Paris was one of the few major capitals in the world without a football stadium to pay tribute to its grandeur. The organization of the World Cup ’98 was the excuse for the construction of the magnificent Stade de France. There, on July 12, in the suburb of Saint Denis, 80,000 fans set the stage for the biggest demonstration of Champagne football. France crushed Brazil 3-0 in the final and for the first time embraced the glory of that cup made by one of their famous sons, Jules Rimet. It was a medium that, from Michel Platini and the brilliant generation, began to give evidence of excellence in Argentina ’78, to create brilliant footballers and at “its” Cup in 1998 it was finally crowned. It was multicultural France, made up of players from the most diverse backgrounds and origins. Zidane, the son of Algerians, Thuram from the island of Guadeloupe, Djorkaeff and Boghossian with Armenian origins, Argentine Trezeguet raised and a football player, Desailly born in Ghana, Karembe in New Caledonia, Vieira in Senegal… All this combination blossomed into a product fantastically assembled by Aimé Jacquet , who was stubbornly bullied by the French press, always so informed, but he handed them the championship on a platter and retired forever. When a team with such determination and confidence enters the finale, most of the credit goes to the commander, not the soldiers.

From a footballing point of view, France was a rarity: a Latin nation, from Western Europe, neighbor to the game’s inventors, surrounded by Italy and Spain, spent a century turning its back on the circle, felt more like a rugby oval, until it reached the embrace of the World Cup and there realized the reason for the passion this game creates. More than two million proud Frenchmen descended the Champs Elysées to drink in the glory. Finally, the coronation arrived in a dream way: with a fantastic team, which represented French football that tried all its life to play well, as the manuals dictate, and in the final, winning no less than Brazil. France was the great champion, who won 6 games and drew one, against always compact Italy, the eternal lover of 0 to 0. La Tricolor scored 15 goals and conceded only 2, including one from the penalty spot. The champion has never conceded fewer goals, and two of them were marked by true phenomena: Michael Laudrup from Denmark and Davor Šuker from Croatia. It was the product of an outstanding defense. Fabien Barthez, Monaco goalkeeper extraordinaire, sensational winger Lilian Thuram, Laurent Blanc, Marcel Desailly and Basque Bixente Lizarazu on the left wing. As if his incredible efficiency and goalscoring seriousness weren’t enough, Thuram scored both goals for the French to reverse their semi-final against Croatia and win 2-1.

It was the last final of the twentieth century and a new champion emerged. Jacquet lined up Barthez, Thuram, Lebeouf (replaced the great Laurent Blanc, sent off against Croatia), Desailly and Lizarazu; Karembeu, Deschamps, Petit; Zidane and Djorkaeff in creation, and above, lonely, Guivarc’h. Then Boghossian, Dugarry and Patrick Vieira entered. Mario Zagallo, on the yellow side, opposed Taffarel; Cafu, Aldair, Junior Baiano and Roberto Carlos; César Sampaio, Dunga, Rivaldo and Leonardo; Baby and Ronaldo. In the second part, Denilson entered, who energized the team, and the always nervous and violent Edmundo.

A moment before the start of the match, we found ourselves in the press section of the stadium with Jairzinho, the great striker of the Brazilian champion in 1970. Question: how do you perceive such an event? “It’s the best,” Huracán answered us. These matches are decided in the first ten minutes. Whoever is mentally better wins. Everything depends on the player’s psyche.” How was that day in Azteca, Mexico…? “Like now, smiling, relaxed, he wanted to win as soon as possible. I had no doubts.” But his countrymen did not feel the same way that afternoon in Paris. They didn’t have the game or courage, they didn’t realize a goal in the first half, they found themselves outplayed at every moment by France, overflowing with enthusiasm, which did not want to miss this opportunity. It was a stingy Brazil, already used to winning and getting by without much work, like in the United States in ’94. Always used to facing teams that expect and fear him, Brazil was surprised by the boldness and confidence of the French.

In this picture of football anemia, the ghostly performance of Ronaldo, who arrived at the World Cup as a star that will follow him, stood out. Before the game, it is understood, he was infiltrated in the knee so that he could perform, he had a seizure that was considered epilepsy at the time and was taken to the hospital, after he recovered, he was aligned and examined to move without problems, but he passed unnoticed. Nevertheless, he received the World Cup Golden Ball, which Zidane, strictly speaking, deserved. After such an opaque final, not a single Brazilian player deserved any award.

It was the world dedication of an exceptional player: Zinedine Zidane. A universal crack, Marseillais was an unstoppable demon for the Brazilian midfield, driver and harpooner. By the end of the first half, he had already scored two noteworthy goals with his head, in both cases ahead of the tasteless Dunga. Thuram followed in order of delivery. He closed his point, rose like a bulldozer, transferred his power. Didier Deschamps was an incredible captain, who did everything right with the ball. It was striking that Jacquet preferred Stephane Guivarc’h, a very discreet centre-forward from Auxerre, instead of the young but exuberant Thierry Henry, but the coaches know more than we do.

Moroccan referee Said Belqola gave that pesky Brazilian team one last chance: he unfairly sent off Desailly. He showed him a yellow card for a non-existent foul, and then another. And he left France with ten 26 minutes. But ten of those Frenchmen were still too much for eleven Brazilians. So much so that Emmanuel Petit, in a numerical deficit, made it 3-0 with a crossed left leg. The TV showed the contrast: Zico, devastated on the Brazilian bench (he was an assistant to Zagallo) and a euphoric Platini in the box (he was the president of the World Cup organization there). When 80 minutes had passed, the crowd started to stand up and celebrate, it was clear that victory was guaranteed.

Interviewed some time after the great victory, the one that put France in line with the other powers, Aimé Jacquet, coach of France’s 1998 world champions, spoke of the enormous criticism he was subjected to. “They tend to be excessive, destructive and dishonest,” he said. Jacquet mainly highlighted this in the newspaper “L’Equipe”, which mercilessly persecuted him for the five years he led the national team. And that in the 53 matches led by Jacquet, France lost only 3, he was a football machine and became world champion. Then the usual thing happened: “L’Equipe” made a mea culpa under the title “Sorry, Jacquet”, but it was too late.

We must not forget that, after all, football is a sport. That it is 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’s fun, a game. This creates great pride for the inhabitants of a nation, as well as for the whole of France. That he was a brilliant champion, not because he was local. (OR)