LEGACY: France '98 - The birth of a legend

The 1998 World Cup acted as collective catharsis, a psychological liberation that ended decades of inferiority complex. In the aftermath of the final, the French press spoke of a ‘blue planet, entirely blue, the blue of France’.

The words chosen weren't those of simple sporting victory, but of rebirth. France, which had ‘prostrated itself’ before Brazil, ‘the Gods of the game’, had just demolished them 3-0. Historical anomaly had become the new reality.

This success ended France's ‘Poulidor Syndrome’ – a reference to the celebrated French cyclist Raymond Poulidor who, despite his talent, always finished runner-up in major races without ever winning the Tour de France. This culture of eternal second place, of honourable failure, had stuck to French sport like a limpet. Victory in 1998 liberated a nation that had hidden behind the aesthetics of ‘beautiful football’ to justify its defeats. Suddenly, winning mentality was no longer the preserve of the Germans or Italians. French football could finally embrace ambition without pretence. 

This liberation came through a profound break with the archetypes of the past. The 1998 team was neither the romantic, vulnerable squad of 1982, nor the arrogant, brittle group of 1993. Its primary strength, contrary to French tradition, was its iron defence. Conceding just two goals in seven matches – one from the penalty spot – they built their triumph on unshakeable solidity. Tactically, Aime Jacquet had constructed a fortress.

The heroes of the odyssey weren't just artists like Zinedine Zidane, but defenders like Lilian Thuram, who scored an improbable semi-final brace, or tireless workers like Didier Deschamps and Emmanuel Petit. By winning through discipline, rigour and pragmatism – qualities often derided by a press hungry for panache – France proved another path existed. They broke the curse not by imitating the past, but by rejecting it to forge a new winning identity.

The 1998 victory is inseparable from the rehabilitation of its architect, Jacquet. A national team manager who became a pariah, then national hero, his journey is that of a man who transformed hostility into fuel.

Before being carried in triumph, Jacquet had to fight a war alone against almost everyone, facing a media campaign of unprecedented violence. Led primarily by the newspaper L'Equipe, the criticism was systematic and personal. They reproached him for everything: his playing philosophy deemed timid, his selection choices – notably the exclusion of stars Eric Cantona and David Ginola – his provincial accent and his image as a ‘rough’ man incapable of leading France to the summit.

The conflict erupted as the World Cup approached. When Jacquet announced a preliminary squad of 28 players, L'Equipe's front page screamed: "And we're playing with 13?" This attack symbolised the contempt of a certain media elite for a man they deemed outdated. Yet this campaign produced the opposite effect. A poll commissioned by the newspaper to discredit him revealed that 72 per cent of the French public had confidence in Jacquet, which begun a profound fracture between opinion-makers and popular sentiment. Jacquet, the man of provincial France, embodied values of hard work, silence and determination that resonated powerfully across the country.

Facing this storm, Jacquet's method was a model of leadership. He built a bubble to protect his squad from external attacks, while his management rested on meticulous planning where nothing was left to chance, direct and honest communication with his players, and unwavering loyalty to those who bought into his project. He promised injury-hit defender Bixente Lizarazu that he would wait for him, and kept his word. He made collective strength an obsession, a non-negotiable principle. Marcel Desailly would later summarise Jacquet’s methods as educating his players "with an iron fist in a velvet glove".

The final victory, then, wasn't merely a sporting triumph, but resounding validation of Jacquet’s vision. His famous declaration on the evening of July 12 – "I will never forgive" – wasn't just personal bitterness; it was an assertion that this title had been won against the experts' advice, and through the strength of a squad united in adversity.

Beyond the pitch, this victory sparked a cultural revolution within the French Football Federation (FFF). By proving a manager could succeed by resisting pressure and following a long-term vision, Jacquet made the position sacrosanct. He created a precedent that durably reinforced the authority and legitimacy of his successors, offering them unprecedented latitude. Deschamps, his heir, benefited from this consolidated power to impose his own bold choices, knowing that the 1998 victory had set in stone the principle that the national team manager is the sole man in charge.

The 1998 odyssey instantly transcended sport to become a societal phenomenon. The French team, composed of players from diverse origins – Thuram from Guadeloupe, Lizarazu from the Basque Country, Zidane from Algeria, Youri Djorkaeff from Armenia, and Desailly from Ghana – became the mirror of a France in full transformation. The slogan ‘Black-Blanc-Beur’ (‘Black-White-Arab’), a play on the national flag's blue-white-red tricolour, imposed itself as the symbol of this unity in diversity. President Jacques Chirac himself hailed a "tricolour and multicoloured team" that presented a "beautiful image of France and its humanity".

This image of a reconciled France provoked popular fervour unseen since the Liberation. On the Champs-Elysees and throughout the country, millions of French people from all backgrounds celebrated together, creating a moment of national communion perceived as an antidote to social fracture. For many, this victory was living proof that the republican model of integration worked. It offered a powerful counter-narrative to the discourse of the National Front, the far-right party suddenly challenged on its own turf: patriotism. As sociologist Michelle Tribalat noted, "the French team achieved more for integration than years of deliberate policies".

However, this ‘World Cup effect’ proved to be an enchanted interlude rather than lasting transformation. Once the euphoria passed, social tensions and discrimination didn't disappear. The ‘Black-Blanc-Beur’ myth was criticised for masking French society's structural problems beneath a veneer of consensual celebration, and the 2005 urban riots, followed by heated debates on national identity, showed the limits of this sacred union. Twenty years later, the concept seems to belong to another era, a powerful memory tinged with nostalgia for a moment when football allowed France to dream of itself as a united and harmonious nation.

If the 1998 victory was a human exploit and social phenomenon, it was also the consecration of a structural revolution begun years earlier: French youth development. At the heart of this system lay the National Technical Centre Fernand-Sastre, better known as Clairefontaine.

