Sara’s abroad in Paris, France, until Dec. 13.

While Northwestern was busy losing to Indiana this weekend, I was having my own athletic experience. You see, while I don’t know anything about football (other than the fact that there are great commercials on during the Super Bowl), I love fall and football season. I love the smell of the leaves, going to games in the crisp air, floating from tailgate to tailgate. I love it all.

So when I got the chance to go to one of the biggest rugby games in France (Paris vs. Toulouse) I jumped at the opportunity. In my mind, rugby might as well be American football by the amount I know about each sport and I figured this was the best substitute. In my mind, I was picturing burly French men screaming “zut alors!!!” at their favorite team down on the field.

Well, about one second into my first French rugby experience and all those expectations disappeared. My friend Alex, who got the tickets, has been busy telling me all this time about how rugby is a “gentleman’s” sport. But I thought this was just a way of saying rugby is better than football. Turns out, rugby is a gentleman’s sport -– and going to a rugby game is quite possibly the polar opposite of any American football game I’ve ever been to.

The pink stands. Photo by the author.

So let’s start off with the scenery first. Most American teams have intimidating colors and mascots (although I question Northwestern’s choice of purple…). There’s a lot of blues, reds and yellows out there. What color don’t you see? Hot pink. But come to a Stade Francais game (the Paris team) and you’ll start to think you’re in the Barbie aisle at Toys ‘R Us. The whole stadium was covered with men decked out in pink jerseys, pink flags… even — and this is so francais — pink scarves.

After getting over the initial shock of so much pink (and flowers — pink flowers decorate the Stade Francais jersey), I was still expecting a traditional, rowdy game of rugby. After all, they don’t even wear pads or helmets.

Before the game started though there was a little entertainment — much to the pleasure of me and Casey, who were crossing our fingers for half-time show. So as we watched the players run up and down the field we rocked out to the cast of Grease, now playing in Paris, smack dab in the middle of rugby warm-ups. I’ll bet a lot of money there won’t be a production of Jersey Boys before a Bears game.

The elaborate pre-show. Photo by the author.

Before the game could actually start though, I witnessed one of the strangest things I’ve seen in Paris. ABBA’s Dancing Queen started to blare from the speakers and a woman in a white gown walked to the center of the field accompanied by a young boy, also dressed in all white. Then, a man with what looked like a jet-pack, walked out behind them. And then, before my disbelieving eyes, he proceeded to turn on his (real!) jet-pack and fly around the field, landing at the feet of the woman and young boy. He then presented them a porcelain rugby ball. Let the games begin, I guess?

For the most part, the actual rugby game went as I expected it — just a lot more pink with a lot more waving flags (and definitely no one with a painted chest). And the pink wasn’t just what made it a gentleman’s sport. The French, notoriously not a loud bunch, actually get quiet in respect of the players during field goal attempts. Definitely not something I’ve seen at NU. In fact, even with the 80,000 people in attendance, the Paris vs. Toulouse game was quieter than any of my high school games. Yikes.

As far as satisfying my thirst for football season, I think I’m good. I still have my fingers crossed for NU, though. The way I figure, if they step it up and get to a bowl game this winter, I really won’t have missed out on much anyway.

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