In May 2024, the HSBC SVNS Series headed to uncharted territory: the Spanish capital’s stunning Stadio Metropolitano, home to 11-time La Liga champions Atlético Madrid.
It was a majestic stage for the season finale: a sporting cathedral, with sangria-red seats and an emerald carpet so flawless it would make a pool table blush.
When the ticker tape fell 72 hours later, the weekend had etched itself deep into sevens rugby legend. A tournament that had swashbuckled from gun to tape will take some upstaging.
So, as rugby’s dazzling circus returns to Spanish soil this week in Valladolid, permit us a few minutes of misty-eyed reflection, because the tournament in 24 really was a carnival, fiesta, and espectáculo — all rolled in one.
Home fans hardly sat down all weekend
Despite dousing the circuit with thrills and spills all campaign long, both Spanish sides found themselves dangling above the shark pit of relegation: scrapping desperately to remain a ‘core’ team.
The home support was vociferous, and needed to be: the stakes were sky-high, and crackled with an undercurrent of jeopardy. Fortunately, those in crimson and gold needn’t have worried.
Paco Hernandez’s men were flawless in pool play, topping the group and marching into pistols at dawn with Canada – at which point, they decided to shred some local nerves.
Time and again, the Canadians reeled them back in, before Jaime Manteca landed the killer blow and preserved Spain’s top-tier status.
Not to be outdone in the drama department, Las Leonas laboured to just the one group stage victory, setting up a showdown with a Springbok outfit laden with muscle and pace. And yet, with the pressure at its mightiest, they found another gear, and cruised to a 22-0 victory before enraptured stands.
Opening the scoring? None other than 17-year-old Juana Stella, who’d spent her debut season conjuring up searing line breaks, doling out powerhouse fends, and offering a free rib-arranging service in defence.
They were composed and clinical, and at their fearless best as Beatriz Dominguez finished a move which began inside their own 22, kickstarting the celebrations.
Not a single Spaniard left the Metropolitano empty-handed: the teams had their tickets to the following year’s HSBC SVNS Series, and their ebullient supporters a few shiny new grey hairs.
Kenya Corner stole the show
If cries of ¡Vamos! were the punchy bass to the weekend’s soundtrack, then the frothing mass of Kenyan fans in the ground’s bottom left hand corner was its blazing brass section.
The area rocked for three days straight — a joyful, bouncing shrine to the jinkiest, fizziest sibling in the rugby family. Anyone who fancied getting stuck in was patiently taught how to sing along, or loaned a flag, and every meaty shot or scorching run was accompanied by the most effusive of backing vocals.
When the Shujaa themselves took to the field, the volume was cranked right up to ‘max’ - never more so than when they downed Germany to return to the big time.
Vincent Onyala’s feet… John Okoth’s salmon dive… George Ooro’s dance moves… Kevin Wekesa’s audacious final flourish… Promoted, in style.
Madrid was a weekend of innovation and history-making, but some things never change — and Kenya Corner erupting was as sensational as ever.
Dupont foreshadowed French Olympic glory
Antoine Dupont arrived in sevens like a Mentos in a bottle of Coke. Like a great white off Amity Island. Like Lomu at the 1995 World Cup.
He assessed the status quo, shook it furiously, and then remoulded it to suit his own agenda: inspiring Les Bleus to bronze in Vancouver on debut, to the top of the podium in LA, and then across this sun-drenched Madrid weekend with the sort of momentum that felt ordained by the rugby gods.
His impact was alchemy: spiriting a formidably talented squad to unprecedented heights, and spiking interest in the sport globally. Every time le petit général touched the ball at the Metropolitano, not only did something special happen, but the thousands in the bowl palpably sat forward in their seats.
France dismantled Australia, were well beaten by league champions Los Pumas and needed extra time to navigate Great Britain. Argentina, Fiji, and the All Blacks were playing scintillating, different gravy stuff — but Jérôme Daret’s men snuck the fourth semi-final berth. And, it turned out they had left a little something in reserve.
At 14-apiece, with three minutes remaining against the Flying Fijians, Dupont put in a ricocheting double tackle-jackal combo, and the ensuing possession guaranteed France silverware.
Aggressive and confident in the final, they seized control in the second half and never let go, rattling the South Americans’ cage so hard that the full-time scenes turned red as the stands.
Fijians grounded and Pumas tamed in the space of a few hours: a gauntlet well and truly thrown as a pulsating tournament concluded, and the most famous rings in sport drew into focus. History had been set in motion.
Pure theatre in women’s tournament
As if that weren’t enough drama, the scriptwriters were having a field day over in the women’s event.
Some of the most glittering Six Nations stars — Ellie Kildunne, Meg Jones, Joanna Grisez, and Séraphine Okemba — added yet more razzamatazz to proceedings, while Ilona Maher and Ariana Ramsey shone for the Eagles.
Canada snapped a decade-long losing streak against the Black Ferns Sevens in their pool to headline a mouth-watering final four. They’d lost their last 27 against the Olympic champions, but played as though they’d only ever dominated this head-to-head: creative, pacy, and tenacious as you like.
Their giant slay meant that we saw the series’ great rivalry a round earlier than usual, as gold and black jerseys collided in the semis.
Faith Nathan’s virtuoso effort cancelled out Mahina Paul’s opener, before a Kiwi salvo through Risi Pouri-Lane and Portia Woodman-Wickliffe swung the pendulum firmly towards the land of the long white cloud. Nathan pinched one back to narrow the gap to within a score.
Clock red. Aussie ball. Cue Charlotte Caslick. The cheat code burst through, fixed her defender, and released a gliding Maddi Levi into the corner. Tia Hinds knew she had to nail the touchline conversion to avoid sudden death, and — after three brusque bounces of the ball — could not have struck it sweeter. Within seconds, the new Queen of Clutch was at the bottom of a shrieking pile of golden jerseys.
Two months out from a Paris Olympics, La Marseillaise would be played twice in Madrid, as France’s women’s side, bleeding penalties and being clawed back in by the Canadians, just about survived to call themselves finalists.
It was a full-throttle affair between two of the game’s most potent forces, but Australia produced the consummate sprint finish to add gold in Madrid to gold in Dubai and Cape Town, and bring the curtain down on a spectacular few days.
Since Madrid nearly two years ago, we’ve had the Paris Olympic Games, a breathless lap of the globe on the HSBC SVNS Series, and seven stops on this year’s circuit. The baton is now with Valladolid, at the Estadio José Zorrilla, and – if its last trip to Spain was anything to go by – we’re in for a treat.