Tanaka went off, and Ogasawara with him.
Alex and Tsuboi came on.
Japan parked five across the back and threw Fukunishi, Nakata and Nakamura into the middle to stop Brazil running at them.
After the restart, they looked like they had forgotten how to play.
Or Kaká had simply changed shape on them.
The jade-faced executioner who had been gliding past people all half suddenly turned into a passer.
With him and Ronaldinho running the show, the ball moved clean and every pass felt dangerous.
Robinho and Adriano, starved for service until now, suddenly had a life.
The ball started finding them the moment they moved.
Adriano timed a run in behind, took Kaká’s through ball, and found Kawaguchi charging out in a panic.
He almost cried.
“This chance is mine.
I will not miss this.”
Miss it and he was sure he would turn straight back into someone nobody noticed.
So he puffed his chest, dropped his hips and smashed it.
Top corner.
“With that pace, if you save it I change my name to Kawaguchi.”
Kawaguchi did not have that in him.
He might live.
He could not save it.
The ball was on him too fast.
Hands half up, then the net bulged.
Adriano scored and lost his mind.
He roared, sprinted at Kaká and dumped him on the grass.
“With this goal I, Adriano, forgive you!”
His thinking was that simple.
Kaká nearly choked on the hug, crawled out of the pile, stopped Ade coming back for seconds, and waved everyone into their own half for the restart.
Two up.
The Brazil fans in the away end could not help themselves.
They started singing.
Japan’s coach was 52-year-old Artur Antunes Coimbra.
Most people know him as Zico.
The old Brazilian number ten, White Pelé, flair and perfect technique, stood there with a mix of pride and worry.
Pride because the country he had given his youth now had a kid like Kaká.
In the dribbling and the elegance he even saw a shadow of himself, and that warmed the old man.
Worry because he was Japan’s coach, they were two down, and his players had no answer for the boy.
Go toe to toe?
He asked himself and killed the idea at once.
They had packed the box and still conceded twice.
Open up and the ending was Mexico.
Mexico had played one open half and Kaká had stuffed three past them on his own.
Group B was on a knife edge.
Greece were done: one win, two losses, three points, goal difference minus five.
Mexico also had one win and two losses, three points, but a better difference than Greece.
Japan sat on one win and one loss.
Lose this and they would be on the same record as Mexico.
Same record meant goal difference.
Mexico after three games: three scored, five conceded, minus two.
Japan after two: 1-3 against Mexico, 1-0 against Greece, two scored, three conceded, minus one.
This game decided it.
Two down already put Japan on minus three, behind Mexico.
Even if the differences finished level, the head-to-head sent Mexico through.
To go through, Japan needed at least two goals in the time left and a clean sheet from here.
Concede one more and then try to score more than two against this Brazil…
Even Zico called that a dream.
Before the restart he called Nakata to the touchline and gave him the plan face to face.
Back on the pitch Nakata covered his mouth and passed it down the line.
Japan kicked off.
Tamada laid it to Nakamura, then he and Yanagisawa tore into Brazil’s half.
Nakamura gave it to Nakata and joined Fukunishi on the overlap.
Kaji and Alex pushed on too, hoping to catch Brazil still celebrating.
They committed.
Nakata carried it over halfway and clipped it diagonal to Nakamura.
Lúcio stepped in.
Nakamura did not linger, one touch into Nakata’s run.
Nakata shifted it to Fukunishi on the far side.
Gilberto Silva closed.
Roberto Carlos sat on the passing lane.
Fukunishi had to go back to Kaji, arriving late from full-back.
Kaji looked up and switched it long.
The ball left the grass and flew at Nakata, arriving in the middle.
“Japan coming!”
“Fukunishi is wrapped up, back to Kaji.
Long switch… Nakata!
Space in the middle.
Tamada and Yanagisawa pinning Cicinho and Lúcio, Juan won’t step out… oh!
Kaká!”
The second Nakata looked up to kill the ball and drive into the box, Kaká was there.
He did not need a trick.
He leaned into Nakata, won the spot, cushioned it on his chest, nudged it with the right and smashed the underside with his left.
The ball flew into Japan’s half.
Robinho was already gone, brushing past Tsuboi.
“Kaká steals it!
Nakata’s down, referee says no foul.
Long switch!
Robinho!”
“Onside!
Dead onside!”
“Robinho’s got it!”
“He’s away!”
“Breakaway!
Keeper coming.
Robinho, shot!”
“GOOOAAAAL!”
“3-0!”
“It’s over!
It’s over!”
“Brazil lead Japan by three.
Japan sit two goals worse than Mexico on difference.
To reach the knockout stage they need three in a row in whatever time is left.
Against this Brazil, and only if Brazil feel like being kind.”
Zico thought the same.
His young countrymen did not agree.
After the restart, Brazil came again, harder.
Eighty-seventh minute.
Stoppage would give them fifteen at most.
Japan were already dead in the group.
Nothing left to protect.
Zico waved.
Miyamoto off, Oguro on.
The man who had beaten Greece came on buzzing.
Fresh legs, wild runs, and he actually asked a question or two of Brazil’s goal.
Only a question.
Ninety-seventh minute.
Regular time long gone, most of the thirteen added minutes burned.
The clock was killing them.
Elimination was coming and the tackles got uglier.
Parreira stood on the touchline with his brow knotted and called for Juninho and Edu.
Kaká and Ronaldinho were coming off.
Brazil had already been through before kick-off.
He could have played a half-strength side and given the important ones a rest.
The first two wins had been too sweet.
Kaká’s stock at home had gone vertical.
Parreira’s name had improved with it.
Some people were even saying he had unlocked the real Kaká.
That pleased him, so he had wanted one more hiding of Japan to bury the old headlines.
Watching Japan play dirty now, he wished he had taken Kaká off at half-time.
They had already been chopping in the first half.
Why had he got greedy?
If Kaká or Ronaldinho went off injured, he did not want to think about the papers in the morning.
Too late for the coach’s nerves.
Full-power Kaká had arrived.
Rush brings mistakes.
Mistakes get punished.
Oguro drove through the middle and ran into Juan and Lúcio.
Juan smashed it long toward the centre circle.
Ronaldinho killed it a step early and lofted it straight at Kaká.
Kaká took it and went.
Japan’s whole shape was up the pitch.
Kaji and Alex had both joined the attack.
In front of Kaká there was only Tsuboi dropping, with Nakata and Fukunishi eating dust behind him.
Kaká at 94 pace.
Unless you are Usain Bolt you do not catch that from behind.
Dream on.
The two midfielders watched him run at their last man with dead eyes.
Nobody thought Tsuboi could live with him one on one.
Tsuboi did not think it either.
They were right.
Kaká rolled it forward, dropped the shoulder right, touched it with the left, took it back onto the right.
Tsuboi’s weight went.
He grabbed at the shirt.
Kaká slapped the hand off and strode at the keeper.
Kawaguchi came.
Midfielder versus keeper.
Sweat everywhere, legs clamped, arms wide.
His heart was already gone.
The stands, the bench, the touchline were already celebrating.
Was Kaká going to miss?
“Kaká!”
“Half the pitch, one on one, Kawaguchi off his line.
Shot?”
“OMG!
Pendulum dribble!
Beautiful pendulum dribble!”
“Kawaguchi’s on the floor!
Kaká!”
“GOOOOOOAL!”