LONG READ Champions Cup Final: Chemistry 20-28 Physics

Bonkers; and I’m not just talking about Damian Penaud tail-ending the 2025 Champions’ Cup Final sitting astride a zebra. We had a heap of tries; a bundle of other tries which appeared to be tries but which weren’t; sickening injuries, niggling injuries; yellow cards; more yellow cards; implacable defence; irresistible attack; kicks rattling the woodwork; tears of dejection; whoops of delirium and a spat at the final whistle but, in the end, it was a fifth straight trophy for a team from over the Narrow Sea. As the engaging, Union Bordeaux Bègles coach, Noel McNamara put it in the aftermath: ‘It’s the result that counts; everything else is just gossip.’

Chapeau to UBB; the mint winners of The Fresh Final. Stung at the very start, they regrouped, they asserted themselves and, having dragged Northampton to the mat and applied a choke-hold, they never once loosened their grip. They had umpteen – missed – chances in the second half to nail down the lid but, undeterred, they kept pounding the hammer for the full 80. Given what they did to get here and what they did once they arrived, they are the worthiest of champions.

Northampton Saints? Heroic. Alex Coles had to survive a fitness test before the game; he turned in 80 minutes of almost undiluted excellence. At prop, Manny Iyogun gave Sipili Falatea seven shades of trouble, shoved Ben Tameifuna’s head up his blower and, around the park, made multiple dents with or without the ball. Josh Kemeny was – again – a granite-like presence and the likes of Angus Scott-Young and Tarek Haffar made significant imprints off the bench. But, collectively, UBB had just too much avoirdupois.

And, essentially, this was the nuts of it, a final that was almost a scientific experiment; Northampton Saints’ chemistry against UBB’s physics. It’s simplistic, I grant you, to reduce such a game to ‘heart versus heft’ but here was one team built on, of you like, elemental characteristics reacting and combining versus another built on motion, energy and mass. And in keeping with how the top end of the game appears to be going, physics took it with something to spare.

Look, UBB, clearly, have soul and a true sense of ‘us’ – remarkably so given they’re an amalgamation of ancient grudges – all of which centres on an almost symbiotic connection with their constituency. Aside from the raucous thousands who brought the claret and white to Cardiff, the 20,000 tickets for the Big Screen Bash back in Bordeaux sold out within 30 minutes. They’ve chemistry of their own, as the rapturous celebrations confirmed.

When you’ve a Tank Regiment up front and the Red Arrows behind, you’re not likely to be struggling in a scrap

But when you’ve a Tank Regiment up front and the Red Arrows behind, you’re not likely to be struggling in a scrap, the more so when there are generals to spare. Matthieu Jalibert ran the first half, Maxime Lucu the second and, for all Northampton’s resilience in the set-piece and their stoic defence of the driving maul, they were atomised at the breakdown once UBB tweaked their tactics at half-time.

It was smart thinking from Head Coach, Yannick Bru, who’s now won the pot as a player and as the Main Man. Contrast and compare with the luckless Northampton Head Honcho, Phil Dowson, who’s now done the exact opposite and who must be wondering whether he’ll ever want to go back to Cardiff again.

In the 2011 final (a) in which he played and (b) in the very same city, Northampton folded through collective exhaustion. Take nothing away from a phenomenal comeback from Leinster – 6-22 down at the break – but the Saints were running on fumes. This time around, already nobbled by injuries to key players – Tom Pearson, Juarno Augustus, Burger Odendall, George Hendy – Northampton lost two-thirds of their back three – George Furbank and James Ramm – within four minutes. From that point on, it was a rearguard action, since, effectively, they were taking on 23 players with just 21. And tellingly, once again, they couldn’t shift the needle in the second half.

Even when they won the thing 25 years ago – and Lord knows how they did it – they snatched the pot on one leg and by just one point, ravaged by injuries and having wound sticking plaster round the halt and the lame. The wonder ahead of this latest final – post the stunning win over Leinster – was whether they had the emotional energy to go to the well twice in succession. As it turned out, the spirit was more than willing but, once again, the Shoe Army ended up playing a clutch hand in a European Final with too few trump cards.

