Three Swedish defenders stood almost shoulder to shoulder, forming a yellow wall between Kylian Mbappe and the goal. There was nowhere obvious to go. So, instead of forcing the issue, Mbappe simply stopped. He rolled the ball backwards, inviting the nearest defender to take a step forward. That was the cue he had been waiting for.
In an instant, he was moving again. His hips swayed one way, the ball darted another, and a crowded penalty area suddenly opened up. By the time the other Swedish defender realised what had happened, Mbappe was already wheeling away in celebration.
The goal was a result of breathtaking speed, but even more breathtaking audacity. Most footballers, confronted by three defenders, search for the safer pass. Mbappe saw them as an audience – and put on a show.
Watching France at this World Cup, that feeling keeps returning. Didier Deschamps’ side does not resemble a meticulously-drilled international team so much as a bunch of street footballers who happen to be wearing blue shirts. Every attack carries an extra feint, an unexpected flick or an invitation to a one-on-one duel.
That is no accident.
The footballing soul of this French team lies well beyond the cafes and boulevards of central Paris. It lives in the banlieues – the working-class suburbs that ring the capital – where generations of children have learnt the game inside fenced cages, on concrete courts and tiny artificial pitches squeezed between apartment blocks. There, football is stripped to its essentials. Space is scarce, time even scarcer, and mistakes are punished instantly. If you cannot beat your opponent 1v1, you simply do not keep the ball.
Those cages have quietly become the world’s greatest football academy.