#Turboboularico2, ayahuasca West oval masked Décape the final of Top 14 Toulouse-La Rochelle

Friday evening was the final of the Top 14, with a more than enticing poster: the #Turboboularico2 between Stade Toulousain and La Rochelle!

In Hollywood, there are usually two types of sequels. Those that attempt to deepen or totally renew the genre, which remain quite rare. And those much more opportunistic, looking like good big copy-paste. Admittedly, we pretend to add a few new things: we change the location of the filming and two or three actors in the cast, but overall it's the same thing.

Well, this Top 14 final was a bit like that: the same thing as the European Cup final, with a few new faces and, with the exotic setting of Seine-Saint-Denis under the rain. Clearly, the writers didn't get bored: ok, we know who always wins in the end, but still, try to create a minimum of suspense. There, we never believed it. This film, we have already seen it and seen it again, and we will probably forget it quickly, apart from a few striking scenes where we feel that the budget was used, such as the scene of Cheslin Kolbe's drop which would not have never been possible without special effects.

In truth, if this finale were a film, it would be part of this whole wave of nostalgic cinema trying to rediscover the taste and flavor of the blockbusters of the 90s. Everything was there: a Ugo Mola who totally took over the role of his spiritual father, and who for a week brought out the sermon of the battered little club, to the outsider in whom no one believes. And a Stade Toulousain in final mode which, in the end, has always been able to win these matches in the same way. Raises, crosses and chisteras are for folklore and to impress tourists. When it really counts, we bring out the candles, the drops, and an efficiency as icy as the atmosphere of a family meal at the Novès.

Come on, let's go for the last session of the season!

The composition of the champions

The film of the match

In 2018 and 2021, Stade Rochelais experienced its defloration in terms of the final. But a European Cup final has nothing to do with a Top 14 final. Here, we are in France, and to highlight our region, we have a ceremony worthy of the most beautiful fairs village. It starts with La Marseillaise, played on the piano by a young prodigy named Mourad – no offense to all those who hoped never to see a Mourad again at the Stade de France.

Then, the President of the Republic comes to greet the players. Imagine how confusing it can be: 2 minutes earlier, you were headbutting the walls in the showers, you were ready to fight and die on the ground... and there is the Manu who comes to ask you if the youngest is well and where you plan to spend your vacation this summer.

After this interminable introduction (and I know a lot about it, dedication to the readers who are still there), place rugby. Thomas Ramos, who plays at the post of 10 in the absence of Romain Ntamack, kicks off. From the first tackles, we feel that the Novès method has paid off. The first impacts are harsh, the Red and Black are clearly the most aggressive. In fact, it almost feels like they have some revenge after being robbed in the Champions Cup final a month ago, when in reality it should be the other way around. We must salute Ugo Mola for this very high-level mental matrixing: it is as if the people of Toulouse had had their stomachs kicked during Christmas dinner, and that they were still hungry the next day.

Logically, the Maritimes are at fault at the center line. Ramos takes it and announces the color: any fault in the La Rochelle camp and it will be 3 points. On the following dismissal, it was the turn of Toulouse to be penalized. Ayahuasca West also announces the color: yellow, that of the most beautiful cracks in the final of Top 14. In a good position, the Mao-roux misses the opportunity to equalize. The Toulousains are quickly back in the La Rochelle camp. We advance in the axis, we enter the 22m, and there, bim, the back pass for Ramos who slams the drop. Yes, the drop, this gesture that no one tries anymore in the Top 14, apart from Segonds and Wisniewski, these anachronistic openers who always evolve 50 m from the line of advantage. It's 6-0 for the cassoulet eaters.

We can feel it, the spiritual sons of Father Fouras are disturbed by this Toulouse start full of aggressiveness and control. Rhule swings a sausage on the wing of Retière who fails to control the ball. Alldritt achieves the first of his 12 forwards of the evening. Knowing that I have never seen this man miss a match in his career, it is rather worrying. Pita Ahki chops up anything that moves and causes more bullet losses.

Only Kerr-Barlow manages to float a bit and gets a try opportunity on the short side, but Retière is pushed into touch. Note the fine defense of Jean-Charles Maillard who has never played winger in his life and who has perfectly managed the excess, proof that it is easy to defend in this position and that Damian Penaud and Teddy Thomas do not really no effort.

On the Toulouse side, it was Cheslin-who-has-not-scored-since-February Kolbe who created a scare with an interval shot. But Doumayrou the Kolbe-killer manages to stop him with a good tackle, like in the Champions Cup final. Bad news for the Yellow and Black however: Brice Dulin, the lucky charm, the man who achieved the feat of winning Brennus with Castres and Racing 92, has to go out for a hand injury. A real blow for the back, we hope that this will not prevent him from visiting his favorite saunas in the capital.

