“It’s a dream,” Neymar kept saying. And he was right, although to be strictly accurate it was not so much one of those straightforwardly happy dreams, but more like one of those dreams where you’re in the corner shop at 2am wearing nothing but a towel, and suddenly you’ve forgotten why you’re there, and suddenly all the cornflakes cartons are glass boxes containing human brains, and you look down and realise your legs are actually spoons, and you look at the shopkeeper and realise it’s actually a giant rabbit in a waistcoat. The laws of the universe no longer seem to apply.