"Giroud! What a header!" Alphonse kept talking right through the players' celebration. "And that's Giroud's first-ever goal in an official World Cup match—what a perfect way to open his account!
Julien and Giroud have both broken their own World Cup scoring records..."
Meanwhile, the broadcast cut away from the players celebrating on the pitch and up into the stands.
Zidane sat there looking composed with a warm smile on his face, clapping along with the roar of the crowd.
Seeing this, Alphonse said, "Friends, take a look at this shot! That's Zidane—the monument of French football, the legend who carried us to the summit of the world!
And what he's watching right now is the future of French football—this spirited young side, writing their own story with every goal they score!
He's applauding—there's recognition in it, and even more, there's boundless hope for what's to come.
He has seen the glory of French football with his own eyes.
And now, he sits in the stands, quietly watching this young French side fight their way forward.
You have to understand—half the players on this team are at their very first World Cup. They've stepped onto this stage carrying both youthful nerve and raw courage.
De Rocca, Giroud, Griezmann, Pogba, Kanté... these young men are the hope of French football!
I'd bet anything that right now, in his heart, Zidane is full of belief in this young side's future—that in these successors, he sees the very real possibility of French football climbing back to its peak!"
Alphonse paused, then went on, "We will never forget how Zidane used the artistry of his feet to write an immortal legend for French football.
And today, it's De Rocca and the others—these young men stepping onto a World Cup pitch for the very first time who are carrying forward the glory of French football in their own way..."
In truth, Zidane hadn't the faintest idea that Alphonse could spin an entire narrative out of nothing more than him clapping his hands.
The celebrations for Giroud's headed goal died down.
The match continued.
Down two goals inside fifteen minutes, Honduras's morale had bottomed out, and the players' faces grew more and more agitated.
But the gap in ability between the two sides meant the overall shape of the game hadn't changed much.
In the 19th minute, Julien picked up the ball on the right side of the attacking third and, rather than rushing to take on his man, spotted Giroud's run into the box and curled a cross toward the middle of the area.
Just as Giroud was about to arrive and get on the end of it, Honduras forward Bengtson scrambled back to defend, still off balance, and cleared it with his back—a lucky escape that snuffed out the danger.
But the ball didn't get clear of the box. Matuidi surged in.
He took it cleanly ten meters out, cushioned it down with his chest, spun, and unloaded a first-time volley with his left foot!
The ball screamed toward the top corner with force!
Bang!
But it was only a crack against the crossbar—the ball ricocheted away, and the Honduras defence hurriedly hoofed it out for a corner.
"So close! Matuidi's strike was inches from going in!" Alphonse said with real disappointment in his voice. "But whatever the case, France's attack is simply too much to handle—Honduras's back line is on the verge of collapse! We might see the score grow even before halftime!"
Sure enough, France's momentum hadn't let up at all.
In the 24th minute, France launched another rapid counterattack that completely tore open Honduras's defensive shape.
Griezmann picked up the ball on the right, shook off the attentions of Honduran fullback Beckeles, and instead of forcing a cross—calmly laid it back for Pogba, who had made a run forward.
Pogba chipped it into the box.
Giroud rose high at the edge of the six-yard box and met the cross with a flick of his head, but he put a little too much into it, and the ball sailed over the bar—another chance was gone to waste.
Giroud landed and shook his head looking frustrated.
Wave after wave of defending had thrown the Honduran players' composure completely off balance, and their agitation was starting to spill over into reckless, uncontrolled challenges.
In the 26th minute, a small scuffle broke out on the pitch.
As Pogba carried the ball forward through midfield, Honduran midfielder Wilson Palacios brought him down deliberately and worse, after the foul, Palacios left his foot lingering with an extra, unnecessary movement, plainly meant to provoke.
The young, hot-blooded Pogba lost his composure instantly. He got to his feet and, without hesitation, kicked out to trip Palacios.
Seeing this, players from both sides immediately swarmed in, shoving and shouting at each other, and for a moment the pitch fell into chaos.
Brazilian referee Rizzi rushed in to separate the players and signal for calm on both sides.
After a brief look at what had happened, Rizzi showed leniency—no red card. He simply booked both Pogba and Wilson Palacios with yellow cards as a warning.