Then there was Damian Penaud. Beyond the front row, it’s rare in any competition for a player to match his tally of tournament tries to his shirt number.

But it was UBB’s moment and, appropriately for a team who’re sponsored by a company which – as far as I can tell – makes some sort of Bordelaise custard, it was the sweetest in their short history. So we had Ben Tameifuna sitting in the dressing-room dressed in a Tongan flag, ski goggles and chuffing a cigar the size of a cucumber. Alongside was Arthur Retière, who’s now not only bagged three winner’s medals but done it in the last four years with three different clubs. His agent must be an astrologer.

And then there was Damian Penaud. Beyond the front row, it’s rare in any competition for a player to match his tally of tournament tries to his shirt number – if I remember, Sam Simmonds did it in 2020 – but when you’re a right-wing, it’s a decent effort. Asked at the final whistle whether this Champions’ Cup might inspire a second trophy in the Top14, the Player of the Tournament, was having none of it. ‘Tonight, we drink beer,’ he said. ‘Then we think about the Top14.’

So 1-0 to France on the Saturday but 1-0 to England on the Friday, a victory, again, engineered by a stand-out, PotM performance from a skipper in a 9 shirt; Ben Spencer pulled each and every string and, up front, Bath had string to spare. But they rode their luck. I bow to no one in my appreciation of Sam Underhill – the guy tackles like a clap of thunder and has much, much more to his game besides – but, sheesh, he was lucky to cop only a yellow. His clumsy hit on Davit Niniashvili looked redder than a baboon’s backside.

But, again, it was a win built on biceps. Bath had just too much grunt for Lyon Olympique Universitaire, all of which meant that, in golfing terms, they were walking up the 18th with a five-shot lead. Given what Johann van Graan has built out of dust and dirt – they were bottom of the Premiership when he arrived – it’s been some transformation. Their recruitment has been little short of miraculous.

Snaring someone by the neck after the final whistle just because you don’t care for the guy has no place in the game and Northampton, rightly, say they’ll pursue the matter.

But for Northampton, it was a bitter day capped by a sour set-to at the final whistle. As it appears, Henry Pollock was grabbed around the throat – ‘there was foul play … a fracas … it was out of order … uncalled for,’ said Phil Dowson afterwards – as one or more of the UBB players seemed intent on rubbing salt into Northampton’s wounds. ‘They were after him,’ said Fin Smith. ‘They all sort of charged at him and were trying to get hold of him. I’m surprised if you’ve just won a European Cup, the first thing you want to do is start a fight with a 20-year-old. I felt that was interesting. He’ll be alright.’

And I’m sure he will be. But as much as Pollock’s – what’s the right word, here; antics, waggeries – inspire hIs own team, how much do they also incite their opponents? Maxime Lucu, for example, sent Marko Gazzotti – UBB’s very own ‘Henri’ – a photo of Pollock every day in the week leading up to the final. Now, does this constitute a badge of honour on the front of Henry’s shirt or a target on his back? Look, snaring someone by the neck after the final whistle just because you don’t care for the guy has no place in the game and Northampton, rightly, say they’ll pursue the matter.

But will incidents such as this influence whether Pollock pulls back on the reins? It’ll be more than intriguing to see if Andy Farrell encourages or cautions the young man on the Lions’ tour, although, frankly, whatever brings out the best in the bloke would seem to be the answer and sod the opposition. And, again, Pollock, was eye-catching in the final. Out of position, he ‘scored’ two tries which, alas for Northampton, were both – correctly – pulled back, he made a colossal turnover under the shadow of his own posts along with more metres than any other forward on the pitch. Just keep doing what you’re doing, I guess. And that goes for the rest of the Northampton Saints’ team, too.

The glaring message from the European weekend – reinforcing the Six Nations and, indeed, the last five Champions’ Cup finals – is that physics appears to trump chemistry.

But the glaring message from the European weekend – reinforcing the Six Nations and, indeed, the last five Champions’ Cup finals – is that physics appears to trump chemistry. Perhaps it always has done; certainly, it’s scarcely surprising in what’s now, emphatically, a collision sport. But kinetic energy – mass and motion – is where the game’s at; either you’ve got it, or you haven’t.