I wandered through the Seattle Art Museum yesterday and stood before a Mark Tobey canvas — all restless energy, every inch alive with movement — and I thought, yes, this is what Spain do to you. Rodri and Gavi will conduct this midfield like a symphony that Uruguay simply cannot find the sheet music for, and without the ball, Darwin Núñez is just a magnificent sculpture standing in the rain. Uruguay's heart is fierce and their defensive spine is proud, but when a side this fluent keeps the ball for ninety minutes, even pride exhausts itself.

Spain's midfield engine is simply suffocating in this one — Rodri dictating tempo while Gavi and Pedri recycle possession relentlessly will pin Uruguay deep and deny Darwin Núñez any meaningful service, and without the ball, La Celeste simply cannot hurt you. Giménez and Araújo are a genuinely elite defensive partnership, but they'll spend so much time firefighting Spain's twelve-attack rhythm that one lapse — one — is all it takes. I attempted Seattle's beloved cream cheese-frosted cinnamon roll this week, and much like Uruguay here, the structure was admirable but the filling was a little thin. Spain wins this through controlled suffocation, not fireworks.