I have already written about the Forum d'associations and the after school clubs. At last year's forum my son decided he wanted to give rugby a try. The local club is in the next village. In my village they are all mad on football thanks to a wave of Portuguese and Spanish immigration when the mines still operated. I was rather pleased because growing up in eighties Britain all my friends were football crazy, I was not very good at football, and the media was full of hooliganism. Although not particularly good at rugby either, I have always preferred the atmosphere and spirit. Even if, as my wife feared, the risk of injury is greater.
So one Saturday morning we headed off to the rugby ground, much like any other amateur ground around the world. The pitch, of course, surrounded by metal railings and a clubhouse, with bar, dressing rooms and communal showers. The smell of stale sweat, damp and mud took me back to miserable school sports sessions. Why was I doing this to my own son? Men of various sizes in mix and match rugby kits were shaking hands and patting each other on the back in a display of macho camaraderie. Meanwhile parents stood around with their offspring. One of the educators, as the rugby coaches are known, called together the parents of the under seven category and explained how the club operated. The under sevens were the newcomers, the other categories had already trained last year and knew what they were doing. We were told that parents could volunteer to help, "benevole", and could even follow a certificate to be educator, the "Brevet d'Etat d'Educateur d'Ecole de Rugby". In a rush of enthusiasm I volunteered and found myself helping to train every Saturday and accompanying the team to tournaments.
At the same time, I found myself enrolled on the educator training course. This involved going once a month for a theory session on a Friday night, followed by a practical session on Saturday morning. At first I felt like an impostor, my fellow trainees were obviously big rugby fans and discussed the national and international matches. The names of famous players were bandied about and I was teased about being English. I held my own making non committal noises or joking about French arrogance, but I felt out of place. I lacked the technical vocabulary and forced myself to watch matches to understand more. As the year progressed I became more comfortable and, even if I lacked the physical characteristics of the rugbymen, I could talk the talk, and walk the walk. Finally at the end of the year I passed my exam.
However I still felt frustrated because the coach of the under sevens did not really consider me or use me. I blew noses, dealt with minor scraps, tied shoelaces, but my training suggestions were largely ignored. The coach in question had been coaching for a number of years, did not have the certificate and did not much car for the French Rugby Federations rules. At the end of the year I requested to train another category without him. I was given the under eights and began to train for real.
As for my son he seems to enjoy the training sessions and tournaments, despite breaking his wrist early on and then aggravating a knee sprain suffered while skiing. I also think he is quite proud that his Dad is a coach. My wife is a judge for my daughter's aerobic competitions so each child has their parent involved in their activity.
