At a French butcher’s you can buy tongue, you can buy cheek. Here at boucherie-ovalie.org, the house special is tongue-in-cheek. But not at the moment. Now we are serious. Dead serious. As in “serious like someone who will soon be dead”.

Dear All Blacks,

The big day is approaching. The day you have been waiting for, for almost a quarter of century. The day of your crowning, the day we will welcome you as our dark overlords.

We’d like to thank you for everything. Jo Maso the team’s general organizer (or, as we call it, the G.O.) has already renounced to our right to play in blue, as a token of our gratitude for your hospitality. You will play in black and all will be for the best. We originally planned to even not wear jerseys but dress casually, as it is not really worth playing the game, for you would outrank us outrageously. Instead we would have come to shake hands, give you a warm accolade for goodbyes, and watch one last haka before we go. That would have also been the occasion for Jean-Marc Doussain to take closer pictures of you and maybe get some autographs.

However, on second thoughts, we have finally decided it would be a greater sign of our gratitude to play the game and offer you the possibility to humiliate us in front of a crowd of millions. But please be quick because we have a plane to catch and the players have to rejoin their respective teams in our national championship. You might not know about it but we call it Top14. It has the level of a 4th division in your high school championship and is used as a house of rest to your needy retired players.

Because let’s face it: we are worlds apart. Not only our championship is very weak, but our team is a disgrace. We lost against Italy and Tonga, our panicking coach has only a couple of years of second division coaching in his résumé, our 10 is a 9 who wore a minerva all last week and weighs about one third less than his counterpart. Our pair of centres are generally too busy picking daisies to attack or defend, the team always changes, and this is the second time this squad plays together in this very configuration. And to be honest, we cannot make two passes in a row. Our attack schemes (if we manage to get any by Sunday) will be predictable, our scrum anemic, our defense porous and everyone is more or less injured. To drive the last nail in our coffin, Damien Traille is on the bench, so that our team will become even weaker after the 60th minute. An Irish bookie is even already paying out although the game has not been played. Read the clairvoyant and expert NZ press. They are unanimous, and so was their French counterpart before they got blinded by misplaced patriotism and wishful thinking. We are usurpators.

And what do we have in front? Graham Henry who’s been in charge for a million years, leading a mighty team of tattooed muscled warriors playing the game like it is magic and trampling whatever is on their way like a herd of mammoths in rut. On top of that, the IRB voted the McCaw amendment which allows your third row to rightfully pick up the ball from any ruck and walk away. You are virtually indestructible.

Who are we, us, puny Frenchmen, to even consider competing against such a display of might and talent?

So, we humbly beg for mercy. Please hold your punches, do not inflict us more than 100 points. Our country is already financially challenged, stuck in political and moral turmoil and we would not survive such a blow.

Instead, why don’t you just relax and spend the rest of the week with your family? Have a couple of beers, treat yourselves with a day spa, maybe start celebrating your victory already! You will beat us single-handedly and you have had a tough tournament. Go ahead, you deserve it! You don’t need anymore pressure, get out more, chill out, your work is done.

It is not like there is any chance that you will lose against our shameful minimalistic restrictive rugby and plunge your country in an unprecedented crisis driving fans to such anger they would burn it down to ashes, right?

Sincerely yours,