Croatia vs Russia: A Ballet of Nerves, Memory, and Mortal Time

The night was thick with tension in Sochi, where two teams, neither regular patrons of football’s deepest chambers, danced precariously on the edge of history. When Ivan Rakitić stepped up for his penalty—history compressing itself into a single inhalation—he wore the look of a man who had already travelled this particular corridor of fear. Against Denmark he had proved nerveless; here, he merely repeated the ritual, sending Croatia into a delirium that was half joy, half incredulity.

A generation after the swagger of Suker, Boban, and the glory of France ’98, Croatia had clawed its way back to the last four of the world. The echo was complete.

The Small Violence of Vida’s Header

They might have believed it was theirs even before Rakitić’s final word. When Domagoj Vida rose in extra time to meet Luka Modrić’s corner, it was less a thunderous statement than a conspiratorial whisper. The header was neither forceful nor clean, its journey long and uncertain, yet it crossed the line all the same, helped along by bodies that confused Akinfeev’s sightlines.

That ball, slow-motion in its lethality, underlined football’s strange geometry: sometimes it’s not velocity that kills, but the subtle corruption of time and vision.

Russia’s Impossible Dream and the Shock of Self-Belief

It is worth recalling how Russia arrived here, burdened by scorn. Winless in seven before the tournament, the lowest-ranked team in the field, derided as national shame. But football is a solvent for all narrative certainties. A hopeful group stage and that cathartic mugging of Spain cracked open a window to an impossible dream.

They pressed Croatia with unexpected vigour, playing the first half with a boldness utterly alien to their cautious dissection of Spain. Golovin floated close to Dzyuba, a battering ram made flesh, and Cheryshev uncoiled to produce a goal of radiant arrogance—his left foot sculpting a curler from 25 yards that Subašić watched with quiet awe. It was a strike that rewrote the very air, bending it into belief.

Croatia’s Response: The Subtle Recalibration of Fate

But football rarely obeys the initial swell of romance. Zlatko Dalić had left Marcelo Brozović on the bench, electing to start with Modrić and Rakitić unanchored in midfield, inviting Kramarić to float ahead. The gamble bore mixed fruit: Croatia were vulnerable to Russia’s high press, yet once Mandžukić’s intelligent cross found Kramarić unmarked, order was restored. The Russian defence, momentarily hypnotised, left Kramarić free to nod home. The stadium’s silence was like the held breath of an entire nation.

As the match wore on, Dalić adjusted, inserting Brozović and freeing Modrić and Rakitić to orbit higher. Slowly, inexorably, Croatia claimed the middle of the chessboard. Modrić in particular unfurled his influence—turning, pointing, measuring time itself with each delicate touch.

The Tragedy of Fernandes, the Cruelty of the Gods

Extra time swung again, as football often does, like a pendulum with a blade. After Vida’s goal seemed to seal Croatia’s ascendancy, Russia dredged up one final act of collective will. From Dzagoev’s delivery, Mário Fernandes—who would later inhabit the cruel theatre of missed penalties—powered home an equaliser that detonated the Russian bench into a sprint of delirium. They leapt barriers, tumbled into embraces, feeding off a communal madness.

It would not last. Penalties are a distillation of football’s deepest dread, the point at which technique and psychology meet under a withering sun. Smolov attempted a panenka, a fragile conceit that betrayed the nervous mind, and Subašić devoured it. When Fernandes, flush from his heroics, dragged his own attempt wide, it felt as though destiny itself had leaned down to whisper: not tonight.

Modrić’s Wicked Luck, Rakitić’s Inevitable Calm

When Modrić stepped up, he seemed spent. His penalty was modest, paltry even, pushed by Akinfeev onto the post—but football’s impish gods decreed it ricochet across the goal line and nestle inside the opposite net. Even luck appeared to bend to Modrić’s exhausted grandeur.

And then Rakitić, with that studied air of a man signing off the final line of a script already written. Calmly, inevitably, he found the corner. Croatia erupted, a small nation of four million roaring across continents.

Russia’s Poignant Exit and Football’s Brief Illuminations

For Russia, there was only ache, though of the noble kind. Stanislav Cherchesov’s side had advanced far beyond ridicule into a quarter-final that gave them vivid, luminous memories. They did not bolt the doors as they had against Spain; they dared to stride out, to impose themselves, to create. In the end, they died by the same open spirit that made them new heroes.

