Kyle Walker dropped his head, opened his lungs and ran. This was exactly the type of run he was in the team to make, a fast-twitch surge the length of the field to recover his position, and yet he knew this was a race already lost. Kylian Mbappe hadn’t followed him back into deep French territory, and now Mbappe had the ball, and he was dribbling, and Walker had left his station unattended.
It hadn’t started this way. France kicked off and immediately switched the ball to Mbappe advancing down the wing where Walker met him with a crunch. As France settled on the ball in the opening forays, Mbappe lurked on the fringes, flitting in and out with little steps of deception as Walker stood warily a few yards inside, glancing coquettishly over his shoulder, the two of them conducting their own dance away from the rest.
