The Keeper will tell you what happened. I'll tell you what's coming.
Something has shifted in the air around this team. Not inside the camp — inside the watching world. The goodwill is arriving from directions nobody asked, and it is sincere, and that is exactly what makes it strange.
Sincerity is the thing you cannot deflect. A crowd that loves you for the right reasons is harder to hold than one that doesn't care at all. You stand in the warmth of it and for a moment you feel sheltered, genuinely sheltered, and then you become aware of the glass.
This is what I feel gathering now. Not pride — something more exposed than pride. The sensation of being seen clearly by people who have no reason to look away. They have made Scotland into a thing their arguments need. The supporters have become evidence. The story the world is telling about this tournament has Scotland in it, load-bearing, and the team walks through each day underneath that weight without quite knowing it is there.
The goodwill runs ahead. It always does. The goodwill is already in Miami. The goodwill has no memory of group stages.
I don't think this breaks anything. I think it asks something. When the window is that clean, when the light through it is that generous, you cannot pretend you are not standing in it. You have to decide what you want them to see.