The Now or Never of Croatia

England’s scouts would have seen all this—the way Croatia’s midfield can smother opponents once Brozović frees Modrić, the warning bells of fatigue in their ageing core, the way Perišić ghosted in to strike the post, the vulnerability on set pieces.

For Croatia, the future is both a promise and a threat. Modrić, Rakitić, Mandžukić, Subašić—all on the wrong side of 30, all knowing that this World Cup might be their last waltz at the grandest ballroom. And so they dance with desperation that makes them dangerous, chasing not merely victory, but immortality against the creeping dark.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Brazil Are Out: The Selecao Are Exposed Temperamentally

The 2018 World Cup witnessed moments that will forever be etched in the minds of football fans. The Kazan Arena, a stadium that has hosted its fair share of drama, became the setting for the sudden exit of two of football’s heavyweights: Germany and Argentina. While Argentina’s downfall was perhaps not entirely unexpected—given their lack of tactical coherence and direction—Germany's exit was nothing short of a riddle. Watching the World Champions bow out to South Korea was a sight that defied belief. Since I began following football in 1988, I have never witnessed a German side perform so poorly on the World Cup stage.

Jonathan Wilson’s words about Kazan will surely echo through the ages: “In years to come when this stadium is a crumbling white elephant, they will sit in almost empty stands, hear the wind whisper across the marsh that surrounds it, and believe what they hear are the ghosts of giants. In three games, Kazan has claimed the winners of 11 World Cups.” The ghosts of footballing greatness lingered in the air, but for some, the spectre of failure overshadowed the hallowed turf.

But the biggest shock for many came on June 7, 2018, when Brazil—still the overwhelming favourite—lost to Belgium in a dramatic quarterfinal. With all due respect to Belgium, who had a formidable team, Brazil's surrender felt like a betrayal of their legacy. The Samba Boys had all the qualities necessary to lift the trophy—flair, skill, and an almost invincible aura. But despite dominating the opening stages, Brazil were undone by a combination of mistakes, missed opportunities, and clinical finishing from Roberto Martínez’s men. To the astonishment of millions of Brazil's loyal supporters, Belgium weathered the storm and advanced to the semifinals for the first time in 32 years.

A Brazil defeat in the knockout stage of a World Cup is a shock to the system, a jarring experience that takes the sheen off the tournament for many. For decades, Brazil’s presence at the global stage has been synonymous with brilliance. Their elimination—especially at the hands of a side like Belgium—was nothing short of heartbreaking for their fans.

Why Brazil Lost - A Tactical Analysis

 Several interwoven factors converged to orchestrate Brazil’s downfall on that fateful night—a tapestry of missteps, structural flaws, and cruel twists of fate. It would not be hyperbole to describe their defeat as the consequence of a sequence of unfortunate decisions and pivotal moments.

At the heart of Brazil’s troubles lay the absence of Casemiro, the indispensable shield of their midfield. Without his disciplined reading of danger and forceful interceptions, Brazil’s spine was left exposed. Fernandinho, tasked with filling this critical role, found himself outmatched throughout. His struggles were twofold: not only did he fail to provide the robust screen needed to thwart Belgium’s incisive counters, but he also unwittingly put Brazil on the back foot with an own goal that would prove costly. His inability to track Kevin De Bruyne or regain control under Belgium’s pressing proved to be one of the night’s decisive fault lines.

Tite’s decision to start Marcelo over the steadier Filipe Luís compounded these issues. Given Romelu Lukaku’s intriguing deployment as a right-sided wide forward, Brazil’s left-back was required to exercise caution and positional discipline—qualities that have never been Marcelo’s foremost attributes. Too often, he was caught ahead of the ball, leaving vast tracts of grass behind him for Lukaku to surge into. It was from precisely such a scenario that Belgium struck again, with Lukaku carrying the ball forward before laying it off to De Bruyne, who dispatched a searing shot beyond Alisson’s reach.

As the match wore on, Brazil gradually rediscovered their rhythm. Tite, seeking to claw the game back, introduced Roberto Firmino and Douglas Costa to sharpen his side’s attacking thrust. Wave after wave of Brazilian attacks ensued—over 20 shots in total—but time and again they found themselves repelled by Belgium’s resolute defending and the towering presence of Thibaut Courtois. The Belgian goalkeeper stood as an impenetrable wall, thwarting Brazil’s most intricate efforts with an almost cruel certainty.

