"Everyone remember: the second half is about control. Control the defence, control the tempo. No rushing, no overreaching. Stay patient and wait for our chance on the counter. As long as we hold this 2-0 lead or catch them on the break and extend it—the win is ours.
Also—
Watch the pace of the game. Once we win the ball, keep it moving through the back and midfield.
Run down the clock. Wear down Argentina's legs. They're desperate to equalize, and the more desperate they get, the more reckless they'll play. Just don't make mistakes, and this game is ours."
With that, Deschamps sent the players off to rest for what little time remained.
As for tactics?
What tactics? Defend and counter—that was the best tactic there was.
If you don't know how to attack, just give the ball to Julien. That was it. Simple as that.
Meanwhile in the fifteen short minutes of halftime, media outlets across the world were already pushing out reports on the first half.
Sports sites popped up bold headlines, social platforms lit up with trending topics, and television broadcasts buzzed with live commentary—all of it locked onto the halftime state of this World Cup final.
That was the pull of the World Cup.
France.
L'Équipe ran a bold headline: "2-0 at the Half! Julien's Brace Points France Toward the Trophy!"
The accompanying photo showed Julien, arms spread wide, celebrating a goal.
The article quickly walked through the key moments of the first half, praising Deschamps's defensive tactics as precise and Julien's talent and composure as exceptional, declaring outright: "A young hero carries France's hopes on his shoulders—hold steady in the second half and the title is locked in!"
During the broadcast break on French national television, Alphonse replayed Julien's two goals again, unable to hide his excitement. "We really might be about to win our second World Cup!"
French fans kept the comments flooding in.
"Julien is unbelievable! Two goals in one half—he's on pace to break the final's scoring record!"
"Deschamps's tactics were so smart. Sitting deep and cutting off Argentina's chances and Kanté marking Messi was perfect."
"Don't get cocky, don't get cocky—it's not over until the final whistle!"
"I'm already dreaming about lifting the trophy. France, all the way, ALLEZ FRANCE!"
"Argentina can't break through our back line at all. Messi's performance doesn't hold a candle to Julien's."
Argentine media, by contrast, was full of regret.
Olé's headline carried a sombreness: "0-2 at the Half—Higuaín Wastes a Clean Breakaway, Messi Locked Down, Argentina in Deep Trouble."
The article focused on Argentina's struggles: Messi shadowed the entire match by Kanté and swarmed by extra defenders, unable to link up play; Higuaín missing his one-on-one chance; no Di María on the wing to provide a breakthrough; attack after attack falling apart.
Setting aside the comments that were all abuse, most of the Argentine fans' reactions were regret.
They believed Argentina still had a chance.
"That breakaway from Higuaín—so close, it was so f**ing close. If that one had gone in, everything would be different."
"Kanté is inhuman. You can't shake him off no matter what you try. Messi's having such a hard time."
"If only Di María could've played."
"If we lose this match, I don't know what I'll do. I just want to cry..."
In a different place, Comments from neutral fans around the world were all over the map, with wildly different takes.
"France's defence is rock solid. Reminds me of how they knocked us out. Come on, Argentina—don't let France win this one easily!"
"Julien's performance is stunning. So young, so talented!"
"Hurst's record is in danger. If Julien pulls off a hat-trick, he'll be a World Cup final legend."
"Messi's career is missing just one thing—a World Cup title. I hope he explodes in the second half and turns this around for Argentina."
"Julien's winning me over completely. A young star full of fire—I'm backing France to win it all."
Soon—
The roar of the Maracanã swelled again as players walked back out through the tunnel from both sides.
BOOM!
BOOM BOOM!!
The crowd's roar came crashing down in waves!
The World Cup final was about to reach its final act, and everyone—even the Argentine fans was holding onto the hope that their team could still turn the game around.
At that moment, Alphonse set the stage for the second half. "Welcome back to the World Cup final! It's 2-0 at the half, with France holding the advantage thanks to Julien's brace but we have to remember, this match is far from over. These next forty-five minutes will be the real test!
In the second half, Argentina will have no choice but to fight with their backs against the wall, throwing everything they have into the attack.
Messi will certainly try to break free of Kanté's marking, and Higuaín will be looking to make up for his first-half miss—their attack is bound to come at us even harder.
France must hold their shape. There's no room for even the slightest lapse."
