July 19th, 2017
The dressing room at the Singapore National Stadium smelled of Deep Heat and fresh kit. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
Players moved through their pre-match rituals with the quiet, unhurried focus of professionals who had done this a thousand times Neves sitting perfectly still in the corner, eyes closed, headphones on, already somewhere else entirely; Zaha standing in front of the mirror adjusting his wristbands with the meticulous care of a man who believed presentation was part of the performance; McArthur taping his own ankles with the grim, workmanlike efficiency of a man who trusted nobody else to do it properly.
I found Alexandre Pato sitting apart from the rest, lacing his boots with a deliberate, unhurried care that told me everything I needed to know. He was not nervous. He was ready. He had been ready for this for a long time.
I crouched down beside him. "You know what today is," I said. It was not a question.
