After a few minutes passed, we soon found ourselves lurching to a stop before a vast circular building, resembling a doughnut with too thin of an edge. Although it was about 7:00 PM, and thus pitch black outside, the bright, and seemingly endless number of streetlights suffused the stadium square with false daylight. Normally, I might be a bit uncomfortable roaming the streets of Rio de Janiero at night, but the astounding number of armed officials in that one area instantly dissolved my anxiety.
Marching solemnly before the broad, grey face of the rounded building, were hundreds of policeman, all wearing navy blue uniforms, streaked with neon orange "X"s, and firmly gripping slender batons. I watched them surround the perimeter of the building in awe, inquisitive as to why so many of them had gathered here.
Picking up on my expression, Evandro began to explain,"There are a lot of police around here because there were strikes here. Some people are against this Confederation Cup because they think that the government had stolen a lot of money building this. So there are strikes all of the country. That's why there are so many cops around to make sure nothing will happen,"
I gazed at Maracana once more in wonder. How could just one sporting event shape politics to such an extent? What was it about this place that spurred cops and civilians and politicians to action alike? Was it a confusing mixture of pride and bitter resentment. The pride of knowing that one of the world's greatest celebrations of football (soccer) would be taking place in your hometown? The resentment from the apparent indifference with which the government treated enraged locals?
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