Tuesday 21 June 2016

England v Russia. Stade Veledrome, Marseille, June 11th, 2016

A couple of weeks before going on holiday to the south of France, I put two and two together and realised I would be there for the first week of the Euro's. A quick check of the wall chart showed me that 4 days in to my stay, England would be taking on Russia, a mere two hour drive away in Marseille.

After securing a not too expensive ticket from a reputable(ish) website, I was good to go. On the day of the game I left my sceptical wife behind and headed west toward Marseille in a very small hire car.

On arrival, my first stop was O'Brady's Irish Bar, situated a mile or so south of the stadium. The early afternoon atmosphere in O'Bradys was relaxed, steadily filling with England fans and a smattering of locals taking refreshment and not really watching the Switzerland v Albania game on T.V. Most England fans were seeking home comforts and opting for pints of Fosters at an eye brow raising 7 euros a go. Being the adventurous high brow culture vulture that I am, I boldly went for a pint of Corsican lager - Pietra. A nice drop.

Shelter from the mid day sun in O'Bradys.


After admiring the impressive array of football scarves in O'Bradys I decided to head in to town. It was a red hot afternoon and after 20 mins or so I was approaching the centre. So far so good. Having listened to the news in the preceding 24 hours I was glad to not have been provoked by the local youths or set upon by any Russian hit squads.

When I reached the historic port area, it was awash with England fans in high spirits. It was also covered in a giant green carpet of smashed Heineken bottles. A large contingent of French police armed to the teeth completed the picture. Tension was clearly in the air and it seemed there had already been a fair amount of fighting. I stumbled across a large group of England fans half heartedly contemplating charging down an ally where armoured police stood between them and a group of what appeared to be Russian fans beyond. A couple of England fans covered in blood were staggering back out the other way. Despite the majority seeming more than half cut, a collective decision was made that charging down the alley was not a good idea.





Leaving the testosterone fuelled atmosphere of the port I headed up past the opera house back in to the centre. I found a nice cafe and stopped for a coffee. Within minutes there was commotion at the bar as an England fan in his 50's loudly threatened to to put a younger England fan through a wall for being ''lippy'' and "taking things too far". I didn't hear what had triggered this outburst but luckily the mates of both rallied round and managed to calm things down.

At this point I was reflecting on how beautiful a place Marseille was and how suave the locals seemed. I wondered what they made of the tens of thousands of English that had descended on their city... At least they were bringing in plenty of euros to the bars and off licenses.

Queuing up for the gents after my coffee, I found myself next to the friends of the two guys who'd fallen out a few minutes before. The older guys were from Leeds and one of them was bleeding from his face, apparently having been struck by a bottle earlier at the port. He looked like a shorter, fatter, older version of Phil Mitchell. His mate was more non-descript, about the same age and engaged in conversation with the guy who had been threatened to be put through the wall, he was probably in his late 20's and a Bournemouth fan: 

''It was just football banter mate... at the end of the day we're all England fans together''. 

This re-conciliatory approach from the yonug upstart seemed to be working. Unfortunately for him though, another friend of his arrived, who had missed the earlier incident. On introducing himself as a Portsmouth fan he then reacted to sniggers from the older guys with : 'Leeds! What have you ever won?''. Bad move. By this point Phil Mitchell had pushed his way in-front of me in the toilet que and was mopping up his face in the cubicle, his non-descript mate was incensed however and immediately squared up to the young lads and repeatedly shouted: 

''What have we won? What have we won?'' My turn came in the toilet and I happily left them to it. Half way through, Phil Mitchell barged back in saying he needed more bog roll for his face, he leaned right across me in mid flow. Perhaps sensing my unease he said ''Don't worry I wont grab your cock''. Fair play to him, he was true to his word. After zipping up I thought it was high time to move on.



The rest of the pre-match passed without much incident. The majority of Russians I saw seemed to either be in families or couples. The groups of young male Russian fans I did come across differed from the English. Instead of singing songs and quaffing bottles of heineken, the focus of their attention seemed to be civilised looking roadside picnics of olives and meats.

