Hungarian uprising as French are held by the modern day Magyars.

 Hungarian Uprising as French are held by the modern day Magyars.

This was not quite the Hungarian Uprising of old but world champions France did encounter some opposition and there were a couple of odd moments when even the French were longing for a Platini, Raymond Kopa and Just Fontaine to make sure that nothing would go awry for the French. But it did go ever so slightly wrong for the world champions and they were humbled by a hungrier Hungary side who quite literally defied expectations in the Puskas Arena in Budapest. 

For quite a considerable time now Hungary have been moping and sulking in the back waters of international football. They do have fond memories of Ferenc Puskas, Jozef Bozsik and Zoltan Czibor to remind them of those halcyon days of the Magical Magyars when Hungary almost stood head and shoulders above any other team in the world. They will tell you in Budapest that on a foggy afternoon at the old Wembley 68 years ago England were demolished, embarrassed and taken to the cleaners by a rampant Hungary side who left poor England captain Billy Wright treading water and seeing stars. 

Since then though Hungary have been lost in a fog of complete obscurity nowhere to be seen. They have qualified for a number of World Cups and they were unluckily beaten by West Germany in the World Cup Final of 1954 when even the Germans, by their own admission, gallantly conceded that Hungary were the best team in the competition by a country mile. 

But on Saturday the Hungarians, roared on by a huge, macho crowd full of male machismo, went above and beyond the call of duty to hold the world champions to a 1-1 draw.  They did so with a performance of such defensive resilience and plucky pragmatism that even France were entranced by what they'd seen. It isn't often that French revolutionary fervour comes unstuck at the hands of a once celebrated world force such as Hungary and then has the gall to show off all its unashamed patriotism. 

For France this should have been confirmation of everything we've come to know about them. This should all have been about French art and artistry, the flourishing of everything refined about their soul, a platform for flamboyant airs and graces, a proper sprinkling of world class and a sense of high minded haughtiness and effortless style. The French love to be show offs, ostentatious in the extreme, never backwards in coming forwards, always willing to leave you spellbound. 

There is always something more than meets the eye when the French come out to play.. In the old days France were serial underachievers, never quite stepping up to the mark. Their football was always an oil painting but never the finished article. There were missing pieces, rough edges, that elusive touch of match winning genius or any real sense of  accomplishment. But now the French seem to have that important combination of streetwise intelligence and a genuine sense of the cavalier, throwing caution to the wind. 

Paul Pogba was once again master of all he surveyed, loping forward with that tall, imposing frame, inspiring, pushing, prompting, full of wondrous close ball control and anticipation when the Hungarians seemed to getting on his nerves. Then the likes of Lucas Digne, Presnel Kimpembe, Rafael Varane all linked naturally to give the rest of the team that extrovert character, that collective team ethic that has so often adorned their game in recent years. 

Then the Chelsea midfield maestro N'Golo Kante gave another demonstration of all that is best within the game, scurrying around furiously, pressing persistently when necessary and generally unsettling Hungary with his inch perfect passing and all round excellence. Kante was not only the engine room he was also the stoker, the hod carrier, fetcher and carrier, moving the ball with electrifying speed and breathless accuracy. 

We should not of course overlook the contributions of the extraordinary Kylian M'Bappe, surely destined to emerge as one of the greatest of all footballers. M'Bappe and Antoine Griezmann were terrifying up front for France and every time M'Bappe gathered up a head of steam you somehow knew that goals would eventually follow. And so they did. 

M'Bappe was now twisting and racing past defenders and rushing forcefully into the Hungarian penalty area rather like a whirlwind that refuses to go away. Griezmann was also bearing down on goal, always well positioned for the crucial pass to his feet. France eventually took the lead when that man M'Bappe turned his man sensationally inside and out before laying the ball craftily square to Griezmann who steered the ball easily past the Hungary keeper. A goal that owed more to the Louvre than an international football stadium. 

And that appeared that for Hungary. But then in the second half  a totally unexpected revival from the home Hungarian side almost shocked the French into submission. The ball seemed to be travelling through the French feet as if the ball had glue to it. The world champions though were no longer in command of their destiny as the red shirts of Hungary briefly thought of Puskas and the arena they were playing and their football adopted a new life, a more fluent dimension with greater substance and threatening intent. 

Then with minutes to go Hungary equalised and a nation so long starved of any kind of footballing prosperity, went absolutely potty. Picking the ball up from just outside the French penalty box, Attila Fiola, whose name will never be forgotten for perhaps obvious reasons, drove his way purposefully through a succession of French defenders. Now a veteran of Hungarian football, Fiola burrowed a path towards goal before firing low past Hugo Lloris in the French goal. 

So it was that the referee blew the final whistle and the underdogs Hungary had sent tremors through France. This was not the way it was meant to be for the world champions. How dare anybody encroach on their territory and nick a point off them. It was daylight robbery and not to be tolerated but it happened so there. A 1-1 draw had meant that France were effectively, if somewhat awkwardly, through to the last 16 barring a miracle but Hungary were still acclaiming a moral and classical sense of achievement. They hadn't lost to the World Champions but they may well be joining France in the knock out stages of  Euro 2020. Anybody for a bowl of goulash? Hungarian appetites will have been whetted. Bravo!

Meanwhile Spain, everybody's second favourites to win Euro 2020, struggled desperately to beat Poland in the only other game of the day. Alvaro Morata brilliantly swept the ball home for the home side, flicking the ball nonchalantly past the Polish keeper after a high, swinging cross that caught the Polish defence out. But then Poland, fighting back on all fronts and pinning back the Spanish when least expected, equalised when the most consistent and prolific striker in Europe Robert Lewandowski used all of his neck muscles to power the ball into the net for a richly merited equaliser.

It is hard to know what to make of Spain. When they should have been using far less cream or filling on their attacking cake and just going headlong for the winner they chose the easy going, relaxed passing game that should have been far more incisive than it was. For the last 25 minutes Spain were almost over indulgent, their football hampered by over elaboration and far too many cooks spoiling the broth. In the end Spain were just passing and over passing just for the sake of decoration rather than emphatic victory. There is a long way to go yet and Euro 2020 could well have one or two tricks up its sleeve. But France still look the likeliest to follow up World Cup winning glory with another European Championship victory. We await the next chapter.