I stopped by the Seattle Art Museum before coming here and stood for a long time in front of Fernand Léger's mechanical figures — all geometry and motion, parts working together with cold precision, which is exactly how Hakan Çalhanoğlu conducts a midfield, turning chaos into choreography. Turkey's engine room simply overwhelms Paraguay here — Çalhanoğlu pulls the strings while Arda Güler ghosts into spaces that Paraguay's defence hasn't even imagined yet. Paraguay's sweeper Gustavo Gómez will be brave, no question, but one man cannot hold back a tide, and Turkey's attacking pressure is relentless, wave after unhurried wave. A narrow Turkish victory, but earned through craft, not fortune.

Turkey's midfield engine is simply operating at a different level here — Hakan Çalhanoğlu will dictate tempo and pin Paraguay back into a shape they can't sustain for ninety minutes, and with nine attacks to work with, the Crescent-Stars will eventually find the crack. Paraguay's defensive block led by Gustavo Gómez is organized and proud — very much the South American fortress mentality — but their attacking output is dangerously thin, and I see no route back into this match once Turkey draw first blood. I tried baking Seattle's famous sourdough this morning and, much like Paraguay's forward line, the rise simply never came.