Quevilly-Rouen Metropole 1 Stade Lavallois 3

The Rouen metropolitan area is massive, with a population of over 700,000. It is a little surprising therefore that Rouen hasn’t had a first division football team since 1985.  FC Rouen was that team, but the previously less successful Quevilly-Rouen Metropole is now the more ‘senior’ club in the city, this being their third season in Ligue 2 since 2017, with FC Rouen being in the amateur fourth division (Ligue National 2). Both clubs play at the Stade Robert-Diochon, named after a former FC Rouen player and situated in the suburb of Le Petit-Quevilly.

Returning from holiday in Brittany on a Saturday, a stop in Rouen was planned having seen that Quevilly-Rouen would be at home that Saturday evening and I’d always wanted to tread in the footsteps of Flaubert’s Madame Bovary. Staying in a city centre hotel, it is too far to walk to Stade Robert-Diochon, and Google maps tells us that tram line T4 runs from Vieux Marche to Zenith-Parc Expo. Disappointingly, there is in fact no tram only an articulated bus, although the bus stop, which is actually on Boulevard des Belges, does look like a tram stop having an elevated platform.  The fare is 1 euro 70 and the journey takes about 15 minutes, crossing over the murky, swirling waters of the River Seine and on through the mostly rather dull looking suburbs.  The Parc-Zenith Expo bus stop is less than 50 metres from the stadium and the guichets from which match tickets are sold are at the back of the Tribune Lenoble, which is directly on Avenue des Canadiens.  Tickets in the two lateral stands are either 12 euros for the Tribune Lenoble, which faces west and therefore faces the setting sun, or 20 euros for the larger Tribune Horlaville where the posh people and ‘wags’ sit. Feeling flush, stretching for the hi-life and not wanting the sun in our eyes my wife Paulene and I opt for the 20 euro seats.

After the usual frisking by some very miserable looking stewards/bouncers I make my way to the club boutique, which is not so much a boutique as a bloke stood behind a lock-up counter with some shirts hanging up behind him.  There isn’t much in the way of desirable souvenirs to be had unfortunately, although the colour A5 programmes is free of charge, as is the custom in France.  To get to our seats we must have our tickets checked and walk behind the steel framed temporary stand behind the goal, we are about to head off when out of the corner of my eye I spot an emaciated looking furry, red shape sloping off towards the main stand.  “Monsieur, un photo s’il vous plait?” I call to him and sportingly the creature stops and poses for a couple of snaps with my wife before heading on his way.  He was very friendly and obliging, even if he was one of the most sickly-looking club mascots I have ever seen, with his mangy looking red fur flecked with yellow ‘spots’.

The main stand at the stadium is quite impressive; a tilted concrete deck with a row of red executive boxes seemingly suspended above it beneath a light and airy roof. There is a raised concourse where I find a buvette from which I buy 50cl of beer for 5 euros, a hot dog for 4 euros and a cup of Fanta for 3 euros. The man serving in the buvette speaks some English and we enter a reciprocal agreement in which he helps me with my French and I help him to add three, four and five and calculate the change from a twenty euro note.

Having found our seats and whilst consuming our drinks and my hot dog the teams are announced by the leather jacketed female stadium announcer ,who will watch the game leaning on the fence between the dug outs. The game begins, with Quevilly-Rouen or QRM as they are called, getting first go with the ball and kicking towards the Laval supporters who are at the city end of the ground, the Tribune Erdre.  Presumably, QRM’s red and yellow home kit is in the wash because they are sporting a boring, immeasurably dull all-black kit, with Laval in its polar opposite, all-white.  As an opening gambit QRM simply boot the ball forward into touch as if playing rugby, a surprisingly direct, but aimless approach. Unfortunately, it is a precursor of what is to come, QRM are terrible and although they do manage a shot on goal it is blazed wide.  In the sixth minute Laval’s number nine, Geoffrey Durbant, a man whose mop of dyed blond hair looks like a small fleece, falls in the penalty area under a challenge from the stupendously lanky Till Cissokho; referee Monsieur Remi Landry does not hesitate to award Laval a penalty kick.  Durbant recovers from his fall to score from the spot as he shoots a little to the left of centre whilst World Cup winner Lilian Thuram’s cousin Yohann, the QRM goalkeeper, helpfully dives to the right.  The knot of fifty or so Laval fans at the other end of the ground and the bloke sitting behind me celebrate wildly.

