Brit Abroad...Paris Saint-Germain
Ici C'est Paris
Paris, the city of lights. This is the beating heart of France, a sprawling, multicultural metropolis. The premier club is full of controversy and attracts vitriol anywhere outside of Ile de France. Sportswashing is a hot button topic at the moment, and for good reason. A world cup in a country with appealing human rights careering towards us this winter, that probably should not be happening in the first place. That very same state also fund a football team in the hopes of a slight of hand trick to divert from crimes against humanity. That club is Paris Saint-Germain.
PSG play at the Parc des Princes, a glorious concrete beast, rising up and over a Parisian ring road, designed by architectural great Roger Taillbert, and inaugurated in 1972. It's even protected as an icon by the French authorities.
You can, and should, question exactly how PSG got to where they are today, but one thing you cannot question, is the fans. In the Virage Auteuil, the Collectif Ultras Paris, create a racuous, melodic and deafining atmosphere from the start. Banners, flags, drums and ordered chaos. From high above, there is a sea of humanity, swaying as a collective, yet still exhibiting individualism. I'm struck by the diversity in the mass. They were here before the petro dollars and they will be here long after.
Being here, it's part Disneyland, part real football. The stadium is close to the centre, and despite the rampant commercialism, the throng of fans, are as unsanitised and raw as you can get. I realise early on that the PSG experience is one of dichotomies. Beauty and the beast, this stadium and these owners. Messi and Neymar, the beast of Ross Barkley. On 30 minutes, Messi from 20 yards, leaves Kasper Schmeichel standing as he curls in an inevitable free kick. Beauty.
The second half sees Nice restore parity almost straight away, which leaves Galtier to play his ace, Director of Football, Kylian Mbappe, who receives the loudest cheer of the evening. With that, Nice substitute off Ramsey and Barkley, there is only so many superstars this pitch can accommodate. As an aside, there is worse legroom than a Ryanair flight, I'm getting old. It's all PSG now, with even Ramos playing as a trequartista, and the inevitable comes on 83 minutes, as Mbappe does an Mbappe, and scores for the winner.
How fitting that it's Paris fashion week, but the real haute couture is seen on this pitch. You get the feeling come Spring/Summer 23, Mbappe, Neymar and co will be the best dressed. The child in all of us loves to see the world's best players, doing things we can only imagine. The adult in us cannot shake the uneasy feeling of knowing how this club, and so many more, are funded. And perhaps knowing that, and being cognisant, is enough?
Ici C'est Paris