This is the b-side of our platter, sports fans

If clubs and sports kit manufacturers are just going to callously ignore our vision of design future, as they have pointedly been doing in the four days since it was published, then they should at least strive for the no-shame-in-that, Tyson Gayian silver medal and look towards Paris. For Stade Français have outdone themselves.

Last year, we reported on how Stade gleefully flaunted the conventions of sports kits, wrecking some heads in the process. A basic summary: a Warholian representation of Blanche of Castile, wife of Louis VIII; and pink — bold, distinctly un-rugby-like pink. It met with our approval.

This year? Lo:



Wow. Talk about never resting on your laurels. If there's a better pair of jerseys in sport right now, I have yet to make its acquaintance.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking Fred, ordinarily I enjoy to the point of awe your wickedly ironic take on the world of sport, and would gladly pay you a considerable quantity of euro for the privilege were it not gratis — in fact, I'm writing out a postal order as I think — but to be honest, you're starting to frighten me. These shirts are an abomination, an affront to all that's decent and proper. Tell me you're joking!

No. No, no, a googol times no. Look, if you're happy with your templated, pipe-and-slippers jersey orthodoxy, that's grand. Really. But in this squalid, neglected back lane of the global village, we salute its arrogance, its perversity, its dedication to the spirit of — to borrow a phrase from Tony Wilson* — just being bloody wilful. We hereby adopt it as our home jersey.

Spiritually, of course, not actually. The only time a man should pay €80 for an article of clothing is if he's getting married in it. (Hey, there's an idea...) But it's the thought that counts, it really is.

H/T on the new Stade jerseys: football_music @Twitter

* 24 Hour Party People DVD extras, nerdlingers!

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Is this the best kit ever?

The Guardian's Mikey Stafford today poses the question 'Is this the worst kit ever?', referring to Parisian rugby club Stade Français' new third kit. Pardon me, Mikey, but you're way off.

This may be the greatest kit ever because it's practically an anti-kit. None of your hoops or quarters or swooshy nonsense. No changing the width of the piping on the sleeves and breathlessly selling it as THE BRAND NEW JERSEY. If you're going to charge €75 for a replica shirt, the very least you can do is subvert the entire concept of sports apparel with a pop-art portrait of a 13th century French queen.



Stade's maverick ways are also in evidence with their home and away jerseys: the former adorned with images of pretty pink flowers of some kind (botany ain't my strong suit), the latter ditching the home shirt's coyness and just letting the pinkness all hang out (that's not a euphemism, by the way). It also has some lightning bolts emanating from the crest which look unfortunately like stink-lines - but such an error of judgement serves only as a contrast, highlighting the brilliance of Stade's attire. It's sometimes hard to believe that rugby union is barely a decade removed from amateurism, with its doggedly functional jerseys, so heavy they were used to weigh down prisoners in parts of the world where police forces couldn't afford handcuffs. Now, it's stepping into the sort of avant-garde territory which even the bravest of soccer kit designers of the early '90s dared not approach.

Also, the idea of a sport wrapped up in a self-image of rampant heterosexuality being confronted with the type of kit which could be specifically designed to annoy the hell out of many of its practitioners is somewhat pleasing.

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