He paused, then turned to the two teams' star players. "Julien scored twice in the first half and looks in hot form. I have no idea what surprises he might have in store for the second half.
And Messi—the Argentine legend, marked all match long by Kanté—can he find a way through in the second half and lead Argentina's fightback? That's the question on everyone's mind.
This isn't just a battle over the scoreline anymore.
It's a battle between legend and rising star, between holding the line and breaking through..."
On the pitch, Referee Nicola Rizzoli checked the time. It was up.
He blew the whistle to start the second half.
PEEP!!!
The whistle cut through the sky above the Maracanã. The second half of the World Cup final had officially begun.
The moment the match resumed, France quickly settled back into shape, sticking with the same defensive setup from the first half. Players dropped back fast, and Kanté was on Messi again immediately, locked in on full-time marking duty.
Argentina, meanwhile, wasted no time. Following the tactics Sabella had laid out in the locker room, they came out attacking solid from the very first whistle.
Everyone pushed forward.
Messi pushed higher up the pitch, camping just outside France's box instead of dropping deep to collect the ball as he had in the first half.
Mascherano, for his part, kept trying to send the ball straight to Messi's feet, hoping to buy him space and pull him free of Kanté's mark.
The 47th minute.
Mascherano picked up the ball in midfield and slid a direct pass through to Messi's feet.
But Kanté got there a step early, pressing in tight from behind Messi, not letting him turn.
Messi didn't try to force his way through either—instead, he quickly shifted the ball wide, finding Lavezzi making a run forward.
The moment Lavezzi got the ball out wide, he didn't hesitate.
He whipped in a cross right away!
The ball dropped into the box, and Higuaín leapt high, meeting it with a header but he couldn't get any power behind it, and the ball came in too slow.
Lloris gathered it up cleanly.
Splash!
A wave of disappointed groans rose from the Argentine fans in the stands.
Alphonse sounded like he'd just dodged a bullet. "Argentina's attack is coming fast and hard! Higuaín's header just missed the mark—France's back line is starting to feel the pressure. The second half has only just begun, and there's already so much on the line!"
On the pitch, Argentina's assault showed no sign of letting up.
Messi kept trying to get on the ball, again and again.
Even though Kanté was still glued to him and he was still being swarmed by extra defenders, he kept adjusting his rhythm, trying to find an opening for his team through changes of direction and clever passing.
France held its shape firmly.
The two sides' battle over attack and defence had entered a boiling point right at the start of the second half.
BOOM!
BOOM BOOM!!
The roar of the Maracanã grew louder still.
Argentina's waves of attack kept coming, one after another but the recklessness born of their desperation to equalize was already planting the seeds of disaster.
The match reached the 52nd minute.
Mascherano had the ball in the middle of the pitch. Before he could even finish his pass, Griezmann was already pressing in.
Seeing Griezmann bearing down, Mascherano hurried a pass back, lifting his foot in a rush to knock the ball behind him to defender Rojo, trying to steady the tempo before rebuilding the attack.
But that one hurried backpass turned out to be Argentina's fatal mistake.
Rojo's attention was locked too tightly on Giroud in front of him. He failed to adjust his footing in time and mistimed his touch—the ball ran a full step too heavy off his foot.
The ball rolled half a meter away from him, suddenly exposed and in danger.
Giroud, who had been lurking nearby the whole time to occupy the defence, seized the chance instantly. Without a moment's hesitation he burst forward, using his body to pin Rojo out of the play and shield the ball from behind him, then stuck out a foot and, decisively, beat him to it and knocked it away.
With his back to goal at that moment, Giroud's touch landed perfectly right at the feet of Pogba behind him.
The instant Pogba received the ball, he didn't waste a second thinking it over, didn't even take a touch to adjust and drove his right foot straight through it, sending a long diagonal ball slicing across the whole midfield, right into the open space out on the left.
Julien came flying onto it!
Full speed, all out!
There was no need to hold anything back now—he just had to run.
The whole counterattack flowed smoothly fast.
From Griezmann's press, to Giroud's steal, to Pogba's long pass—it took just two touches, and Argentina's back line had been completely torn open.
By this point Argentina's defence had already been stretched wide open.
The defenders scrambled to recover, but Julien's speed was staggering—his stride rate was blistering, every step landed with vicious force.
The recovering defenders ran with everything they had, but could only watch helplessly as Julien pulled further and further away, utterly unable to catch him.