Structurally, Brazil remained in their familiar 4-3-3, albeit with two significant adjustments. Marcelo’s return from injury was supposed to restore verve down the left, while Fernandinho stepped in for the suspended Casemiro. In the early stages, Tite’s side created the more dangerous opportunities, particularly through inswinging corners that tested Belgium’s organisation. Thiago Silva nearly handed Brazil the perfect start but saw his close-range touch ricochet off the post.

Yet football often punishes wastefulness. It was Belgium who struck first, capitalising on Brazil’s vulnerability when Fernandinho inadvertently headed into his own net. Chasing the game from the 13th minute, Brazil began funnelling their attacks down the flanks, as Belgium’s midfield compacted centrally. Neymar, however, found himself shackled by a clever Belgian plan—Marouane Fellaini and Thomas Meunier doubled up effectively, denying him the space to weave his magic.

Marcelo’s overlapping runs were infrequent and oddly hesitant. Too often he lingered behind Neymar, resorting to hopeful crosses that were easily dealt with by Belgium’s imposing back three. The samba spark was conspicuously absent, replaced by a mechanical rhythm that Belgium dealt with comfortably.

The game’s pivotal tactical imbalance lay in Fernandinho’s positioning. With Belgium continually threatening in transitions, the Manchester City midfielder drifted right to cover for the advancing Fagner, abandoning the centre. Even so, this adjustment did little to plug the gaps. It was precisely from this fractured shape that Belgium added their second—Lukaku bulldozing forward, unchallenged, before releasing De Bruyne for a stunning strike that underscored Brazil’s fragility.

Neymar and Coutinho began finding greater joy down the left as the half wore on. Coutinho’s smart movements and curling deliveries probed Belgium’s back line, but the usually incisive runs of Paulinho went missing. Despite Neymar’s darting dribbles, Belgium stood firm and took their two-goal lead into the break.

Tite’s second-half substitutions were proactive but ultimately insufficient. Firmino replaced the peripheral Willian, pushing Gabriel Jesus wide right—a position that nullified his central instincts. Later, Douglas Costa’s introduction gave Brazil direct dribbling threats on both flanks. The Juventus winger relentlessly drove at Belgium, forcing Jan Vertonghen to step out and leaving central gaps. Coutinho began to exploit these spaces, and it was through such a passage that he picked out Renato Augusto, whose delicate header breathed life into Brazil’s hopes.

Augusto’s energetic runs continued to trouble Belgium, and he might have equalised had he not scuffed a gilt-edged chance wide. Belgium, by continuing to leave three players forward, lived dangerously. Neymar and Costa gradually seized control of the channels, stretching Belgium’s defensive shape to its limits. But time, cruelly, slipped away, and with it Brazil’s composure in front of goal.

A late flourish was thwarted by Courtois’ acrobatic intervention, cementing Belgium’s place in the semi-finals and sealing Brazil’s fate. As the whistle blew, it was clear this was not merely a tactical defeat, but a narrative woven from missed chances, individual lapses, and the brilliance of Belgium’s counter-attacking symphony—a night where destiny favoured the Red Devils and left Brazil to contemplate what might have been.

Neymar’s Disappointing Performance

Then there was Neymar. The Brazilian talisman, who had been hyped as the man who would lead his country to World Cup glory, was disappointingly absent when Brazil needed him most. Neymar had his moments, but the spark and magic that we associate with Brazilian football legends like Pelé, Garrincha, Romário, and Ronaldo was missing. His performance was far from the game-changing influence fans had hoped for, and even his PSG teammate, Thomas Meunier, remarked on Neymar's lacklustre display. The weight of expectation proved too much for the 26-year-old, who failed to make the impact that Brazil so desperately needed.

The VAR Controversy

Adding to Brazil’s woes was the controversial role of VAR. Throughout the tournament, Brazil felt that they were not given the necessary support from referees or VAR. The tackle by Vincent Kompany on Gabriel Jesus in the penalty box, which many thought should have been a penalty, was not reviewed, and no action was taken. Whether it was a case of bias or simply bad luck, the lack of favourable calls left many Brazilian fans frustrated and feeling unjustly treated.

