Fourteen thousand people authorized to furnish a Stade de France which, at the base, can accommodate almost six times more, that is not enough to trigger an ola. But allows, failing that, to create in situ a semblance of fervor. However, in this game, caused by the final of a Top 14 finally emerging from the long silence of the deserted spans, there was a winner on Friday night: Stade Rochelais. At least before the game. Because, if an obvious equity had been respected in the distribution of places, it is indeed the Charente public which, deprived during the whole season of this Marcel-Deflandre stadium, which in normal times it fills at each meeting, and especially grayed out. the idea of leaving Saint-Denis with the most prestigious of hexagonal trophies under his arm, loudly manifested his enthusiasm.
Alas, two hours later, under a rain that had become stubborn over the minutes, another song resounded at the other end of the stands: “We come, we win and we go!” Sung with the force of habit, it had an air of already heard. And for good reason: the Stade Toulousain had just been crowned champion of France for the 21st time in its history, at the end of a match, certainly stingy from a spectacle point of view, but tactically controlled with insolent clairvoyance. 18-8: packed, it’s weighed. Without even having ever trembled, while, during the past days, the war of small sentences gave a team of La Rochelle fresher physically and, above all, madly eager to wash away the immense frustration of a lost European Cup final (17-22) a month ago at Twickenham, against the same opponent; and, opposite, Toulouse at the end of the roll, at the end of a grueling season which had left many executives on the floor, long-term injured, such Yoann Huget or Sofiane Guitoune, to the very recent package of the young international strategist, Romain Ntamack, not recovered from a sudden shock in the semi-final, won in pain against Bordeaux (with, by the way, one less day of recovery for his teammates).
Toulouse, insatiable winning machine
Many, it must be admitted, would have liked a victory for La Rochelle, a growing club which enjoys an excellent image and asks nothing better than to upset the hexagonal hierarchy. But that would be forgetting that there was a “regular season” – as exhausting for organizations as for minds, with this pandemic (which had torpedoed the 2019-2020 session, aborted at mid-term) in the sword of Damocles – that Toulouse had finished in first place in the standings. And that, above all, in the final on Friday there was no photo, with on the one hand the determination of a united group and the flashes of genius of individuals like Thomas Ramos, falsely improvised opener, perfect in his kicking game, or Cheslin Kolbe, able to drop an insane fifty meters after a season well below his level as South African world champion. And on the other, an incredibly feverish team, reputed to be a crushing machine, yet playing here probably its worst game of the year, with a cascade of hand errors and a scorer once again with absent subscribers (Ihaia West, missing two of his – rather easy – three attempts, after having already sabotaged the final of the European Cup).
After 1996, this is the second time that Toulouse has won the European Cup / Championship double. From Central Asia to sub-Saharan Africa, via Canada and Argentina, the final was broadcast live to all five continents. However, without being able to assure that it has significantly contributed to ensuring the promotion of rugby (at least in the eyes of laymen), we must at the same time admit that it has completed the history of the largest French club, insatiable winning machine which, carried by competitors above all suspicion (from the “rank-less” Alexi Balès, still in the shadow of the gifted Antoine Dupont, to the veteran Jerome Kaino, New Zealand legend bowing his bow on the lawn), is unable to imagine stopping in such a good way. Barely the third line, François Cros, he mentioned “Emotion”, even “Euphoria” caused by “An incredible season that will have marked history”, that, behind his back, the young winger, Matthis Lebel, was blowing: “But when we leave, in September, we’ll be there, with the same desire to win.” As if anyone could doubt it …
.
