Brendan Gallagher delves into some of rugby’s most enduring images, their story and why they are still so impactful
What’s happening here?
It’s the evening of December 21, 1997 and one of the coldest rugby matches I have ever covered with Toulouse experiencing an icy blast for their much-awaited Heineken Cup semifinal against Brive.
Don’t believe all that Tourist Board nonsense about balmy sun kissed winters down in the south west, it can be freezing down there especially when the katabatic winds blow off the snow-plastered Pyrenees. Just to accentuate the cold, the Municipal Stadium is a concrete fridge at the best of times – fait frisquet as they say in those parts.
Just typing was a challenge so heaven knows what it was like handling a rugby ball. In the stadium it all went off from about an hour before kick-off, with the 29,000 crowd jumping to keep warm and lighting flares to give a false illusion of heat. It was an extraordinarily colourful scene, especially among the massed ranks of Toulouse fans at one end of the ground as they paid homage to the rouge et noire.
What’s the story behind the picture?
French rugby was on an all-time high. France had won the 1997 Grand Slam and were to take the 1998 version in style. Meanwhile Brive had appeared from almost nowhere to slay the rest of Europe and march to the 1997 Heineken Cup, making Leicester Tigers look like second raters in the final at Cardiff.
That win had put Toulouse noses out of joint. Before the billionaire owners arrived a few years later Toulouse were the power in the land but suddenly these rural upstarts and truffle snufflers from Brive were stealing their thunder, making all the headlines, getting top billing on French TV, getting preferential treatment from Les Bleus. Or so they thought.
Civic pride was at stake. Toulouse were on a mission to restore top dog status and they warmed up for this encounter with arguably the single greatest display in European Cup history in the quarter-final when they dismantled a star-studded Harlequins side -who quite fancied their chances – limb by limb en route to a 51-10 victory.
Quins hooker Keith Wood – a world beater for the Lions in South Africa a few months earlier – always reckoned it was the biggest single hiding of his rugby career and the only time he had ever felt totally inadequate and ‘unworthy’ – to use his exact word – on a rugby pitch.
This was the big one. In the minds of the French media and the rugby cognoscenti this would decide who was the greatest club side in the world.
What happened next?
A titanic, feisty, dramatic, dog fight of a game lasting 110 minutes in which the sides couldn’t be separated on the scoresheet even if it was Brive who eventually progressed.
At various times the muscular Toulouse pack threatened to take control and Brive were hampered by the loss of Olivier Magne – then at the peak of his powers – in the 21st minute with a serious knee injury. Magne had already nipped in for a try and it was his extraordinary athleticism and the link he provided between backs and forwards that always brought out the best in Brive.
Pierre Bondouy’s try and the goalkicking of Christophe Deylaud saw Toulouse leading 16-11 going into injury time when Brive managed to work some space for Sebastien Carrat, once a member of France’s 4x100m relay squad and a 10.4secs man for the 100m in his pomp. Carrat screeched in for a try to make it 16-16 but to general astonishment Christophe Lamaison, for three or four years the most deadly kicker in world rugby, managed to miss the simple conversion. Extra time it was.
Yann Delaigue potted a couple of penalties for Toulouse, Lamasion replied with one of his own and then in the last minute of extra-time Brive were awarded a penalty 30m out. Lamasion stepped forward. Everybody knew the tiebreaker rules, the stadium announcer had broadcast them at the break in extra-time. This was it. He had blown it once already, could he pop this one over. Of course he could.
Why is the picture iconic?
French rugby fans are a breed apart and none are more passionate and colourful than the Toulouse faithful when they are in full cry, which in the last decade or so hasn’t been that often with the team a little off the boil. This picture is all about their devotion to the team and their colours – rouge et noire everywhere – and their love of the pink city where rugby has always been king. The flares and firecrackers give the image a Spanish feel, there is a strong hint of fiesta
What a rugby occasion it was, rounded off, naturally, with a brisk half hour walk back into the city centre and the bon vivre for the late night cassoulet that accompanies all great rugby occasions in the Pink City.
Footnote: From a British perspective Brive – and indeed Toulouse – looked untouchable that day but a month is a long time in sport. By the time they played Bath in the final at the end of January the Brive magic had disappeared. This game was their final, they haven’t touched these heights again.
“The crowd was jumping to keep warm and lighting flares to give a false illusion of heat”
Iconic Rugby Pictures: PART 29 Toulouse fans warm up for Heineken battle December 21, 1997
