As the match continued, the situation on the pitch had already tilted decisively one-sided.
With Cabaye sent off, France abandoned any thought of pushing forward. Every player dropped back into their own half, forming an ironclad wall of defence. The newly introduced Kanté and Koscielny threw themselves into defending with full commitment.
It was Deschamps' most helpless choice and his only one. Down a man in this desperate situation, holding on to the 1-1 draw was now the most realistic goal left. So, the task given to them was simple: reinforce the defence.
Kanté anchored the midfield like a mobile wall—he was not a tall man, but extraordinarily agile. His attacking side hadn't been developed yet, but defensively he was already thoroughly reassuring. The reason Deschamps hadn't been using him, favouring Cabaye instead, was precisely Cabaye's ability going forward.
Now, with Kanté covering the midfield, every time a German player advanced with the ball, he closed in decisively to intercept. Even when beaten, he chased back with everything he had, refusing to give the opposition an easy pass.
Koscielny, meanwhile, formed a back three alongside Varane and Sakho, holding firm at the edge of the box, watching closely for Klose and the others making runs in behind.
The rest of France's players had also dropped back into their own half. Pogba abandoned his role linking up the attack to focus on midfield defence; Julien, though still stationed furthest forward, often fell back to help out too.
The entire French formation had drawn in tight, like an impenetrable fortress.
It was, quite literally, parking the bus.
In the section of the Maracanã reserved for French fans, the mood had turned grave. Fans furrowed their brows, clenched fists wwhile eyes were full of worry. Many pressed their palms together, praying silently that the team could hold on to the draw.
Can they hold on?
The question suspended over every French fan's heart. A man down, everyone dropped back, facing Germany's relentless attack—could a defence like this really hold until the very end?
Far away, in the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville in Paris, more than thirty thousand French fans had fallen silent too. Every eye was fixed on the big screen, barely daring to breathe, afraid of missing a single crucial moment.
The fans who had come from Bastia murmured "Julien, come on" under their breath, pinning all their hope on that lone figure stationed up front.
They had seen a situation like this before, back in Bastia. That time too, every player had dropped back, leaving Julien alone up front.
That time, a miracle had happened.
And today? Would there be a miracle?
On the other side, Germany naturally wasn't about to let such a golden opportunity slip by. France playing a man down had opened up more attacking space for them.
Löw waved constantly from the touchline, signalling his players to push harder, to tear France's defence wide open once and for all.
Germany's attacks came like tides—one wave hadn't ebbed before the next rolled in. Wave after wave of bombardment rained down around France's penalty area.
70th minute.
Kroos, from midfield, spotted a gap on the right side of France's box and lofted a chipped pass. The ball spun through the air, sailing straight for the area.
Klose, using his height, leapt with everything he had, going for a header on goal. Koscielny got there in time, jumping to challenge him. The two collided in the air, and Klose's header drifted just wide.
Lloris shouted at his teammates, reminding everyone to stay focused, not to let up for a second.
Barely two minutes later, Germany attacked again. Götze picked up the ball on the right, shimmied past two French defenders in succession, and whipped in a low cross. Müller darted into the box, looking to get on the end of it. Varane raced back to cover, stretching out a leg with everything he had to block the ball and snuff out the danger.
The ball stayed with Germany on the edge of the box, worked around a few times, until it settled at Kroos's feet. Kroos seized the chance without hesitation and sent a shot from distance!
THWACK!
The ball flew straight for goal. Lloris reacted in a flash, diving to the side with everything he had, his fingertips just grazed it and tipped the ball over the bar defusing the deadly threat.
Once Lloris got back to his feet, Varane and the others came over to slap his hand. He nodded at his back line, gesturing everyone to keep holding on.
The corner was taken. Another scramble in the box followed, but France fought it off and cleared the danger.
Germany's attacks never lessened. Wing crosses, central through-balls, long-range shots—they kept applying pressure through every means available. Time ticked by, second by second, and Germany's attacks grew fiercer. France's defenders were burning through their stamina fast.
Julien, stationed furthest forward, occasionally tried to make a run, but the ball often couldn't reach him, and he had no choice but to fall back.