Inaugurated in 1988 under the impetus of then-FFF president Fernand Sastre, this centre of excellence was destined to become French football's technical hub. The idea was to centralise the training of the country's best young talents and coaching staff, creating a common methodology and footballing philosophy.

The 1998 triumph served as a catalyst for French ambition in youth development. Though Clairefontaine, opened just 10 years earlier, hadn't yet provided the backbone of the world champion squad (Thierry Henry being its sole genuine representative), its existence already embodied the desire to structure a national model. Les Bleus' global success then gave this project considerable legitimacy and influence, making Clairefontaine a blueprint many nations would seek to emulate in subsequent years.

The most striking example came in Germany. Humiliated at Euro 2000 after a crushing defeat to Portugal, the German Football Federation (DFB) undertook a complete overhaul of its youth system. Seeking inspiration, its leaders turned to the French model, and a plan was presented to create a network of national training centres modelled on Clairefontaine, to better identify and develop young talent across the territory. This structural revolution, which required every professional club to establish a high-performance academy, bore fruit a decade later, culminating in Germany's 2014 World Cup victory.

France's 1998 triumph, then, didn't just change Les Bleus' destiny; it provided a blueprint that helped redefine global youth development standards, ensuring France an almost inexhaustible reservoir of talent for generations to come.

Beyond collective impact, 1998 radically transformed the footballer's status in France. Before that date, despite the popularity of players like Platini, footballers hadn't yet achieved cross-cultural icon status. The World Cup victory changed everything. Overnight, Zidane, Fabien Barthez, Djorkaeff and Lizarazu leapt from top-level sportsmen to national heroes, familiar figures anchored in the collective imagination.

Zidane embodies this metamorphosis better than anyone. Scorer of two headers in the final, he became ‘Zizou’, the symbol of winning France. Zidane’s face projected onto the Arc de Triomphe on victory night is a scene that marked history, consecrating him as a genuine national icon. From the northern districts of Marseille and the son of Algerian immigrants, he became living proof of success through talent and hard work, a role model for millions of youngsters. Zidane’s aura transcended sport, making him one of the French people's favourite personalities for decades.

This status shift had a profound effect on society. Football, sometimes viewed with a certain condescension, became a respectable subject, even an object of study for intellectuals and a concern for politicians. Above all, this new generation of icons inspired vocations. In school playgrounds across France, children no longer simply dreamed of being firefighters or astronauts, but of scoring a goal in a World Cup final wearing the blue shirt.

These new superstars definitively installed football as the country's premier sport, creating unprecedented appeal and motivation for younger generations, who grew up certain that becoming world champions was not only possible, but a destiny within their grasp.

The 1998 legacy isn't measured solely in trophies or memories; it's transmitted directly, almost organically, through the men who forged it. The most evident and enduring lineage is that linking Jacquet to his captain, Deschamps.

On the pitch, Deschamps was Jacquet's relay, his brain, the one who translated his tactical vision into action. Twenty years later, having become manager, he appeared as his mentor's natural heir, the continuation of a philosophy that was proven to work at the highest level.

The similarities between the two men are striking. Both share the same conception of football, founded on pragmatism, the primacy of collective over individuals, and an obsession with defensive solidity. Like Jacquet, Deschamps has often been criticised for less-than-spectacular performances, yet his formidable efficiency has silenced sceptics.

Their relationship with the media is equally similar: controlled, distant, sometimes abrasive communication, aimed above all at protecting the squad from external pressure. Jacquet himself acknowledged this kinship: "It would be presumptuous to say he's my spiritual son. I think we surely have, modestly, more or less the same trajectory, the same philosophy of football and life".

This continuity manifested itself brilliantly during the 2018 World Cup. Deschamps' France, like Jacquet's, wasn't the tournament's most flamboyant team, but it was the most solid, tactically intelligent and united. Building success on a compact defensive block and rapid counter-attacks, Deschamps applied the lessons of 1998. He proved that Jacquet's legacy wasn't merely a memory, but a management method and winning culture that was still entirely relevant.

By becoming the third man in history to win the World Cup as both player and manager, Didier Deschamps didn't just write his own legend; he ensured the perpetuity of 1998's legacy, transforming it into genuine DNA for the French national team.

France’s 1998 triumph wasn't a historical accident. It acted as a detonator, profoundly transforming French football culture. Before that date, France was a nation that hoped; afterwards, it became a nation that demands. Victory ceased being a dream to become a standard, instilling a winning mentality transmitted from generation to generation.

The most immediate proof came at Euro 2000. Carried by the same core, France achieved a historic double, installing itself durably at the summit of world football. Even in difficult moments, the 1998 legacy served as reference. Their appearance in three subsequent World Cup finals, in 2006, 2018 and 2022, demonstrates that France now belongs to the very exclusive circle of nations capable of performing at the highest level with exceptional regularity.

The most direct link remains the one leading to the second star in 2018. Twenty years on, a new generation, coached by the 1998 captain, repeated the feat. The young players, from Kylian Mbappe to Antoine Griezmann, grew up watching Zidane and Thuram's exploits. For them, being world champions wasn't fantasy, but tangible objective. The 1998 victory became what historian Pierre Nora calls a "site of memory" – an event of such emotional charge that it structures a community's identity.

More than a quarter-century later, the echo of July 12, 1998, still resonates with undiminished force. It's not simply a glorious chapter of the past, but a compass that continues guiding French football's future. The team that presents itself in North America in 2026 will carry within it the memory of Zidane lifting the cup at the Stade de France, not as a burden, but as inspiration. Because since 1998, the blue shirt is no longer merely a symbol of the nation – it's become a promise of glory.