Four minutes later and Laval produce some excellent play down the right with an interchange of passing ending with Durbant crossing the ball. The ball is flicked on by Zakaria Naidji as Thuram flaps for the ball and it arcs across to the far post where Julien Maggioti places it simply into the middle of the empty net with that most humbling of goals, the stooping header. Laval lead 2-0.

It seems a matter of how many more goals will Laval score.  QRM are abysmal, they have no apparent plan and some of them seem to lack basic skills; after just ten minutes Laval look likely to win, and win comfortably.  But strangely the expected goals do not happen and ten minutes later QRM have found their mojo and are competing.  Unfortunately, the first physical manifestation of this is not a goal but Garland Gbelle being the first player to be booked, as he fouls Maggioti.  The booking is a good one though with Monsieur Landry somewhat alarmingly brandishing his yellow card as if making a Nazi salute. 

In the Tribune Lenoble the bare-chested QRM ultras are likely to be feeling a little chilly as the sun sets behind the Tribune Horlaville, but they’re not letting on but they’re chants are at best repetitive.  To be honest the atmosphere inside the ground isn’t exactly fervid but the app on my mobile will later record that Paulene and I are two of three-thousand souls here tonight in the 12,000 capacity stadium, so body count-wise it’s similar to watching Colchester United on a slightly better than average day.  Suddenly a shrill, piercing shout from somewhere behind me to my left penetrates my ear drum. It happens again and again and sound like a small yapping dog.  In fact, the shrieks are emanating from a small boy, probably about eight or nine years-old, and he is screaming “Allez QRM”.  Sadly no one tries to throttle him, but  I do admire his passionate support for his team and can sense his frustration with them and that he is a lone voice in the Tribune Horlaville.  If there were any more voices like his however I might have to tear my ears off or beat my brains out on the concrete steps of the stand.

With twelve minute to go until half time Laval record their first booking of the evening as Djibril Diaw attempts to remove the legs of Mamadou Camara, but is spotted doing so by Monsieur Landry. The evening is now coming on and as the light fades and the warmth of the day subsides I can smell the lush turf, probably for the first time this season, although this is in part due to the pitch having seemingly been heavily watered, as evidenced by the spurt of spray flicked up from the grass as the ball travels across it.

A minute later Gbelle’s shot from a free-kick is saved by Alexis Sauvage in the Laval goal but he can’t keep hold of the ball and it is inelegantly bundled into the net by Christophe Diedhiou from embarrassingly close range.  Laval have a goal back and the nearby squealing child simply won’t shut up.  The half plays out in a series of cheap free-kicks and Laval take a two bookings to one lead to match the actual score line as Dembo Sylla’s attempts to steal Gustavo Sangare’s shirt provoke more dubious arm action from Monsieur Landry.

Half-time brings no particular delights, although out of a total of nine advertisements in the programme I count two for boulangeries and patisseries, two for restaurants and one for retirement flats with a restaurant on the ground floor.  

The second half begins at a minute past eight o’clock and continues as the first half ended with a succession of fouls and attempts to win free-kicks almost as if the players are challenging the referee to make wrong decisions.  Six minutes into the half and Laval’s Anthony Goncalves is the next player to see the yellow card after he clatters Sangare.  A minute later Bryan Goncalves dithers for Laval rather than booting it clear or seeing a pass and is robbed of the ball by Camara, but before Camara can shoot, Goncalves recovers brilliantly to hook the ball away from him, it’s an exciting piece of play but only serves as the prelude to a run of several consecutive fouls which see three Laval players booked in the space of seven minutes.  After  Bryan Goncalves’ booking, Naidji beats two players to get himself inside the penalty area before tumbling to the ground and being booked for ‘simulation’, a term that might refer both to the act of simulating diving from a high board and simulating being fouled.  The final booking for the time being, of Antony Goncalves for tugging a shirt, leads to a free-kick from which, after the ball is booted and headed back and forth for a bit, is eventually volleyed wide of the goal by Camara with a shot which is spectacularly disappointing in its accuracy.

