Paris was one of the few great capitals in the world without a football stadium to honor its magnificence. The organization of World Cup ’98 was the excuse to build the majestic Stade de France. There, on July 12, in the suburb of Saint Denis, 80,000 fans set the stage for the largest champagne football demonstration. France crushed Brazil 3-0 in the final and embraced for the first time the glory of that cup engineered by one of their illustrious sons, Jules Rimet.
It was a medium that, from Michel Platini and a brilliant generation, had begun to give proof of excellence in Argentina ’78, to procreate brilliant soccer players and in “his” 1998 Cup he finally crowned. It was multicultural France, made up of players from the most diverse backgrounds and origins.
(Video: strong explosions in a violent protest by América fans) (Part of the Spanish coaching staff resigns due to the Luis Rubiales scandal)
tremendous team
Zidane, the son of Algerians, Thuram from the island of Guadeloupe, Djorkaeff and Boghossian with Armenian ancestry, Argentine Trezeguet upbringing and football player, Desailly born in Ghana, Karembeu in New Caledonia, Vieira in Senegal… All this combo blossomed into a product fantastically assembled by Aimé Jacquet, who was stubbornly mistreated by the French press, always so knowledgable, but he handed them the championship on a platter and retired forever. When a team enters the field for a final with such a degree of determination and confidence, the biggest share of credit goes to the commander, not the soldiers.
From a soccer point of view, France was a rarity: a Latin nation, from Western Europe, a neighbor of the inventors of the game, surrounded by Italy and Spain, it spent a century turning its back on the circle, it felt more like the oval of rugby, until it achieved embrace the World Cup and there he understood the reason for the passion that this game generates. More than two million proud Frenchmen collapsed the Champs Elysées to get drunk on glory.
Finally, the coronation came in the dream way: with a fantastic team, which represented French football that all its life tried to play well, as the manuals dictate, and whipping nothing less than Brazil in the final. France was a great champion, who won 6 games and drew one, against the always compact Italy, the eternal lover from 0 to 0. La Tricolor scored 15 goals and conceded just 2, one of them from a penalty. A champion has never conceded fewer goals, and those two were scored by authentic phenomena: Michael Laudrup, from Denmark and Davor Suker, from Croatia. It was the product of an extraordinary defense. Fabien Barthez, outstanding Monaco goalkeeper, sensational winger Lilian Thuram, Laurent Blanc, Marcel Desailly and Basque Bixente Lizarazu on the left wing. As if his remarkable efficiency and seriousness in scoring were not enough, Thuram scored both French goals to turn the semi-final against Croatia around and win 2-1.
Grand finale
It was the last final of the twentieth century and there was a new champion. Jacquet lined up Barthez, Thuram, Lebeouf (he replaced the exquisite Laurent Blanc, sent off against Croatia), Desailly and Lizarazu; Karembeu, Deschamps. Little; Zidane and Djorkaeff in creation, and above, lonely, Guivarc’h. Then Boghossian, Dugarry and Patrick Vieira entered.
Mario Zagallo, on the yellow side, he opposed Taffarel; Cafu, Aldair, Junior Baiano and Roberto Carlos; César Sampaio, Dunga, Rivaldo and Leonardo; Baby and Ronaldo. In the second half, Denilson entered, who energized the team, and the always nervous and violent Edmundo.
Moments before kick-off we found ourselves in the press section of the stadium with Jairzinho, the fabulous attacker of the 1970 champion Brazil. The question: how do you experience such an event? “It’s the best,” Huracán answered us. These matches are resolved in the first ten minutes. Whoever is mentally better, he wins. It all depends on the player’s psyche.”
How were you that day in the Aztec from Mexico…? “Just like now, smiling, relaxed, he wanted to get in as soon as possible to win. I had no doubts.” But his compatriots did not feel the same way that afternoon in Paris. They had no game or daring, they did not finish off the goal in the first half, they found themselves outmatched at all times by a France overflowing with enthusiasm, who did not want to miss that opportunity in any way. It was a stingy Brazil, which was already accustomed to winning and passing rounds without doing much, like in the United States ’94. Always used to facing teams that expect and fear him, Brazil was surprised by the audacity and confidence of the French.
In this picture of soccer anemia, the ghostly performance of Ronaldo stood out, who arrived at the World Cup as the star to follow. Before the game, it was learned, he was infiltrated in the knee so that he could perform, he suffered a seizure that at that time was considered to be epilepsy and he was transferred to a hospital, once recovered, he was aligned and was seen to move without problems, but went by unnoticed. However, he received the World Cup Ballon d’Or which, strictly speaking, Zidane deserved. After such an opaque final, no Brazilian player deserved any prize.
It was the worldwide consecration of an exceptional player: Zinedine Zidane. Universal crack, the Marseillais was an unstoppable demon for the Brazilian midfield, the driver and the harpoon. At the end of the first half he had already scored two notable headed goals, in both cases anticipating the insipid Dunga. thuram followed him in order of delivery. She closed the tip of her, went up like a bulldozer, conveyed the mettle of her. Didier Deschamps was an immense captain, who did everything right with the ball. He called attention to the fact that Jacquet preferred to Stephane Guivarc’ha very discreet center forward from Auxerre, instead of the young but exuberant Thierry Henry, but the coaches know more than us.
Moroccan referee Said Belqola gave that boring Brazil team one last chance: he unfairly sent off Desailly. He had shown him yellow for a non-existent foul and then a second one that was. And he left France with ten for 26 minutes. But ten of those Frenchmen were still too many for the eleven Brazilians. So much so that being at a numerical disadvantage Emmanuel Petitrrounded the 3 to 0 with a crossed left foot. TV showed a contrast: Zico, devastated on the Brazilian bench (he was Zagallo’s assistant) and Platini euphoric in the box (he was the president of the local World Cup organization). When 80 minutes went by, the public began to stand up and celebrate, it was clear that victory was guaranteed.
Interviewed some time after the great conquest, the one that put France in line with the other powers, Aimé Jacquet, the champion coach, spoke of the tremendous criticism he was subjected to. “They tend to be excessive, pernicious and dishonest,” he said.
Jacquet basically pointed it out in the newspaper “L’Equipe”, which ruthlessly persecuted him for five years, during which he was in charge of the National Team. And that in the 53 games that Jacquet directed, France lost just 3, it was a football machine and it established itself forcefully. Then he did what he always did: “L’Equipe” made a mea culpa titled “Sorry, Jacquet”, but it was too late.
We must not forget that, after all, football is a sport. That it is less and less a game and more a business, but it does not affect national security or territorial sovereignty, nor does it worsen the economy of a country, nor does it generate unemployment or poverty. It is entertainment, a game. That produces a lot of pride to the inhabitants of a nation, as on that occasion to all of France. That he was a brilliant champion, and not because he was local.
(Who is the Colombian who has Luis Rubiales against the wall in Fifa?)
Jorge Barraza
For the time
JorgeBarrazaOK
#Zidane #champagne #football #consecrated.. #Tango