Pogba's expression stayed dark as his teammates pulled him aside to calm him down.
Wilson Palacios, for his part, looked thoroughly unconvinced, but there was nothing to do but accept the referee's decision.
On the sideline, the Honduran manager's face grew grimmer by the second.
He knew all too well that his players' agitation and cheap shots would only push the team into an even more hopeless position.
And this kind of pointless yellow card only made things worse.
Once the scuffle settled, play resumed.
Honduras's situation remained dire, and the players grew more and more anxious, resorting again and again to little fouls and petty tactics, trying anything to slow down France's attack but it did no good. If anything, it only opened up more gaps at the back.
France kept playing at their own tempo, patiently working for chances.
Julien and Griezmann's understanding up front kept growing, and together they kept tearing at Honduras's defence.
In the 31st minute, Griezmann took the ball on the left, drew the attention of two Honduran defenders, then slid a diagonal pass through to Julien, who had made a run.
Julien took the pass and drove straight into the box.
At that moment, three Honduran defenders stood in Julien's way, cutting off his lanes to dribble past or shoot.
Facing the three-man wall, Julien didn't break stride—he made as if to force his way through on the right side of the box.
He successfully pulled all three defenders' weight in that direction.
Just as the defenders leaned in, shifting toward him, bracing to close him down—Julien suddenly spun half around and slipped the ball into the open space at the top of the box!
And Pogba had timed his run perfectly.
He took the pass without a moment's hesitation and drove a thunderous shot!
Boom!
The ball screamed toward the goal.
Valladares reacted brilliantly, throwing himself at the ball with everything he had and somehow parrying away that heavy, powerful strike—the ball bounced back out into the box.
The Honduran defenders scrambled to clear it.
Just as everyone thought the attack was over, a faster shape appeared in front of the ball!
Julien!
He got there a split second before anyone else, seized on the gap left by the keeper's save, and calmly steered the rebounding ball back into the net!
3-0!
A brace for Julien!
"Goal! Julien! Julien again!" Alphonse's roar rang out once more with excitement. "31st minute—Julien taps in the rebound! France lead Honduras 3-0! In just thirty-one minutes, Julien has completely taken over this match—it's simply stunning!
Absolutely unbelievable!
A brace, and along the way—a dribbling breakthrough, an assist, and now a rebound finish. He's been involved in all three goals!
His versatile game is simply flawless!
3-0 after thirty-one minutes, and France has completely taken control of this match. Honduras have nothing left to fight back with. This World Cup opener is shaping up to be a total rout!"
On the pitch, Julien once again threw his arms wide toward the crowd.
This was his moment, and he was riding high!
The roar of the whole stadium had his head spinning—this was the magic of the World Cup!
For this moment, the whole world's eyes were on him.
His teammates rushed over too, throwing themselves into the celebration—who doesn't love celebrating a goal?
If they could, they'd have taken ten or twenty of these every single match!
Soon, play resumed.
With a strong 3-0 lead now in hand, France had completely broken Honduras's fighting spirit.
The players' composure had already entirely unravelled.
Agitation and helplessness spread through every man on the pitch—their defending grew more and more disorganized, either lunging into reckless fouls or losing their shape and failing to cover for each other, while up front they had nothing left to offer at all.
Even the rare moments they won the ball; they couldn't string together anything meaningful.
They spent the whole half pinned back in their own half, besieged by France—a thoroughly one-sided affair.
Up in the stands, the Honduran fans wore grim expressions, the cheers of earlier were long gone and replaced now by nothing but helpless sighs.
The gap in class really was just too wide.
Their head coach could see it too, and had already begun steeling himself to accept the result.
In this group, Honduras were clearly the weakest side—their hopes of advancing were slim already, short of a miracle.
Deschamps, meanwhile, stood with his arms crossed, his expression remained calm.
Every so often he'd wave a hand out toward the pitch, signalling his players to hold their tempo, no need to rush.
He liked how this World Cup was starting out. He liked it a lot.
Time kept ticking by.
Honduras's defending grew more and more strenuous.
In the 39th minute, Pogba picked up the ball in midfield, shook off Honduran midfielder Wilson Palacios, and drove forward.
