The ball found Luka Modrić at the edge of the box, Croatia searching for clarity.
Argentina closed in, compact and urgent.
Modrić paused—scanning pressure, angles, and timing like a chess grandmaster.
A shift of weight stole a yard.
Then came the strike: curling, rising, bending beyond reach.
The net rippled, and silence broke into disbelief.
Tactically, it tilted momentum; Croatia’s confidence sharpened, their press tightened.
Poetically, it crowned a maestro conducting chaos on the world’s greatest stage.
Modrić didn’t just score—
he altered belief.