France beat Argentina in seven goal World Cup thriller.

France beat Argentina in seven goal World Cup thriller.

Vive La France! Allez La France! Surely French revolutions were never supposed to be like that. Besides, we never quite saw one this coming. Admittedly, we are now at the business end of this enthralling World Cup in Russia and nothing will surprise us anymore. But now the World Cup has lost two of its finest exhibitionists and performers, two of its heavenly stars and what on earth are we going to do without them?

We are approaching the half way point of the World Cup and something quite momentous has happened. Lionel Messi of Argentina and Cristiano Ronaldo of Portugal have left the building without so much as whimper. How are we to replace the irreplaceable if indeed that's possible? But onwards and upwards and we must get on with the matter in hand. History has told us that generations must come and go and family dynasties must continue regardless. There is something very telling about the departure of both Messi and Ronaldo.

Both men may never grace another World Cup and this may yet prove one of the great frustrations of the modern age. Yesterday, Lionel Messi looked dumb struck as his Argentina took their leave of the World Cup in Russia and later on that evening Ronaldo, with that excessive tan and the hitched up shorts before the delivery of free kicks, also left centre stage only to find there was nobody in the wings to greet either of them.

But yesterday France knocked Argentina out of the World Cup in one of the most fabulous, frantic and formidable of knockout matches you could have wished for. France eventually overwhelmed Argentina in one of the most bewildering, bemusing, end to end, helter skelter matches in recent times. In the end France seemed to run the South American side ragged with their blistering running at pace, their quick witted invention and their remarkable ability to switch the play with expansive football that spread right across the pitch.

By the end of this match Messi and co. seem to be gasping at air such was France's frightening speed on the break, the breakneck intensity of their passing and the telepathic communication with each other. France were magnifique, the piece de resistance, a unique phenomena, a side of vivacity, vitality, variation, dizzying skill and dashing flamboyance, a side of Parisian troubadours, bright eyed boulevardiers and a side privately confident that this could be their World Cup year.

Nothing we saw yesterday evening did anything to stop the growing rumour of the French conquest of this Russian World Cup. There could have been nothing to dispel the impression that France are so good that they may yet end up in the World Cup Final for the first time in exactly 20 years. That year Lauren Blanc, Thierry Henry and Emmanuel Petit were the up and coming World Cup stars of the future and France beat Brazil in the World Cup Final with one of those typically swashbuckling displays that flattened most of their opponents in their own backyard.

Now though France are doing it again. They're beginning to win over another legion of fans and admirers and they don't mind telling others, gloating and boasting, convincing the sceptics that Les Bleus have indeed re- discovered that trademark subtlety, that cunning stealthiness, that lovely sense of the unexpected and finally a unity and solidarity that has so often been lacking in recent World Cups.

On the touchline manager Didier Deschamps seemed to be deep in discussion with his assistants for most of the game perhaps analysing the latest developments of Le Monde. Of course the newspapers have been passing comment on both his suitability and managerial prowess but Deschamps could only watch from the dug out, ever thoughtful and ever thinking of the bigger picture. Sometimes World Cup managers must wish people would leave them alone and just let them get on with it.

Once again and not for the first time Paul Pogba and N'Golo Kante gave the French a sharp injection of dynamism and creativity, excellent ball players with a technique and tenderness of touch on the ball that blows you away. Pogba was tall, leggy, constantly aware of his colleagues around him, loping forward into attack with those surging runs and menacing intentions that have now become so familiar to Manchester United fans.

Then there was the eternally effective and inspirational N'Golo Kante, now consistently impressive and always joining up the Chelsea attack, a deep thinking and analytical figure. prompting, probing, hovering around his opponents to pick up loose passes and then using the ball with huge imagination. Samuel Umtiti, Lucas Hernandez , Raphael Varane, the dangerous Antoine Griezmann and Blaise Matuidi also contributed vastly to a French side who were now on the campaigning trail, positive role models, proud ambassadors of their nation.

And so it was that we hit the goal trail. After 12 minutes Kylian Mbappe, the young whipper snapper and the new kid on the block for French football, took off on one of the most spectacular runs of his life on his own. Striding and stretching his way over the half way line Mbappe kicked into fifth gear, sprinting and accelerating at the speed of light before being tumbled over in the Argentina penalty area. Antoine Griezmann comfortably tucked home the penalty as if he'd been fated to do so.