He linked up with Julien for a quick one-two.
Julien held the ball, feinted a run, then slipped it through to the onrushing Pogba.
Pogba lodged himself at the top of the box, saw the Honduran defenders pulling back to protect their goal, and without a moment's hesitation let the ball fly with a thunderous long-range strike!
Boom!
The ball screamed straight for the goal!
This time, for all Valladares's effort to get across, he simply couldn't keep it out.
The ball crashed into the net!
4-0!
France added another!
The whole stadium erupted!
The French fans went wild all over again—tonight, they felt like the luckiest supporters on earth!
This was too good!
Watching their team carve up the opposition like this, slicing right through them—it just felt unbelievably good!
"Goal! Pogba! What a beautiful strike from distance!"
"Look at the sheer power in this young side! Paul Pogba—playing in his very first World Cup puts the icing on the cake with a gorgeous long-range effort! 4-0, and Honduras are completely falling apart. They have no way of holding back France's attack at all!"
On the pitch, teammates rushed over to slap hands with Pogba, who threw his arms up high, his face lit up with a grin.
He pulled Julien into a tight hug.
That goal had come from another Julien assist!
The Honduran players sank further and further into despair.
Their fighting spirit was simply gone.
As the match wore on, their back line grew more and more porous—centre backs Figueroa and Bernárdez were run ragged, and still couldn't hold off France's relentless attacking waves.
Fullbacks Izaguirre and Beckeles were left completely dizzy by the runs of Julien and Griezmann.
All they could do was chase along helplessly, with no way to fight back.
In the 43rd minute, France won a corner.
Griezmann took it, swinging a cross into the middle of the box.
Giroud rose highest, out-jumping Bernárdez, who was marking him.
A header on goal!
But with the contact from the defender, he hadn't been able to get full spring on his jump, and the ball didn't go toward the goal—instead it clipped off the back of Honduran defender Garrido.
The ball dropped, and the box dissolved into chaos again.
The Honduran players scrambled to clear it, but got in each other's way and couldn't put any real distance on it.
Right at that moment, Julien slipped in like a ghost, pouncing on the gap in the chaos, and calmly steered home a rebound!
Boom!
No one even saw how the ball got there.
Even the keeper had no time to react.
Whoosh!
The ball hit the back of the net once more!
A hat-trick!
5-0!
In that instant, as referee Rizzi pointed back toward the centre circle, the entire stadium seemed to explode, boiling over with noise!
The French fans no longer knew how to describe what they were feeling.
Right now, there was only one thing on their minds.
Let it out!
Let it all out!
They roared and screamed with everything they had.
"Julien!"
"Julien!!"
The wall of sound swept over the entire stadium!
After the goal, Julien spun and sprinted toward the sideline but this time, before he could even begin his celebration, his teammates had already swallowed him whole, mobbing him completely.
"A hat-trick! Julien! My god! Julien has his hat-trick!" Alphonse's roar echoed in the ear of every French fan watching the broadcast, his voice filled with disbelief. "43rd minute—amid chaos and confusion, Julien finds the net again! This is his third goal of the match—a perfect hat-trick!
We are so, so lucky to be witnessing the birth of a talent like this in France!
Just think about it—the very first World Cup he's ever played, the very first World Cup match, and inside a single half, Julien has scored three goals to complete a hat-trick that countless players never manage in their entire World Cup careers!
No mistakes, no nerves—whether it was a breakthrough, a cross, or a rebound finish, he did every single one of them flawlessly.
A performance like this deserves to be called one of the most perfect debuts in World Cup history!
In just forty-three minutes, France lead 5-0.
This is a crushing, one-sided victory. This is a bloodletting of an opening statement. This is this young side's celebration!
Just look at Julien!
And look at this young French side!
Half of them are playing in their very first World Cup, and yet they've put on a performance this stunning!
Julien's hat-trick, Pogba's long-range strike, Oliver's header—they've proven themselves with their own two feet, and shown everyone the future of French football!
With a Julien like this, with a group of young men this full of life, we have every reason to believe this French side won't stop here—that they are more than capable of going further still in this World Cup, chasing after the trophy of their dreams, the World Cup itself!"
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