That’s pretty much how we remember you, Brazil. It is a new era, a new World Cup challenge, and a new generation of Brazilian athletes. But on the other hand, this was a classic Brazilian tournament performance—the kind that seems to be staged for our amusement. The tournament favourites played the game you expect from tournament favourites on a calm night in the enormous golden ark of the Lusail Stadium: sturdy, expansive, and decorated with the kind of carefree brilliance that makes other nations furrow their brows a little.
There were three distinct periods in the game. Brazil made a rather timid, perhaps even unsure, start to the first period, picking off Serbia with tempo but not a lot of poise. As the second half went on, they started to get into it and Richarlison’s goal cathartically broke the tie. With riotous talents, constant waves of attack, and an early goal of the tournament contender from Richarlison, who added a second with an amazing bicycle kick, they just let loose in the final 30 minutes.
Richarlison’s goals were assisted by Vincius Jnior and Neymar, and this trio—along with Raphinha, who toiled valiantly on the right—seems to be the most well-rounded and lethal assault in Qatar. They blend pure skill and pure speed with a keen cutting tool up front. At the base of the midfield, Casemiro excelled at pulling the strings.
Left-back, which was thought to be one of Brazil’s trouble spots, was where Alex Sandro excelled. For 45 minutes, Serbia was actually rather impressive. However, by the time it was all over, they appeared broken, having been forced to pursue light beams.
Furthermore, Brazil is no longer considered to be a lock to win these matches. Since 2010, they have played nine times, won three times, drawn twice, and lost four times against European teams in the World Cup. Each time they compete, they appear to perspire a bit more, battle a bit harder, and stand out a bit less. This, however, served as a possible reminder that Brazil performs best when they play with a hint of imperial haughtiness, the bravery and vigour that prods opponents in the chest and demands, “Well, how many stars on your badge?”
They can also play with a little bit of the devil, of course. Serbia got the kind of game they wanted: one that was competitive, physical, hot, and frequently prickly. Neymar received the normal beating for being Neymar, and 10 minutes from the end, he had to leave with a limp. But with players like Casemiro, Thiago Silva, Richarlison, and Raphinha on their roster, no team will ever back down from a fight. Raphinha once threw a tackle at Filip Mladenovic before merely glaring at him to make sure he knew it.
Andrija Zivkovic was clinging to Vincius at the same time, much like an environmental protester would to a London intersection. Vincius delved a bit more. Zivkovic went after. Vincius slid over to the sideline. Zivkovic went after. Vincius made a track inside. Zivkovic went after. Later on that evening, a fatigued Vincius would discover Zivkovic already in bed at the Westin Doha Hotel, waiting for him with a vile grin spreading across his face as he rolled over and took most of the duvet with him.