Having read a bit about the stadiums history, I'd been looking forward to seeing the Stade Velodrome. Built in 1937 it is steeped in history, having hosted games in the 1938 and 1998 world cups. As well as being home to Olympique Marseille, it has also hosted rugby and as its name suggests - cycling. Since the 30's it has been renovated a number of times, most recently in time for Euro 2016. The latest addition saw the previously uncovered stands get a nice roof and the capacity increased to an impressive 67,000.



Russians and English sharing good times


Having read about the heightened levels of security following the terrorist attacks in Paris last year, I was surprised to not be searched at all on coming in to the ground apart from having my two side pockets tokenly patted by a steward who seemed overwhelmed and a bit vulnerable.

On finding my seat, high up in the stand along the side of the pitch containing the dug outs, the stadium looked fantastic. All four stands rise steeply in the middle and the new roof curving roof making for a fantastic atmosphere.



There was a big sense of occasion and it felt a privilege to be watching England's opener in a major international tournament. After a rousing sing along to 'Three Lions' and then what I guess was a rough Russian equivalent, the action got under way.

Stade Velodrome

England were fast out the blocks, Sterling and Lallana in particular looking dangerous and Rooney pulling the strings, apparently relishing his new midfield role. Chances came and went and were not taken. Russia were offering little themselves and looked relieved when the half time whistle went with the game still goalless.

The Russians continued to lack much going forward in the second half and England were toiling away but lacking conviction in the final third. Sterling in particular, who had started so brightly was beginning to loose his way and I was fearing a nil nil. Rooney had a chance pushed on to a post and then Lallana saw his shot from the rebound hit the same post and bounce off to safety. With 17 minutes to go however,  England were off the mark when Dier whipped a free kick from inside the D in to the top corner. My part of the stand erupted, beer was thrown skywards, strangers embraced and all was good with the world. Rooney was taken off and England looked to see out the remainder of the game and secure the three points.

2 minutes in to injury time, England were defending with everyone back, the ball was cleared out to a Russian player mid way in the England half. Milner rushed out to pressure him with perhaps too much speed and enthusiasm, allowing the Russian to easily side step him and deliver a ball in to the box. The giant Russian forward, Berezutski somehow managed to get in an aerial match up with Danny Rose, easily out jumping the 5'7 left back and sending a looping header past a despairing Jo Hart to make it 1-1.

Shortly before the Russian goal, an announcement had gone out asking the Russians to remain seated following the final whistle. The stand to my right, behind the goal was split between Russian and England fans with a thin line of netting separating them. As the game finished it became clear that a large number of the Russian fans were crossing the divide, which didn't appear to be manned by any stewards let alone police. At first I optimistically hoped that they were simply annoyed at being told they had to stay behind and were trying to get to the exits in the other part of the stand so they could get out the ground. It quickly became apparent however that their intentions were a bit more sinister, England fans were running to the far end of the stand desperate to get away from them with some resorting to jumping off the side of the stand to get to safety. Stewards eventually appeared from other parts of the ground and ran towards the stand, not in time to stop the fights and attacks we could see unfolding from our part of the ground.

In the build up to the game, there were many who suggested a lack of wisdom in scheduling England v Russia in Marseille at 9pm on a Saturday night, giving the fans all day and evening to get tanked up and cause havoc. Media reports suggested the Russia perpetrators, rather than being drunken louts, instead were gum guard wearing organised martial arts experts. It seemed inevitable that headlines would be grabbed by a minority of England fans who would find the cheap Heineken and the opportunity to throw plastic chairs around too hard to resist.

Once outside the ground and on my route back to my car, the atmosphere again seemed calm. Before long I was stuck in Marseille city centre traffic and fiddling with the sat nav having thoroughly enjoyed a day out at Euro 2016.

A couple of days later I had the joy of bumping in to Peter Crouch in nearby Antibe. Here he is with my son who looks delighted to meet two meter Peter...