Diary of a Brazilian Patriot - #3

NOTES FOR WHO IS READING:

1. Although of the political bias contained in some parts of these blogs, the stories retract mostly an illusory and uncertain narrative of the future of the country.

2. That’s just my opinion. Don’t take it too seriously because it’s literally a 13-year old kid writing random crap on a quiz site.

3. No matter if you support a side or the other, respect everyone and feel free to debate in a controlled space.

Hope you enjoy the series, because I didn’t.

Half of the country cried, and still cries asking for clemency. The ministers of the next government are being presented, and the people say: “that must be the attendance of a prison”. Today, the whole country cries because of passion. How cruel this December 9th of 2022, in the Education City Stadium, in Al Rayyan, Qatar. More than 40 thousand people present on the saddening elimination of Brazil in the 2022 FIFA World Cup. The teardrops that take the stands that got painted with the colors of the hope: green and yellow. Treacherous ball, that after getting past the goalkeeper Livaković and shaking the nets, sneezed on Thiago Silva, and stretched before Alisson tries to save the homeland. Cursed post, that seemed to slightly move to stop the hope of 200 million people, and of the player Marquinhos. Disgraced Tite, that screwed with the whole team in 15 minutes trying to change the system of game, and, like a coward, didn’t even bothered to comfort the broken hearts of his players, stars that had their shine suddenly stopped by those guys with chess-looking jerseys. False Brazilians, celebrating Neymar’s injury against Serbia. Kind of deserved for them. Not for us tho. As the famous sertanejo singer Marília Mendonça used to say: “Ninguém vai sofrer sozinho, todo mundo vai sofrer” (No one will suffer alone, everyone will suffer).

Why? Why does it have to be like that? How deluded we became with the Tropa do Pombo, with the O Hexa Vem, with the Adulto Ney, and, trying to hide, we have to appeal for the past. For 1958, for 1962, for 1970, for 1994, for 2002. How heartbreaking it was seeing the players appalled in the grass of Education City Stadium, without even believe what just happened.

It hurts profoundly to be eliminated, even more against Croatia. Croatia, that literally has the same population of Espírito Santo. If I thought nothing could be worst than Belgium? HAHA how stupid am I? The mourning is even more felt than the glory, because the regret of trying to make it different aims straight up to us. I don’t know if that’s worse, but even Argentina could pass through Netherlands, a way harder opponent. But it’s easy to defuse their argument by showing a open hand like that: 🖐🏻

It’s almost impossible to digest the loss, even one day after it. It was almost impossible to have lunch, I was busy hiccuping and crying of disbelief. And like alienated people, means my friends tried to find a guilty. Livaković, whose defenses were desolating the fans in the stands? Marquinhos, whose ball in the post destroyed the chance of raising our sixth trophy? Fred, whose position in the field favored Croatian counter-attack? Alisson, whose misses in the penalties favored Croatia, that kept kicking the ball to the middle of the goal? Tite, whose tactics defined at the second half of the extra time gave the chance to Croatia score a goal, and quickly exited the field without even aid his “soldiers”, fallen in the ground without words to describe the moment? Kids’ hearts that froze with a post, some meters far of it, or dozens of thousands of kilometers far of it. Me and my friends, who were making plans to meet to watch the Brazil’s games, confidents of what wouldn’t arrive. I remember of myself saying:

If I had a time machine... if I could make Tite drop that clipboard... if I could tell Marquinhos to shot to the “middle-left”... then I would peacefully rest. Those who once celebrated the eliminations of Belgium and Germany, would never expect to fall in the feet of Croatia. If I could choose between being deluded with the good things, or being skeptical of a bad thing, I would choose being skeptical of a bad thing, because it’s worst to feel defeated by our own fallacies than suffering with what we knew that would happen. Now, we get back to our normal schedule of complaining about the new ministers of the new government, and getting repulsed by 50.9% of deluded electors.