The battle of Estadio Mineirao

IT’S July 9. I wake up at 5.45am and clamber clumsily onto the deck and peer into the disquieting darkness. I had hoped an assemblage of stars would illuminate the sky and the sea, but the host is nowhere to be seen in the boundless blackness. The water is calm. It is raining softly, and my cheeks are wet. It feels strange, as if tears are streaming down from heaven.

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