Unlucky Brazil?

Luck, as they say, plays a significant role in football, and on that night, Brazil had none on their side. As Jonathan Wilson pointed out, Belgium rode their luck, enduring numerous close calls. Thiago Silva’s header against the post, Paulinho’s miss, and Courtois’s heroic saves were all moments where fortune could have swung in Brazil’s favor. Yet, Belgium remained resilient, cutting through Brazil on the counterattack, always looking dangerous with every break forward.

Martínez’s Tactical Masterstroke

 Head coach Roberto Martinez made two significant changes to Belgium’s starting line-up, introducing Marouane Fellaini and Nacer Chadli in place of Dries Mertens and Yannick Carrasco. Tactically, Belgium retained their now-familiar defensive back three in possession, though this often morphed into a back four when defending deeper.

Notably, Chadli’s role diverged from the conventional wing-back duties Belgium had employed earlier in the tournament. Instead of forming a back five out of possession, the West Bromwich Albion man frequently tucked into central areas, bolstering Fellaini and Axel Witsel in shielding the middle. When Belgium had the ball, however, Chadli and Thomas Meunier stretched wide, reverting to the classic wing-back model and offering critical width.

Belgium were content to cede early possession to Brazil, inviting them to advance their lines. In an intriguing tactical wrinkle, Romelu Lukaku began on the right flank, with Eden Hazard and Kevin De Bruyne fluidly rotating across the forward line. Brazil carved out the initial opportunities and arguably should have taken the lead. But with De Bruyne occupying a more advanced, almost false-nine role, Belgium posed an ever-present menace on the counter. Their rapid transitions from deep began to repeatedly pierce Brazil’s structure, with De Bruyne’s drifting movements forging seamless links between defence and attack.

It was somewhat against the tide of play that Belgium struck first—Fernandinho inadvertently nodding into his own net from a near-post corner. This setback compelled Brazil into a more aggressive posture, precisely the invitation Belgium craved. The ensuing spaces in midfield and defence proved fertile ground for their blistering counters.

In possession, Brazil pushed both full-backs high, with Fernandinho dropping between the centre-backs to orchestrate from deep. Yet the Manchester City man, deputising for the suspended Casemiro, lacked the same defensive acumen in one-on-one duels, and Belgium repeatedly exploited this frailty. De Bruyne roamed with almost spectral freedom, drifting from central pockets into the channels before darting behind Brazil’s last line.

Belgium’s most incisive transitions emerged through the elegant interplay between Hazard and De Bruyne. Often gravitating toward the same flank, the pair drew Brazilian defenders en masse, opening vast swathes on the opposite side. This frequently allowed switches toward Meunier and Fellaini, who together outnumbered Marcelo down Belgium’s right.

Despite enjoying less of the ball, Belgium’s threat only swelled. Their second goal epitomised the ruthless dynamism of their approach. Echoing their late winner against Japan, they surged forward after a defensive clearance. Lukaku’s robust hold-up play and surging carry dismantled Brazil’s midfield shape, before he released De Bruyne, who drove an unerring shot low beyond Alisson into the far corner.

The second half, however, brought renewed challenges. Tite’s introductions of Roberto Firmino and Douglas Costa injected directness and width, pinning Belgium back. Maintaining three players high up the pitch, with De Bruyne only sporadically dropping in to assist, Belgium invited waves of Brazilian pressure. When Brazil finally clawed a goal back, Martinez acted decisively.

Belgium shifted into a more resolute back five, though their earlier fluid transitions between a back three and four had all but evaporated. While this reinforced structure initially offered resistance, Brazil’s relentless advances—buoyed by Firmino’s clever movement and Costa’s aggressive dribbling—had Belgium teetering.

Yet this aggressive Brazilian shape was a double-edged sword. Keeping Hazard, Lukaku, and De Bruyne forward granted Brazil room to build but simultaneously preserved Belgium’s capacity to break decisively. De Bruyne continued to drop and knit passes through midfield, while Hazard and Lukaku’s positioning in the half-spaces stretched Brazil’s defensive fabric thin. Surprisingly, Belgium lacked the clinical touch for a third goal that would have sealed matters unequivocally.

