The autumn internationals always stir something deep, don’t they? Our lads, old and new stepping out again, carrying the weight and wonder of a nation that lives and breathes this game.
Waking up this morning brought a flood of memories rushing back, the sound of the anthem, the thunder of boots, the raw beauty of it all.That familiar ache of pride and anticipation as the skies turn grey, the air sharpens, and the pitch gleams under the lights. France are back in motion today, against a highly experienced South African team with almost double the number of capped players than we have – it’s going to be dur, dur ce soir…
To every player who’s worn that jersey, merci. You’ve given us more than scoreboards and silverware. You’ve given us moments that stay etched in the heart. From Yannick Jauzion powering through defences with quiet authority, to Fabien Pelous leading like a storm breaking, to Vincent Clerc turning chaos into poetry on the wing. Those Toulouse legends, and the ones who followed, made us believe that rugby could be art and battle in the same breath. They played with the kind of fire that made every child in the stands want to lace up their boots. Unforgettable, the lot of them.
It’s gutting to miss it this time. I should have been there, tucked in among the noise and the colour, waking up the next morning with the city spread out below the hotel balcony, with the ghost of last night’s chants still ringing in my ears. And when we are lucky: Paris always feels different after a win, as if the pavements themselves hum with pride.
Instead, it’s coffee and livestreams, shouting at the screen like it changes anything and hugging my rugby cushion. Still, my heart’s there, standing shoulder to shoulder with the faithful; Allons enfants de la patrie…
And somewhere in that imagined Sunday morning light, there’s a quiet thought for someone who’d have understood what that balcony view meant. Just a nod, no sentimentality, but the kind of connection that lingers long after the match is done.
Here’s to the lads who carry the torch now, to the bruises and the brilliance still to come, and to every supporter who still feels that pulse of blue running through their veins. Whether we’re in the stands or stuck at home, the pride doesn’t fade.
Allez les Bleus, toujours !
