This is a story of a dynasty between the wars. Of four men. Of four names carved in stone and passed down to posterity: René Lacoste, Jean Borotra, Henri Cochet and Jean Brugnon. This quartet – to whom we must add Christian Boussous, the “Fifth Musketeer” – had the world at their feet after putting the Davis Cup in the hands of French tennis on six successive occasions. From 1927 to 1932, no silver bowl eluded them and, quite simply, France was experiencing a veritable golden age in tennis.

Between these four players, France won 18 Grand Slam singles titles and 23 in doubles: an exceptional return during a fruitful decade of the kind France would never experience again in history. Lacoste, “The Crocodile”, and Cochet, “The Magician”, remain by far the two most feted French tennis players of all time – each boasting seven titles to their name. One less than “The Goddess” Suzanne Lenglen, who dominated women’s tennis in the 1920s.

That Paris did not have to wait until the last decade to become a stronghold of French football is primarily thanks to the national team. The first two great successes of “Les Bleus” happened at the Parc des Princes in 1984 and – how can we forget? – the Stade de France in 1998. And if the trophy cabinets of Parisian clubs have not always lived up to the iridescence of the City of Lights in the realms of arts or culture, the richness of its footballing life as well as its influence have never been denied.

In Paris, football is plural. It’s as much PSG – with its dark blue kit and iconic vertical red strip and modern-day galacticos flocking to a club built only in 1970 – as it is Red Star – a club founded in 1897 then relocated in 1909 to the northern suburbs, in Saint-Ouen. The same Red Star with its green jersey, social values and sense of belonging, with football legend Jules Rimet at its heart – the man who created the World Cup, no less.

During the 21 years that followed, Laurent Fignon would never be able to shake it off. His remarkable autobiography, We Were Young And Carefree – published in 2009, a year before his death – opens with an imagined dialogue between an unnamed person who could have been any one of the many individuals with whom Fignon no doubt shared the very same exchange: 

“Ah, I remember you: you’re the guy who lost the Tour de France by eight seconds!”
“No, monsieur, I’m the guy who won the Tour twice.”

Fignon was right. Before anything else, he was a great winner, and certainly no loser. His glorious palmares speaks for itself: Two Tours, a Giro, two Milano-Sanremo triumphs, one Fleche Wallonne… Be that as it may, for many he remains first and foremost the eight-second man – a slight that has become a stain on his champion’s legacy.

On this hot June afternoon, as the sun illuminates the Stade Roland-Garros, all the eyes of an attentive and silent crowd are locked on the dreadlocks and imposing frame of the man about to go down in history. Two hours and 24 minutes have passed since his overhit forehand gave defending champion Mats Wilander the first point in the 1983 final.

Yannick Noah, who has only ever reached the quarterfinals twice in 16 Grand Slam appearances – both times in Paris – now holds a championship point against the Swedish fifth seed. Keeping his composure, the 23-year-old pings a serve down the centre service line, forcing his opponent to over-hit his forehand return, which lobs high over the advancing Noah’s head and lands beyond the baseline. A cheer rings out as the winner drops to his knees in ecstasy – Yannick Noah is a Grand Slam champion!

Noah’s victory (6-2 7-5 7-6) on the famous orange clay was more than a mere win – it made him the first Frenchman to win Roland-Garros in 37 years. For him, this symbolic win was a watershed moment, the culmination of a story which had a bit of everything, and one which opened up paths into the future. That day Noah pulled at the heartstrings of France and, in return, the French people took him into their hearts.

À jamais les premiers – Forever First. Nine years before Olympique de Marseille won the Champions League on a May evening in 1993 to give birth to this famous slogan used to goad rivals PSG, another team took the entire country – not just one city – to cloud nine. The main protagonist of these 15 fantastic days was a scintillating Michel Platini, who scored in every match of the 1984 European Championships – including hat-tricks against Belgium and Yugoslavia – as Les Bleus ran riot. Platini’s nine goals put an individual stamp on a collective crowning – two years after France lost on penalties to West Germany in the 1982 World Cup semi-final on a painful night in Seville.

Many images from an epic tournament remain etched on the mind. Without Jean Tigana’s dazzling run and cutback deep into extra time against Portugal in the semi-finals at the Vélodrome de Marseille, France would have not made it into the final – where Platini’s famous freekick and the fumble by the Spanish ‘keeper gave root to the expression, “doing an Arconada”. It was the 57th minute and the Parc des Princes erupted as the home team finally had one hand on the trophy.

“I would like the sun never to set so that this day lasts as long as possible.” It is July 12. Not just any July 12 – THE July 12.

Aimé Jacquet has just left the building, both literally and figuratively. His last press conference is over. His life on the bench, too.

On the evening of his most beautiful victory, having savoured a triumph that 60 million French people will never forget, the crowned coach decided to leave his team on top of the world.

In a few hours, in the heart of a bustling Champs-Elysees, he will preside over a sea of human emotion. Everyone said he would fail; many demanded his departure.

But Jacquet stuck with the task in hand and delivered the goods. And now he can bask in the glory before walking away on his terms.

For a long time, Mary Pierce had a love-hate relationship with Roland-Garros. In 1994, aged 19, she beat the great Steffi Graf on her way to becoming the first French finalist since Françoise Durr in 1967. After that loss, she suffered numerous early exits and never got beyond the round of 16 at best despite the occasional flash of brilliance. It was not until her eleventh appearance, in 2000, when everything changed, and Pierce finally triumphed.

In a breathtaking fortnight the Montreal native reached fresh highs – notably with an exquisite lobbed tweener of the century to beat Monica Seles in the quarter-finals. Martina Hingis followed in the semis before Pierce went all the way. A rosary around her neck and her body covered in a cloak of spirituality, the 25-year-old gracefully dispatched Conchita Martinez in straight sets to be crowned the queen of Paris. Nearly a quarter of a century has passed since and her throne remains unoccupied.

“My fast finish allows me to overcome some opponents, so if I am not dropped and I can regain one or two places, it is absolutely possible to target the podium.” Without knowing it, Marc Raquil has just described exactly how the race of his life will play out on a Tuesday night in late August at the Stade de France. But even Raquil couldn’t have envisaged such an outcome in the final of the men’s 400m in the 2003 World Championships.

His prediction captured the spirit of the race but not the improbable and powerful nature of his stirring comeback on the home straight – a sight so extraordinary that it would breed the popular expression: to do a Raquil. In other words – to come back from the brink. For a young man from Martinique who made similar strides in his own life, it was almost logical that this would be his destiny.

If one day the French Open tennis tournament needs to be renamed or rebranded, there’s no doubt that one man’s input will be top of the list: Rafael Nadal. After all, the so-called Bull from Mallorca is Monsieur Roland-Garros. Fourteen times a winner, the Spaniard embodies the only clay court major better than anyone. No other player has been as gluttonous or as masterful on this unique surface than Rafa, crowned for the first time in 2005 when just 19 years old.