Ultimately, it fell to Thibaut Courtois, with a late sprawling save, to safeguard Belgium’s triumph. As the final whistle confirmed a landmark victory, Martinez’s side stood tantalisingly close—just one win away from an unprecedented World Cup final, their blend of strategic discipline and counter-attacking poetry having undone one of football’s perennial heavyweights.

Conclusion

Brazil’s exit from the World Cup is a bitter pill to swallow. Despite being well-prepared, the dream of a sixth World Cup title—HEXA—remains unfulfilled. This defeat, though painful, is a reminder of the unpredictable nature of football, where the best-laid plans can be undone by a series of unfortunate events and decisions. The shock of Brazil’s departure will linger in the hearts of millions, but as the tournament progresses, the world will move on. For now, Brazil’s golden generation must return home and reflect on a missed opportunity, while Belgium moves on, continuing their quest for glory.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

France vs Uruguay: A Study in Composure, Collapse, and the Cruel Geometry of Football

Didier Deschamps, ever the master of controlled utterance, had little appetite for conjecture. Pressed on whether France could go all the way, the man who knows the heft of the World Cup trophy chose stubbornly to peer no further than the next match. The question was an invitation to hubris—one he wisely declined.

But such caution could not long mask the truth: France are advancing with a quiet inevitability. In Nizhny Novgorod, they eased past Uruguay with a dispassionate efficiency that was almost chilling, winning 2–0 thanks to Raphaël Varane’s artful header and a moment of haunted incompetence from Fernando Muslera. This was no riot of French flair. Instead, it was the cold dismantling of an opponent that had thrived on grit but had little left once their main blade, Edinson Cavani, was dulled by injury.

There is something ominous in France’s progress—dispatching Argentina and Uruguay with six goals combined, all while carrying the sense they are yet to hit their full stride. If there is another gear, the rest of the field should rightly shudder.

Muslera’s Folly: The Long Echo of an Error

Football is as much governed by geometry as by genius. A cross arcs at precisely the moment a defender hesitates; a goalkeeper’s hands tremble infinitesimally on the ball’s spinning leather. Muslera’s calamity was one of these cruel geometries. Antoine Griezmann’s shot was speculative—more a question than an assertion—but it dipped and quivered in the air, asking Muslera if he could solve its riddle. His hands answered wrongly. The ball, contemptuous of his grasp, somersaulted over the line.

Such mistakes are not ephemeral. They echo in careers. Only Muslera will know in his lonelier hours how he allowed the ball to slip through fingers that, a breath earlier, seemed certain.

Varane’s Redemption: The Head that Learned

France’s first goal was a small act of revenge by Raphaël Varane upon his own past. Four years ago in Brazil, it was Varane who lost Mats Hummels for the decisive German goal that ended French hopes. Here, on a warm Russian evening, he timed his glide across Stuani to perfection, meeting Griezmann’s cunningly stuttered free-kick with a header that kissed the far netting.

It was a beautifully plotted sequence—a moment where memory and redemption collided, and where a ghost from Brazil was quietly exorcised. 

Uruguay’s Lost Teeth

Much was made of Uruguay’s snarling defence—one goal conceded in seven matches, a fortress patrolled by the stern visages of Godín and Giménez. But fortresses fall not just to battering rams but to the slow depletion of morale. Without Cavani’s clever violence upfront, Luis Suárez was left to chase shadows, snarling at the void. Cristhian Stuani was a placeholder, not a partner.

When Uruguay did finally glimpse France’s net, it was through Martín Cáceres’ neck-snapping header, clawed away by Hugo Lloris in the match’s most delicate balancing act. Godín’s wild slash at the rebound betrayed a man already suspecting the night was lost.

Óscar Tabárez, dignified even in surrender, admitted as much with a philosophical shrug: “There was a very big distance between the teams.”

Mbappé’s Tarnish: The Art of the Fall

For all the thunderous anticipation whenever Kylian Mbappé galloped into space, there was a petty theatre to his performance. When Cristian Rodríguez brushed past him, the 19-year-old collapsed as though struck by an unseen sniper, rolling across the grass in farcical agony. Godín’s attempt to lift him by the shirt sparked a swarm of indignation, yellow cards brandished like comedic props.

It was a stain on Mbappé’s rising legend—a reminder that in the modern game, play-acting has become as studied as the dribble or volley. One hopes he learns that such scenes diminish his own considerable grandeur.

