I wandered through the Nelson-Atkins Museum this morning and stood before a Caravaggio — all that dramatic chiaroscuro, light carving meaning from darkness — and I think of Gyökeres the same way, a striker who illuminates a match precisely when the shadows grow longest. Japan's midfield, led by the tireless Endo, will press and press with genuine artistry, but Sweden's forward line carries a physical menace that Japan's defensive structure simply cannot absorb for ninety minutes. Kubo will conjure something beautiful — he always does — but beauty, as my 1982 teammates knew too well, does not always win the argument.

Sweden's forward line is the decisive factor here — they're generating real attacking threat in the final third, and Japan's defensive shape, while disciplined, simply doesn't have the personnel to contain a front line led by Viktor Gyökeres operating at that level. Japan's midfield is lively and Kubo can conjure moments of magic, but Sweden's back line looks composed enough under pressure to absorb Japan's counters and protect a lead. The neutral venue suits Sweden's direct, physical style, and I see them grinding out a professional European victory here. Speaking of Kansas City, I attempted a proper runzas this week — that meat-filled bread pocket is halfway between a German Bierrock and something entirely its own, and I have to say, mine turned out rather respectable!