For the past twenty-four years, Brazilians have been hoping for a hexa. In the weeks before the tournament, street murals proliferate, cortisol levels soar, and crowds blur into a xanthous wash. The national flag, long monopolized in public life by Bolsonaro devotees, 1 is suddenly available for use by the left, and the colors are eagerly reclaimed: draped across car hoods, smeared across faces, or hung by the hundreds from house to house. Brahma, Brazil’s most popular beer brand, promises free lagers to the entire population if the seleção wins. Yet all is not well.

The long wait for the elusive sixth title at the World Cup has successfully destroyed the faith of many of Brazil’s most stalwart football nationalists. Like a therapist probing a wound, I search nearby psyches for a root cause, an in-depth study which takes all of three minutes.

The year is 2014. The place is Mineirão stadium. The inciting incident is a certain godforsaken semifinal.…