The Greatest of all Time-Novel

658  The Final Countdown

Four days had slipped by like grains of sand through an hourglass, and now, it was finally Sunday, July 15th—the day of the World Cup final. The Ivory Coast players, who had trained and prepared arduously, were now in a pristine state of controlled anticipation. The day had finally arrived, and the tension in the air was noticeable all around them.

Zachary spent the morning in his hotel room, lost in the pages of a . The story helped to calm his nerves and distract him from the looming final. Occasionally, he paused to sip water, ensuring he remained well-hydrated. He also had his meals on time, knowing the importance of maintaining his physical readiness for the high-intensity gahead. Periodically, he would chat with teammates like Zaha and Eric Bailly, sharing light-hearted jokes to shake off the anxiety.

After lunch, the atmosphere began to change. The casual ease of the morning gave way to a more solemn and focused energy. The final was scheduled for 6:00 PM, and the players knew that every minute counted. They began their final mental preparation, pondering their strategies and visualizing their roles on the pitch.

At 3:00 PM, Hervé Renard, the Ivorian coach, summoned the team to the conference room for their final pre-match tactics session. The room was filled with quiet determination as the players took their seats, their faces a mixture of nerves and steely resolve.

Renard greeted his players with a calm, reassuring smile. "We've already gone over these tactics in our previous training sessions, but I want to reiterate our plan for clarity," he began. "We'll stick to our 4-2-3-1 formation. However, this taround, we'll play narrow, especially when we don't have the ball. Our main goal is to close down the half-spaces and cut off the possible passing lanes, thus preventing France from easily penetrating through the middle."

He elaborated more on the formation, emphasizing a few more crucial points for a few minutes before eventually turning to the defenders. "Wilfried Kanon, you're back in the starting eleven after overcoming your injury. You'll need to be on your toes marking Kylian Mbappé."

"Mbappé is fast and unpredictable, but you have the skill to handle him. Just be brave, believe in yourself, and stick to the basics. Don't feel too much pressure, and remember that even if he breaks past you, there'll be our defensive midfielders to help you out. Eric Bailly, Lamine Koné, and Serge Aurier, you'll need to watch the other French forwards. Communication and coordination will be key."

Renard's eyes scanned the room, locking on each player, ensuring they felt the weight of their roles. "Serey Dié and Franck Kessié, you are our two defensive midfielders, our double pivots. You must remain vigilant, cutting off passing lanes and supporting our central defense. If our wing-backs are in trouble, you must also try to cover them and prevent Mbappé and Blaise Matuidi from cutting inside."

"Zachary," he said, turning to his star player, "you, Zaha, Pépé, and Kalou must give it your all. Zaha, you'll be our center-forward, while Zachary, you'll play your natural midfield position. Use your vision and creativity to open up opportunities... And if there's a chance, seize it. Remember that we'll get only a few chances in this final, so you must be razor-sharp and clinical whenever we go forward."

"Pépé and Kalou, you'll be on the flanks. But don't spread out too wide as we want to keep it narrow. Drop back when we're defending and cover the half-spaces to ensure their wingers don't drift inside. You also need to support the wing-backs."

The room was silent, the gravity of the moment sinking in. Zachary felt a surge of determination. He glanced at Zaha, Pépé, and Kalou, who gave him confident nods. They knew what was at stake and were ready to leave everything on the pitch.

Renard finished with a few more encouraging remarks, "We've cthis far, and now we stand on the brink of history. We are the first African team to reach the World Cup final. Let's go out there and play with the heart and passion that has brought us this far. Give it everything you have... And no matter what happens, know you have made your country proud."

The players rose, a collective sense of purpose uniting them. They filed out of the conference room and returned to their rooms to change into their tracksuits. The final preparations were made in silence, each player lost in their thoughts, visualizing their roles and the upcoming battle on the pitch.