Substitutions, including the appearance of the beautifully named Balthazar Pierret for QRM ensue for both teams as both conformation of the result and an equaliser are desperately sought by the respective coaches.  QRM are pressing and have two players up front now, a decision which if nothing else might help the half-naked ultras warm themselves with hope and expectation.  But QRM’s luck is out as the ball is pumped forward by Laval.   Till Cissokho looks to have it under control as he gets to it first and flicks it around Naidji and steps around him, but Naidji falls to the ground and Monsieur Landry adjudges this to be because Cissokho has pulled him back or tripped him; he promptly salutes Cissokho with his red card in the practised fashion and the towering centre-half trudges off.

From the resultant free-kick, Magiotti directs the ball over the cross-bar after another player first wastes his time and energy by running up as if to the kick the ball but then steps over it; no one was fooled, except perhaps Maggiotti.  Immediately, even more substitutions are made as both coaches seek to either exploit the imbalance in the number of players on each team or negate it.  Just four minutes after the sending off a decent passing moving by Laval is crowned by a smart overlapping run by Maggiotti who sweeps the ball into the corner of the QRM net to effectively seal the result. 3-1 to Laval.

Sixteen minutes remain of normal time, but QRM don’t look the sort of team capable of pulling back a two-goal lead when the opposition have one more player than they do, and this indeed proves to be the case.  Even the ultras have fallen quiet, although this is only temporary as either boredom, amphetamines or a sudden realisation that standing half naked beside a damp football pitch on a late September Saturday evening is all they have , and they burst back into life with some more repetitive chants of “Allez, Allez, Allez”.  Happily for me, the screeching child to my left has possibly lost his voice altogether and may require surgery to get it back.

The addition of just two minutes additional time is a sensible and pragmatic decision in the circumstances and once it has elapsed, without undue incident, Paulene and I depart the Stade Robert-Diochon as we entered it.  We head for the bus back to town, which we will be impressed to learn from the  bus driver as we try to tender our fares is completely ‘Gratuit’; this is the ultimate indication of being in a truly civilised country and therefore not something ever likely to happen in Liz Truss’s United Kingdom.  We reflect as we wait for the bus to depart the stop that oddly, given how ineffective QRM have been for much of the time, this has been a quite entertaining match and one which, with a few thousand more people in the stadium might have been even better still.  Neither QRM or Laval are going to make it into the not particularly select band of ‘French teams that I like’ but I will nevertheless always remember tonight fondly, for the mascot if nothing else.

Ipswich Town 2 Doncaster Rovers 1

Today is a beautiful day; the sun is shining, the sky is blue, the birds are singing; February is not yet over but it feels like Spring is here.  I spend the morning in the garden.  It’s been a sunny week and an odd week of rumours about Ipswich Town being the subject of a takeover, a buyout, a sale.  What seemingly started as a joke on social media has grown into a rumour sufficiently credible, or at least prevalent, for the local newspapers to report it and the club owner to deny he is “actively looking to sell”.  To add a layer of complexity to the story, those calling for Town manager Paul Lambert to be sacked are now having to contend with the team having found some decent form, having at last beaten a team in the top six of the third division and having not conceded a goal in three games.  All this coincides with the buffoon who is ludicrously Prime Minister of the United Kingdom announcing  details of what he calls his ‘road map’ for the nation’s way out of lockdown and a hoped for return to normality in the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic.  Suddenly, optimism is the ‘new normal’, although as all Town fans know we must be careful what we wish for.

Rewarding myself for my morning’s work in the garden I sit outside and pour a pre-match ‘pint’ (500ml) of Fuller’s Bengal Lancer (£13.95 for eight bottles direct from the brewery).  I am reminded of the song ‘Winter’s Over’ by the erstwhile Norwich band ‘Serious Drinking’, the lyrics of which read “Thanks God the winter’s over, December’s far away, let’s drink outside at lunchtime , on another sunny day”.   My wife Paulene has a gin with soda water and together we kick back and enjoy the warmth of the sun on our faces and bare arms; feeling like an Englishman at the seaside I roll up my trouser legs and top up on much missed Vitamin D. 

