Opening
Mornings in Antalya are hot, but Turkey go out in a particularly cold way. On the hotel balcony the crescent flag hangs as stubbornly as yesterday, only looking at it is somehow no longer fun. The phone holds a silent rebuke: 78 per cent possession, 32 shots, zero goals and one Paraguay that clearly had not read the xG reports. The screen glows red, people downstairs are gathering for breakfast, and I sit on the balcony realising I have had enough of this tournament even though it has barely begun.
I actually live in Kaliningrad. Turkey is not my "second homeland", more of a second address at times. We spent a couple of years in Alanya: a sea view, visits to the immigration office and morning traffic jams of school buses. Now it is far more prosaic: an ordinary holiday, a couple of weeks in a hotel, a child comparing the pool with last year's. But a supporter's brain works like Google Maps: if you are physically in Turkey right now, it insistently offers to "pin your location" and set the local national team as the default route.
