91 minutes. Our corner.
And I sent them up. I caught Benatia's eye from the touchline and windmilled my whole arm at the French box, go, go, and my captain went, and Saïss went with him, and I screamed at Bounou to hold, to stay home, because a draw was no good to me and I wanted the winner and I wanted it now.
Everybody up. Everybody. Benatia up. Saïss up. Hakimi at the far post, of course, where else.
20 years in this job told me to leave 2 men on the halfway line. I ignored every year of it. You do not claw 3 goals back in a World Cup final to play for extra time. I put every shirt I owned in their box and left my own net standing open in the rain.
Deep breath. Ziyech over it.
The ball came in and Varane rose over the top of everything the way he rose in the first half, and headed it clear, smack, flat and long, out to the halfway line.
To Pogba. No.
