Rugby World Cup Road Trip: The damp truth about the French

French fans showed their spirit in Napier. Photo / Supplied

Opinion

How better to gauge the nation's Rugby World Cup mood than put a man in a campervan and tell him to get lost?

For this entry, Matt Johnson checks in from Napier.

In Napier, certain truths were revealed. They had been leaking out all through the day, perhaps throughout rugby history. Opened fully about the same time as the clouds.

Westshore Holiday Park was more like somewhere west of Saint-Malo. French people mingled with other French people. Stood in tricolour formations and passed rugby balls with casual, ominous flair. Asked Brenda at the office why on earth she didn't speak French. They were joking.

Probably.

Having lived with the French, smelt them on the Metro, ate lunch with them (while they talked about what was for dinner) and stood beside one at the worst possible moments in a rugby match... it's become clear just why they, well, why... they scare us. A little.

They like rugby as much as we do. We tend to pigeon-hole France as a place where people sniff wine and wear haute couture. Paris is not France. In the rugby strongholds of Toulouse, Touloun or Clermont Ferrand players - and supporters - aspire to the same roughness and brutality we do. In the south, All Black rugby is revered. Unless it is being faced. Then it is merely respected.

They bounce a lot. And not just in Grandstands. Over-bouncing is one of the number one forms of injury for rugby supporters in France. They even have a name for it: Repetitive Occupational Over-Bouncing Syndrome. One French girl I knew accidentally bounced off the sidewalk and in front of a truck.

They know all the words to La Marseillaise. They learn it at school. Get taken into fields where sticks of bread grow wild and tested on it. Its common voice is a source of pride and unity even by the jingoistic standards of national anthems.

They get over defeat easily. Here is perhaps what disturbs us most about the French. They knock us out - then lose to the English or the Australians (or even lose their way to the stadium). What happens? They just shrug. In 2007 and 1999, anyone caught shrugging after the rugby in New Zealand was subject to an official police investigation.

They are confident and friendly. In a cocky kind of way. See above. The ability to shrug off a loss is exactly what makes le rugby Francais so audacious. And dangerous. We envy this confidence; the capacity to revel in victory yet leave defeat cold on the floor like a toppled cheese & onion toastie. Nearly every French person I have spoken to has dismissed the importance of Saturday's game - saying that they would prefer to beat us in the final. That's the other thing about them: they're sneaky.

They really do like stinky cheese. Many carry it around with them inside condoms they have swallowed. Not for smuggling. For snacking.

All these things (with the possible exception of the cheese) is why France is our footy doppelganger. Our rugby evil twin. Whereas we are at our weakest fearing defeat, with our eyes glued to the prize... they are at their strongest when they have nothing to lose. And against us, they often have exactly that. Nothing to lose. This is why, when Yin meets Yang (or Ma'a meets Marcel) there is no space for middle ground. Only one or the other can exist.

* Matt was given tickets to the Canada V France match in Napier by Franck et Dominic.

Follow him across New Zealand at his RWC Road Trip blog or on twitter @KeaKaharoadtrip.

* And bid for an (almost) romantic night for 2 in the Kea Kaha-Mobile... check out our Trade Me Herald On Sunday Charity auction Herald on Sunday Charity auction online.