THROUGH BROKEN ENGLISH and broken French, we are getting to the heart of Clermont Auvergne’s issues.
Using hand gestures for emphasis, our new friend laments how the team have “no fight, no balls.”
We’re standing at the bar of La Vache Oui Tete, where the owner is pouring local digestifs as his patrons dissect another Clermont loss. It’s an unusually quiet European away trip, with The 42 and The Irish Independent the only Irish media who have made the journey to Clermont-Ferrand. Our colleague sourced the restaurant through a recommendation from JJ Hanrahan, whose time in Clermont is well remembered when this information is passed on. “Ah JJ!” Another digestif is poured.
An hour or so earlier, as we cut into our steaks, some locals make their way over to chat rugby. One proudly shows us a beret detailed with club crests collected during away trips. Glasgow, Saracens, Leicester. His most impressive journey won’t be unveiled until we’re settling our bill. Even though he lives 30 minutes from Vannes, he regularly makes a six-hour drive to watch his beloved Clermont.
They’ve been going to the Stade Marcel-Michelin for years but are worried about the future. They love their club but don’t think twice about leaving at half time if the team aren’t delivering on the pitch. Indeed, one admits he’d take relegation to the ProD2 if it helped bring about change at the top.
The supporters we meet across the weekend are intensely passionate. One woman has next to no English but makes a point of coming over to simply say “Leinster!” Despite the result, the province prove a popular team with the locals. No hard feelings. “C’est rugby.”
Long after the game has ended, the Marcel-Michelin is slow to empty, with nobody in a rush to make the short spin back into town. The club shop is packed. The stadium bars are buzzing and a small crowd gathers around the lower tier to watch the ground’s second game of the day, with Clermont’s espoirs playing Lyon. A large beer tent is doing a fine trade, with the Michelin Man and Miss Clermont 2026 both available for photos with happy patrons. It’s hard to tell who is more popular.
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Earlier, a small group of Leinster supporters had gathered at the entrance to welcome their team off the bus. By a distance, the loudest reception is saved for Leo Cullen, who looks half-embarrassed by the chants of ‘Leo, Leo’.
The Stade Marcel-Michelin remains one of the great grounds in French rugby. Ben Brady / INPHO
Ben Brady / INPHO / INPHO
Later, he’ll speak warmly of the whole occasion, and the magic of French rugby, while hoping Leinster get a strong turnout for the Aviva Stadium clash with Munster this coming weekend.
Yet it’s hard to imagine Irish rugby ever feeling like this.
And that’s when spirits are low. Before kick-off a member of the local press fears a 50-point loss. “Leinster, c’est Irlande!” Yet despite the frustrations around the team, the supporters bring the usual energy and colour.
Back in the town centre, a different clash is unfolding amid weeks of escalating student protests. On a morning stroll The 42 passed a number of protesters exchanging flares and tear gas with police.
Riot police used tear gas on protesters.
Our research has let us down. Before the game we wrote how no serious disruptions were planned for the day, but by mid-afternoon a relative in town has text to say he’d been tear-gassed. You just can’t trust the media.
Post-game, by the time our workload is cleared and we’re heading for steaks, the atmosphere has changed. Many of the protesters were peaceful, but there are now groups dressed in black with faces covered running through the streets. The pleasant pedestrianised laneways now carry an edge. Wary of stumbling into trouble we don’t need, we stop into a bar, where we’re told ‘tonight, c’est calm’, before it’s stressed to remain ‘alert’. Armed riot police pass by the window.
The tension is not confined to Clermont-Ferrand as riots explode across France, with whole streets “devastated” in Paris, while a 17-year-old boy had his right hand blown off by a grenade in Saint-Étienne. Over 1,800 people are arrested and 150 police officers hurt.
The protests centered around Place de Jaude.
On Sunday morning, we walk down to Place de Jaude. The shopfronts have been smashed up, and monuments are daubed with graphic graffiti against President Emmanuel Macron and far-right candidate Marine Le Pen, who is leading the early predictions. Locals look on disapprovingly as workers start scrubbing the paint off.
We speak to one elderly couple who appreciate the sentiment, but not the means. Clermont-Ferrand has traditionally been a place of strong socialist support, but in local elections last March there was a surge in popularity toward the centre and right. Last Sunday, 10,000 turned up for a rally in support of far-left candidate Jean-Luc Mélenchon.
Sunday's local paper.
The local paper details the “significant unrest” with a striking front page, “The Protest Ignites.”
The sports pages state Clermont “didn’t have the weapons” to match Leinster, delivering “courage in the scrum, carnage in the lineout.”
We’re on an evening flight home through Paris. For lunch, we stop into one of the few brasseries open on a Sunday, where we sit under a framed Ulster jersey and hanging Leinster flag. The Stade Marcel-Michelin remains one of the great grounds, and Clermont-Ferrand remains a great rugby town. It would be a true shame if it were to fall out of the Champions Cup schedule.
