Coach Talk – Patrice Collazo (2/2): “Staying up is a word I almost never use”

Born in the Var, Patrice Collazo had made the slogan “Here, everything is different” his own long before RCT. From an atypical playing career, with seven transfers and six clubs including one in England, to a coaching career in which he stands out in a world where former props are a rarity, by way of a character that is again one of a kind, the current Racing 92 manager has always followed his own path. In a long interview with Ruck Zone, of which this is the second part, he reflected on the “Collazo touch” that sets him apart as a coach.

What still motivates you to coach?

Winning! I’ve coached at various clubs: clubs playing at the top of the table, clubs fighting to stay up… And it really is about winning. Starting a season to say we’re going to fight to stay up isn’t my thing. Arriving at Brive, at Montpellier, at Racing, and talking about survival, those are speeches I don’t like. I also coach for lots of other reasons, because you need to be at the centre of it all, of the players, of a staff. That’s almost 60 people to manage. Of course you’ll never please everyone – I’ve understood that’s impossible – but above all I believe in fairness and loyalty. When I make a decision, it’s for the team and for the club.

What’s your relationship with pressure?

I hear that word a lot. But if you don’t want pressure, you do something else. Elite sport is about adrenaline, being at the centre of a mission and taking people with you. When you arrive somewhere, for a project or for a survival mission, you have to take the players, the staff, the supporters and the whole club with you. Those things give you great sensations.

How do you deal with social media inside the dressing room?

These days I put myself in the dressing room and take the players through video transitions and the rest, so they know they no longer have the time! Well, it’s part of rugby’s evolution. I struggle with it because it’s staged. Fine, rugby is one big theatre, but for me this is “day in the life” rugby.

“Firefighter on call, that doesn’t really do it for me”

What do you make of the term “firefighter on call”, borrowed from football, that is now attached to you?

It simply means rugby is becoming like football. The difference is that in football, when a coach arrives mid-season, he comes with at least one other person. In rugby, you arrive alone. The first time I arrived at Brive, I didn’t know anyone in the staff, which was 90% made up of Brive people. Straight away, you tell yourself you’re going to be the outsider.

And?

In the end it went really well. I loved working with them, I was adopted very quickly and I discovered some incredible people. Then at Montpellier there were six new people in the staff, but we’d never worked together either, so we had to adapt. And at Racing you arrive on your own, so more adapting again. It’s funny because over my last three experiences – you could say I’m complicated in terms of character – on those one-shot jobs it went really well with the staffs. So you shouldn’t believe everything you’re told. And to come back to the term “firefighter on call”, it doesn’t really do it for me, because for me it’s still management, and getting a club out of a tough patch is a fine mission. Just as being a firefighter is, for that matter.

You were brought in at Brive, at Montpellier and at Racing 92 to save those clubs and secure the survival you don’t like talking about…

It’s paradoxical but it’s a word I almost never use. At La Rochelle, even when we went up, I never used it. I was already talking to them about qualifying and about titles. Even at Brive, we had a good run at one point and I told the players: “Lads, we mustn’t aim for 12th place or we’ll finish 13th. Even less 13th, because we’ll finish 14th.” At Montpellier we also had a run where we could have got into the top six by winning at Toulon. We shipped 50, which means we weren’t calibrated for it. But I always push people to want more. We play rugby to win. Corporate rugby, take-part rugby, social rugby, that’s not something that appeals to me. When I take something up, whether it’s tennis, padel or darts, it’s to win. If I know I can’t win, I don’t even start.

“It doesn’t take long for a label to stick to you”

Are your last two successful survival missions at Montpellier and Racing your insurance policy for the coming years, guaranteeing you calls about work from December onwards whatever happens?

I don’t wish misfortune on others. I don’t take pleasure in a coach’s misfortune because, having been through it, when you’re in a situation of failure it’s very hard. I arrived after Jeremy Davidson at Brive, after Richard Cockerill at Montpellier and after Stuart Lancaster at Racing. Those people have insane CVs, so it’s not because it doesn’t work in one place that you’re a bad coach. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for a label to stick to you. In football you can bounce back very quickly, whereas in rugby you can be put on the shelf. That’s what bothers me a bit.

You talk a lot about football, which you say you enjoy and follow despite its reputation as a more individualistic sport than rugby…

There’s the cliché of the footballer, but take the coaches who win at the big clubs – Ancelotti, Guardiola… – when you have a dressing room with that many egos and you manage to win, it means you’ve got it across that the institution is stronger than the individual and comes first whatever happens. There’s no secret. The great football coaches are the ones with that ability to take all those players with them into a shared project. You can see it today with PSG: the star is the team. At the start, not everyone spoke well of Luis Enrique and today everyone says he’s good. Why? Because he put the church back in the middle of the village. If you’re not happy, you leave PSG, whoever you are. And if you draw the parallel with rugby, if Toulouse win so much it’s also because the institution comes first.

The captain is also the guardian of the institution. If you had to name one captain from all the players you’ve coached, who would it be?

I’m going to make myself some friends here (laughs). I’ve been lucky enough to coach some very great players, but despite what people think, it isn’t necessarily the bloke with 90 or 100 caps who ticks every box. I’d say rather the one who embodies the club, like Uini Atonio at La Rochelle. I came across a very good club player who didn’t have an international career but who for me ticked every box: Saïd Hirèche. I also coached Henry Chavancy who, as well as spending his whole life at his club, has both caps and a title. That’s the top of the tree. So it would be a mix of several, with someone who commands unanimous respect within a group. When the captain speaks, not a single bloke should turn his head. It’s hard to find because everyone has ups and downs, but he has to be unanimously respected as a man and, 90% of the time, as a rugby player.

With experience, which setting do you now prefer to coach in: with constant demands as at Toulon, or in the anonymity of Racing?

Neither bothers me, I’ve been living with all that differently for a while now. I’ve been lucky enough to play in full stadiums, to win titles, to play for titles, to play to stay up, to play to qualify for the European Cup… That’s my personal experience, but whether I’m stopped in the street or not has no impact on me, whereas it has more of one on the players. In the past, for example, I was a fan of closed sessions. Today, if there are people at training and the press is there, then it’s there and I consider it part of the scenery. At Montpellier, three days after winning the promotion play-off, I get to the station to park and a bloke says “Thank you” to me. I ask why, I thought he wanted the parking space, and he says “Well, for the play-off”. I was speechless. All of which is to say that whether there are demands or not, 500 people at training or not, I adapt.