Meanwhile, Thomas Ramos continues to play like a guy who would have slipped on the best of YouTube by Juan-Martin Hernandez 2007. Candles, occupation, touch found in the opposing 22, the guy plays in an armchair, with a cigar in his mouth and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The forwards also do their job: a carried ball brings a new penalty. Ramos sanctions, 9-0. Even when they have good ammunition, Jono Gibbes' men do nothing about it: just before the break, they lose a ball in touch in the opposing 22. The Toulouse quickly reinvest the opposing camp. And there we understand that nothing can happen to them tonight: served in the middle of the field, Kolbe does not really know what to do, so he decides to hit a drop, for fun. What unfolds next before our eyes is simply surreal, so I can only see one explanation: a chip has been implanted in the match ball, and it is piloted from space by Thomas Pesquet. 12-0. At 16 against 15, the Rochelais cannot fight, they return to the locker room with the faces of those who have understood.

Getting up 12 points when you're unable to chain more than two passes is complicated. But when it rains, it becomes downright mission impossible. Again, it was probably Thomas Pesquet who pressed the “rain” button on the space station. Christophe Urios was right, we cannot fight against the pro-Toulouse plot. Nor can we fight against the genius of the NRL which, as a “halftimeshow”, offers us a concert of the Black Eyed Peas live from a garage in Miami. The guys have made no effort, they are jogging, like me in front of my TV. And besides, there's not even Fergie, probably injured. Maybe, as we do in Toulouse, she was replaced by an Argentinian medical joker with an unlikely name, like Esmeralda Chocolatina. At this time I zap on Canal +, but I come across Sébastien Chabal who is trying to do a tactical analysis. Finally, this tecktonik cover of The time of my life is not so bad.

We just had a very bad time, but it's not over because there are 40 minutes left in this final. At the kickoff, the Maritimes finally show a bit of fighting spirit, with a good offensive sequence rewarded with a penalty. This time, West passes it, 12-3. But the brightening is short-lived. In the rain, the match turns into a game of tennis and between Ramos and West, it feels like watching a good old Nadal vs Gasquet. Clumsy and perhaps a bit burnt out after this 78-game season, Alldritt was replaced and gave way to Victor Vito. Jerome Kaino also enters to make his jubilee, then another dinosaur (literally and figuratively) Tekori, then finally Médard who returns with his wet cocker spaniel. Honestly, given the rhythm of the match, even Huget could go on crutches and it wouldn't penalize Toulouse too much. I'm not going to tell you all the rugby hipsters who tell you “hey look at the Premiership final between Harlequins and Exeter, 11 tries! “, but I have a little desire.

A try, we still come close to seeing one on a good cross from Ayanakamura West, but Favre does not manage to control the ball to flatten. The referee returns to the advantage, another penalty for West, but another failure. The opportunity for the consultants to bring out the clichés "big matches big scorers blablabla". Ronan O'Gara is quick to get his opener out. It is therefore Jules Plisson who will embody the last hope of the Rochelais to have a 10 with solid shoulders and impervious to pressure. I leave you to meditate on this sentence.

After this double missed opportunity, the vice-champions give the baton to be beaten with a poorly controlled exit from the camp which offers a penalty just under the posts to the Red and Black. Ramos is as ruthless as a CRS against a teknival amateur, 15-3. Then 18-3 after another fault by Rochelais on a carried ball. It's bent. Jerome Kaino has understood this and is trying to get out like Pascal Papé, through the front door, with a red card. But his tackle on Lavault is deemed lawful.

The Maritimes still take advantage of the penalty to give themselves a last stand and inherit the “valiant as Italians” bonus by going to score the only try of the game on a ball carried. The people of Toulouse, they decide to stay. Mauvaka plays on foot and almost finds a superb touch in the 22 meters from La Rochelle. Alexi Balès comes into play and comes close to crashing a try in the Top 14 final, which would have been the ultimate insult. But Mr. Raynal prefers to put an end to the sadism of the Toulouse people. 18-8, 21^th Shield of Brennus for the biggest club in the free world and its immediate surroundings. On an exceptional basis, an exceptional celebration for all Toulouse supporters: a small McDo, a large fries, a coke zero, then sleep at 0:29 because tomorrow you have to get up to watch the start of the Tour de France.

So this is how the strangest season in French rugby history ends, and that says a lot given the usual level. The Toulousains have earned the right to be unbearable for one more year, and there it will still be 3 YEARS. But at the same time, there is not much to say. Les Rouge et Noir have proven that a double is not impossible, even at the end of an interminable season. Perhaps everyone does not yet measure the exceptional character of this team, and it will only be in a few years that we will be able to appreciate it, a bit like for the RCT of the great era.

For the people of La Rochelle, the worst begins now. We will have to fade the general condescension and the phrases such as “ah, what a great season, you deserved better”, “I am sure that you will return to the Stade de France soon”, “it will soon be your turn! ". This is called the Clermont-Ferrand effect. A New Zealand coach, a striker from the southern hemisphere with a weak mind, the color yellow, the best public in France... no, don't worry, there aren't that many points in common.

For me, the season is not quite over yet: at Actu Rugby, even the holders are selected for the tour in Australia. So I'll find you quickly here to comment on the new adventures of the health bubble of the XV of France. We should still have fun.

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