Dispatches from the present
In the days leading up to the most anticipated quarterfinal of this World Cup, the English press seemed to forget that there would be eleven men playing for France. So intense was the focus on Kylian Mbappé that everyone seemed incapable of speaking of anything else. Would Southgate change his formation to shore up the defense against Mbappé? Would Kyle Walker, possibly the fastest player ever to put on an England shirt, be able to handle Mbappé? Or, would Mbappé switch places with Giroud and bully Harry Maguire instead? Above all, would Mbappé put an end to the dream that this promising young English team could finally bring it home?
In a way, the anxious obsession made sense. Mbappé, who was the breakout star of 2018 World Cup, has been spectacular again. At the tender age of 23, he already has nine World Cup goals (one fewer than Messi, one more than both Neymar and Ronaldo) and he is showing no signs of slowing down. Much is made of Mbappé’s astonishing speed (earlier this year, he hit 36 kilometers per hour) and lethal finishing, but he also has tremendous technical gifts. Come too close, he’ll burn you for pace. Give him space, he’ll pick out a brilliant pass (or he’ll burn for you pace anyway). He’s the kind of player that strikes fear into the hearts of defenders. And, it turns out, into entire nations. By many accounts, the young Frenchman is the best player in the world right now. In the game against Poland, he sure looked that way.
But within minutes of the last quarterfinal starting on Saturday, the Mbappé mania began to look excessive. The other French players quickly reminded everyone watching why the team, despite missing three of their strongest players (Paul Pogba, N’Golo Kante, and this year’s Ballon d’Or winner Karim Benzema) has been a favorite to win since before the tournament began. The elflike Antoine Griezmann, who put on a playmaking master class all night, got straight to work. Mustachioed Ousmane Dembele, looking like he’d been cast in an Agatha Christie remake, made threatening runs down the right flank. And soon, in a moment no one could have predicted, the defensive midfielder Aurélien Tchouaméni absolutely spanked the ball from 25 yards out through the legs of Jude Bellingham and beyond the outstretched hands of Jordan Pickford into the bottom left corner of the goal.
Rather than crumble under the pressure, England instead seemed to get better once they got behind. The midfield, in particular, started to dominate. Jordan Henderson, at his pressing best, was the engine of the team; the unassuming Declan Rice cannily controlled the game; and Bellingham, despite sometimes having to drop deep defensively, was able to look and move forward.
In the second half, the English didn’t just look like worthy opposition for the reigning champions but also, for long stretches, like the better side. The Harrys traded duties occasionally: Kane made solid defensive headers, a brilliant Maguire header skimmed off the post. England were rewarded for their positive football when Bukayo Saka, after a beautiful one-two with Bellingham, was brought down by Tchouaméni for a penalty.
Kane, England’s reliable captain and striker, stepped up to take it. No better man, you could hear the English fans think in unison. Facing Hugo Lloris, his longtime Tottenham teammate and close friend, Kane took an excruciatingly long time—he readjusted the ball, he touched each of his socks à la Rafa Nadal—and then, as everyone expected, buried the ball in the net. In doing so, he equaled Wayne Rooney’s record for most goals scored by an English player. Could England now take their rivals by the throat?
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It is a measure of Mbappé’s star power that Olivier Giroud, the French striker who in the Round of 16 had passed Thierry Henry to become France’s highest goal scorer of all time, had been relegated to an aside. Giroud, looking like he’s auditioning to be the sixth member of NSYNC, was quiet in the first half against England. In the 77th minute, he sprung to life only to miss at point-blank range. Then, before England had time to sigh with relief, Griezmann curled the ball towards the near post and Giroud headed it past the helpless Pickford.
Hope returned sooner than expected for England when Theo Hernandez inexplicably charged down Mason Mount in the box to set up Kane versus Lloris, round two. Before the current England captain stepped up to take the penalty, the camera cut to former England captain, David Beckham, in agony. This time, as no one expected, Kane sent the ball soaring over the cross bar. He looked stunned, then aghast. The nineteen-year-old Jude Bellingham, surely a future England captain, was the first to console him.
Soon, it was all over. Football was not coming home. England, somehow, still managed to lose on penalties. The French players jumped gleefully in a circle; the English players looked like they were leaving a funeral. Harry Kane, poor Harry Kane, was utterly bereft.
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England fans can be ugly in defeat. After the team lost to Italy in the European finals in 2020, the three young black men who missed their penalties suffered through torrents of racial abuse. In the next few days, supporters will heap blame on whoever they can. Many will excoriate on the referee who was, to put it mildly, erratic. Others will, idiotically, call for Southgate’s blood. The most mean-spirited will lambaste Kane for that second penalty. Poor Harry Kane.
The truth of what happened lies in that great football cliché: fine margins. There were a thousand moments that could have gone either way and changed the outcome completely. The game was the best I’ve seen at the tournament so far—a thrilling contest between two high quality, well-matched teams that stayed riveting until the very last minute. It was everything I could ask for in a football match.
But I also felt ambivalent throughout—it was hard to decide which former superpower I wanted to lose more or what would be harder stomach: smug English fans or smugger French fans. Now that France will face Morocco, the first African team to reach a semifinal in World Cup history, gone is my ambivalence. May the once-colonized exact revenge on their colonizers. Dima Maghreb!