Notes from Hotel Metropole, Belo Horizonte. Helicopters buzzing the city center at 1am. Both Belgium and Algeria national teams staying near, will get up for the early game having dreamt bleak dreams of Zero Dark Thirty. 5:30am, the walls are made of paper and the sounds of toilets flushing. Two women are having an intense, friendly, shouty conversation somewhere in the gloaming. A single voice calls out in perfect in accented American English: Shut. The. Fuck. Up. It worked. John Brooks may have been the hero of last night, but this unknown Yankee is the hero of the morning. Unfortunately, he is nowhere to be found when I am still trying to work at 6:30am and from all sides of me, Belgians wake up, brush their good teeth and yell into their mirrors: GO BELGIUM! GO BELGIUM! GO!
Flawless, as usual. DAMMIT YOU GUYS.