WE GO AGAIN
KEVIN McCALLUM: Hazy view through the sands of time of Le Roc Springbok
My favourite gift to a friend cost me €1. It was the front page of L’Equipe, the French sports newspaper, the day after the 2007 Rugby World Cup final. The headline reads: "Le Roc Springbok". A French journalist told me it meant: "The rock, Springbok." I asked him if he knew that rock wasn’t a good word to describe some South Africans. He shrugged. They all shrug in France. They shrug when they mean yes, they shrug when they mean no. They shrug when they just don’t know. From the embrace of Paris to the fun of Montpellier to the mirth of Marseille and the blandness of Lens, they shrugged during the seven weeks I was in France for the World Cup. The day after the night before, they shrugged when I showed them the pile of papers I had on the table of the pizzeria I was drinking breakfast in. It had been that sort of night. Working until 2am, catching the train home to our hotel in Les Halles, waking up knowing that the day would bring a controlled madness and that the best way to face...
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