France 98 - Dispatch report from Paris, France

In early 1997, in Manchester, someone asked me: “So, how are the preparations for the World Cup coming along?  Is the tension mounting?”  It wasn’t.  In fact, at the time it was dead calm.  Last Christmas a friend from London expressed his surprise that food manufacturers hadn’t begun a huge promotional campaign for their products with the tournament looming.  “The peas, for example, are really excellent in France,” he said.  Others were indeed making plans well in advance – my friend John had bet on a French victory months before.

But personally, I didn’t really feel much.  As a sociologist, perhaps I shouldn’t let emotion cloud my view too much anyway, but simply analyse things.  And since Euro 96, like many others, I had frankly doubted the ability of the team to produce a style, on or off the pitch, that we could identify with.  We are not like the English or Scottish, willing to dig around the grounds right from the start of a campaign, with or without tickets, to support our national team. French supporters need to feel that there’s something in it for them.

In the run-up to France 98, there were plenty of additional factors which worked against any great upsurge of enthusiasm.  There was the cost of the Stade de France and the impossibility of finding a team worthy of the name to play there, as well as a lot of fairly ugly manoeuvring by sponsors and the media.  More significantly, perhaps, there was a complete failure on the part of the organisers to involve marginalised groups in the deprived suburban estates in any of the preliminaries.  So for various reasons there was little sense of anticipation until shortly before June 10.

Stade de France in construction - the cost totalled the equivalent of €290 million

And then, a month later, with the French team victorious, more than a million people were on the Champs Elysees, and all over France there were scenes of wild jubilation.  It took me several days to return to reality, to get back into the swing of things after a month spent on a little cloud, and to digest the implications.

As it turned out, this World Cup was indeed beautiful, even taking into account the sometimes unpleasant reality of France and of football.  It had all the nice surprises that you need to sustain the belief that football really is a beautiful game.  Not necessarily great matches, but good matches, rarely ruined by the high stakes, a little spoilt by refereeing that was over-fussy or just plain wrong, but with a lot of great skill and technique and fair play, and some great goals.  The extraordinary Japanese, like good school children, had bought the shirts of all the French clubs to honour the host country.  There were classics involving Cameroon, Nigeria, Brazil and Scotland.  Away from the stadiums, the atmosphere in the tower blocks for Morocco’s first match was electric.  And in the streets and cafes something extraordinary was taking shape for France too.

Scotland fans at Stade de France

But there were also the classics involving English and German hooligans.  The former were exactly what we expected: I mark my territory, I drink on my territory, I hit whoever sets foot on my territory and I am helped by the opposing “fans,” in this case the youths from the tough northern suburbs or Marseille and a few Olympique Marseille ultras who took the opportunity to make their mark on their own town centre.

The longer the tournament went on, the more the behaviour of the French fans helped to foster an atmosphere of festivity rather than aggression.  But there again it took a bit of time.  When France met Denmark in Lyon, any sense of occasion was limited to the station (the Scots were coming back from St Etienne), the Place Bellecourt (where the giant screen was) and on the road to the stadium.  For the matches involving Morocco, Tunisia and Iran, by contrast, there was a fevered atmosphere in the districts where the majority of the inhabitants are north African.  Otherwise, everything was normal. 

But then the suburbs began to descend on the town centres to watch the matches, and from France-Paraguay onwards things started to get very exciting.  At St-Denis there were two World Cups.  On one side there were those who had tickets, those who wore ties and followed the signs held by elegant hostesses bearing the names of the major sponsors, those who frequented the VIP village.  On the other side, all around them, there was something like a carnival, made up of people who didn’t have tickets but just wanted to be there to savour the big-match atmosphere, eating sausages and chips and painting their faces, before going home to watch the match on television or settling down in front of one of the big screens.  The whole spectrum of people was to be found in front of these screens: diehard football people, blacks, whites, Arabs, both men and women, those who made the trip after congregating in the town square or their usual café, all surrounded by traders selling exotic sandwiches and T-shirts.

World Cup carnival - Brazil fans arrive for the final

And things grew slowly.  France-Paraguay: everyone had enough space to put their bottle down next to them.  France-Italy: those who arrived late were a long way from the screen.  France-Croatia: the roof of the disused factory that overlooked the area was black with people.  For France-Brazil, there was no more space by five o’clock in the afternoon, and no more tiles visible on the factory roof.  Little by little, France came round to the World Cup, to the pleasure of football, and to the intensification of that pleasure that comes from getting behind your team.

Support for France, however, was never unequivocal.  In the first round we tended to support the small countries against the big ones.  In the second we chose France, of course, but also Brazil and Nigeria.  Even on the day of the final many of the young fans were sporting Brazilian colours.  But the game had captured the imagination of France, and for many, the final was the icing on the cake.  We had nothing against Brazil, in fact it was the dream final.  But then came the glorious surprise.  We won!  Yes, France too can win the World Cup!  We, too, can enjoy one of those liberating days when you shake hands or kiss people without knowing who they are, buy each other drinks, stay in the crowd out on the streets without fear, find common feelings with people we will never meet again.  We were just elated that everything – nearly everything – had gone so well.

Nigeria fans cheer on their team

Afterwards, there was plenty of analysis of the events of July 12.  We talked, of course, about victory for integration.  With tricolours flying we talked of a rediscovery of national pride, one which didn’t automatically imply aggression or exclusion.  We felt that victory in football was a symbol of a better self-image for France.  We rejoiced in the new values embodied by Aime Jacquet and his team; the work ethic in the absence of a creative genius, solidarity, discretion, modesty, awkwardness in communication.  And we beat the National Front.  Or at least, if it wasn’t a total defeat for Le Pen and his followers, it certainly gave them no pleasure whatsoever.  They heard the Marseillaise sung by people who are, for them, foreigners.  And that was a joy to behold.  Those who took part in these events, allowing themselves to become immersed in the peaceful crowds, lived an amazing experience. 

Ready for the final - Frnech fans on the Champs de Mars

What can we expect for the future of French football?  Many young children will join clubs.  Perhaps we will surpass last season’s average First Division crows of around 17,000.  But it is not certain that we will see a huge increase.  Because supporting France in the World Cup is a completely different experience – the French team belongs to everyone, even those who are not passionate about football.  As for the clubs, many people are not ready to take up the habit where the territory still seems hostile.  Maybe we will see groups of young fans inspired by the events of July 12.  But the pro-National Front feelings that are present in many grounds will not disappear immediately, and spectators of Arab or African origin, under-represented in the majority of French grounds, won’t suddenly be going to watch Paris St Germain or Racing Club Strasbourg.  Equally, it’s not certain that the increasing number of female fans noticed during the World Cup will be carried over into domestic games.

The realisation of the hopes expressed on the evening of July 12, 1998 will depend on political responses to schooling, youth unemployment, the fight against racism and inner-city politics, but also to football.  But even if those goals remain out of reach, the euphoria of July 12 should never become a bitter memory as a result – it was an experience worth savouring for its own sake.

(Extracts from A Beautiful World by Patrick Mignon, in the book Back Home: How the world watched France 98)