For all the people of Marseille, it was a painful day... especially for Deschamps.
After the ga ended, he sat by the sidelines, arms wrapped over his knees, staring blankly at the field for a long ti without leaving.
"Didier." A voice called out from the side, and Wenger approached.
"Ah."
Deschamps seed a bit distressed, startled and then got up, extending his hand to Wenger: "Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I didn’t even co over to shake hands."
Wenger waved it off, signaling it was okay, and looked at Deschamps’ semblance. After a thought, he said, "You’ve already been very successful in Marseille, it’s ti to end this journey.
"Even if it might not be a pleasant ending, it’s good to end the stagnation early and start a new endeavor in a different environnt toward new goals.
"We’re all waiting to see you take further steps, you’re the best candidate for it."
Deschamps didn’t speak, he knew what Wenger was implying... he gently nodded and patted Wenger on the shoulder, indicating he didn’t want to talk about the topic right now and wanted so ti alone.
During the match just now, he was mostly bewildered, angry, with many things left unclear.
Now, it’s ti to reflect alone.
Wenger wisely left, leaving Deschamps alone in the field.
"Oh....Yeah.....!"
When Deschamps looked toward the left flank of the field, faint cheers seed to arise again, as if ti rolled back, he saw Ma’el charging down the flank once more.
He saw him stop the ball flawlessly, bypass two players, co to the middle, and score with a dipping shot, seeing his passionate celebratory manner.
He then saw him consecutively blast past their left defender with ferocious impact, continuously assisting Walcott and Van Persie.
Finally, he closed his eyes, as if entering Ma’el’s body... in a fiery atmosphere, passing Jimmy Traore, finishing with an unstoppable brilliant solo goal.
Suddenly, Deschamps opened his eyes, a chord in his heart vibrated violently several tis, he looked northward, towards the direction of Paris.
"Mr. Deschamps." The assistant coach who received a call from the French Football Federation before the match ca over, smiled and said, "Will you make a new decision? I must tell you, I didn’t make that call to the French Football Federation."
"Didn’t call?"
Deschamps looked at him in surprise, the idea in his heart grew stronger, "Why?"
"Because..." the assistant’s answer was simple and flawless, "I really like Ma’el."
Deschamps looked at him, at this simple yet smart coach, involuntarily showing a few smiles.
He turned around with his hand behind his back, scratching his nose, "So are you ready to start a new journey with ?"
"Before we win any honors, I can even postpone marriage." The assistant answered resolutely, he must possess a strong sense of conviction.
"Alright."
Deschamps turned and walked toward the player tunnel, this ti he headed straight for the dia area.
...
Sitting here again, although there was no smile on his face, there was a distinct firmness.
"First, I apologize to the fans who supported us, we made a ss of the ga, not only did we not achieve the expected result, but it was also extrely poor.
"The players were not in good form, and I failed to make effective adjustnts, I should take responsibility."
.....
After sincerely apologizing, he braced his arms on the table, fingers interlocked, seriously answering other questions.
.....
Once again faced with a barrage of dia questions and challenges, Deschamps showed impatience, yet he knew he had to endure these having made mistakes.
He answered them one by one, not missing a single question... he had already anticipated the dia’s direction for tomorrow.
Hmm?
This failure, would it affect his appointnt as the head coach of the France team, would the Federation still trust him?
Deschamps’ expression changed dramatically, frozen in his seat pondering this possibility, he even missed a question posed by a Sky Sports reporter.
He had to admit, this position now was crucial for him... he had never taken that step forward, one worry was the current French team’s squad, another was how much authority the French Football Federation would grant him.
If he could lessen just one worry, he could step out of his comfort zone without hesitation, wield the French team’s baton, and lead this team onto the international stage!
After witnessing Ma’el’s ga live, undoubtedly, his worry on the first point had almost evaporated.
Not realizing a while ago... the impact Ma’el brought him was enormous.
Did it loosen his thoughts, or make him feel the France head coach position has now beco a prized opportunity.
Now with a sense of urgency, he realized, it must be the latter!
He had to go!
He’d lose out otherwise!
Deschamps lifted his head, his facial changes reflecting his ntal shift, even the painful sting of defeat lessened significantly, his attention ’forced’ to shift.
"What did you just say?" He looked at the reporter who had just spoken, his tone much changed.
"What kind of player is Ma’el?" The Sky Sports reporter, seeing Deschamps regained his composure, repeated the question.
"Ah....."
Deschamps sighed softly, prepared for a grand answer, but he clearly knew he was still Marseille’s coach, having just been subjected to a significant defeat, speaking too highly of the opposing player wouldn’t be right.
He looked at the reporter, deliberately serious, "The entire European football knows, he is an unparalleled talent, a gift from heaven to the France team.
"He will be the answer to the French team’s offensive line for the next ten years, his talent will contribute greatly to the team."
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