PARIS, Aug. 10 (UPI) -- There's hardly a bereted, Gaulois-smoking senior in sight at the steamy, teeming Paris Plage, where Yves Riclet offers metal boules and free lessons in the classic French game called petanque.
But just about everyone else can be found at the dusty petanque strips lining the city's faux Seine-side summer beach. Children team up against parents in noisy family playoffs. Tourists squint uncertainly as they take aim at the small, round wooden ball called a cochonnet, or piglet in French. And hip young executives such as 30-year-old Veronique Rayapin toss their boules with mastery acquired from regular evening workouts.
Welcome to the new petanque generation.
Once the exclusive domain of 90-something, Pastis-sipping men, the French game has morphed into a younger, more democratic and internationalized sport. Indeed, its surging popularity overseas threatens to topple France's once serene-reign as the world's undisputed king of the boule.
"France isn't winning world championships the way it used to," acknowledged Henri Bernard, the 82-year-old president of the International Petanque Federation. "We're now confronting really strong countries like Belgium, Tunisia, Morocco, Spain. We have to really play well now. We have to pay attention. We can't make mistakes -- or the others will win."
Today, almost 60 countries - including the United States -- have national petanque federations, and the number is growing yearly, says the Marseille-based International Federation. Even that figure is deceptive, since it represents only an exclusive minority of licensed players -- not the ordinary Sunday-petanque-and-beer chugging masses.
The same split is reflected in France as well. Although membership in professional clubs remains static, petanque experts believe just about every Frenchman and woman today has probably played the game at least once in their lives.
Rayapin is no exception. The Parisian insurance executive threw her first boule last summer. Soon, she was joining evening pickup-games with office buddies.
"I really like the convivial aspect of it," says Rayapin, who clearly has mastered throwing a mean metal ball wearing a form-clinging skirt. "We've got a women's team playing against a guys' team. The guys won by a hair's breadth last year.
"This year," she adds with obvious satisfaction, "the women have a narrow lead."
Rayapin passes the boules to office rival Herman Mboyo -- who tosses them far from the coveted cochonnet.
"It's a game that demands at least a minimum of technical skills," he admits after an underwhelming performance. "It's not as simple as you'd think. It's a team game, and each player has a role."
Petanque's origins are uncertain, though aficionados say the game dates back to Pharaonic days. It is considered a close relative of Italy's ancient bocce, and of bowls, another ball game that emerged in the British Isles during the Middle Ages.
In France, the catchall term "boules" refers both to the metal balls that are used, and to a handful of sister games, including a Lyon-born variation -- known as "boules Lyonnais."
The most popular spinoff, petanque, began near Marseille in 1907, after an arthritic Frenchman found himself unable to take the required running steps before tossing his ball. So elderly Jean Le Noir deftly devised a new set of rules, throwing the boules with feet planted together -- a term known in French as "pieds tanques." Thus fixed-footed petanque was born.
The game has few hard-and-fast rules. It can be played on just about any surface, usually between teams of two or three players. The little wooden ball, or cochonnet, is tossed out as a target, at a distance of approximately 20 to 30 feet. The players then take turns throwing their metal boules, scoring points for those landing closest to the cochonnet. The petanque session ends when the first team scores 13 or more points.
"Petanque was always considered a sport for old men and alcoholics," said Philippe Jaffret, president of the French Federation of Petanque and Provençal Games. "You'd play boules with your buddies, and then you'd go have an aperitif. Today, there's a surge of popular interest in petanque, but not so much on a competitive level. And people can just as easily drink pastis after soccer as after petanque."
True, perhaps. But in small-town French squares, petanque and pastis still rule. There's even a petanque-pastis Web site (pastis-petanque.fr) celebrating the marriage between the two national pastimes.
Overall, petanque ranks as France's third most-popular sport, says the French government -- behind soccer and tennis, but ahead of cycling. Playing boules is suddenly cool.
Indeed the game now commands a celebrity following, along with generous media coverage. French movie star Gerard Depardieu is an acknowledged petanque addict. President Jacques Chirac is known to have tossed a boule or two in his life. And recently, Paris Mayor Bertrand Delanoe joined the city's local chapter, headed by Riclet, who mans the boules booth at Paris Plage day and night.
"It's a game for everybody," 57-year-old Riclet says, explaining its draw. "Last week we had four generations of the same family all playing together. There are smaller boules for the children, and bigger balls for the adults. But it's the same game."
Petanque became a near full-time vocation for the former French butcher, after a 550-pound slab of meat fell on his back 22 years ago. Doctors said Riclet would never walk again. He does -- thanks in part to a slew of daily medications. Now on workman's compensation, Riclet spends his life volunteering for a variety of causes, but mostly promoting petanque.
"When you've spent 17 months in a wheelchair, you see life differently," he says. "You try to do good around you."
The Paris petanque club offers daily training sessions for children. It even sends the occasional instructor overseas to nurture a new crop of players.
The game has proved an easy sell. First introduced to former French colonies in Africa and Asia, petanque is now played in countries as far flung as Cameroon, Tunisia, Cambodia and Madagascar.
The small U.S. petanque federation, with just over 1,000 members -- compared to nearly half a million in France -- has apparently not requested French help. But French transplants like Jacques Biaggini are offering it anyway.
"Because Americans are usually optimistic and trustful, they offer a favorable market for a serious development of the petanque game in the USA," writes Biaggini in one Web site, claiming he has launched petanque clubs in Washington and Florida, among other places. "The return of the French culture is visible in supermarkets, travel agencies, tourism...and must be supported in every possible way. It is now the best time to reintroduce petanque in the United States of America."
But the real challenge to French supremacy is coming from emerging powers in Europe, Africa and Asia. Although France still cinches the lion's share of international tournaments, Tunisia won the 1997 world championship, and Madagascar the 1999 cup. Last year a Spaniard won the biannual women's championships.
French petanque player Marco Foyot offered a further slight, calling the national federation undemocratic and unfair. Foyot, arguably the world's best bouliste, was briefly suspended from the federation this year.
All of which might explain the French government's recent decision to beef up official support for petanque, which has now been elevated to a "high-level discipline." Along with the new status come special training funds and free medical treatment for promising players.
In July, France cinched the latest world petanque championship in Geneva, beating back stiff competition from Morocco, Thailand and Ivory Coast. But, as Bernard warns, "who knows if we'll win next year."
