The cacophony that erupted at the final whistle felt almost like an act of collective exorcism. No longer must France shudder at the dark memories of Seville in 1982 or Guadalajara in 1986, nor dwell on the sting of their undoing by Germany in the humid cauldron of the Maracanã two years ago. On this night, they finally shattered a German hold over them that had endured across competitive fixtures for over half a century. In doing so, they not only banished the reigning world champions from Euro 2016, but also cleansed a lingering wound in the French sporting psyche.
At the heart of this catharsis was Antoine Griezmann, the
lithe figure who skipped joyously at the head of the victorious French line,
leading teammates toward the delirious mass of home support on the Virage Sud.
Together, they orchestrated their own version of Iceland’s famous “Huuh,”
before erupting into frenzied celebration. In the stands, the same terraces
where Russian fans had marauded against English supporters mere weeks before
now pulsed with unalloyed joy. Tricolores danced above heads, La Marseillaise
thundered louder than the stadium PA. This was not just a victory; it was an
outpouring of national relief and delight.
Now France will march into Saint-Denis on Sunday as clear
favourites to reclaim a trophy that could elevate this team alongside the
legendary vintages of 1984 and 1998. Those squads had Platini and Zidane as
their luminous talismans; already Griezmann seems intent on inserting himself
into that rarefied company. “We’re like little kids enjoying it all,” he said
afterward, his words tinged with wonder. “There’s a whole country behind us,
and we have to give everything for them. Now we have to win the final.”
This triumph did more than book a place in the final—it validated the calibre and resilience of Didier Deschamps’ side. Before the interval, France were forced into a dogged rearguard. Germany’s passing was slick and relentless, threatening repeatedly to pry them open. Yet the French lines held firm. Laurent Koscielny and Patrice Evra offered grit and guile at the back, while young Samuel Umtiti, astonishingly only in his second appearance at this level, exhibited poise that explained Barcelona’s £24.6m pursuit.
But France were never content to simply bunker in. Their
counterattacks bristled with menace, and Griezmann’s swagger offered the sharp
contrast to a German team sorely missing a forward of comparable confidence. In
many ways, this semi-final may come to be seen as Griezmann’s coronation. Already
near certain to claim the Golden Boot, his brace here—lifting his tournament
tally to six—ensured his name would be breathed alongside Platini’s in French
football folklore.
His composure was striking. Just before halftime, he stepped
up to bury a penalty, showing icy calm despite the ghost of that miss for
Atlético Madrid in May’s Champions League final. Later, when Paul Pogba twisted
space out of Shkodran Mustafi on the flank and Neuer’s paw only pushed the ball
into a dangerous zone, Griezmann was there to stab gleefully into the gaping
net.
Yet for all the footballing narrative, there ran under this
match a thread of something more poignant. In the shadow of last November’s
terror attacks, this run has become a vessel for national healing. Griezmann’s
sister, Maud, had narrowly escaped the Bataclan massacre. That same night,
Griezmann himself was on the field for France against Germany at the Stade de
France—just across the city from the carnage. A nation rattled by civic unrest
and political strains has been desperate for a unifying story. This French
side, reading from a script seemingly written by fate, has offered precisely
that.
Still, fortune had undeniably played its part. Joachim Löw’s
Germany were mystified by their fate, especially after dominating the opening
half. Once Neuer thwarted Griezmann early on, Germany took a grip, dictating
rhythm and territory with Kroos and Draxler orchestrating intricate patterns.
It required brave interventions from Umtiti and the superb Hugo Lloris to keep
them at bay. Müller prowled ominously, waiting to break his tournament drought,
while Joshua Kimmich’s shot rattled the woodwork.
Then came the moment that flipped the narrative. In stoppage
time of the first half, Schweinsteiger rose with Evra, arms flailing, and the
ball glanced off the Frenchman’s head onto the German’s hand. Referee Nicola
Rizzoli pointed to the spot—a decision that sent German tempers flaring and
which Löw would surely replay in his mind long into the night. Griezmann
converted clinically, and from then on, it was Germany who wore the look of a side
fraying under the pressure.
Even as they chased desperately—Kimmich again went close,
and Lloris’s late save from Müller defied logic—Germany seemed to sense that
the script was no longer theirs to author. This was France’s night. As Pogba
exhaled at full time: “It was an extraordinary result.” It could yet prove to
be an extraordinary tournament.
