A Shandy-Manc* on the Sandy Banks of Marseille

A Shandy-Manc* on the Sandy Banks of Marseille

A Shandy-Manc* on the Sandy Banks of Marseille

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By Oliver Sparrow, writing from London.

*Shandy-Manc noun - A Manchester United supporter with highly dubious or non-existent ties to either the city of Manchester or Manchester United football club itself, esp. from South of England. See also: ‘plastic Manc’, ‘glory hunter’, ‘Oliver Sparrow’.

Last week A Football Report was given an exclusive opportunity by the major UEFA Champions League sponsor Heineken to go behind the scenes at the Marseille versus Manchester United game in the South of France and I was granted the chance to go and watch my beloved Red Devils play away from home by the gracious and generous Eric Beard, who had to stay at home. Read on for a colourful insight on what was a brilliantly interesting trip.

We were escorted from our hotel to the centre of Marseille by a cab driver who looked like a Mark Morrison impersonator. He was sporting some rather smashing shades and a swish leather trench coat which went well with his frankly gangsta Taxi; a brand-new black Mercedes saloon with blingin’ rims and tinted windows. The overall look was fairly convincing, apart from the fact that he was French, overweight, about 60-years-old and white.

Anyhow, he screeched to a stop with a puff of blue tyre-smoke and dropped us off in the middle of the city, just a short hop from Marseille’s Stade Velodrome stadium, and we snuck into the nearest cafe for a couple of pre-match ‘pressions’ to settle the nerves.

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I’ve always found service in France leaves a little to be desired (well, quite a lot if I’m honest), but the owner of this cafe was making a conscious effort to dredge new depths of customer (dis)satisfaction. A quick scan of the other patrons after the owner had thrown our bill at us revealed the cause of his contempt, though. There wasn’t a shaven-headed, quilted-jacket wearing, diamante earring pierced, swaggering Mancunian in sight. It appeared we had wandered into the den of the Marseille-aise.

 In our haste to avoid potentially rowdy Manc-seized Gallic drinking holes adorned with giant supporter group flags, we had stumbled into the domain of the Marseille supporter; an altogether classier establishment where the Carling is replaced by Leffe, own-brand vodka in a brown paper bag superseded by Pernod, and where the atmosphere when penetrated by supporters from the opposing team intensifies from serene to poisonous rather than boisterous to violent. Nevertheless, we let the glares burn through the back of our heads a little longer by ordering another round from the begrudging owner. The epic clash between French obnoxiousness and English stoic stubbornness was a sight to behold.

We were greeted at our entrance to the Jean Bouin stand of the Stade Velodrome by a diminutive but extremely friendly Swiss UEFA representative (obviously not Blatter) who was to give us our exciting behind the scenes stadium tour prior to kick off.

Newly issued with our ‘access all areas’ UEFA passes, we were met at each security checkpoint with knowing nods and polite “bonjours” – I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so important. First stop on our tour was the area just outside the stadium where the TV editing and broadcasting occurs. It was a maze of coloured cables and fancy-looking vans; the kinds whose middle parts mechanically extend out sideways to almost double the internal size, much like the way Benni McCarthy’s gut lollops out of the waistband of his West Ham shorts after getting home from training via the pie shop, I imagine…

The home broadcaster for the game was French channel TF1, and we were allowed to step into their truck and take a quick look around at how things were done. When watching football on TV we’re used to seeing seamless transitions between shots and instant replays of all the action, but it’s easy to overlook just how much work goes on behind the scenes to bring the game to life on the screen. Inside the truck was a massive wall of live TV streams monitoring the live game as well as what is on all their other channels. This is the control centre and where the editor decides what is going to be broadcast, just a few seconds after the action on the pitch has occurred.

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To the left of this room is another where the live graphics are rendered and passed to the editing room. This includes things like live statistics and team line-ups. To the right of the main room is the sound suite where all audio is processed. The whole procedure is unbelievably complex and the incredibly short time-frame of just a few seconds in which to work is astounding. So next time you’re sitting in the pub moaning about the extra couple of seconds you’ve had to wait to see an offside replay for yourself, take a sip of your beverage and spare a thought for the hard-working boffins in the broadcasting vans – they do an amazing job.

Next stop was a short lift ride to the top tier of the stadium where the commentary, live journalism and filming takes place. Each commentary desk has a live video feed of the game so that they can see what’s on the TV as you watch. The ITV commentary position was atop a little platform, above all the other desks so Tyldesley and Drury could lord it over the underlings, or at least that’s what I heard them muttering…

Up in the gods there was also a little bank of cameras, each one able to move independently from the others. Apparently this is how player tracking is done. When you see the statistics of how far a player has run in a game, and in which areas they have done so, this is achieved by an individual camera tracking that particular player for the whole 90 minutes. I think even Stephen Fry would find that quite interesting.

