The smell of cordite is drifting across the Munich Arena. France have earned their place in the last four, grinding past a stubborn Morocco side in a...
The smell of cordite is drifting across the Munich Arena. France have earned their place in the last four, grinding past a stubborn Morocco side in a contest that demanded more grit than glitter. But the real examination is yet to come. The message from the camp, delivered through the measured tones of senior players, is one of unwavering sobriety: we have to stay grounded. Good luck with that when the noise reaches fever pitch.Let's not kid ourselves. Spain are not Morocco. La Roja represent a step up in class so significant it borders on a different dimension. Didier Deschamps knows this better than anyone. His squad has navigated this tournament with a functional, often pragmatic, approach. They've absorbed pressure, relied on individual brilliance in the final third, and occasionally looked vulnerable when asked to control the tempo. That won't wash against a Spanish side that has shipped just a single goal across the entire competition. Think about that. One goal. Their defensive structure, a coordinated high press fused with a low block when required, has been nothing short of a concrete wall.The key battle will be fought in the central corridor. France's midfield, for all its athleticism, has sometimes been bypassed in transitional play. Spain, masters of the possession carousel, will look to exploit any gaps with quick, vertical passes into the channels. Can Aurelien Tchouameni's positional discipline hold against the relentless rotations of Pedri and Gavi It is a question that will decide the destination of the final ticket. The French attack, blessed with searing pace, will need to be far more clinical than they were against Morocco. Squeaky bum time has arrived early for the holders.This is the kind of fixture that separates tournament contenders from pretenders. France have the talent. They have the pedigree. But against a Spanish outfit that defends as a unit and strikes with surgical precision, sentiment counts for nothing. The message is clear: keep the feet on the floor, because if you start floating, this Spain side will knock you right back down. It promises to be a chess match played at a hundred miles an hour. Grab your popcorn.
