LONG READ Mick Cleary: 'They breed ‘em different in Bordeaux as Bath Rugby are about to find out.'

They breed ‘em different in Bordeaux, as Bath Rugby are about to find out. Never mind the shimmer of a Louis Bielle-Biarrey, it’s the intense edge of Union Bordeaux Begles that makes them such a force, a non-contestable element of the fine French teams that have made a mark in Europe’s elite competition. UBB may not yet have the European status of a Toulouse or three-time winners, Toulon, but they have all the hallmarks of those who have gone before them – majestic and merciless in equal measure.

The modern-day iteration of UBB has its roots in the fierce, uncompromising play of CA Bordeaux-Begles, albeit they have modified the uber-aggressive streak that was once reflected in the moniker of their front-row, the  ‘Beasts of Begles,’ who achieved cult status  when they revealed they wore cricket-box guards to neutralise any unwanted activity in the nether regions during the 1991 French final against Agen. Former France hooker, Vincent Moscato, was their front-man, a dome-headed, hard-nut player whose notoriety was cemented by his sending-off against England at the Parc des Princes in 1992, Irish referee, Stephen Hilditch raising the digit of doom after Moscato had tried to head-butt Jeff Porbyn. Teammate Gregoire Lascube shared the same fate after stamping on the head of Martin Bayfield. It was a lively affair.

Both were banned for six months. Moscato took up professional boxing to fill the void. My then sports editor at The Observer, Simon Kelner, spotted this Sport-In-Brief news item and dispatched me to France to cover Moscato’s debut. He also instructed me to make sure I got an interview with him. I duly tracked down a number for him (how did we ever operate pre-mobile phones?) at a bar he ran in Bordeaux, Le Pub Vincent. It was late on a Thursday night when I finally managed to make contact. There was a long silence at the other end of the line after I’d introduced myself as a British journalist. “Pah,” came the eventual foam-flecked response. “You call me a beast, an animal, a thug…. And you expect me to talk to you?’  The line went dead and I thought that was that. My editor thought differently. When I relayed the phone call back to him the next morning. “Perfect, that should make for fireworks when you get to see him in Amiens.’

The actual winner was Moscato. Cue pandemonium. Cue chairs and benches being thrown into the ring. Cue Moscato being hurried down the corridor to the sanctuary of his dressing-room. Cue me spotting an opportunity.

There was a full-card of boxing that night, through the age grades and weights as Bordeaux Boxing Club travelled north, all to be televised live on Canal+ who had also been drawn to Moscato’s presence in the ring. It was not a glamorous set-up, just a bog-standard gym in the back-end of industrial Amiens, benches piled on one another to seat the several hundred who attended. Moscato’s contest was the last on the card, a turgid, grappling three-rounder against a local heavyweight. Even Eddie Hearn would have had to go some to big up the quality of the bout. Moscato took a fall in the second round but recovered. As the judges’ scores were totted up, there appeared to be only one winer, duly announced – the local boy. There was a flurry of anxious activity in the corner from TV executives who had obviously paid handsomely to follow Moscato’s new career. The MC stepped back in to the ring to announce that there had been a mistake in the scoring and that the actual winner was Moscato. Cue pandemonium. Cue chairs and benches being thrown into the ring. Cue Moscato being hurried down the corridor to the sanctuary of his dressing-room. Cue me spotting an opportunity.

Knock, knock. ‘Hello Vincent. I’m the British journalist you harangued. I’m your only friend in the place. Any chance of a word.’

Moscato was great value and has gone on to be a celebrated TV and radio talk show host as well as an actor. As is so often the case with figures from French rugby, there is a richness, a vividness and a point of difference in so much of what they do. It is the same on the field of play and European rugby would be much the poorer without them. It will certainly be true this weekend.

Bath, of course, have every right to share the same stage even if it has been a long time since they have managed to take their particular place in the spotlight. It was 28 years ago that they found themselves in the self-same city, clinging on like crazy in a madcap finale to beat holders, Brive, and win the Heineken Cup. They have no reason to feel underdogs even if that is how the bookmakers see the fixture, understandably so given effective home advantage at the sold-out, 42,100 capacity of Stade Atlantique.

There is a sense that the tie will rival any of the great Anglo-French encounters that the competition has seen.

There is a sense that the tie will rival any of the great Anglo-French encounters that the competition has seen, be it that early-year Brive team that demolished Leicester in 1997 or the Tigers themselves who hit so many heights in defeating Stade Francais in the 2001 epic in Paris. Memories of Wasps come to mind, prevailing in the bear-pit Aime Giral in Perpignan or Gloucester’s James Simpson-Daniel somehow matching the jagging, punch-forward feats of the great Fijian, Rupeni Caucaunibuca on a sub-zero night in Bourgoin, our cockles warmed by the feats of the gladiators on the field.

You don’t have to look too deeply into Sunday’s cast-list to see why this is such a blockbuster event: Finn Russell, Matthieu Jalibert, Louis Bielle-Biarrey, Joe Cokanasiga, Cameron Woki, Thomas du Toit, all stars in their own right. Will Bath’s firepower from the bench see them home or might BB already be in the clear by then as they make light of their ho-hum Top 14 form and produce rugby of the Gods as they did against Stade Toulousain in the quarter-final? Bath, of course, had their own upbeat quarter-final tale to relate as they twice raised themselves from the canvas to just get past Northampton Saints.

A semi-final of rich promise awaits.