Then Argentina as if propelled by Lionel Messi rallied their way back into the game with a series of well planned and studious attacks that were neatly fashioned with those now customary carousel of passes that were sculpted and chipped with fastidious attention to detail. Half way through the first half Angel Di Maria accepted an opportunity from outside the penalty area and Di Maria launched a fearsome missile towards the French net, the shot rippling the net before Hugo Lloris had had time to move. 1-1 and we had a game on our hands.

Argentina were now back in cruise control and as if a current of electricity had run through the whole Argentina side and there was everything to play for. Now it was that the likes of Lionel Messi, forever lurking with that sumptuously close ball control  we've come to expect of Messi, began to look like that South American side whose name we all mentioned in the same breath as that of neighbours Brazil.

After another giddy soft shoe shuffle of passes that imprinted itself onto the game like the tattoos most of the players had on their arms. Argentina scored again. Firstly, there was another glorious ball from Messi floating in the gentle breeze. Ths was followed by the faintest of touches from another light blue and white Argentina foot before Gabriel Mercado finished off another scintillating move with another needle sharp Argentina goal.

We were now into the most exceptional of footballing feasts, a genuine festival of football with end to end football that whirled and hurtled from one goalmouth to the other. Suddenly France had achieved a second wind when it looked for all the world as if the boulangeries near the Champs Elysees would shut up shop, switch on their radios and TVs and refuse to sell their bread to their customers because France were onto something here.

From almost nowhere France equalised for the second time. Another swiftly incisive French break caught Argentina on the hop. Benjamin Pavard, a full back now suffering from high altitude problems in an attacking position, leant back and sent a thunderous, destructive and ferocious shot that soared past Franco Armani into the Argentina goal. We now had a very special match on our hands when perhaps we thought we'd never get anything even remotely as wide open as this match.

Now France finally found their je ne sais quoi, that indefinable quality that can bring joy to so many when the mood takes them. Suddenly the middle of the pitch was flooded by a torrent of blue French shirts, sweeping forward and stampeding towards the Argentinian net like an army marching defiantly over the greenest of pitches.

In a matter of minutes a French flourish became a French domination. In what was a continuous stream of passes, flicks, tricks and ornate passing movements, France scored yet again. Another rat a tat sequence of quick, quick, slow, slow passes resulted in that man Kylian Mbappe finding space to drive home the fourth French goal with a convincing swing of his foot. Mbappe thrashed the ball home and must have glanced over to Messi with the most sympathetic of glances. Perhaps he knew that here was Messi's potential successor and it wasn't pleasant at all. 

And then as if to pour oil on troubled Argentinian waters, France, by now raiding, plundering and looting their opponents with ruthless ferocity, scored the classic sucker punch fourth. A flowing end to end move which started with a Hugo Lloris free kick was swiftly threaded through a succession of French feet and Kylian Nbappe, that sprightliest of livewires, was in the right place and right time to fire home the goal that sucked the air out of the Argentine advance.

By the time Sergio Aguero, on as a last throw of the dice substitute, had whipped the ball home for Argentinia's third goal the game was up for the South Americans. It was too little too late and Argentina had suffered for their arrogance and insouciance. The tango had been replaced by much stamping of feet and Argentina were on their way back to Buenos Aires.

The French of course can now be spurred on by the men who have graced the blue shirts in years gone by. There was the France of the unsurpassable Raymond Kopa and Just Fontaine, goal scorers par excellence. There was the France of Michel Platini, Alain Giresse and Didier Six, players of enormous intelligence and craftsmanship, players of light and shade, showmanship and finesse.

There may be a long way to go for France but whisper it quietly the France are on a roll and may well continue rolling as long as there are no signs of revolt and mutiny within the French camp. We know what happens when France get all tangled up in internal squabbling and dissent. For the moment though, France are silently plotting their careful way through a World Cup. As long as nobody mentions Pompidou or D'Estaing on their travels then this may be the year for yet more rejoicing in the streets of Paris. Allez Les Bleus!