As he helped out defensively, he kept his eyes fixed on Germany's back line, waiting for that fleeting chance to counter.
And yet—in the 78th minute, Lahm surged forward on the right. Receiving a pass from Kroos, he whipped in a high-quality cross without a moment's hesitation, the ball flying straight toward the middle of the box.
Klose, dropping deep, arranged his run early, shaking off Koscielny's marking. He met the ball and headed it into the box. Müller, reading it impeccably, darted in and, without waiting for the ball to touch the ground, poked it home—the ball was drilling firmly into France's net!
Lloris didn't even have time to react!
2-1!
Germany had scored again as the match neared its end!
It was a goal that could basically seal the win.
In an instant, Germany's players erupted in wild celebration.
Müller flung his arms wide and sprinted toward the sideline, throwing himself into his teammates' arms.
Löw pumped his fist, beaming. Inside the Maracanã, the German fans erupted in a roar that shook the stadium. Flags of every kind fluttered in the wind, the cheering was piercing every corner of the ground.
They believed Germany had finally broken the deadlock, and was about to win the match.
And yet—just as Germany's celebration was about to reach its peak, the assistant referee had already raised his flag high.
Offside!
PEEP!!
The referee signalled quickly too, ruling the goal void.
The two of them confirmed the call together: when Klose met the ball for the flick-on header, his body had strayed beyond France's last defender.
Offside—the goal didn't count!
The call flipped the entire mood of the stadium in an instant. The smiles froze on the German players' faces. They swarmed the referee, trying to appeal, only to be firmly waved off. Müller stood with his hands on his hips looking at a total loss; Klose shook his head in regret.
France's players, meanwhile, felt as though they'd been yanked back from hell to heaven in an instant. Their tense nerves went loose all at once. Smiles of a narrow escape broke across their faces.
Julien didn't slacken for a moment. He snapped back to focus immediately, clapping hard toward the teammates around him and shouting: "Get it together! We haven't lost yet! Hold the line—we've still got a chance!"
Pogba, Kanté, Koscielny, and the others nodded at his call. The moment Germany's ball had gone in, their hearts had genuinely felt like they'd stopped. Now it was as if they'd come back to life.
"Come on!"
They rallied each other, reset themselves, and threw themselves back into defence. As long as they held on, there was still a chance!
Julien returned to his post up front. He knew the offside call had only bought the team a brief reprieve.
Germany's attacks weren't going to stop, and the desperate situation was far from over. He kept patiently waiting for his chance—waiting for the one moment he could seize on his own to spark a counterattack and rewrite the score.
He only needed a single chance.
Just once…
Germany quickly reset and launched into attack once more. The disallowed goal didn't slow them down—if anything, it hardened their resolve to break the deadlock. If they could score once, they could score again!
On the touchline, Löw, well aware time was running short and the deadlock needed breaking fast, made a decisive substitution.
He pulled off Klose, who had burned through his stamina and was visibly tiring, and brought on the more explosive Schürrle. The idea was to use Schürrle's speed and power to tear open France's defence and seize the last chance to lock up the win.
Schürrle came on. Unlike Klose's role as a target man, he was better suited to breaking down the wing and cutting inside to shoot. His arrival gave Germany's attack an extra edge of sharpness and speed.
Germany, whose attacks had already been coming like tides, pushed harder still. France's goalmouth was thrown into a state of total alarm. The defenders threw everything they had into it, but still struggled to hold off the barrage.
In the 80th minute, Germany launched a fierce assault. Schürrle picked up the ball on the left and, with his speed, shook off the French wide defender before whipping in a cross. Müller darted into the box, flicking his head to try to get on target, but the ball flew wide of the byline.
Barely three minutes later, Germany attacked again. Kroos, holding the ball in midfield, sent a through-ball; Schürrle cut inside to collect it, trying to break into the box, but was fought off by a hard challenge from Kanté.
The ball rebounded to Götze's feet. He struck from distance, but Lloris gathered it safely in his arms.
France had turned back the danger once again.
