Owen Doyle: A severe case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time

January 16th, 1988

France v England in Paris

(First match of that year’s Five Nations)

France were holding on as England set up another attack. They broke up the left touchline and, suddenly, centre Kevin Simms was free and heading for the corner – it seemed nothing was going to stop him.

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I headed for the same place, and was far too close to him when he decided that he might not make it after all. The inside pass he threw was directed towards the swarming England support – except that’s where I was also to be found, and the pass went to me.

The French defenders were all over the place, including all over me, and the potential try-scoring opportunity was lost. It was, by a country mile, my worst international moment. ‘Le Crunch’ indeed.

***

Given the time I spent living and working in France during my youth, refereeing over there was always special for me.

And while it was generally very difficult to control, the annual battle between England and France, colloquially known as ‘Le Crunch’, was a huge fixture to be a part of.

It has always been, and will always be, one of the most keenly anticipated Five/Six Nations matches.

Former French international centre Jean-Pierre Lux, speaking at a dinner in London, once famously joked that although he really liked the English, sometimes they made it really hard for him to do so: ‘This afternoon they collected me at Waterloo Station, and this evening I have just been served a dish of Beef Wellington.’

Perhaps it does date back to Napoleon’s defeat on that bloody Belgian field outside Waterloo; maybe it was Winston Churchill, who was distinctly unamused by the defeatism of Frenchman Marshal Philippe Pétain. In 1940, Churchill chose 21 October for his address to the French nation – the anniversary of Trafalgar Day when Horatio Nelson routed the French, and the Spanish for good measure.

These two countries have been at it for quite a while now.

However, in the late 1980s and early ‘90s ‘Le Crunch’ reached unacceptable levels of violence and intimidation.

France had been dominant during the 1980s, reaching the 1987 Rugby World Cup final, and had beaten England in four successive Five Nations matches. England were determined to turn this around, and their 1989 victory at Twickenham was the first of eight wins in a row.

Those matches brought myself, and fellow Irishmen Stephen Hilditch and Brian Stirling, to Parc des Princes and Twickenham on no less than five occasions. Given the history between the sides, let alone the nations, these were notoriously difficult challenges and we definitely could have done with the presence of a TMO, if only for reasons of self-preservation.

A visit to Paris in 1985 saw Hilditch and myself travel in the role of touch judges for visiting South African Steve Strydom, who had come to referee the France v Wales Five Nations fixture.

The French had organised a large dinner party for the Friday evening, and we travelled some distance out of Paris to the very unusual setting of a supermarket. The normal canteen had been transformed into a very posh seafood restaurant; the array of oysters, prawns, lobsters and other shellfish was stunning. The only problem was: how could the match officials for the following day risk a bad oyster or indeed any sort of food poisoning, unlikely as it was. So we nibbled on bread and had a couple of glasses of wine, but when the cheese and absolutely mouth-watering desserts arrived, things suddenly took a turn for the better.

However, before we could get stuck in, Strydom became worried about the time. It was indeed getting late and, understandably, he wanted to get us back to the hotel, which we duly did, missing out altogether on the wonderful platters which had just been wheeled in.

On the morning of the match, word came in that there were some threats to Strydom on account of planned demonstrations about the yet-to-be-resolved issues of apartheid. The French Federation was concerned that if anything untoward should happen to him, another referee would be needed, so it was decided that we would not all journey together to Parc des Princes. I managed to get into the wrong car, and was shocked when Strydom hopped in after me. We travelled at high speed, even more so than the usual match-day trip to a ground. It was an uncomfortable journey; I thought that if the protesters don’t get us, this driver will do the job for them. As it happened, we arrived safely, without as much as a sign of protest.

The two France v England matches I took charge of were in 1988 and 1990. Both were played in Parc des Princes, a venue I really liked, even though it only held about 50,000 spectators. The construction was of reinforced concrete, and the sound of the French brass bands reverberated and echoed strongly around the ground. It was a mad noise and the atmosphere was always hot. Its location, in the 16th arrondissement of Paris, gave matches a great city feel to them. In contrast, the Stade de France, a wonderful stadium which holds over 80,000 and is situated outside the city, is a much more impersonal place.

Both of these matches were tough, and presented stiff challenges for the match officials. England lost the 1988 match very narrowly, 9–10, and I was held largely responsible. They had started very well, and should have had two early tries; one looked a clear certainty but they managed to butcher the clearest of overlaps deep inside the French 22, deciding instead to try and plough through the last defenders, which failed miserably. The backs, including Will Carling and Rory Underwood, were less than thrilled.

Their mood wasn’t helped when my untimely interception butchered their second opportunity. That was as close as they would come to crossing, their nine-point haul coming from two Jonathan Webb penalties and a Les Cusworth drop goal. I didn’t have too many bad moments, but that was high on the Richter scale.

The reason for that error? Well, I was known more for a certain casualness of movement than great pace about the place, but I compensated with anticipation and positioning. Unfortunately, that day was over-anticipation of the highest order, and my attempt to get there before the action went badly askew for once. The result was that I’d put myself in the worst spot I could possibly have chosen, a severe case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That moment invented the term ‘player space’ for me and it’s the area where a referee, in any sport, should never find him or herself. The danger of this was highlighted by what happened to French referee Mathieu Raynal during the 2012–13 season. Montpellier were at home to Racing in the French Top 14 league when, midway through the second half, he got badly caught between two players. He suffered a horrific double fracture of his tibia and fibula and, for good measure, also fractured his collar bone.

While I had suffered damage to no more than my pride, Raynal had been in the equivalent of a car crash. With great determination, and no little nerve, he returned to refereeing after just one year out.

My second France v England match was two years later, and it was altogether a happier day at the office, with England running out easy winners, 26–7.

That match was notable for an unusual delayed start.

As the teams left the dressing rooms and prepared to take the field, we discovered that the sliding glass doors that opened onto the pitch remained firmly shut. It turned out that France’s president François Mitterrand had not yet finished his cognac and coffee. Quite obviously, it was impossible for the teams to go out before the great man was ready.

So the two teams were lined up together and, with nowhere to go, they decided it was perfectly natural to start some minor hostilities while they were waiting. Don’t forget, players are ‘up to 90′ at this point, full of high-octane adrenalin. As I asked for calm, and that hostilities should at least cease until the match started, the opening bars of La Marseillaise rang out and those doors slid open. Mitterrand was, at last, taking his seat.

The Ref’s Call: Memoir of a Rugby Referee by Owen Doyle is published by Hachette Ireland, Trade Paperback and ebook, £15.99