 "Les Bleus' united colours")
As the clock struck 9:30 in the evening in Paris on July 12, 1998, the figure of Zinedine Zidane rose majestically above its marker and buried a header past Brazilian keeper Cláudio Taffarel to put France into the lead in the World Cup final. As Zidane climbed an advertising hoarding - nearly crashing into a photographer - to celebrate, the Stade de France slipped into unsuppressed delirium. With the Brazilians still trying to muster a response, the French master struck again just before half-time. A frenzied Jon Champion, who was one of the match commentators that balmy Parisian evening, famously exclaimed: "Lightning has struck twice in the World Cup final." France would go on to win the match 3-0 and clinch their first World Cup.
Zidane, born to Algerian immigrants in an indigent Marseille suburb on France's southern coast, would be named man of the match. Elegance, vision, magical ball control and two goals - it was the kind of performance that typified Zidane's rise from a diffident schoolboy to France's greatest sportsperson. As celebrating fans lined up the Champs-Élysees, waving French flags, the image of Zidane was displayed on the Arc de Triomphe. "When my father came from Algeria, he didn't even have shoes on. To see the image of his son on the Arc de Triomphe was amazing," Zidane recalled several years later.
Zidane was an Alegrian immigrant who had managed to win over French hearts with a display so empyreal that it lingers in the memory even today. Youri Djorkaeff, the man who had whipped in the corner for his second goal, was born to a Polish father and an Armenian mother. Patrick Vieira, a fledgling 22-year-old who played just the last 16 minutes but would go on to become a marauding midfield giant, crossed over to France from Senegal when he was eight years old.
In the semi-final against Croatia, with his team 1-0 down and staring at a catastrophic exit, a West Indian-born centre back decided to take matters into his own hands. When nine-year-old Lilian Thuram arrived in Paris from the Caribbean more than three decades ago, his mother held his hand at the airport and told him, "This is heaven. This is the land of opportunity." Thuram scored twice against Croatia in that game; the second one a sublime solo effort that would have made Diego Maradona proud. A week later, little Lilian won the World Cup for his country.
This was a French team with some serious pedigree, with a group of immigrants at its forefront. French football, at the time, was the paragon of racial diversity, multiculturalism and oneness; a bunch of remarkable young men from varied backgrounds slaying the world. Before that year's World Cup, the French side's ethnic make-up was severely scrutinised, even bemoaned. Certain dogmatic factions of the French political class remained obstinate in their view that there were some individuals on that team who did not deserve to play for the Les Bleus. By the end of it all, the Zidanes and Thurams of this world had become symbols of France's pluralistic society. This reputation was only augmented when France won Euro 2000 two years later.
Some chapters of the French national team's glorious history haven't always been penned by players who were absolutely French. Back in the 1950s, France's first golden generation of players was led by a Moroccan and three Poles - Just Fontaine, Raymond Kopa, Thadee Cisowski and Maryan Wisnieski. Kopa, who would have garnered greater distinction had he not played alongside Ferenc Puskas and Alfredo Di Stefano in the imperious Real Madrid team of the same era, had to in fact shorten his last name from "Kopaszewski" after he migrated to France.
However, France has faced problems in dealing with black and dual-nationality players in the past. Former French international Nicolas Anelka told reporters in 2010 that when France fails to win, people start talking about the players' skin colours and religious beliefs.He recalled what supporters had said when Franck Ribery once hit Yoann Gourcuff : Ribery, the Muslim; Gourcuff, the good French boy. The two were teammates with the national side for a brief while.
In 2004, Jean Tigana was the frontrunner to land the job of the national team's coach. Tigana, a black Malian-born midfielder was a colossus in France's tournament victory at Euro 1984. The job, instead, went to Raymond Domenech, a choice that baffled fans and players alike. Many at the time felt that the decision had to do more with Tigana's ethnicity than his ability.
But the national team has done well to ensure that the legacy of the social unification spawned by the team from the late 1990s is preserved. Even today, several players in the French team are either black or were born to immigrant parents. Paul Pogba, born to Guinean parents and one of the finest midfielders in the world, is the player around which the team is built. Blaise Matuidi, a fierce and versatile midfielder who often skippers the team, is originally Angolan. And, Patrice Eva, one of the more experienced defenders in the country, was born in Senegal.