As we lose ourselves in the joy of being outside in the sun, time moves on and three o’clock soon approaches; I move to the kitchen and Paulene to the living room where separately we tune in to the ifollow, me to watch Town, Paulene to watch Pompey play Gillingham.  By the time I log on and hitch my lap top to the tv, today’s opponents Doncaster Rovers are on the pitch in their red and white hooped shirts and red shorts, hugging and forming a circle like new age weirdos crossed with a Rugby League scrum. Town trot on to the pitch and then together the two teams ‘take the knee’ to annoy all the people who deserve to be annoyed.  I feel like I’ve arrived in the ground just in time for kick-off, as you do when it’s been difficult leaving the pub.

The game begins, Ipswich having first go with the ball and kicking towards what will always be Churchman’s, although the Sir Alf Ramsey Cigarette End sounds good, but I doubt Sir Alf smoked. “Doncaster lack a goal scorer; a bit like us” are the first wise words of the afternoon that  I hear Mick Mills say as side-kick to BBC Radio Suffolk’s commentator Brenner Woolley.  The Town team is unchanged from the beautifully unexpected 1-0 win at Hull on Tuesday.   “Bostock trying to pull the strings” says Brenner of the Doncaster midfielder, quickly settling into football speak.  Midfielders always ‘pull the strings’ in football and not only those on the waist bands of their shorts.  “Smith, on loan from Manchester City, the blond-haired player” continues Brenner, airing his interest in all things tonsorial and using his trademark back to front sentence construction.

Brenner tells us that it’s a “Fine Spring afternoon at Portman Road”; indeed it is and to make the point again Brenner describes how some player or other “…goes square into the sunshine”.  Doncaster have started ‘brightly’ we are told, it must be all that sunshine. Suddenly, “That was awful from Judge” says Brenner excitedly as little Alan Judge inexplicably turns and plays a perfect through ball for a Doncaster wide player to run onto.  “That was woeful from Town” adds Brenner just so we can be sure how bad it was.  “Doncaster, very lively on their feet” says Mick.  It’s a sentence that might suggest that they are not so lively on other parts of their bodies, but we never find out.  It seems likely however that  ‘lively feet’ are a pre-requisite for footballers, and for goalkeepers ‘lively hands and arms’ too.

Just eight minutes have elapsed since kick-off and Doncaster, or ‘Donny’ as Brenner is calling them, to show off his knowledge of local slang names, are dominant.   “The (Town) defence is working overtime, they really are” says Mick conjuring up images of Marcus Evans on the phone to his accountants checking that Luke Chambers only gets time and a half and not double time.  “Gorgeous weather over there” says Brenner of the far side of the pitch and thereby displaying a worrying perception that being in the shade means he is experiencing different weather from somewhere a hundred metres away.

Three minutes later and “Doncaster, the better side after eleven minutes” is Brenner’s assessment. “The tide will turn if you’re professionally about it” replies Mick, accidentally using an adverb and adding another natural phenomenon to the commentary to compliment Brenner’s interest in the weather.  Doncaster’s Joe Wright  ”… puts his foot through the ball” according to Brenner , who  then follows up with reference to what he had expected “early doors”.   We are not yet a quarter of the way through the game and impressively Brenner has used most of his football-ese vocabulary already.

Doncaster’s John Bostock is a frequent name in Brenner’s commentary as he continually links up play between Rovers’ defence and wide players.  Bostock is 29 years old.  “All these years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen John Bostock” admits Brenner, but then he hasn’t been commentating for local radio in Leuven, Antwerp, Lens, Toulouse and Bursa where Bostock has played 148 of his 200 odd club games.  Myles Kenlock wins the game’s first corner.  “If Town score it’ll be very much against the run of play, but we’ll take it” says Brenner magnanimously.   Why do people say “we’ll take it” ?  What is “it”? Has anyone ever “not taken it”?  If you take “it”, where do you put it? Thankfully in the circumstances, Town don’t score.