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Next up was a descent into the bowels of the stadium. The walls of the corridors were decorated with photos of Marseille greats, past and present. It was great to see and be reminded of what footballing masters had trod on those very floors. Eventually we arrived at the dressing rooms. Cameras were strictly forbidden at this point, and there was a very tense and nervous atmosphere about the place. There was an electric energy in the air and the harrowed faces of the Man Utd training staff conveyed the importance of their meticulous pre-match preparation plans, of which our presence was not meant to play a part. TV could never portray the frayed nerves that are present before a big Champions League match-up.

We were then ushered pitch-side to have a look at the game cameras and subs benches. I had a quick sit in the Marseille seats. My feet dangled above the ground, making me feel even more of a kid in a candy shop. There was also a scary-looking 6-foot ditch around the sides of the pitch, presumably to stop the fans making their way onto the field. It looked like something from a Roman gladiatorial amphitheatre – I wondered what I was getting myself into!

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We then disappeared back down the players’ tunnel – a curious design with a hatch that flipped up from underneath, a bit like a bunker. We had a few minutes in which to go and luxuriate in the wonderful Heineken hospitality suite, complete with gourmet food, live music, and perhaps most importantly, a myriad of bars staffed by unfeasibly beautiful people waiting to attend to your every liquid refreshment want or whim. Luckily for them, mine was just beer.

Perhaps the best part of the tour was the pitch-side pass for the players’ warm up. By this time the stadium was packed full of roaring Marseille fans. I can honestly say I’ve never witnessed such a fantastic atmosphere at a sporting event before. To say that the home fans were vocal would be an understatement of gigantic proportions. Even though the Stade Velodrome has no roof, the sound within the stadium was literally defeaning. Check out the atmosphere for yourself in the video below. That’s me in front of the fans, absolutely loving it whilst being unwittingly caught on camera.

It was a strange experience being so close to the players as they ran into the tunnel. I could almost touch Rooney and Scholes as they made their way back to the dressing room, and I had to refrain from attempting to give them a high-five as they passed me. It’s probably for the best, though, as I’m sure it would have gone as embarrassingly as my unreturned wave hello to Adrian Chiles as he stood with Marcel Desailly by the advertising boards in one of the ITV commercial breaks.

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The actual game itself was somewhat of an anti-climax, with both sides seemingly happy to take a draw in a match with chances few and far between. The seats were fantastic, though. My plush, padded throne was embroidered with the Marseille logo and was positioned in the row in front of a certain Avi Glazer. If it’s good enough for the Glazers, it’s good enough for me. Although when I saw Angus Deayton in the same row I did contemplate re-assessing that thought…

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It was a nippy night in the cold Marseille air, and half-time brought with it a welcome visit to the hospitality suite. I gorged myself on fine French cuisine and warmed the cockles with a swift glass of beer before making my way back to my seat; an embarrassing five minutes after the second half had begun. I plonked myself back down with the sick feeling that I was one of those corporate faux-fans that you always see on TV strolling back to their seats halfway through the second half. I had become one of Roy Keane’s dreaded ‘Prawn Sandwich Brigade’. Although to be fair, my fellow brigadier Mark did point out that we had been munching on foie gras rather than prawn sandwiches. I’m fairly certain that makes me an even worse fan. Nay bother, I hadn’t missed much.

The poor old United fans that had made the trip down to the South of France were penned into their little corner of the Velodrome for an hour after the game had finished to allow the Marseille fans to disperse and negate the chance of any trouble stirring on the city’s streets. However, the stale game had already done the gendarmerie’s job for them, and the away fans melted away down the cobbled streets and into their warm hotel beds.

There was still time for me to enjoy a little more hospitality at the stadium, though. Another one of my foie gras brigadiers, Andy, had managed to guess the correct score in the prediction contest that was being run in the hospitality suite and was luckily selected as the winner of the top prize; a signed Marseille shirt. It obviously couldn’t have been a fix, but I’ve never seen so many dirty looks directed in our party’s direction by our fellow French hospitality guests. It was an amusing and entertaining end to what had been a brilliant day out in Marseille.

Many thanks to Heineken who made this special trip possible for myself and AFR. You can check out their website that showcases their official affiliation with the UEFA Champions League here.

Disclaimer: All xenophobic comments made for humour’s sake, no offence intended.

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