The most colourful character in rugby! With his flaxen mane, JEAN-PIERRE RIVES was one of the world’s greatest players – now he’s a renowned artist and speaks to JEFF POWELL about risks, revelry and renaissance

History’s greatest flanker is at work on the painting to illuminate the gigantic World Cup screens when his easel begins to topple over on the uneven ground outside his studio.

“Phoo,” says Jean-Pierre Rives. Everything in France is now wobbling. Except l’equipe.’

This rugby legend, who has gone on to become one of the world’s most renowned artists and sculptors, expects the team he captained to complete a renaissance of their beautiful game in the coming weeks.

‘France is Le Challenger’, he says with that Gallic flourish. Not as a contender, but as the most formidable obstacle to all others. “The spirit of le rugby is returning,” he says. “The expression, the imagination, the elan that the world loves.”

Rives imagines France streaming through the World Cup, as his long blond hair flowed behind him as he made his way through the land of sporting giants. Images of flaxen manes – for which he was nicknamed Casque d’Or (Golden Helmet) – and of shirts splattered with his bloodshed in battle adorn the French anthology.

As are stories of how this relatively small figure ‘came to rugby by accidentally smashing a glass door at school without harming myself’. About how before a game against England at the start of his career I was ‘told that if I could keep tackling that great man Andrew Ripley I would play for France for ten years and I did’.

In doing so, he collected 59 international matches, 34 of which as captain, a world record at the time. Achieved not only by his heart, his leadership skills and his infectious personality, but also by his fascination with the freedom that great teams can release talent with. Like his, let us say.

Rives despairs at the predominance of force and sheer force, saying, “Physicality is only one element. Spirituality is another. If it had only been physical I wouldn’t have played anything because I was always told I was too small. But there’s a mystique about this game at its best. Something elusive that finds invention in the soul.’

As it was with him. As he feels in this French team. As is now evident from his art. The door to life after rugby was opened when Albert Feraud, the father of modernist French sculpture, invited him to his studio in Paris. “In my heart I was never gone,” he says.

I visited them there years ago and saw them welding huge shapes out of sheet metal. Feraud’s works were already in galleries. So now do Rives’ in the company of his canvases. Most of his paintings are abstract impressionism. Now it’s Cubism, as with the World Cup decal that has at least one of the colors of all competing countries.

His oval ball bete noire are the complex rules ‘that suffocate rugby’. Says Rives: ‘Stop blocking the ball when it’s on the ground by letting players reach for it as long as their feet are on the ground.

“This kills the ball and the rugby. The ball is life and this kills the freedom to play. Worse yet, by making it impossible for the ball to be released, it can earn the blockers a three-point reward. Some of them are selected only because they can only spoil. Phoe.’

This dismissive expression is also in response to the uproar surrounding Owen Farrell’s ban. So he hit his opponent’s shoulder with his shoulder. So? This was not high. No blow to the head. Not dangerous. In my days this was normal. Nothing. This is rugby, not football. I like this player. He’s important. Suspend him? Phoe.’

The mischievous smile rarely leaves him here where the Alpes-Maritimes meet the Mediterranean and where he lives with his wife Sonia and sons Jasper, 18, and Kino-Jean, 16. There’s a golf club behind the fence where Jasper is the course record holder , with a 61, and the four-handicap men’s champion and the dream of the pro tour. Sonia is the Women’s Champion. Jean-Pierre played regularly, but ‘now I leave the golf to them’.

And the rugby for Kino-Jean, who plays in the back row for the local Grimaud team. Together they walk to the beach for their morning swim. “Every day,” he says, “if only for two minutes on very cold days in winter.”

This, at age 70, is a holdover from his training regimen. The devotion was so great that he has never drunk alcohol. Well, once. “We were in London to play against England and the evening before the game we were invited to a banquet by the Bishop of Westminster. I sat next to him and when I kept refusing a drink he said I would definitely join him for a port at the end.

“How could I refuse a bishop? He gave me three. I felt horrible. I was sick on the field at the start of the game. Never again.’

Not even when he led France to its first victory over the All Blacks on New Zealand soil on Bastille Day in 1979. “That was the big moment of my career,” he says. Bigger than the Grand Slams. Still, I felt embarrassed rather than happy because they deserved to win. We stole the game from them. Still, their behavior was great. They congratulated us. Their captain Graham Mourie was great and said well done to us. Smiling. He invited me to go fishing with him the next day. That’s how rugby should be.’

Not that he can say the same about today’s rugby. Yes, organization is needed. But not to the extent that it takes place in a square and every move is pre-planned. It is the players, not the coaches, who should decide how to play. Choose to take a risk. To keep passing the ball. Rugby is not American football.

“Maybe Serge Blanco is the biggest player. Beautiful. We used to organize that we gave him the ball and then went for a beer or a coffee while he did what he wanted! He took risks. They mostly worked and we won. If they didn’t, we would have lost. That’s life.

‘It was a different life. We received 10 francs for our journey. Not enough. The accommodation and main meals were paid for, but not our hotel extras. No drinks, coffee or snacks. We played for love. Now so much is about money. Why do the big countries play against each other in preparation for meeting the same opponents at the World Cup? Nonsense. They play those idle games for money. Phoe.

It is cuckoo that France plays in the opening game against New Zealand. Why play two potential finalists against each other before the final, even if the All Blacks seem to be crumbling a bit?’

Not that this casts doubt on France’s hopes: “To win a World Cup you need more than two exceptional players. We have at least three with the ability to do the unexpected. It’s sad for (Romain) Ntamack to be injured, but it may turn out better to have (Matthieu) Jalibert in place during the fly-half. He takes more risks. Antoine Dupont will be the star of the World Cup. (Damian) Penaud is dangerous on the wing.’

He also does not consider England to be prevented from going ‘to the semi-finals’ despite the unrest. “You have some excellent players,” says Rives. “But whatever you may think of Eddie Jones, it’s not right to have a foreigner as a coach. That brought your problems. The coach must come from your own culture. Now the team can be free to express their true nature.”

Rives will watch on TV. “I don’t see very well these days,” he explains. “From the stands, the game is small. I also get more insight into the match through the close-ups of the players’ faces. Their emotions. The gnashing of teeth or the hanging of the head.’

Despite the charms of the South of France, that TV is in his villa in Ibiza where he likes to spend more time. ‘Life in Spain is freer than in France,’ he says. “Here is this administration of this little president imposing the way we live. Phoe.’

He may be tempted to return to Paris to see his painting on the big screen during the finale. “That’s an honor,” says this holder of France’s highest decoration, the Legion d’Honneur.

The blonde locks are now gray and a little wispy, but the spirit and energy are still forces of nature. What more powerful inspiration could the players of a Renaissance French XV draw than Jean-Pierre Rives?

Live Le Challenger.