The pace on the pitch kept quickening, Germany's attacks coming wave upon wave. Germany clearly had no wish to drag this into extra time. Their attacks came without a seam of daylight, giving France no chance to catch its breath. France's defenders were pushed to the very edge of exhaustion.
Inside the Maracanã, the German fans' roar grew louder and louder, chanting again and again: "Goal! Goal!" Willing their team to break the deadlock.
France's fans remained grim-faced, praying silently, their eyes fixed on Julien—that lone figure still holding his line up front, still running, still patiently waiting for his chance to counter.
He was, at that moment, the sole hope of every French heart.
Time ticked by, second by second. Before anyone knew it, the match had reached the 86th minute.
Everyone had begun to think the match was heading for a draw, perhaps even penalties. Even Germany had begun to feel a certain helplessness. This French defence was proving almost too tough—they genuinely couldn't break through!
And then—Germany launched another wave of attack. Götze held the ball centrally, trying to organize a way through. But while he was scanning for his teammates' positions, he failed to notice where Kanté was. Kanté came in from behind with a precise, perfectly timed tackle!
Götze went down, man and ball were swept away together!
Kanté didn't hesitate for a second. He sprang back up, seized the fleeting chance to counter, and without even looking for a man—sent a long ball straight up the pitch.
He knew Julien was up there.
He trusted Julien.
Germany's forward players were still appealing that Kanté's tackle had been a foul, but the referee gave nothing—he waved for play to continue and sprinted quickly toward the halfway line himself.
The ball sailed toward the midfield. Julien read its trajectory sharply and set off early.
He was first to arrive, taking the ball with his back to goal. With Khedira marking him tight from behind, the instant the ball dropped, he flicked it gently with his heel—the ball slipped cleverly past Khedira's side.
Julien spun with the motion, and using his edge in footspeed, controlled the ball and beat his man in one seamless run, shaking off Khedira's marking in an instant!
Straight into Germany's half he went!
At that moment, Germany's back line, having pushed everyone forward into attack, had left a wide hole. Hummels and Boateng scrambled back, trying to cut Julien off, but it was already too late.
In that instant, everything Julien had erupted at once! There was only one thought in his mind—the chance!
The one and only chance!
Julien wrung every last drop of energy from his body.
His speed was startling. Hummels chased with everything he had, trying to close him down, but Julien simply out-ran him on pure, overwhelming speed.
Julien held a half-step lead the entire way. Hummels gave it everything, but still couldn't catch him, and could only watch helplessly as Julien closed in on the box. The gap between them kept growing.
At this point, only Boateng, holding a deeper line, managed to get back into position in time—standing in Julien's path, trying to stop the breakthrough.
In full sprint, Julien suddenly dropped his shoulder and checked his run, leaning slightly to the left, faking a burst to one side to shift Boateng's weight. Then he cut sharply back to the right—the motion was fluid, and explosive!
Having just shifted his weight one way, Boateng saw Julien cut back the other and scrambled to react. But—his balance was already gone. His legs couldn't respond in time, and he went down instead, completely losing his defensive position!
Boateng had been sent sprawling!!
Julien burst past him in a single stomp!
WHOOSH!
The stadium erupted in gasps of disbelief! German fans and French fans both held their breath simultaneously, every eye was locked on Julien.
Julien was through—one-on-one with the keeper!!!
Neuer decisively rushed off his line, trying to cut down his angle. Facing Neuer's charge, Julien stayed perfectly composed.
Just as Neuer anticipated a shot was coming—instead, Julien showed the nerve to match his skill!
A beautifully deft touch of the feet—the inside of his left foot easing the ball forward, his right foot flicking it on and in an instant, Julien had gone straight past Neuer!
Neuer, past caring about anything else now—even a red-card challenge launched himself at Julien, trying to clutter the ball.
But Julien was simply too fast! He'd barely lost a step through the whole move, and Neuer could only watch helplessly as he went by!
At that moment, with Neuer beaten, nothing stood before Julien but an empty goal.
He didn't hesitate—his mind had gone completely blank.
One easy, calm strike!
The ball rolled into the net without a shred of doubt.
GOAL!
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