Brazil’s worst nightmare on the day the Samba died

With just a half an hour gone last night came an image that perhaps more than any other summed up just what had happened.

Out the back of the stand, two local volunteers that have helped the media so much during the tournament — personifying the warmth and joy of a competition many feared might descend into farce and violence — stood side by side but ever so distant. Earlier, they’d walked away from their duties, unable to handle the sound and fury and the entire experience unfolding before their eyes.

One stared out at the open expanses around the stadium, unable to comprehend it all. The other sobbed uncontrollably. This was the worst night in Brazilian footballing history, the most remarkable thing that almost everyone in the stadium had or will ever witness and perhaps the most seismic moment in the history of football. There’s no precedent for what occurred in Belo Horizonte, no way to contextualise it, for this was something so astonishing that it never happened before and may never happen again. In a six-minute spell, Germany scored four and you started to witness the first ripples released. Some fights pockmarked the ground as the hostility that has been oddly absent from the tournament up to now suddenly crept back in. Chants broke out, telling the national president Dilma Rousseff exactly what she could kiss and by the time Germany made it seven they applauded the opposition and cheered their passes. The masses had abandoned the players that helped them believe in their country again in recent weeks. In truth, the players abandoned them as well.