Sean O’Donnell
Saturday 6th May 2000 was a day basked in sunshine-at least in the South of France. It was also the day of the first major overseas excursion for Irish club Rugby.
The previous season,1998/99 Ulster had become the first Irish province to lift the European Cup but as things panned out all their knockout matches had been at home, a quarter and semi final at Ravenhill and the Final at a capacity Lansdowne Road all against strong French opposition. But on that glorious May day in 2000, Munster would travel to the Stade l’Escure (now the Chaban Delmas ) in beautiful Bordeaux to take on the might of Stade Toulousain in the then Heineken Cup semi Final. This was the same opposition against whom, a few years previously Mick Galwey had to implore his teammates to keep the score below 50.
I was living in Brussels at that time and among the Irish community there was a growing awareness of what was in the offing. A few months previously a revitalised Irish team under Warren Gatland had secured their first win in Paris in 28 years with a certain 21 year old called Brian O Driscoll scoring a hat trick of tries, 3 more than Ireland had scored there in those 28 years and the memory of that day and the desire to relive it was strong.
The kick off time was at 4pm and so I boarded a train at the Brussels Gare du Midi departing at 7am and arriving 6 hours later. I was struck by the sea of red jerseys on the platform as it seemed that every Irish person in Brussels-not just Munster –was there. As the train pulled into stations throughout France, notably Poitiers, there were more forests of red. Eventually there was a collection of us in the carriage, singing and exchanging anecdotes, shortening the journey. Our tickets were for different parts of the stadium but we arranged to have lunch before heading out to the ground. There was the small matter of securing a hotel room for the night but that proved unproblematic.
At lunch we ate alfresco enjoying the finest steaks at prices that would make Dublin blush, washed down by Bordeaux’s finest. One poor young lad chose to have a beer with his meal and got an unmerciful slagging-did he not know where he was? I said Good Luck to him for being his own man. Well fed and watered, there was still plenty of time to make our way to the match.
Bordeaux today has an enviable tram system but, incredibly, in 2000 it was still at the design stage. We travelled by bus to the stadium on which we were joined by a coterie of opposition supporters. We treated them to Ireland’s Call, There is an Isle-Stand Up and Fight does not appear to have been in vogue at the time-and various other staples. In return we were treated to the ubiquitous French anthem, and Alouette-the unexpurgated version complete with gestures but in the dulcet French language to spare our blushes-.
Finally arriving at the sun-kissed stadium with time to spare the atmosphere was electric as a wall of sound emanated from the Toulouse supporters behind the goal to our right. The arrival of the Munster team, however, was greeted by a resounding cheer that would have made Thomond Park proud. The team responded to this and were quick to settle taking the game to their esteemed hosts. Reward came with John, the Bull, Hayes crossing for a try. Toulouse were also there to play and dazzled with their French flair scoring some scintillating tries. But Munster had flair of their own and an inter passing display covering 75% of the pitch ended with Ronan O Gara dotting down. Still the French aristocrats were not going anywhere and the match remained in the balance until towards the end when Jason Holland picked off an intercept to secure the deciding touch down.
That night the rafters roared in every hostelry in the famous French city. Sounds of joy and celebration emanated from everywhere and I did not hear or see one discordant note. I thanked my lucky stars for Rugby supporters particularly Irish Rugby supporters.
In the morning as I surveyed the scenes around the streets there were tired, wrecked but happy bodies everywhere struggling to open their eyes and shaking themselves seeking reassurance that the previous day had, indeed, happened. As they gathered themselves to make their ways to the airport and as I made mine to the station for my journey back to Brussels and the grindstone of the following day, I was struck by the large number of family groups that had travelled. It was the birth of what became known as the travelling Red Army . They were soon to be joined on the road by a Blue one as well as green and white ones.
On the return journey I decided it would be rude not to visit the dining car. I was not disappointed as there, before me, were a red clad group of revellers and, in their midst, a proud son of Munster and Ireland, Ralph Keyes who had been there covering the match for RTE. More singing and storytelling spirited me back to Brussels where I took my leave of yet another few new friends who were travelling on to Paris for their flights home.
Back in Brussels I was greeted like a returning Columbus by friends at my local hostelry Le Franklin in a city with a healthy disregard for notions such as closing times and I enjoyed a night cap toasting Munster and Irish Rugby.