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A weekend in Clermont: Riots and a French rugby giant facing challenges
THROUGH BROKEN ENGLISH and broken French, we are getting to the heart of Clermont Auvergne’s issues.
Using hand gestures for emphasis, our new friend laments how the team have “no fight, no balls.”
We’re standing at the bar of La Vache Oui Tete, where the owner is pouring local digestifs as his patrons dissect another Clermont loss. It’s an unusually quiet European away trip, with The 42 and The Irish Independent the only Irish media who have made the journey to Clermont-Ferrand. Our colleague sourced the restaurant through a recommendation from JJ Hanrahan, whose time in Clermont is well remembered when this information is passed on. “Ah JJ!” Another digestif is poured.
An hour or so earlier, as we cut into our steaks, some locals make their way over to chat rugby. One proudly shows us a beret detailed with club crests collected during away trips. Glasgow, Saracens, Leicester. His most impressive journey won’t be unveiled until we’re settling our bill. Even though he lives 30 minutes from Vannes, he regularly makes a six-hour drive to watch his beloved Clermont.
They’ve been going to the Stade Marcel-Michelin for years but are worried about the future. They love their club but don’t think twice about leaving at half time if the team aren’t delivering on the pitch. Indeed, one admits he’d take relegation to the ProD2 if it helped bring about change at the top.
The supporters we meet across the weekend are intensely passionate. One woman has next to no English but makes a point of coming over to simply say “Leinster!” Despite the result, the province prove a popular team with the locals. No hard feelings. “C’est rugby.”
Long after the game has ended, the Marcel-Michelin is slow to empty, with nobody in a rush to make the short spin back into town. The club shop is packed. The stadium bars are buzzing and a small crowd gathers around the lower tier to watch the ground’s second game of the day, with Clermont’s espoirs playing Lyon. A large beer tent is doing a fine trade, with the Michelin Man and Miss Clermont 2026 both available for photos with happy patrons. It’s hard to tell who is more popular.
Earlier, a small group of Leinster supporters had gathered at the entrance to welcome their team off the bus. By a distance, the loudest reception is saved for Leo Cullen, who looks half-embarrassed by the chants of ‘Leo, Leo’.
Later, he’ll speak warmly of the whole occasion, and the magic of French rugby, while hoping Leinster get a strong turnout for the Aviva Stadium clash with Munster this coming weekend.
Yet it’s hard to imagine Irish rugby ever feeling like this.
And that’s when spirits are low. Before kick-off a member of the local press fears a 50-point loss. “Leinster, c’est Irlande!” Yet despite the frustrations around the team, the supporters bring the usual energy and colour.
Back in the town centre, a different clash is unfolding amid weeks of escalating student protests. On a morning stroll The 42 passed a number of protesters exchanging flares and tear gas with police.
Our research has let us down. Before the game we wrote how no serious disruptions were planned for the day, but by mid-afternoon a relative in town has text to say he’d been tear-gassed. You just can’t trust the media.
Post-game, by the time our workload is cleared and we’re heading for steaks, the atmosphere has changed. Many of the protesters were peaceful, but there are now groups dressed in black with faces covered running through the streets. The pleasant pedestrianised laneways now carry an edge. Wary of stumbling into trouble we don’t need, we stop into a bar, where we’re told ‘tonight, c’est calm’, before it’s stressed to remain ‘alert’. Armed riot police pass by the window.
The tension is not confined to Clermont-Ferrand as riots explode across France, with whole streets “devastated” in Paris, while a 17-year-old boy had his right hand blown off by a grenade in Saint-Étienne. Over 1,800 people are arrested and 150 police officers hurt.
On Sunday morning, we walk down to Place de Jaude. The shopfronts have been smashed up, and monuments are daubed with graphic graffiti against President Emmanuel Macron and far-right candidate Marine Le Pen, who is leading the early predictions. Locals look on disapprovingly as workers start scrubbing the paint off.
We speak to one elderly couple who appreciate the sentiment, but not the means. Clermont-Ferrand has traditionally been a place of strong socialist support, but in local elections last March there was a surge in popularity toward the centre and right. Last Sunday, 10,000 turned up for a rally in support of far-left candidate Jean-Luc Mélenchon.
The local paper details the “significant unrest” with a striking front page, “The Protest Ignites.”
The sports pages state Clermont “didn’t have the weapons” to match Leinster, delivering “courage in the scrum, carnage in the lineout.”
We’re on an evening flight home through Paris. For lunch, we stop into one of the few brasseries open on a Sunday, where we sit under a framed Ulster jersey and hanging Leinster flag. The Stade Marcel-Michelin remains one of the great grounds, and Clermont-Ferrand remains a great rugby town. It would be a true shame if it were to fall out of the Champions Cup schedule.
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Leinster Protests Rugby