the France-Morocco match seen from a snack bar in Marseille – Liberation

“Libé” landed at the snack bar Le Mirage, in the city center of Marseille, where the selective affinities of the spectators evolve according to the score.

20 minutes before kick-off. For Issam, the green and red hat, for Armando, the blue white red wig. Behind the counter of the Mirage snack bar, in the city center of Marseille, this Wednesday evening of the France-Morocco match, we decided not to decide anything. Issam, 27, is of Moroccan origin, as is Armando. “But I was born in France, my wife is French, like my children. It’s stupid to oppose our two cultures, I feel as much of both. So the snack team shared the roles. Whatever happens, Issam is ready: “I have planned blue, white, red and green smoke bombs. Either way, we win. The challenge is above all financial: if I win, Armando gives me his pay, otherwise it’s the opposite! In the dining room, all the chairs are occupied. On the screen, the France team and the Atlas Lions are also in position. The kick-off is given, two signature kebabs, please.

4′42. Issam missed the goal, too busy relaunching the second TV overlooking the sidewalk, which persists in not working. Mehdi, for the trouble, orders a double pancake kebab. The young boy supports Morocco. “Because I am Algerian, and Morocco is the Maghreb, he explains. But if France passes, I will be for them…” Around him, in his band of friends, it’s no clearer, a bit like choosing between his father and his mother. Abder: “I predict 3-0 for France.” Mika : “We are all in communion, that’s football. But still, I am for Morocco.” Just like Anfane. But not like Leo: “When it was Morocco-Portugal, I was for Morocco, but now I want France to win.”

31′57. In TV, Mbappé badly tackles Hakimi. Sitting on the terrace of the neighboring snack bar, Redouane, the boss, whispers: “Come on, that’s it, there are no more friends…” Redouane is Issam’s father. He too hung the two flags on the pediment of his establishment, but his heart, matching his red cap, leans towards Morocco. “I’m cut in two, actuallyhe confides. But Morocco in the semi-finals is historic…” Since the start of the match, he has not moved from his chair, arms crossed on his OM jersey. A pass, a sigh. And a goat jump with each dangerous action of Morocco. “I feel it, the goal, I feel the draw”, he surrounds himself in a low voice, with a discreet smile. Issam, who passes by, warns with a laugh: “For an OM-Paris match, he broke the TV!”

47′56. The Moroccan goalkeeper has just taken a hit. In the kitchen, Issam no longer knows where he lives: “Whether the ball is going one way or the other, I say come on guyshe laughs. I can’t choose!” On the terrace, Yasmina, 27, has not finished her kebab. “It’s still tighttries the Franco-Moroccan, red and green flag in cape. For the last World Cup, I was fully behind the Blues. But we are sensitive to the fact that Morocco has come this far. The French have already won the World Cup… And frankly, they play well!” At the next table, Federico does not take his eyes off the screen. Focused and calm, like the rest of the terrace. Team Morocco, too, “for the journey of the team”. And also because Brazil, where he comes from, is out of the race anyway. His neighbor makes incantations: “Thirteen minutes left to write history…”

78:51. France has just scored, Issam runs behind the scenes to recover his stocks of party favors. His red and green hat flew. “Come on, it’s France, there’s no more Morocco there!” Mehdi exults: “I take back everything I said, in fact I am French!” His gang fights to recover the firecrackers and other confetti distributed by the boss, definitively forgetting the screen. There are now six short minutes of stoppage time, Redouane, Issam’s father, left his chair to tape smoke bombs to the posts along the sidewalk, while sounding his horn. “As we said, we’re still winning! France, Morocco, it’s the same! he yells euphorically. At the final whistle, he is now in the middle of the road, blocking not angry motorists. France is in the final, the Mirage snack bar activates its fireworks. Jumping on the sidewalk, Mehdi’s gang cracks their confetti sticks. It’s time to join the crowds, on the Old Port a few minutes walk away. In a corner of the snack bar, a customer finishes his can. On his head, a Moroccan cap. Disappointed ? “Well no, I was for France, he assures. The cap, it’s just that it was given to me.