and having re-charged the battery of our planet saving Citroen e-C4 at a handily located Carrefour supermarket, it’s looking distinctly grey by the time we set off for Laval around four o’clock and once on our way there are soon raindrops streaking the Citroen’s windscreen. By the time we reach Laval, after a somewhat tortuous journey along two lane roads and across numerous roundabouts, the rain is easing off but the rush hour traffic is building up. We make it to the Stade Francis le Basser before the Avenue Pierre de Coubertain in which it is situated is closed to traffic for the match, and park up just long enough for me to run to the guichets to discover what tickets are available. There are places in the small Popular Stand for 9 euros, places in the Tribune Presidentielle for 25 euros, or places in the Tribune Credit Mutuelle for 18 euros. Believing in moderation in all things I buy two of the 18-euro seats and ask the woman in the booth where is good to park. She shrugs her shoulders and says “Anywhere”.
There are still almost three hours until kick-off, so we head in hope for the centre of town but get stuck in traffic. Eventually, parking up in a bijou multi-storey car park near the river we search out the sights of Laval on foot and foolishly follow signs for the tourist information office, which turns out to be away down several grey streets completely in the opposite direction to the castle and Hotel de Ville, which seem likely to be the main attractions. To add to our misery, by the time we reach it, the tourist information office is shut. Gloomily, we find our way back to the car park and cursing Laval a little head back out to the Avenue Pierre de Coubertin where our luck changes and we find a free parking space just down the road from the stadium. The gates are not yet open but a good size crowd of people of all ages mixes with passing pedestrians and a few policemen and queues at two food stalls to buy and munch on combinations of French sticks, sausages and chips. Not wanting to feel left out I buy a Merguez sausage sandwich too, the chewing of which successfully fills me and the time until the gates open.
Once through the security checks and virtual turnstile, where everyone wishes us “bon match”, we are soon at the hatch in the side of a small hut that is the club boutique, inside which are a couple who are probably older than me. She stands behind a table on which various items of football club ‘merch’ are displayed; he wears a cardigan and takes the money. Behind her, amongst the replica shirts hangs a tiger suit. I select a petit fanion (pennant) for my pointless collection of the same whilst Paulene chooses between a lion in a t-shirt and a bright orange tiger for her collection of club mascots; she picks the tiger because the lion looks a bit dowdy. Clutching our purchases we make for our seats only to meet the real-life mascot who is extremely tall and thin and is possibly a lion but is the blinding, almost day-glo tango colour of the tiger minus his stripes. Significantly, Stade Laval’s club colours are orange and black and Paulene poses for a photo with the mascot who I will later discover is called Tangoal. Post-impressionist painter Henri Rousseau was born in Laval, and I take comfort and amusement from the possibility that the lions and tigers in some of his paintings are the inspiration for Tangoal, or may be even the other way round.
Upon arrival at our seats half-way up Block C of the Tribune Credit Mutuelle, we find that they are wet. There doesn’t appear to be a hole in the roof of the stand, and we guess the rain must have just blown in quite a long way. We wipe the seats with a linen shopping bag Paulene happens to have about her and sit down to absorb the view of the stadium with its two small stands flanking a big one opposite, and no stands at either end, just a large white hospitality tent to our right and a fierce orange sunset taking place behind it, although it’s not quite as shockingly colourful as Tangoal the mascot. The PA system meanwhile belts out a club song which sounds like it’s travelled here from the 1970’s and contains the words “Allez Laval” and “Prenez la balle, gardez la balle”; it is accompanied by the stamping of feet from the crowd whilst the bloke in the seat in front of me seems to be exuding a pungent body spray. Thankfully, the song finishes and the teams are announced by a typically enthusiastic announcer and whilst the crowd are almost as enthusiastic as he is when shouting out the surname of the goalkeeper Maxime Hautbois, they quickly seem to lose that enthusiasm as the remainder of the team is introduced, to the point that I begin to wonder if the supporters even know who some of the players are.
Eventually the teams process onto the pitch and echoed by a chorus of childish voices, the neon scoreboard and the stadium announcer count down, “three-two-one” like some sort of Gallic Ted Rogers and the game begins. Clermont Foot get first go with the ball, which they boot in the general direction of the big white tent and the burning sunset beyond. The supporters in the Tribune Credit Mutuelle stamp their feet wildly on the pre-fabricated floor of the stand making an impressively intimidating sound, well it made me feel uneasy anyway. “Whoa-oh-oh, La La, La, La La, La-La” chant the youths in the Popular stand behind the banner that reads ‘Laval Crew’.
Although Laval win three corners in the first twenty minutes, Clermont perhaps have more possession. Overall, however, the standard of play is poor as befits a fixture between the two teams that are bottom and second from bottom of the league. Most passes tend to end up with opposition players. Paulene asks me if this match might lead me to re-consider my verdict that our seven-year-old grandson is unlikely to have a future as a professional footballer; but no, as a footballer he really does stink. Twenty-three minutes pass and Clermont win a corner. An occasional drummer strikes up somewhere in front of us and off to our left but then seems to realise the corner is to the opposition and he/she suddenly stops.