For France, football is what allows it to celebrate its racial and ethnic differences. The sport, in a lot of ways, helps the country cherish this beautiful unlikeness.
The terror attack last Friday will hopefully not undo what Zidane and his teammates started on that spine-tingling night in 1998.
Zidane, born to Algerian immigrants in an indigent Marseille suburb on France's southern coast, would be named man of the match. Elegance, vision, magical ball control and two goals - it was the kind of performance that typified Zidane's rise from a diffident schoolboy to France's greatest sportsperson. As celebrating fans lined up the Champs-Élysees, waving French flags, the image of Zidane was displayed on the Arc de Triomphe. "When my father came from Algeria, he didn't even have shoes on. To see the image of his son on the Arc de Triomphe was amazing," Zidane recalled several years later.
Zidane was an Alegrian immigrant who had managed to win over French hearts with a display so empyreal that it lingers in the memory even today. Youri Djorkaeff, the man who had whipped in the corner for his second goal, was born to a Polish father and an Armenian mother. Patrick Vieira, a fledgling 22-year-old who played just the last 16 minutes but would go on to become a marauding midfield giant, crossed over to France from Senegal when he was eight years old.
In the semi-final against Croatia, with his team 1-0 down and staring at a catastrophic exit, a West Indian-born centre back decided to take matters into his own hands. When nine-year-old Lilian Thuram arrived in Paris from the Caribbean more than three decades ago, his mother held his hand at the airport and told him, "This is heaven. This is the land of opportunity." Thuram scored twice against Croatia in that game; the second one a sublime solo effort that would have made Diego Maradona proud. A week later, little Lilian won the World Cup for his country.
This was a French team with some serious pedigree, with a group of immigrants at its forefront. French football, at the time, was the paragon of racial diversity, multiculturalism and oneness; a bunch of remarkable young men from varied backgrounds slaying the world. Before that year's World Cup, the French side's ethnic make-up was severely scrutinised, even bemoaned. Certain dogmatic factions of the French political class remained obstinate in their view that there were some individuals on that team who did not deserve to play for the Les Bleus. By the end of it all, the Zidanes and Thurams of this world had become symbols of France's pluralistic society. This reputation was only augmented when France won Euro 2000 two years later.
Lilian Thuram with Marcel Desailly after France’s win at Euro 2000
Some chapters of the French national team's glorious history haven't always been penned by players who were absolutely French. Back in the 1950s, France's first golden generation of players was led by a Moroccan and three Poles - Just Fontaine, Raymond Kopa, Thadee Cisowski and Maryan Wisnieski. Kopa, who would have garnered greater distinction had he not played alongside Ferenc Puskas and Alfredo Di Stefano in the imperious Real Madrid team of the same era, had to in fact shorten his last name from "Kopaszewski" after he migrated to France.
However, France has faced problems in dealing with black and dual-nationality players in the past. Former French international Nicolas Anelka told reporters in 2010 that when France fails to win, people start talking about the players' skin colours and religious beliefs.He recalled what supporters had said when Franck Ribery once hit Yoann Gourcuff : Ribery, the Muslim; Gourcuff, the good French boy. The two were teammates with the national side for a brief while.
In 2004, Jean Tigana was the frontrunner to land the job of the national team's coach. Tigana, a black Malian-born midfielder was a colossus in France's tournament victory at Euro 1984. The job, instead, went to Raymond Domenech, a choice that baffled fans and players alike. Many at the time felt that the decision had to do more with Tigana's ethnicity than his ability.
But the national team has done well to ensure that the legacy of the social unification spawned by the team from the late 1990s is preserved. Even today, several players in the French team are either black or were born to immigrant parents. Paul Pogba, born to Guinean parents and one of the finest midfielders in the world, is the player around which the team is built. Blaise Matuidi, a fierce and versatile midfielder who often skippers the team, is originally Angolan. And, Patrice Eva, one of the more experienced defenders in the country, was born in Senegal.
For France, football is what allows it to celebrate its racial and ethnic differences. The sport, in a lot of ways, helps the country cherish this beautiful unlikeness.
The terror attack last Friday will hopefully not undo what Zidane and his teammates started on that spine-tingling night in 1998.