Postcard from Biarritz, with Ed Leahy

On my first visit to the local boulangerie to practice what remained of my Leaving Cert French, I was strangely drawn to a rugby poster behind the shopkeeper's head. Knowing that I'd be well home before the World Cup bandwagon would even reach first gear, the last thing I had thought about - despite being in one of rugby's most dedicated towns that would even give Rugby a run for its money - was that any form of an egg-chasing match would be happening.

The local side, BO, or Biarritz Olympique Pays Basque, to give them their full title (or the langers we beat in the Heineken Cup final as they are known in the home of Irish rugby, Limerick) were in action against the second best province in Ireland, Leinster.

Now, holidays tend to knock several sections of my thinking faculty into hibernation, but I was certain that the rugby season hadn't kicked in yet, and I was sure that the Heineken Cup fervour wouldn't arrive until at least Ireland had bowed out of the World Cup (whether that would be in the group stages or not we'd have to wait and see). So I pencilled it down in one of my few open mental sections and thought no more of it.

I must admit, I'm a big fan of the 'including a sports excursion into the summer holidays' holiday, having ended up at a River Plate game while backpacking in Argentina and watched Ian Harte score not one but two penalties for Levante in a Spanish Second Division game on a romantic break in Valencia. So knowing that there were three decent Spanish league teams within a two-hour drive from Biarritz, it was far from a meaningless game of rugby I was thinking about.

Bilbao, San Sebastian or Pamplona. Which one would it be? Athletic were in Barcelona and Chris Coleman's new boys were away at some second division backwater (I had forgotten they had been relegated). Which left Ososuna. Home to Sevilla. Happy days! But what's that 'P' after the fixture? The game was off as Sevilla had to play their Champions League game that had been called off due to the death of one of their players. Fair enough - no complaints there.

I had actually read about the misfortunate circumstances in L'Equipe earlier in the week. I'd been buying the daily sports paper, basically because this country has a daily sports paper, and scanning for results in the athletics (no Irish medals yet from what I could make out), the US Open (go Tim!) and any words that I knew the English for. I couldn't make out exactly what had happened the tragic player, but it's the type of story that reads the same in any language. Very sad.

So back to the boulangerie for my baguette and croissant and to check the kick-off time at the Aguilera Stadium. The Leinster reserves it was. The poster stated 19:30hrs for kick-off and while I had to be gently coerced to desert the early-evening sunshine to get ready, we arrived at the stadium with minutes to spare as we went in search of some tickets.

There was definitely a sense of pre-season around the ground as no more than a handful of spectators trickled into the impressive stadium. The venue was only a five-minute walk from the apartment, which was just enough time to decide what the cut-off price would be that we'd pay. The logic was twisted but valid. I reckoned that since I pay €15 to see Shamrock Rovers play a league game, I wouldn't pay more to watch a team that I've never paid in to watch before, especially when half their squad were away on Irish duty.

The more I think about what happened next, the funnier it becomes (to me, at least!). There was a woman next to the entrance with a big book of tickets, and she was dressed in official BO garb so she appeared legit. And she was. So 'combien des billets?' as they say over here. Five, she said. That's about right, I thought. A fiver for a pre-season game is what all clubs should charge. So on with us to the entrance.

I handed the tickets over to the bemused looking Frenchman - or Basque man - who I think may have been looking around for Jeremy Beadle, or the French equivalent. I didn't catch his full spiel but between himself and his smirking assistant, it was relayed to me that I had two tickets for the half-time draw. I couldn't believe it. The thoughts of trying to get into a sporting event with a couple of raffle tickets. The ticketseller was shifting away down the street as I strode purposefully after her. To her credit, she handed back the money straight away.

The real ticket office was at the side of the stadium and the options were €30, €20 or €15. But the €15 had a word beside it which I couldn't translate, so fearing another dose of being hit with the stupid stick - I had a vision of arriving back at the gate with two OAP tickets or some such - I got clarification that they were adult seats, it just meant that they were at the end of the stand. They'd do.

Being turned away from the gate of an empty stadium for the second time in five minutes is not an experience that I have ever encountered. Although, this time the lads were being helpful. The kick-off time had changed to 21:00hrs so they suggested that we go off and have a drink or get a bite to eat. We strolled back down the road, cooked dinner, opened a bottle of wine and pondered whether or not to return.

Darkness had kicked in as we made our way back up the street towards the floodlit stadium. The adjoining roads had filled with parked cars and a swarm of BO fans marched towards the light, so we followed, feeling a lot more optimistic about the game that a couple of hours previous seemed like a non-event.

There was a cup final feel amongst the almost-capacity crowd as the fans clad in red and white (they actually looked like they had returned en masse from the Bull Run in Pamplona) began the first of many 'Allez B.O.' chants - various tunes same lyrics. With no programme, no teamsheet and not much of a view, I recognised the blue jersey of Leinster but very little else.

The view was bad because we were watching from the end that Leinster were attacking and after 20 minutes and a couple of Biarritz tries, I was already looking forward to the second half and the Biarritz attack at our end. But the Leinster unknowns hit back and a few minutes later, they were ahead thanks to a penalty by Johnny Sexton and two well-taken tries, one of which was a cracker from Rob Kearney, who ran the length of the pitch having intercepted a cross-field kick, which even drew an impressive ovation from the normally partisan locals.

The Leinster subs jogged close by for their first warm-up of the night, no familiar faces there either but one lad stood out. Well his barrel chest stuck out like a peacock and his ass seemed to point towards the sky - not that I was looking, but he had a very distinctive look. And the peacock had the plummage to match. He sported one of those blond mohican-esque coifs that raised a few eyebrows on some of the more rustic gents around us.

The half-time meal-combo of a sandwich and a beer was good value for a fiver - that was the raffle money spent - as the BO supporters discussed the first half that hadn't gone entirely to plan. There were a few Irish jerseys dotted about the place as well as a gang of English lads in Leicester jerseys - Tigers not Foxes - cheering for their nearly namesakes.

The peacock appeared for the second half alongside a couple of other Leinster subs. One of them was Fergus McFadden, so of course, that's what we called our feathered friend for the duration. 'Fergus' was on the wing - there was no place else for him, unless at scrum-half, and the young fella looked terrified when he somehow found himself defending a towering second row, who had somehow managed to make his way onto the Biarritz wing. Luckily, the ball didn't reach.

The game was nearing its conclusion with Leinster trailing by five when, from a Biarritz scrum on the Leinster try-line, 'Fergus' broke at pace leaving a trail of Biarritz defenders in his wake as he steamed through the posts for what would have been the match-winning try.

The reason he kept going was because he didn't hear the whistle; the reason I celebrated the try was because I was attempting to record the move on my mobile phone. An audible chortle rang in my ear as the play restarted on the Leinster 22 and a minute later, Biarritz sealed it with a well-worked try right under our noses. Leinster grabbed an injury-time try but lost out by three points, the game finishing 31-28 to BO.

Roll on the World Cup.

If the Leinster reserves can give one of Europe's finest a run for their money, who knows what BOD, ROG, Darce and Horgs can achieve?

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