John Bostock is still the dominant presence in midfield and therefore it is Doncaster who have the ball most of the time.  “It’s Dozzell and Freddie Bishop we need more from” says Mick.  Town break down the right and win a free-kick.  “Judge not keen to put the ball in the painted crescent by the referee”  says Brenner  , unusually getting his trademark sentence construction all wrong.  From the free-kick Toto Nsiala sends a decent header across the face of the goal.

Town break forward again, this time more centrally and Teddy Bishop is adjudged to have been fouled by Doncaster’s Taylor Richards.  Mick isn’t convinced it was a foul, but presumably someone decides we should “take it”.  A knot of Town players surround the ball. “Norwood’s been told to do one” says Brenner, eliciting a stifled chortle from Mick.  Little Alan Judge takes the free-kick and arrows a superlative right-footed shot into the top right hand corner of the Doncaster goal.  “That was a fabulous goal” says Mick, and after twenty-four minutes Town lead one-nil.  “A cracking free-kick from the Irish midfielder” says Brenner characteristically reducing little Alan Judge to a nationality whilst also sounding a bit like Wallace from the Wallace and Gromit animations.

For a short while Town have as much of the ball as Doncaster.  Luke Chambers gets forward from his full-back position and earns a corner “ Yeah, good play” confirms Mick.  Then little Alan Judge almost scores again as Myles Kenlock makes a long run forward to pull back a deep cross to him. Town win a third corner and then a fourth. Brenner saying “Bostock with that bleached mohawk haircut” and “Bostock along the deck” announces Doncaster’s return to having more possession and Brenner’s continued interest in coiffure and his curious need to describe football using nautical terminology.

Ten minutes to half-time and Doncaster almost score, with Tomas Holy deflecting a shot away with his right leg and the follow-up shot from Josh Sims , who makes me think of Joan Sims, being blocked by the excellent Toto Nsiala. “Best attack from Doncaster if you’re talking about ending up with something on target” says Mick having clearly spotted that in spite of all their possession Doncaster have had very few decent attempts on goal.  Another Doncaster shot is on target but Brenner confirms that it’s “straight down the mouth of Tomas Holy, who drops on the ball for extra security”.  Mick thinks the Doncaster player should have done better, with “Control, finish” being his unusually succinct assessment of what he needed to do.

With half-time approaching, Brenner adds a little incidental colour to his commentary telling us that Paul Lambert is “just screwing the top back on his water bottle”; it sounds like a euphemism but it’s probably not.  Half-time comes and Brenner tells us that it’s a case of “Town with that slender 1-0 lead” as opposed, presumably, to a huge 1-0 lead or even a slender 3-0 lead.  With Mick heading off into a long and convoluted explanation of the first half, the BBC Radio Suffolk transmission is rudely interrupted by the ifollow’s own commercial break , disgusted that Mick must play second fiddle to consumerism and capitalist greed, I get up to put the kettle on.

The second half begins with a cup of tea and a couple of ginger Christmas tree biscuits ,which are very tasty and which my wife Paulene acquired at a generous 70% discount due to Christmas having happened two months ago. Paulene incidentally has given up on Pompey v Gillingham and has turned to Dijon FCO versus Paris St Germain in French Ligue 1, where former Town loanee Bersant Celina is playing for the home team and is destined to have easily his team’s best attempt on goal,  but his team will lose four-nil.  Brenner meanwhile announces that if Town win this afternoon it will be “a huge feather in their cap and a right old boost”, whilst Mick summarises the game so far by stating “Bostock and Smith have been much better than Dozzell and Bishop”, and naturally Mick is right.

