While France’s men head towards the World Cup without a warm-up game, the women’s national side are quietly making progress. With limited resources but no shortage of commitment, their coach Alan Walsh explains why patience may finally be paying off.

SOMETIMES I wish I were a journalist, a holder of what we call here a “carte de presse”. Especially in World Cup years. These tournaments are usually preceded by test matches, offering chances to assess player levels. Even “friendly” games allow us to analyse the strength of nations, and press conference throwaway lines become gems for interpreters.

But being a journalist is useless for this year’s Men’s World Cup. No test matches. No warm-ups. Nothing to analyse. No “carte de presse” required. Instead, France and England will go cold into their game in Perth, Western Australia. Those spectators in Perth will be privileged compared to the French public, who may never hear about it.

So, is 2026 a bad year for an internationalist? Fortunately, not for everyone.

For women in particular, as France have already played England and Nigeria, with a final game against Ireland in September. France narrowed the gap against England (4-38), though the local press says nothing has changed in Women’s rugby league. To me, leading England by four points early on feels like a start, doesn’t it? For the first time, they met Nigeria — tricky on paper, given coach Melissa Spero (Sydney Roosters) and players used to playing in Australia, the UK, and Canada. A curtain-raiser to Catalans Dragons v Wakefield at Gilbert Brutus. Attendance: about 900. Far from the 7,951 of the Super League game, but French rugby league counts on minimal promotion. France won 36-8. Four tries from Haoua Kessely, a former track-and-field athlete born in Greater Paris. A high-intensity game. What an improvement for Women’s rugby league in 30 years.

At Montpellier XIII in the mid-1990s, I witnessed the beginnings of women’s rugby league in France; a few joined training to learn skills (Céline Ruiz, Carine Tapias, Carole Bastide). Back then, women weren’t even allowed to tackle until around 2000. Then I left rugby league for a ten-year break. But guess who joined that same club a season later? Alan Walsh, recruited as a player in 1999. Almost thirty years later, he became the women’s national team coach.

Before coaching, Alan had helped with Lézignan’s U17 girls a couple of times and seen games in Narbonne. He was no stranger to the women’s game.

His honesty strikes you first. He works as a plumber.

“I can kind of have time off when I like, but obviously if I don’t work, I’m not paid,” he told me. “The France job is on a voluntary basis and all for the love of the game. Luckily my wife is very understanding and allows me to enjoy coaching instead of making money plumbing.”

On funding, he is disarmingly frank: “I’ve no idea about funding and how it works, but we have a pretty good schedule to prepare for the World Cup with three games this summer, so maybe the funding has increased compared to other years.”

He doesn’t know where the money comes from. Doesn’t ask. Works with what’s given. And perhaps that’s easier than asking the harder question — one that has already cost France’s women their place in previous World Cups.

Alan reveals the deep structural difference between French and English rugby league. In Wigan or St Helens, it’s in the blood. Kids go to clubs as soon as they can run. In France, it’s a minority sport. Players find it late, coming from athletics, handball, or rugby union. For instance, Kessely is a former French long jump champion. Others arrive from the 15-a-side code. Union is massive in the south, so most come from there, often playing both codes. Unthinkable in Wigan; reality in France.

Did that surprise him?

“In France you get players from all kinds of backgrounds,” he said. “As rugby league is a minority sport you don’t always have the towns and families that are rugby league through and through like in Wigan or St Helens. In those towns as a kid your parents or friends take you down to the local rugby league club as soon as you can run with a ball, so lots of players in France, especially in the women’s game, find the sport later in life after playing other sports.”

Alan understands you don’t build a sport the same way in Occitanie as in Wigan. The soil differs.

On the schedule — France v England, Nigeria, Ireland — he is measured: “Yes, it’s a very good schedule. I suppose we’re lucky as the men’s team won’t have a single game before the World Cup. Maybe if we could have played Nigeria before England it would have been better as our season finished in early May, but I can’t complain as we have worked hard to get these games in place.”

On the World Cup draw — Group B with New Zealand, Papua New Guinea and Fiji — he is realistic:

“Our goals are to try to improve all the way through the tournament. We’ll set ourselves small achievable goals, and want to really enjoy the experience.”

The most striking part came when discussing coaching men and women. Having coached Lézignan’s men’s elite team, his answer was illuminating: “I’ve noticed that with the women’s teams you need to explain everything perfectly. You need to tell them why they’re doing this, and what will be the outcome if we do this. You have to strip everything back to the bare bones and explain everything to the smallest of details, which is sometimes challenging and is good because it makes you question yourself more. With the men you kind of just put things in place and they do it.”

Then came something that deserves to be read by anyone questioning the legitimacy of women’s rugby league in France: “It’s really enjoyable coaching the women’s team. They are so passionate and give everything all the time. The commitment is unbelievable. They’re all amateurs, they all have jobs, they have families to look after, businesses, they pay their subscriptions to the gym, some pay dieticians, some pay for sports psychology, plus they travel long distances for games and training sessions. It’s amazing.”

Read that again. These women are not professional. The man coaching them does it for free, turning down plumbing work for the sideline because he loves the game. Not in the glare of TV. Not on the radar of the Parisian media, who wouldn’t know a rugby league ball if it bounced onto their desk.

Patience, not pessimism. That should always be the treiziste way. Not resignation, but the stubborn belief that building slowly, match by match, generation by generation, is the only path. The women understand this. The men wait. But the women play. And when they play, they give everything. Even if nobody watches. Even if nobody writes about it.

In conclusion, I’m happy not to be a journalist. Paradoxically, a “carte de presse” would give me less freedom, leading me elsewhere this autumn — probably to an event organised by my employer’s “partner”; a football or union game, praising supposed societal values. Keeping readers uninformed but satisfied with their favourites matters more.

Treiziste Diary is an opinion column written in a personal capacity and is © Pierre Carcau

First published in Rugby League World magazine, Issue 524 (September 2026)