In his room, Zachary donned his tracksuit, the weight of the Ivorian crest on his chest a reminder of the hopes and dreams of millions resting on their shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, centering himself.

As he reopened his eyes, a fierce determination shone in his gaze. He was ready to give his all and lead his team to World Cup glory. The thought of helping Ivory Coast overcFrance in the finals fueled his determination, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to achieve victory.

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Meanwhile, the French camp was also buzzing with anticipation. The final tactics meeting was underway in the grand conference room of their hotel, and Didier Deschamps, the French coach, stood at the front, his presence commanding attention. The players were seated and listening intently, their faces reflecting a mix of nerves and determination. The World Cup final was just hours away, and every word from their coach was critical.

Deschamps began by reiterating their formation—a tried-and-tested 4-2-3-1. The plan was simple yet effective, designed to maximize their strengths and exploit any weaknesses in the Ivorian side. He spoke with clarity and purpose, his voice steady and confident.

08:09

As he wrapped up the overview of their tactics, he turned to N'Golo Kanté, the team's most hard-working and industrious defensive midfielder. Kanté's role was pivotal. He was to shadow and neutralize Zachary Bemba, the Ivory Coast's dynamic playmaker and midfield engine. Deschamps fixed his gaze on Kanté, his eyes intense.

"N'Golo, your role is crucial. You must mark and neutralize Zachary Bemba's threat. Can you handle that?"

Kanté, usually reserved, nodded and replied, "I'll try my best, coach."

Deschamps wasn't satisfied. He shook his head and leaned in closer, speaking in a way that left no room for arguments. "I need more than that, N'Golo. I need certainty. Can you stop him?"

Kanté's eyes narrowed as he considered the challenge. After a moment, he straightened up, patted his chest, and said with unwavering resolve, "I'll stop Zachary at all costs."

Deschamps nodded, finally satisfied. He turned his attention to Paul Pogba. "Paul, you'll need to cover for N'Golo when he's out of position. That aside, keep things tidy in the midfield. Push forward when there's a chance and drop back to support the defense when they're under pressure. Remember, we must dominate the game."

"Sure, coach." Pogba nodded, his expression serious. Deschamps then shifted focus to the attacking players. "Kylian," he said, addressing Mbappé, "play your game, just like you always do. Use your speed and creativity to break them down. Give them hell, and try your luck on the goal whenever you see fit."

Mbappé gave a confident nod, a small smile playing on his lips. He was ready to electrify the pitch with his pace and flair.

Deschamps continued, "Antoine, Blaise, Olivier—you also must be sharp upfront. Play and move like we have practiced during our training sessions over the past few days. We need to get a goal, maybe two, as quickly as possible. We have to kill off their hopes early."

Griezmann, Matuidi, and Giroud listened intently, their faces set in steely determination. They knew the weight of their roles and the importance of delivering when it mattered most.

Deschamps then emphasized a few more crucial points of their gplan, his voice resonating with authority. "Remember, we are the better team. We have cthis far because of our skills and determination, not just by luck. So, while you're on the pitch, remain confident. Keep things simple, and enjoy your football. Dominate them with your skill and teamwork."

He paused, letting his words sink in, before delivering his final remark. "Let's win the World Cup."

The players responded with a resounding roar, their spirited voices echoing around the conference room. Their readiness for battle was evident in the auras they exuded.

Deschamps smiled and finally dismissed the players. They rose from their seats and left the conference room as Deschamps watched them go, knowing he had done everything he could to prepare them. The rest was up to them.

As the French players returned to their rooms to get ready, the sense of anticipation grew. The corridors of the hotel were filled with tense energy, the echoes of footsteps a reminder of the impending clash.

The final was hours away, but the battle lines had already been drawn. On one side, Ivory Coast, a team driven by a dream and a few players of extraordinary talent, was the underdog. On the other, France, a squad brimming with skill, experience, and unyielding determination, wished more than anything to win the gand lift the World Cup trophy.