Stade Français – Union Bordeaux-Bègles: 28-7

Paris put the clocks right, big alarm-clock style. The Stade Français men locked down Bordeaux, who were unable to roll out their usual attacking score. The result: a Stade Français banging in tries, a candy-pink defence that thinks it is an armoured door and a UBB heading home wondering whether they took the metro in the wrong direction. Stade Français, for their part, savoured a clean, flawless win, like a strong espresso on a Sunday morning, and reminded Bordeaux along the way that you don’t turn up in the capital with your hands in your pockets.

Racing 92 – ASM Clermont: 43-31

La Défense Arena turned into an open bar of tries. Racing handed out points like peanuts at an aperitif. Clermont tried to keep up, but it was a bit like trying to waltz to hard rock: you end up treading on toes. Attacking bonus point in the pocket for the Paris region side and a thumping headache for the Auvergnats. At La Défense Arena, Racing put on an attacking recital, with an avalanche of points. Clermont did try to follow the tempo, but it was like running – once again – after a metro that had already left: too late. Racing pick up the attacking bonus point and a nice smile for the family photo.

Section Paloise – LOU (Lyon): 40-15

Section Paloise played the strict schoolmaster and LOU took the lesson. Pau scored, scored again and scored some more, cashing in on every opposition mistake. The Red and Blacks chased the ball like a cat after a laser pointer… without ever catching it. The Lyon players seemed to defend as if they had been handed an Ikea instruction sheet with no screws. Section Paloise, in fine fettle, rolled over Lyon like a tractor over a ploughed field. For LOU, it looked more like a guided tour of Le Hameau than a rugby match.

Stade Rochelais – USA Perpignan: 31-8

The Maritimes did not wobble against USAP. La Rochelle controlled, dominated and ended up smothering Perpignan. A serious, clean, efficient match. Not exactly action cinema, more a good old series whose ending you know from the first episode. La Rochelle, as serious as a maths teacher on a Monday morning, never let Perpignan breathe. The Catalans did try to bring a bit of sunshine to the story, but saw nothing but gloom all afternoon. The result: a crisp scoreline, a bonus point, and a La Rochelle crowd that went home smiling… and no doubt with a small glass of pineau inside them.

Stade Toulousain – Castres Olympique: 59-12

A “crisis”? Toulouse planted try after try as if they were raining down. Castres? Invisible, except when picking the ball up behind their own line. People often say that in a derby, anything is possible. Yes, anything… except perhaps beating Toulouse at Ernest Wallon. Ugo Mola’s players rolled out the red carpet… the better to walk all over CO. Tries by the shovelful, an attacking festival and a crowd won over. Castres took a lightning bolt and head home with the unpleasant feeling of having served as sparring partners for the champions or, at the very least, as a punching bag for a wounded, enraged beast.

US Montauban – Montpellier: 22-22

Neither one thing nor the other. Newly promoted Montauban, sturdier in defence than they were at hanging on to their Pro D2 champions’ silverware, came within a whisker of their first win of the season. The Montauban players played with guts, Montpellier played with the handbrake on. Montauban stood up to Montpellier with the enthusiasm of a teenager on a scooter: plenty of noise, a bit of chaos, but in the end you get somewhere. The result: both sides leave with two points and the odd feeling that Montauban are not the sacrificial victim they were billed as, but the league’s itching powder.

Aviron Bayonnais – RC Toulon: 35-32

Now this one wasn’t a match, it was a Tarantino film. Blood (metaphorically speaking, don’t worry, apart from captain Ribbans’ nose), suspense and a finale to make you spill your beer over the person next to you. Toulon had come back, calmly, in a “we’ve got the upper hand, we’ll head home with the points” sort of way. And then… Joris Segonds. The lad said to himself: “Here, what if I had a go at a last-chance drop goal, like in the Wilkinson VHS tapes?” Or like his predecessor, Camille Lopez. Bam, the ball sails over, Jean Dauger erupts, the Bayonne players jump on each other as if they had just won Eurovision, leaving Toulon standing there in the middle of the field, with the look of people who have just had their break-time snack pinched. They had the “draw” in their pocket, but at Jean-Dauger, pockets get holes in them fast. Toulon head home brooding like an offended bull.