The Keeper will tell you what happened. I'll tell you what's coming.
There is a particular kind of tiredness that comes not from effort but from permission. Someone hands you the key and says: you don't have to run. And the body, which has only ever known running, doesn't know what to do with its hands.
This is what I feel gathering in the air around this squad right now. Not fear of Brazil. Something quieter and stranger than that. The realisation that enough is now a word that applies to them — and that enough, as a target, has no clean shape to push against. You cannot throw yourself at enough. You cannot will it across the line in the ninety-third minute. Enough just sits there, asking you to be calm.
I know what urgency feels like in a Scottish football crowd. I know what it does to the chest, how it pulls the air out of the stadium and puts something electric in its place. That is the fuel we have always run on. Desperation has a rhythm. It builds, it peaks, it breaks or it doesn't.
Vigilance has no rhythm. It just continues. And continuing, without release, without the clean narrative of we must or we fall — that is the thing I feel the players are trying to hold tonight, in their rooms, in their bodies, without quite having the language for it yet.
The permission is real. The weight of it is also real.
Both things will walk onto that pitch in Miami.