English sporting visits to St-Etienne always seem to be bittersweet. David Beckham and Michael Owen enjoyed famously contrasting fortunes here against Argentina in the 1998 World Cup and Saracens departed with equally mixed emotions. They will not be involved in a second successive European final but they can forever be proud of how close they came.
Result aside, this ranked right up there with their most stirring European efforts, the amount of valour shown in adversity little short of extraordinary. Quite how Billy Vunipola, Maro Itoje, George Kruis and Brad Barritt walked away unaided at the end was a total mystery. People have been muttering about the increasing physicality of modern rugby for years but there may never have been a club game quite as raucously gladiatorial as this.
It was certainly the least neutral venue imaginable, the 41,500-capacity stadium a bubbling cauldron of effervescent yellow with barely a Saracens supporter in sight. Outside, a man dressed as Asterix the Gaul was being carried aloft on a shield; inside more than 30,000 ultras appeared to be have been supping on magic potion for several hours. I even saw one female fan approaching the ground 90 minutes before kick-off with her gumshield in.
It made for a throbbing occasion, with the banana cabaret in full swing from start to finish. How ironic that the current darling of Clermontis Nick Abendanon, the erstwhile England full-back enjoying the time of his life in the Massif Central. His pace has been a perfect companion to all Clermont’s monstrous forward power, a jaune jet among the black hearts.
Mentally, though, Clermont can still occasionally be fragile. Their first‑quarter pressure alone should really have yielded a comfortable lead but, somehow, it never quite materialised. Abendanon’s pass to Napolioni Nalaga looked forward even before the wing was forced into touch at the corner flag by Chris Ashton and it was not until the 26th minute that Brock James landed the shakiest of penalties off an upright to get them off the mark.
Nor could they count on the cosy familiarity and aura of Stade Marcel Michelin, where Northampton were comprehensively shredded a fortnight ago. As Saracens proved in Paris this month they care not where they play and this buttercup-themed corner of a foreign field brought out the best in players such as Billy Vunipola and the evergreen Charlie Hodgson.
Even with Owen Farrell fit again, Hodgson’s form has been good enough to ensure he was always going to start at 10 and an early drop-goal and subsequent long-range penalty were both struck with the sweetness of long experience. Je suis Charlie, as they say in St Albans. Had two more difficult penalty attempts gone over, Sarries would have led by more than 6-3 at half-time.
One stirring burst by Itoje, the 20-year-old next big thing in English rugby, also reminded Clermont that last year’s beaten finalists would not easily be subdued in an industrial city once famous for its arms manufacturing. Stade Geoffroy Guichard? At times it felt more like Stade Geoffrey Boycott, given Sarries’ visible determination to give their opponents absolutely nowt.
And still it wasn’t enough, a huge Clermont scrum and a neat chip by James offering the princely Wesley Fofana the chance to show off his diving skills. Sarries have another big game against Northampton on Saturday, what shape they will be in after this staggeringly brutal contest remains to be seen. And how long, too, before an English side conquers Europe again? The wait is now eight years and France’s finest grow ever stronger.