Splash!
The French fans in the crowd shot to their feet at once, their roar was tearing through the stadium again.
The Argentine fans, meanwhile, went pale, their hearts sinking straight into despair—a breakaway!
Another breakaway!
And this time, the man bearing down on goal was a hot in form Julien.
Julien drove forward with the ball, tearing straight toward Argentina's box.
Romero, seeing what was coming, knew he couldn't just stand and wait. He rushed out of his goal with everything he had, charging at Julien, trying to close him down before he could get a shot off.
Just as Romero was about to close the gap, Julien pulled off something stunning.
At full speed, he made a subtle shift in his footwork, his body swayed gently side to side, recreating Ronaldo's famous pendulum feint from years past!
His weight shifted back and forth, left, then right, and in an instant Romero's balance was gone.
Romero stumbled, losing his position, left to watch helplessly as Julien slid past him with ease.
With the goalkeeper beaten, there was nothing but an open net waiting in the box.
Julien calmly slotted it home with his right foot. The ball skimmed along the grass and rolled slowly into the net.
Not a shred of doubt about it.
The ball was in!
3-0!
Julien had his hat-trick!
The score was now 3-0!
The instant the ball hit the back of the net, the air inside the Maracanã seemed to catch fire.
Julien broke into a bright smile, arms thrown wide, leaning his body slightly forward like a hawk gliding through the sky, and sprinted toward the section of stands packed with French fans.
The wind rushed past his jersey, the blue fabric was gleaming under the stadium lights.
When he reached the front of the stands, he threw a hard fist pump into the air, then spread his arms wide again, as if trying to gather in every last bit of the cheering and love from the French fans and hold it all in his embrace.
The roar from the French fans was already deafening.
It rolled through the stadium like thunder.
They screamed Julien's name with everything they had— "Julien! Julien! Julien!"
The noise came in waves.
Some fans hurled their scarves and jerseys into the air in a frenzy; others clung to each other, tears streaming down their faces, repeating over and over, "A hat-trick! We're going to win!"
The fans were completely swept up in it, out of their minds with joy.
At the same time, Julien's teammates had already gone wild, sprinting in from every direction.
Whether they were out on the pitch or on the bench, every single one of them came running.
They swarmed Julien, screaming, "Julien! Incredible! A hat-trick! You're a god out there!"
"We're going to win! We're going to be world champions!"
On the sideline, Deschamps had completely lost it too, throwing both hands into the air and pumping his fists wildly, shouting at the top of his lungs, even jumping up and down on the spot a few times, his face flushed red with excitement.
He was about to become a man who had won the World Cup both as a player and as a manager!
He turned and threw his arms around the assistant coaches beside him, pounding hard on their backs, repeating again and again, "Well done! Well done, Julien! We're going to win!"
In this moment, he wasn't the calculating head coach pulling the strings anymore—he was just a fan, losing himself in the joy of his team's victory.
In stark contrast to France's total celebration was Argentina's total collapse.
The players just stood there, at a complete loss for what to do.
Messi stood in the middle of the pitch; a look of blank, helpless confusion was spreading across his face.
That deep chilling sense of powerlessness washed over him like a ocean tide.
He'd fought with everything he had to create chances for his team, but one mistake after another had let their opponent hit them again and again on the counter.
The scoreline of 3-0 felt like an uncrossable chasm, shattering his World Cup dream completely.
Beside him, Higuaín, Lavezzi, and the rest hung their heads, utterly deflated.
Up in the stands, the Argentine fans had gone silent—no more cheering. Some sat with their heads in their hands, sobbing quietly, eyes brimming with tears.
Others stared out at the pitch with hollow eyes, faces etched with despair, muttering to themselves, "It's over. It's all over."
The section of the stadium that had once roared with Argentine fans had gone completely dead.
Only the cheers of the French fans nearby cut through the silence, sharp and jarring, stabbing again and again into the heart of every Argentine in the stadium.
Julien was still surrounded tightly by his teammates, arms still thrown wide, the bright smile still on his face.
He waved toward the French fans in the stands, answering their roaring, feverish cheers all over again.
"JULIEN!!"
In this moment, he was the brightest star on the pitch—France's hero, the youngest man in World Cup final history to score a hat-trick.
As for Argentina.
Trailing 3-0, they had fallen into total disarray, with no idea how to carry on in a match that had already lost all suspense.
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