Just as my interest is waning and I begin counting the Clermont fans in the dimly lit left-hand stand opposite (I think there are ten), a measured cross from the right from Clermont’s number seventy-seven Enzo Cantero is met by the huge, almost horizontal, flying figure of the towering centre-forward wearing the number ninety shirt, the improbably named Christ Okou, who heads the ball past the startled Maxime Hautbois from about 5 metres out. Clermont lead 1-0.
Unfortunately, the goal doesn’t inspire either team to play any better and Paulene and I are soon discussing the colour of Clermont’s kit; I can’t decide if it’s black or very dark grey. Paulene thinks it’s green, but the Clermont Foot website reveals that their third kit is dark grey, a colour, apparently inspired by that of the dark Volvic volcanic rock that defines the Auvergne region and much of Clermont-Ferrand’s historic architecture. The game is a third over and Clermont’s number twenty-eight, Ivan M’Bahia becomes the first player this evening to be booked; a small man, he turns and struts away with his head held high as if he had perhaps read and been oddly inspired by the promotional guff about the third kit on the club website.
Seven minutes remain until half-time and another attempted Laval attack sees Clermont’s number seven Florian Bianchini breaking away at speed from within his own half towards the Laval goal; he checks, lays the ball off to Christ Okou, who bundles it back to him and he then proceeds to curl it at pace into the far corner of the goal from about a metre outside the penalty area. Clermont’s lead is thereby doubled. It’s a cracking goal, which even a few home supporters seem to appreciate, although for many more it’s a reason to boo their own team. A minute of added-on time is played during which Clermont win another corner and then the half-time whistle is met with more booing from the Laval supporters who seem to have higher expectations of the team that is bottom of the league, but then Clermont have so far not won a match all season.
It’s not much past nine o’clock when the second half begins with Laval making a substitution and then booting the ball directly into touch, as if they were playing rugby. Two minutes later Laval trail 3-0 as Christ Okou latches onto a poor back-header from Laval’s Jules Gaudin, breaks through the middle of the Laval defence, swivels clumsily and sends a shot heading beyond the far goal post, only for the Gaudin to hopelessly finish the move he began by slamming the ball high into the roof of his own goal net from close range. The goal is met with outrage by many Laval ‘supporters’ some of whom rise from their seats and storm for the exits as if the goal was a terrible affront to them and they deserve better, or they had heard a fire alarm. I think I hear some of them snort with indignation.
It feels like the game is already over, despite a fifty-second minute shot at goal for Laval and a corner eleven minutes later; but then Laval make three substitutions, at least one of which is booed by the home crowd, who clearly have favourites amongst the squad, but not many. One of these substitutions will prove significant, although within a minute a Clermont shot on the break earns the away team another corner. In the seats immediately in front of me sit two rows of probable grandfathers; there has to be over four-hundred years of footballing spectating here; they likely remember back when Laval were in Ligue 1 and knocked Dynamo Kiev out of the UEFA cup.
It’s the seventy-second minute and suddenly a cross from the right is met by the head of Laval substitute Aboubakary Kante and the score is 1-3. The home crowd cheers and rattles the floor of the Tribune Credit Mutuelle again. Stade Lavallois have started to play and perhaps in response Clermont make two changes, one of which is to take off Christ Okou who, as a man trying to live up to that first name needs to, has been involved in all three Clermont goals. Ten minutes later, another right wing cross and Kante heads towards goal again, but this time the goal will need to be about four metres high for the header to bother the scoreline. In a quieter moment I count the Clermont fans again and now think there might be twelve of them that have made the five hundred and twenty kilometre trip up from Clermont-Ferrand.
Eighty-four minutes have departed and for what it’s worth Laval have yet another corner. Another three minutes clear off into history taking another Laval substitution with them and it’s Kante who again has an attempt on goal, a shot which is well saved by Theo Guivarch in the Clermont goal. Full-time is fast approaching and Clermont, perhaps ill-advisedly make another two substitutions, one of which causes confusion as the referee Monsieur Soulimane Chamel seems to only allow one of the substitutes onto the pitch. With Clermont temporarily down to ten men Laval take a free kick, Kante heads towards goal, Guivarch saves but the ball hits his right hand goal post, bounces and across the goal and Side Bane knocks it over the goal line from no distance at all. All of a sudden, the score is 2-3 and we are being told that there will five minutes of added on time.
As it turns out, Laval only need another minute to equalise as number seven Chafik Gourichy twists and turns his way into the penalty area, shoots, and the ball is deflected up into the air to become an angled cross which Kante once again heads into the goal from close range to conclude an unexpected and remarkable comeback to the din of more stamping feet rattling the fabric of the stand. “Allez Laval! Allez Laval!” chant the somewhat fickle crowd. With the final whistle we make our way out into the chilly night and back to our planet saving Citroen and the drive back to Angers where we will reflect upon a Clermont performance which began like a volcano but then solidified.