France: A Quiet Tyranny of Talent

If Uruguay were hoping for a contest of wills, they found instead that France were simply too rich in gifts. Even when they struggled to fashion clear chances—Olivier Giroud still searching vainly for his first goal of the tournament—there was an inevitability about their command. They orchestrated the game’s tempo, reduced Uruguay’s breath to huffs of frustration.

Deschamps’ only real concern came when Pogba, involved in the second-half melee, flirted dangerously with a booking that might have ruled him out of the semi-final. Otherwise, it was a night of composed dominance, blemished only by moments of petty farce.

A Shadow Over the Horizon

France move on, growing more certain, more lethal, yet still with the sense of a storm held in reserve. Deschamps will not dare say it aloud. Perhaps he fears that the moment you name destiny, it begins to slip from your grasp.

But there was a chill in how clinically they dismantled Uruguay—a team famed for its appetite for battle. For France, the war continues, and ominously, it seems they have not yet needed to show all their weapons.

England Conquer the Ghosts of Shootouts Past in Moscow

Eric Dier was already sprinting towards immortality, moments away from being engulfed by his euphoric teammates. Gareth Southgate, meanwhile, had momentarily forgotten the dislocated shoulder he was meant to be guarding—such was the gravity-defying euphoria in that moment. After decades of trauma, of heartbreak painted in penalty-box blues, England had finally re-scripted the narrative: they had won a World Cup penalty shootout.

It was a finale drenched in tension, soaked in catharsis—the kind of emotional crescendo that tempts even the most measured fan to believe that, perhaps, something rare and extraordinary is unfolding. Restraint? That could wait. England were through to the quarter-finals, and suddenly the road ahead gleamed with previously unimaginable promise.

This was England’s first knockout-stage victory at a World Cup in twelve long years. Their seventh in a major tournament since the nation’s lone triumph in 1966. Awaiting them now: Sweden, with a semi-final against Russia or Croatia dangling in the distance.

Southgate had spoken of his desire for his penalty-takers to “own the process.” They did. Despite Jordan Henderson’s miss—rescued in consequence by Mateus Uribe’s shot cannoning off the crossbar and Jordan Pickford’s electric save from Carlos Bacca—England’s composure under unbearable pressure stood in stunning contrast to the chaos of past failures: Turin 1990, Saint-Etienne 1998, Gelsenkirchen 2006, Wembley 1996, Lisbon 2004, Kiev 2012.

An hour after the final whistle, the stadium still echoed with the songs and roars of England’s fans. They lingered, reluctant to leave a memory they’d waited a generation to make.

Dier joined Harry Kane, Marcus Rashford, and Kieran Trippier in demonstrating why England’s hours of meticulous penalty practice were not mere theatre. Kane had earlier buried a regulation-time penalty, earned amidst Colombian disorder, bringing his tournament tally to six goals—three of them from the spot. His nerve, after nearly four minutes of protest and disruption from Colombian players, was unflinching.

Colombia, even without the injured James Rodríguez, represented a far sterner test than the group-stage opponents Tunisia, Panama, or Belgium’s second string. Yet England matched their aggression with poise and, more significantly, resilience. Southgate’s instruction to play with freedom, to exude ownership and courage, was manifest even as open-play chances proved scarce and set-pieces remained their most potent weapon.

In truth, England might have been spared the shootout had justice prevailed in the first half, when Wilmar Barrios launched his head into Jordan Henderson’s chin. A red card seemed inevitable. Instead, the referee’s leniency gave Barrios a reprieve, and Colombia a full complement to continue their campaign of disruption. Southgate, however, had pre-armed his players against provocation—a lesson well-learned in the tempest of their earlier win over Panama.

Colombia’s tactics in the closing stages bordered on desperation—arguments, theatrical injuries, psychological games—but they delivered drama in the 93rd minute. Uribe’s 30-yard thunderbolt drew a stunning, full-stretch save from Pickford, but from the ensuing corner, Yerry Mina rose above Harry Maguire and Trippier to head in an equaliser, his third of the tournament.

And so it was, once again, to penalties. The shadow of past failures loomed large after Colombia’s first three were converted with clinical ease. But England didn’t flinch. They stood, not just physically but mentally. Pickford’s reflexes denied Bacca; Dier, albeit with a shot that flirted with fate, found the net. Ospina crumpled. And England—so often the bridesmaid of the international stage—had finally danced their way to glory, at least for one night.

