We hate Man United. Well I don't as it happens, but this isn't really a football posting so I'll come back to that in a minute.
Where I should start is not at the Nice carnival either, but on the
Corniche, which I have just been able to enjoy for the first time since
I saw Edward Fox whizzing round its perilous cliffside bends in The Day of the Jackal.
That was a long time ago and I have naturally travelled along the same
coastline, from Cannes to Nice, many times since. But enjoyment of the
spellbinding scenery is, on the whole, impaired when you have to take
care not to drive into the sea. So I insisted on leaving the car at
Saint Raphaël and continuing to Nice by train.
Rail is easily my preferred means of transport and I know there are
several spectacular train journeys in the world. But this was a real
treat, from the exhilaration of racing along parallel to the
Mediterranean shore to the pleasure of trundling through cuttings
ablaze with mimosas. One carnival goes rather a long way for my tastes,
and I had been in Bormes-les-Mimosas only a week earlier when
Bernadette Chirac opened the corso there.
But the current Nice festival does boast a number of outstanding floats
representing the efforts of people from each quarter of the city, and
was well worth half a day. We also found an excellent stop for lunch,
the Indian lounge, run by a family from Pondichéry and now added to my
short list of good French Indian restaurants.
When the procession got under way, the giant caricatures of Chirac (and
Bernadette), Ségo and Sarko and the other presidential contenders were
especially impressive.
And then there was Zinedine Zidane. Which brings me back to Manchester
United.
That statement of hatred in my opening line is also the opening line of
a refrain heard, with varying force depending on which club's
supporters you are listening to, at most English football grounds.
In France, just now, they hate Man Utd, too. The French naturally
prefer Arsenal in any case, given the stronger links that make them
seem almost part of Ligue 1. But in normal circumstances, they also
respect Man Utd for the mighty club that it is.
The new antipathy follows last week's match against Lille. Everyone by
now has a view of the events involving Man Utd fans and French police,
and also of Giggs's quickly taken free kick that won the game; there
has been comment here as elsewhere.
But limiting myself to the free kick controversy and Lille's petulant
walk-off, I couldn't help feeling, as I watched the Zidane character in
the Nice carnival parade, that double standards were at play in the
French reaction. Man Utd's sense of fair play has been put in question
and the referee has been pilloried.
Yet all Giggs did, apparently without breaking any rule of the game,
was to make the most of an advantage awarded because of some unfair
play by Lille.
Why on earth should a free kick on the edge of the penalty area be
delayed to the convenience of the offending team?
Even if that view is open to debate, surely we can at least agree that
no verbal provocation justified Zidane's actions in the World Cup
final, much as some have charitably expressed understanding of them.
Yet in Nice here was further evidence that far from being a matter of
personal disgrace that also tarnished the image of an admirable French
national side, Zidane's show of yobbish aggression can be seen as a
source of pride.
The carnival caricature had the great man's head thrusting forward as it had towards the chest of Italy's Marco Materrazzi last July.
Where I should start is not at the Nice carnival either, but on the
Corniche, which I have just been able to enjoy for the first time since
I saw Edward Fox whizzing round its perilous cliffside bends in The Day of the Jackal.
That was a long time ago and I have naturally travelled along the same
coastline, from Cannes to Nice, many times since. But enjoyment of the
spellbinding scenery is, on the whole, impaired when you have to take
care not to drive into the sea. So I insisted on leaving the car at
Saint Raphaël and continuing to Nice by train.
Rail is easily my preferred means of transport and I know there are
several spectacular train journeys in the world. But this was a real
treat, from the exhilaration of racing along parallel to the
Mediterranean shore to the pleasure of trundling through cuttings
ablaze with mimosas. One carnival goes rather a long way for my tastes,
and I had been in Bormes-les-Mimosas only a week earlier when
Bernadette Chirac opened the corso there.
But the current Nice festival does boast a number of outstanding floats
representing the efforts of people from each quarter of the city, and
was well worth half a day. We also found an excellent stop for lunch,
the Indian lounge, run by a family from Pondichéry and now added to my
short list of good French Indian restaurants.
When the procession got under way, the giant caricatures of Chirac (and
Bernadette), Ségo and Sarko and the other presidential contenders were
especially impressive.
And then there was Zinedine Zidane. Which brings me back to Manchester
United.
That statement of hatred in my opening line is also the opening line of
a refrain heard, with varying force depending on which club's
supporters you are listening to, at most English football grounds.
In France, just now, they hate Man Utd, too. The French naturally
prefer Arsenal in any case, given the stronger links that make them
seem almost part of Ligue 1. But in normal circumstances, they also
respect Man Utd for the mighty club that it is.
The new antipathy follows last week's match against Lille. Everyone by
now has a view of the events involving Man Utd fans and French police,
and also of Giggs's quickly taken free kick that won the game; there
has been comment here as elsewhere.
But limiting myself to the free kick controversy and Lille's petulant
walk-off, I couldn't help feeling, as I watched the Zidane character in
the Nice carnival parade, that double standards were at play in the
French reaction. Man Utd's sense of fair play has been put in question
and the referee has been pilloried.
Yet all Giggs did, apparently without breaking any rule of the game,
was to make the most of an advantage awarded because of some unfair
play by Lille.
Why on earth should a free kick on the edge of the penalty area be
delayed to the convenience of the offending team?
Even if that view is open to debate, surely we can at least agree that
no verbal provocation justified Zidane's actions in the World Cup
final, much as some have charitably expressed understanding of them.
Yet in Nice here was further evidence that far from being a matter of
personal disgrace that also tarnished the image of an admirable French
national side, Zidane's show of yobbish aggression can be seen as a
source of pride.
The carnival caricature had the great man's head thrusting forward as it had towards the chest of Italy's Marco Materrazzi last July.
And the city authorities treated the crowds to repeated bursts over the sound system of that cuddly French hit, Dance of the Headbutt,
glorifying the footballer's moment of madness. Without wishing to rain
on the carnival, I cannot help thinking that this sends out a
depressingly wrong message to youngsters who idolise great sportsmen.
Labels: Arsenal, Bernadette Chirac, carnival, football, Indian food, Jacques Chirac, Ligue 1, Manchester United, Nice, Nicolas Sarkozy, Segolene Royal, Zinedine Zidane
Recent Comments