Believe in the Eyebrows: Ancelotti, Brazil and a Night at the VYBK

“Believe in the eyebrows — Hexa Incoming.”

It was the sort of banner that could only have appeared at a Brazil match in Kolkata.

Carlo Ancelotti sat a hundred metres away from it, those famously expressive eyebrows doing very little to betray what he was thinking. Brazil, five-time world champions, were in town. The sixth World Cup was already on somebody’s mind.

The stadium, though, was a strange counterpoint to the hype.

There were empty seats dotted around the Vivekananda Yuba Bharati Krirangan, and the athletics track left the spectators feeling a long way from the pitch. For all its scale, the VYBK is not a football stadium. Even with an announced attendance of 51,402, the sheer size of the place diluted the sense of intimacy.

And yet, when football started, Kolkata found its voice.

India broke away inside five minutes and won a corner. Ryan Williams got into an early confrontation with Vinícius Júnior after the set-piece and drew a huge cheer.

Then Vinícius took a long pass beautifully under control. An appreciative murmur rolled around the stadium.

Eight minutes in, Gurpreet Singh Sandhu made a save from the Brazilian superstar. The applause was substantial. India were not simply waiting to be overwhelmed.

Ashique Kuruniyan, operating from the left, was lively. He knocked Estêvão off the ball in one early challenge and showed that India were prepared to compete physically as well as tactically. Manvir Singh, up front, produced a mazy run into the box that had something distinctly Samba about it.

Abhishek Singh Tekcham was having an excellent start at right-back.

There was, however, a sense that India offered little by way of tactics. The shape was occasionally stretched, particularly when Brazil accelerated through midfield. Against opponents this good, a moment’s uncertainty was enough.

Manvir tried his luck from distance in the 17th minute. The shot flew wide, but the crowd applauded the intent.

Then came one of Brazil’s first great reminders of the difference in class.

Vinícius produced sublime dribbling in the 19th minute, wriggling into a dangerous position before Gurpreet threw himself in front of the effort. Point-blank. Brave. The sort of save that brought the stadium alive.

For a while, India survived those moments.

Brazil survived on much more.

In the 28th minute, Estêvão took matters into his own hands. Cutting in from the right, he unleashed a stunning shot that flew beyond Gurpreet.

One goal. One piece of individual brilliance. One glimpse of why Brazil had come to Kolkata with so much expectation.

The announcer tried to stir the crowd during the hydration break. It was almost unnecessary: the goal had already done the work.

Almost.

Because in the 35th minute, Pedro rose to meet a cross and sent a header against the post. The entire stadium seemed to think it was going in.

Seven minutes later, there was no escape.

Pedro was set free, ran into the right side of the box and drove a low shot through Gurpreet.

Two-nil.

India’s goalkeeper had moments when he looked vulnerable, and another fumble brought abuse from sections of the crowd. Yet, he was also responsible for keeping the score from becoming worse before half-time.

The contrast was becoming stark.

India could produce flashes — Kuruniyan’s running, Manvir’s directness, Williams’ movement — but Brazil could turn a half-chance into a goal.

At the break, Vinícius was withdrawn.

The second half began with India still trying to make the night mean something.

Manvir gave Marquinhos a shove. The Brazil captain was not amused.

Williams, meanwhile, kept trying to manufacture something. One move ended messily, but India recovered. Then Manvir broke free and forced a save at the near post.

The applause was huge.

It was followed by another Brazilian lesson.

In the 58th minute, India surrendered possession. Samuel Lino pounced and scored Brazil’s third.

That was the pattern of the evening: India would work hard to construct an opening, then undo themselves with one loose moment.

When Williams was fouled soon afterwards, India won a free-kick.

“Do a Roberto Carlos,” came the suggestion from the stands.

There was a fresh roar when Endrick came on. The crowd wanted to see the teenage star, and for a moment the match regained some of its electricity.

Then Williams produced India’s best passage of the night.

On 63 minutes, he nicked the ball, cut inside, outwitted the covering defender and curled an effort towards goal.

It was cleared off the line.

Four minutes later, Manvir floated another ball across the area. Williams could not quite connect properly.

Those were the moments India needed to turn into something more.

They never did.

By now, some spectators were beginning to leave. It was not necessarily a vote against India. In Kolkata, there is another fixture to consider: the traffic home.

The crowd thinned further.

By the 80th minute, the atmosphere was as flat as a dosa.

There was something almost comic about the Amul branding around the ground. Brazilian football was once as smooth as butter. This Brazilian side had been rather less sentimental: efficient, clinical and increasingly comfortable.

Still, India kept looking.

Vikram Partap Singh came on and made a late run into the box, showing nifty feet as a defender got hands on him. He wanted a penalty. The referee did not agree.

Prabhsukhan Singh Gill then produced a superb save.

But Brazil were not finished.

In the final minute of added time, Lino cut inside and finished nonchalantly, wrong-footing the goalkeeper at the near post.

Four-nil.

Two for Lino. Four for Brazil. And the gulf had finally been expressed on the scoreboard as clearly as it had been in the football.

Somewhere beneath that banner, Ancelotti remained calm.

Believe in the eyebrows, it had said.

“Can you see if Ancelotti is chewing gum?” someone wondered.

“He’d need to be nervous for that.”

He never looked at it.

For India, the night offered flashes of encouragement — Kuruniyan’s energy, Manvir’s running and Williams’ invention. But flashes are not enough against Brazil.

For Brazil, Kolkata provided exactly what Ancelotti had wanted: a chance to experiment, to give players minutes and to let a new generation of the Seleção experience a city that has long loved the yellow shirt.

The strange thing was that, despite everything, the night never quite became the carnival it threatened to be.

The VYBK was enormous. The track kept everyone apart. The seats were not full. The crowd slowly drained away to beat the traffic.

But when Brazil played, Kolkata still leaned towards them.

Perhaps that is what the banner really understood.

Not the eyebrows.

The belief.

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