And it wasn't just a matter of postponement.
FIFA had even told the voters privately that they could change their votes.
Of course they did.
But as he'd said before, this year's Ballon d'Or had nothing to do with him. Right now, nobody had any idea what kind of circus FIFA was about to unleash with the award. It would all start at the end of the month when the candidate list was published and Blatter publicly blasted Cristiano Ronaldo.
That's when the real show would begin.
That's when people would finally understand how the massive commercial interests behind the Ballon d'Or had already corrupted the award beyond recognition.
The Ballon d'Or and FIFA World Player of the Year had merged in 2010 to become the FIFA Ballon d'Or. After the merger, FIFA took control and repeatedly changed the voting rules to suit their agenda.
Julien knew this partnership wouldn't last long. Eventually, the Ballon d'Or would split from the World Player of the Year award, the two would be soon going their separate ways.
The world runs around and for profit. The merging and splitting of these two awards was nothing more than a question of money and power.
FIFA's corruption scandals were hardly news anymore.
Soon enough, the group made their way toward the locker room, laughing and joking. They'd gather everyone together first, Deschamps would give a talk, then they'd rest. The real training wouldn't start until tomorrow. Tonight was simply about relaxing and recovery.
Players gradually settled into the locker room, and Deschamps entered without immediately taking his position at the front. Instead, he made a circuit around the room, patting several senior players on the shoulder and exchanging greetings.
Only after the room had fallen completely silent did he speak with a relaxed smile. "Welcome back, everyone. I know you're all coming straight from the grind of club football, so tonight there's no agenda. Just relax and recover. Don't think about tactics, don't worry about opponents. First, let your bodies and minds decompress."
He paused, moving to the center of the room. His tone became slightly more serious, though still maintaining that easygoing tone.
"The upcoming friendlies shouldn't feel like pressure. But we need to understand that every international match is an opportunity to refine our squad and find our rhythm for next year's World Cup.
Right now we've got experienced veterans providing stability and young players emerging. These matches are perfect for building chemistry, helping everyone become more familiar with each other's movements and timing. When we reach the World Cup next year, we can't afford costly mistakes."
His focus shifted.
Deschamps' gaze swept over Julien and Ribéry, his smile was widening. "Speaking of young players and veterans, I need to mention two names in particular: Franck, and Julien!"
"Ohhh!"
Applause broke out across the room.
Julien remained relatively composed, but Ribéry grew energetic once again, his face was flushing as teammates around him began offering congratulations. He accepted them all with a beaming smile, showing confidence and pride.
Deschamps' expression matched his enthusiasm.
"You've been an absolute weapon on the wing for Bayern this season, Franck. Your dribbling, crossing, and link-up play have all been world-class in every single match. I hope you can maintain this form going into next year because we're going for the World Cup title!"
"Absolutely!" Ribéry thumped his chest, his voice was filled with determination and swagger.
Then Deschamps turned his attention intentionally to Julien, his tone was warm with genuine approval. "I watched your match at Anfield yesterday. A 4-0 demolition of Crystal Palace, putting Liverpool back on top of the Premier League table. Well done. Keep it going!"
Julien responded with an appreciative smile.
"The Ballon d'Or shortlist is coming out soon," Deschamps continued, raising his voice so every player could hear clearly.
"Everyone's saying you two are the French players most likely to make the cut. This isn't just personal glory—it's a source of pride for French football."
He emphasized each word. "French football needs these kinds of role models. The veterans leading the young ones, the young ones chasing the veterans. That's how we maintain our competitive edge."
His tone shifted to something more playful.
"You know what I'm looking forward to most? The coaching staff and I were joking about this—we genuinely hope that one day, half of that twenty-three-man Ballon d'Or shortlist will be French players.
I'm not being greedy here. It's just that watching you develop through Clairefontaine and become world-class players feels like watching your own children succeed.
Of course, that depends on you maintaining your standards and our young players continuing to push themselves. Together, we'll make the French football brand shine even brighter."
Laughter resounded through the locker room in waves.
Deschamps raised his hand to settle everyone down, his relaxed demeanor unchanged.
"Alright, that's everything I wanted to say. Tonight, you're free to do what you want. Eat something good, chat with your teammates about football, whatever you like. Just don't stay up late. We've got training at nine tomorrow morning, and we'll discuss tactics in detail then. Remember, tonight's core mission is simple: relax and rest properly!"
"Got it!" The players responded with cheerful agreement. After the relentless grind of league and European competition, the international break offered a rare opportunity to breathe easy.
At least from now until next year's World Cup, the national team schedule would be relatively pressure-free.
Before leaving, Deschamps made a point of approaching Julien and Ribéry, giving both men a firm pat on the shoulder before turning away.
The locker room soon filled with lively conversation as players gathered in small groups.
At seven in the morning at Clairefontaine in October, the mist hadn't yet cleared.
Dawn was just beginning to break, pale blue light filtering through the fog that wrapped the training pitch like gauze.
In the distance, oak trees emerged as faint gray shadows in the mist, their branches blurred and indistinct, the texture of their leaves completely obscured.
A few early-rising sparrows perched on the branches, gently preening their feathers. Their occasional soft chirps barely escaped the tree canopy before the fog swallowed them whole.
Julien had arrived at the training ground well before anyone else.
He began his warm-up routine.
Deschamps had said training didn't start until nine, but Julien always began his sessions at seven in the morning. So, he came to the pitch early, following his usual schedule.
Eventually, the sun climbed higher and the fog thinned enough to reveal the windows of the administrative building in the distance.
Julien struck the last ball toward the empty goal, watching it roll into the net before straightening up and stretching. He gathered the scattered balls from the grass, holding them against his chest as he returned them to the ball cart.
Passing the railing, he grabbed his jacket and headed toward the cafeteria.
By the time he reached the dining hall, many of his teammates were just waking up.
Julien greeted them, then joined them for a relaxed morning of reading newspapers and discussing the latest football news over breakfast.
Afterward, it was time to head to the changing room and prepare for the morning session.
Time moved swiftly.
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