Mbappé’s Penalty in the Philly Furnace

Geoffrey Ashworth

It is one hundred degrees Fahrenheit in Philadelphia. One hundred. On the fourth of July, no less, with the city absolutely bursting at the seams for America’s two hundred and fiftieth birthday. You’ve got Idina Menzel, the Roots, brass bands, thousands of folks in Uncle Sam hats, and then, right in the middle of this great, sweltering patriotic cauldron, you drop a football match. And not just any match, but a- a absolute rock-fight of a World Cup quarterfinal between France and Paraguay at Lincoln Financial Field. This episode of Geoff’s Football Notebook is brought to you by Jellypod, turning my daily football notes into a perfect briefing. Now, I must admit, I love the heat of a battle, but this was something else. Paraguay didn't come to play football; they came to- to construct a brick wall and then throw the bricks at Kylian Mbappé. From the first whistle, it was physical, it was- it was nasty, really. Traditional, uncompromising South American defending, the kind that makes an old left-back like me winced. Andrés Cubas set the tone early, just snapping at heels, and then Matías Galarza... well, he left an elbow in on Mbappé that had the French bench absolutely up in arms. A proper, bad-tempered, twenty-man scuffle broke out. Shirts being pulled, fingers wagged in faces. Beautiful, chaotic drama, but as a spectacle of flowing football? Rubbish, frankly. France looked completely stifled by the low block. But then, the seventy-minute mark. Desiré Doué goes down in the box. The referee waves it play on, the crowd is howling, but then... the finger goes to the ear. The dreaded, or perhaps blessed, VAR review. It took what felt like an eternity in that stifling heat, but the penalty was given. Up steps Mbappé. Cool as you like, despite the whistle-wetting heat, a little stutter-step, and bang. Into the back of the net. His seventh of the tournament, tying him with Lionel Messi’s World Cup record. A scrappy, ugly one-nil win, but France, somehow, survive the Philadelphia furnace.

Geoffrey Ashworth

Now, if Philadelphia was a- a grueling grind, Houston was a absolute masterclass. Morocco dismantled the co-hosts Canada three-nil in what was, really, a tactical triumph. It started terribly for the Atlas Lions, mind you. Ismael Saibari pulled up with a hamstring injury after just ten minutes—devastating for the lad. And Canada, with Alphonso Davies clearly playing through the pain barrier, tried to impose themselves. But Morocco's second-half performance was just sublime. Azzedine Ounahi, a player who always seems to have an extra second on the ball, scored a magnificent brace. The first, a curling effort that left the keeper stranded, and the second, a- a real poacher's finish after a brilliant team move. Then, deep into stoppage time, the ninety-eighth minute, Soufiane Rahimi breaks away on the counter, chips it over the rushing keeper, and seals the three-nil win. Canada's historic run ends, but they can hold their heads high. Morocco, though, they look like the real deal. They’ll face France next, and with Colombia also squeezing past Ghana late on Friday night thanks to Jhon Arias's fourteenth-minute goal, the Round of sixteen is finally, beautifully set. And oh, what a Sunday we have ahead of us. My goodness. First, we have Brazil versus Norway at MetLife Stadium. Now, younger listeners might not know this, but Norway has a- a legendary, almost mythical unbeaten record against Brazil. Four games, two wins, two draws. Brazil has never beaten them. And with Erling Haaland smelling blood, and Brazil missing both Raphinha and Lucas Paquetá to injury, that run might just continue. But the big one, the match that is already keeping me awake, is England versus Mexico at the Azteca. Six p.m. local time. Two thousand two hundred meters above sea level. The altitude is a monster, folks. It- it thins the air, it makes your lungs burn, and the ball flies like a plastic cannonball. Combine that with a hostile, partisan Mexican crowd, and the historic ghosts of nineteen eighty-six... the "Hand of God" quarterfinal... it is a crucible. Harry Kane has five goals, Jude Bellingham is bossing the midfield, but England will have to run themselves into the ground to survive. Can they do it? Well, as we used to say in Sheffield, we'll find out when the whistle blows. Proper football weather, proper pressure. Enjoy the matches, folks. Talk soon.