Before today's match, I wandered through the Philadelphia Museum of Art and stood before Duchamp's *Nude Descending a Staircase* — all that movement, all that energy contained in a single frame, much like what Mbappé does to a defence. Germany's midfield is industrious, yes — Wirtz and Musiala are gifted souls — but France's attacking momentum is simply too relentless, and when Dembélé begins dancing down that right channel, Rüdiger will be chasing shadows all afternoon. Kanté quietly suffocates Germany's creative engine before it ever truly starts, and that, my friends, is how France control this beautiful game without ever seeming to rush.

France's midfield press suffocates Germany's build-up here — Kanté reads the game like a metronome, and every time Wirtz or Musiala try to thread something through the lines, there's a French shirt already closing the space. Germany's defensive third looks alarmingly exposed for a side with Rüdiger's quality, and Mbappé at full pace against that back line on a neutral pitch is genuinely terrifying. I tried making a soft pretzel in Philadelphia — it held its shape better than Germany's defensive structure tonight. Les Bleus march into the quarterfinals.