England v France: can Maguire’s big head overcome Mbappé’s arrogance?
Maybe my memory is playing tricks on me. But it seems like only yesterday that Qatar was the worst country in the world, ruled by monsters who would cheerfully throw another migrant worker on the fire if the temperature during one of their midnight feasts in the desert dropped below 10 degrees.
If we had even a shred of decency, we were told, we would refuse to watch the World Cup, or even take note of the scores, until power in Doha was handed over to a triumvirate made up of Eddie Izzard, Lenny Henry and Greta Thunberg.
But I’m kidding you. I must be. For the truth is, we all love the 2022 World Cup. It has been the best ever. The Germans are out; Spain has been sent packing; the Belgians don’t know what hit them. England fans are so pleased, they have even gone on the wagon without complaining.
For the Qataris, and for FIFA, it is the result of their dreams. Football, it seems, is not only more important than life and death, it is more important than the woke interpretation of history. We are not concerned right now with Qatar’s deplorable human rights record. We have drawn a veil over its treatment of women. All that matters is what happens on the pitch, and everything so far has been but a preparation for this weekend’s Big Match: England v France – Kylian Mbappé against Harry Maguire.
I hate Mbappé. He is strong, fast, handsome, intelligent and brilliant, and 10 days short of his 24th birthday his wealth already exceeds $150 million. If the world was ever someone’s homard, it is his. Maguire, though undeniably big-headed, lacks the conceit and arrogance, as well as the pace, of the Frenchman. He is like a character out of the Canterbury Tales as told by Piers Morgan – a yeoman defender, six years older than Mbappé, with a fortune of just – I say “just” – $20 million.
Which of them will come out on top in this epic tussle? Everyone will tell you that it is Mbappé, and they are probably right. But you never know.
L’Equipe, the leading French sports paper, says that Maguire typifies the stolid defence that will be put up by England. They know that their man can dance around almost any opponent before going for goal. But they also know that if Mbappé puts a foot wrong, Harry will have him.
I could be imagining it, but I think I sense fear in the French camp, or at the very least, apprehension. They know that for the first time in years, the English, under Gareth Southgate, are as talented and well-drilled as they are. Jude Bellingham, just 19 years-old, has been one of the players of the tournament; Marcus Rashford can wreak havoc when given the chance; and then there are the two Jordans, Henderson and Pickford, one acting as Southgate’s midfield avatar, the other arguably the world’s finest goalkeeper, capable of stopping a 44-tonne truck in its tracks. And let’s not forget ’Arry Kane, the Ben Stokes of English football, who on his day is as good as any striker in the game but has yet to hit his best form in Qatar.
For France, there isn’t just Mbappé, there is Olivier Giroud, ex-Arsenal, aged 36, an elegantly gallic version of Kane, as good now as he ever was for the Gunners, and Antoine Griezmann, near as dammit a German and one of football’s most gifted playmakers. But most of all, there’s Mbappé – so sharp and yet so soigné that he even wins the plaudits of Bernard-Henri Levi, France’s holder-in-perpetuity of the ballon-d’or of philosophical argument.
According to Didier Deschamps, France’s long-time head coach, “England have no weaknesses” – a view from the other side of the Channel not expressed since Wellington’s army made it out of the group stages in Spain and Portugal all the way to the final of the Napoleonic Wars.
For the Qatar tournament, Southgate, Deschamp’s opposite number, has shed his trademark Edwardian Gent look, complete with waistcoat, for a looser, two-piece suit, often (gasp!) worn without a tie. He has the complete confidence of his players, even those who, like Rashford and Jack Grealish, he has chosen to use strategically, rather than for the full 90 minutes. Equally, he has earned the respect of his rivals, including Deschamps, who credit him with building a squad over the years that right now is approaching peak performance.
It could all go horribly wrong, of course. Mbappé could run riot. Giroud and Griezmann could blast their way through England’s defence. Maguire could be sent off. Anything could happen, and it probably will.
The French, I should add, are in no mood to take prisoners. They want to win the game and rub England’s nose in it. Even in central Brittany, where patriotism has always been conditional, the mood is building. Just this week in my local pub, a group of grizzled Bretons in flat caps turned up brandishing the Tricolore and singing the Marseillaise, to the amusement of a table of expat Brits unused to such displays of enthusiasm. We were only surprised they didn’t release a cockerel in the back bar.
So much for my Lineker-style pre-match report. Come Saturday night, we will know who ended up over the Moon and who were left squatting on the pitch, sick as parrots, after the final whistle. If it makes any difference, I drew Morocco in the pub sweepstake and thus have two chances of making it to the semis. But there will be no opportunity for either crowing or drowning my sorrows. The pub is staying shut on Saturday. All the customers, from both sides of the divide, will be at home watching the match. Allez les Lions!