The smell of rain on burnt straw outside my window is the same smell as the one from last year's qualifiers—a promise that feels repeated, not fulfilled. They debate squad rotations in Paris and Berlin, but I think of the young striker from a place like Churachandpur, his one bus fare to the trial gone, while the big nations shuffle the same tired cards. Progress moves slower than the morning fog on the phumdi.
#world-cup#qualifiers
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