France Strike in Six Minutes, Spain-Belgium Looms

Geoffrey Ashworth

Six minutes that's-that's all it took to dismantle one of the most stubborn, beautifully organized defensive units we've seen in modern international football. We-we think we understand the pace of these tournament matches, we think we've seen the script, and then, in the blink of an eye, the entire landscape shifts. This episode, by the way, is supported by Jellypod, turning your daily reads into your own personal podcast. Now, if you'd told me at halftime in Foxborough—at that grand old cathedral, Gillette Stadium, shivering slightly in the Massachusetts air—that France would run out comfortable two-nil winners, I'd have called you a daft ha'pworth. Because for fifty-nine minutes, Morocco didn't just hang in there; they-they absolutely threatened to write another chapter of pure, unadulterated giant-killing folklore.

Geoffrey Ashworth

But let's go back. Let's go back to the twenty-eighth minute because that is where the soul of this match was forged. Kylian Mbappé gets clipped. It's a penalty. Or-or is it? We enter the dreaded modern purgatory. Three minutes. Three whole minutes of a VAR referee in a dark room somewhere pulling digital slides back and forth like a bloke trying to park a caravan. It-it absolutely saps the life out of the stadium. Erling Haaland actually posted on Snapchat during the delay, saying, "Need to wait five min to take a penalty is way too long." And he's spot on! By the time Mbappé actually gets to step up to the spot, the tension is suffocating. He strikes it—not his best, a bit tentative—and Yassine Bounou, that magnificent custodian, flings himself to his left. What a save! Absolutely brilliant! The Moroccan contingent in the stands went absolutely spare, and you felt, you really felt, that the momentum had swung irrevocably.

Geoffrey Ashworth

But champions, real champions, they don't dwell on the miss. They-they find the honest grind. In the second half, Didier Deschamps' men stopped trying to play the grand symphony and started doing the heavy lifting. Mike Maignan—who was absolutely superb, marshaling that French backline like a seasoned sergeant major—kept things utterly watertight at the back. And then, the magic. The clock hits sixty. Mbappé, retrieving the ball on the edge of the area, does that little shimmy—the one where he threatens to go outside, cuts back in, and curls it. Oh, it was a beauty. Right into the old onion bag. His eighth of the tournament, his twentieth career World Cup goal, pushing him past Lionel Messi in the all-time tournament standings. Absolutely majestic. And before Morocco could even dust themselves down, just six minutes later, Ousmane Dembélé cuts inside from the right and unleashes a low, fizzing drive from well outside the box. Bono got a hand to it, he did, but there was too much venom on it. Two-nil. Just like that, the contest was put to bed.

Geoffrey Ashworth

Mind you, it wasn't all champagne and roses for the French. In the seventy-seventh minute, the entire nation of France held its breath. Mbappé goes down, clutching that ankle. He's subbed off, hobbling to the bench with a massive ice pack strapped to his joint. For a moment, you thought, "That's it, his tournament is over." But, classic Kylian, twenty minutes later he's on the pitch during the celebrations, dancing around like he hasn't got a care in the world. We'll have to see how that ankle holds up for the semis, but for now, les Bleus are through.

Geoffrey Ashworth

Which brings us, quite naturally, to what I like to call Controversy Corner. Now, I know I sound like an old codger lamenting the price of a pint, but this VAR business... it's-it's getting out of hand. Back in my day—and yes, I'm wearing my tartan scarf even though it's baking hot in the studio—back when my dad took me to Hillsborough to watch Sheffield Wednesday in the seventies, if a referee made a decision, that was it. You lived with it! You didn't have to wait for three minutes of slide-rule analysis to decide if a toenail was offside. It kills the raw emotion of the goal. The referee's whistle used to be final, an honest end to an honest tackle. Now we're left standing around like we're waiting for a delayed train at Crewe station.

Geoffrey Ashworth

But we mustn't let the technology spoil what is shaping up to be an absolute humdinger of a quarterfinal tomorrow. Spain against Belgium. Los Angeles Stadium, midday local time—that's three in the afternoon Eastern, nine in the evening for our friends in Europe. And oh, the history here! If you're of a certain vintage, you'll remember the 1986 quarterfinal in Mexico. A bruising, sweltering affair that ended one-one before Belgium sneaked through five-four on penalties. Or four years later in Verona, the 1990 group stage, where Spain got their revenge with a two-one victory. The history is dripping off this fixture, it really is.

Geoffrey Ashworth

And the tactical matchup tomorrow is mouthwatering. You've got the youth of Spain, led by the absolutely precocious Lamine Yamal. The lad plays with a freedom that just makes you smile—no fear, just pure, joyful expression. Backed up, of course, by Rodri, who controls the midfield like an orchestral conductor. But then you look at Belgium. Rudi Garcia has got this veteran squad playing with a real, steel-nosed determination. Romelu Lukaku is sitting on eight career World Cup goals. If he bags one tomorrow, he hits that magic milestone of nine, breaking all sorts of Belgian records. And with Kevin De Bruyne pulling the strings behind him? Well, it's a mouthwatering prospect. Youthful exuberance versus the final stand of a golden generation. I cannot wait.

Geoffrey Ashworth

France have booked their ticket. Tomorrow, either the Spanish matadors or the Belgian red devils will join them. Kickoff is at twelve local time in LA. Make sure you don't miss a single kick. Until tomorrow, this is Geoff Ashworth, signing off. Enjoy the football, everyone.