Just two minutes into the half and Myles Kenlock is booked for an unnecessary foul on Taylor Richards.  Mick tells us that Doncaster had 71% of possession in the first half, although personally I was more impressed with their 85% passing accuracy.  “A lazy leg in there from Okenabirhie” says Brenner as the Doncaster player fouls Andre Dozzell and I imagine Okenabirhie dragging his idle, recalcitrant leg about the pitch constantly committing fouls as other players fall over it.   Doncaster start the half well, but it’s Town who almost score as James Norwood bounces a shot off the ground and Joe Wright heads it off the goal line.   A minute later Wright concedes a corner;  the ball is headed on from the edge of the penalty area and James Norwood nips in to scramble it past the exotically named Doncaster goalkeeper, Ellery Balcombe who sounds like he might write pulp crime fiction when he’s not picking the ball from the back of his goal net.    Town lead 2-0; I let out a cheer, clap my hands above my head and kick my legs out in front of me.  “Goodness, gracious me” says Brenner mysteriously channeling Peter Sellers and making me imagine Mick as Sophia Loren.

Moments later little Alan Judge shoots a little high and a little wide or, as Brenner rather gruesomely describes  it,  “he opened up his body from 19 yards”.  “Greedy for me” says Mick and suggests Troy Parrott was free and better placed.  If Parrott was perhaps older, had been at the club longer and knew little Alan “as a person”, Mick believes he would have given little Alan Judge a “volley” of abuse.  It’s an entertaining insight from Mick.

An hour passes; Doncaster make two substitutions and win what Brenner refers to as a “rare Doncaster corner”.  Tomas Holy rather weirdly “pats the ball into the ground” according to Brenner, who goes onto speak, as he did last week, of a “bit of brown ground down this nearside”.   It’s a phrase that suggests Brenner has no concept of mud or bare earth and has me wondering if he otherwise thinks of the pitch as “green ground”.

Doncaster begin to recover from the blow of the second Town goal and in the 64th minute almost score. “That was close to a goal from Doncaster” says Brenner and Mick backs him up with “That was a big chance for Bogle, it really was”.  Three minutes on and Gwion Edwards and Flynn Downes replace Little Alan Judge and Andre Dozzell.  Five minutes further on and a Doncaster shot strikes an Ipswich goalpost.   A minute after that Taylor scores for Doncaster after a slightly desperate tackle from Flynn Downes sees the ball squirm away to Jon Taylor who is in space and strides forward to hit the ball across Tomas Holy and inside the far post.  “Maybe they deserve it” says Mick sportingly but resentfully, citing that Doncaster had hit a post.

Fifteen minutes of normal time remain and Josh Harrop replaces the oddly named Keanan Bennetts. Eleven minutes of normal time remain and Aaron Drinan and Freddie Sears replace James Norwood and Troy Parrott.  Mick questions the wisdom of changing half the team.  “It’ll be awful if Town let a 2-0 lead slip in this game” says Brenner mischievously before going onto predict “an uncomfortable final eight minutes for Ipswich Town fans”.  Brenner is right and yet he’s not; Doncaster camp around the Town penalty area, passing the ball back and forth but seldom if ever threaten the Town goal.

With two minutes left Aaron Drinan breaks down the right. “Poor from Drinan” says Brenner as an over hit cross by-passes a Doncaster penalty area which is devoid of Town players in any case. “Still Town on top in terms of score line” says Brenner, reassuringly stating the obvious.  Four minutes of added on time will be played. “Stand by your beds, it won’t be easy listening” says Brenner, fulfilling his own prophecy before he’s said it; “All hands on deck for Ipswich Town off to the right”, although I think he meant starboard. In the ninety-third minute of added time the ball falls to Teddy Bishop who aimlessly and apparently in a state of panic lumps the ball away up field, provoking the sort of sweary outburst from me that would be frowned upon within earshot of the Family Enclosure at Portman Road.  But Doncaster are playing with only Omar Bogle up front and he’s not been by any means a prolific goalscorer at any time since he left Grimsby Town in 2017, consequently the score remains unaltered and Town win.

“You wait all this time for a victory against a top six side and then two come along at once” says Brenner, reprising, but mostly repeating his public transport based analogy from last week. I think to myself how you can wait years for a public transport related analogy in a football commemtary and then two come along at once. To the strains of “Hey Jude” the players leave the pitch; they have taken a sad song and made it better. It really has been a beautiful day.