It was only England’s second shootout triumph in eight attempts at major tournaments. Yet it felt seismic, symbolic—a team exorcising inherited demons under a manager who knows those ghosts by name.

Moscow 2018 is no longer just a venue. It’s a turning point.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

The Double-Edged Brilliance of Neymar: Brazil Find Balance Amid the Drama

Beneath the elaborate hair, the relentless self-regard, and the theatrical flourishes worthy of a Bourbon monarch, it is worth remembering—occasionally, at least—that Neymar is a footballer of staggering talent. It was his goal that shattered the deadlock, and if his influence in this match outstripped anything he produced in the group stage, it was because—for once—he refrained from his exhausting quest to be the sole protagonist.

And yet, he remains irredeemably Neymar: the gifted diva, forever orbiting the spotlight. Just when it seemed he might be maturing into a more selfless role, he reminded the world why so many still struggle to embrace him fully. As Miguel Layún bent to retrieve the ball from beneath Neymar’s sprawled body near the touchline, the Brazilian's reaction was operatic. Perhaps Layún made the slightest contact, but the fourth official stood inches away and saw no offence. Neither did VAR.

Neymar convulsed in mock agony, flailing like a man electrocuted, only to spring to life moments later when no card was shown. It was, transparently, a scandalous piece of playacting—farcical in its execution, shameful in its intent. A jarring contrast to the elegance he is capable of producing when he chooses to serve the game rather than himself.

That was the real pity, for until his performance descended into farce, things had been going remarkably well—for Neymar and for a Brazilian team slowly but surely stepping out from under his shadow. Mexico had started brightly, controlling possession and territory until fatigue began to dull their edge late in the first half. Neymar had been largely peripheral, posted high up the pitch, an outlet for counterattacks and a tormentor to Edson Álvarez. In tandem with Philippe Coutinho, he helped Brazil produce the better chances, but the first half ended goalless, and Brazil seemed to be staring down a long and draining duel under the punishing heat.

Then came the moment. Six minutes into the second half, Neymar received the ball on the left, a position he’s made his own. He darted inside, dragging defenders with him. Mexico swarmed, packing the top of the box, expecting a predictable Neymar shot. But he defied expectation. He passed. And not with some indulgent flourish, but with a razor-sharp backheel—a pass that split the defence and released Willian into space on the left side of the area. Willian’s low cross found Neymar arriving at the back post, his reward delivered with symmetry and style.

Here, at last, was Neymar as part of a team rather than above it. As a parable in the virtues of collective football, the goal could hardly be bettered.

That goal symbolized more than Neymar’s evolving maturity—it was a testament to Tite’s tactical intelligence. Brazil played in flurries, with intricate passing sequences and incisive movement suggesting a latent greatness. Mexico posed questions, but Guillermo Ochoa’s string of exceptional saves was the only reason Brazil didn’t put the match to bed by the hour mark.

Eventually, they did. Two minutes from time, Neymar surged again. His shot was parried by Ochoa, but Roberto Firmino, alert and clinical, tucked in the rebound. Neymar would claim the assist, although it was clearly a shot—one more statistical embellishment to his résumé.

Yet this Brazil is no longer Neymar’s one-man show. It is a squad of complementary parts, gradually knitting into cohesion. There are vulnerabilities—particularly at full-back. Fagner, deputizing for the injured Danilo, was repeatedly tested by Carlos Vela and Hirving Lozano, who rotated flanks like vultures sensing blood. Still, the core of Brazil’s defence—Miranda and Thiago Silva, shielded by the indomitable Casemiro—held firm.

Mexico, too, played their part in their downfall. For all their intent and numerical surges, they once again lacked incision. Attacks arrived in vivid green waves but crashed without consequence—undermined by poor decisions in the final third and a midfield too hesitant to join the fray.

This was no repeat of their stunning victory over Germany; Brazil were too composed, too controlled. Where Germany had flailed, Brazil remained poised, allowing Mexico to burn out before launching clinical counters. By the end, Mexico were left with speculative long shots and desperate dashes—impotent gestures against a defence growing in assurance.

Brazil won this match not just with flair, but with discipline. With intelligence. And—just maybe—with a Neymar finally learning that his genius shines brightest when shared.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar