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On the penultimate day of Rio2016, I went to see the Pentathlon at Deodoro, which despite being a military area, it’s surrounded by populated slums with serious social problems: even the police do not want to go there, as fatally had happened days before. Simultaneously at Maracanã, Brazil was playing the Olympic Soccer finals against Germany, trying to overcome the recent 7-1 defeat. Late afternoon was coming, under a hellish heat. From the bus windows, the view was bleak: there were vast valleys of silver color wavy plates, orange bricks and blue water-reservoirs. No one in the streets, no dogs or cats. Just empty white plastic bags, rolling with the wind. Would I be the same, if I had been born there? Despite my fears, the outward journey was peaceful: just a baby’s sob interrupted the lull. Brazil scored a goal. Already at Deodoro, I went through three security control points full of soldiers, and entered the pentathlon stadium with a noisy crowd. The sky was covered by ominous clouds. After seeing three monkeys making fun on a small tree, it began to rain heavily. Germany tied the game. On the benches, there were hundreds of colorful umbrellas and unusual "Wet T-Shirt" competitions… in the field, there were horses jumping, people running and firing lasers: a real Carnival. At Maracanã, the extension began. When the night came, it was time to return: the bus was escorted by army vehicles. Everything dark outsides, no one in the slums, no other cars on the highway: just us and the military as bodyguards. When they approached, we could see how old they were: no more than 20 years. Our safety was being done by kids! How would they be, if they had been born on my street? Suddenly, I saw the military kids smiling and laughing: their target was LUCY, a blonde girl sitting three windows ahead of me. Not intimidated, she returned the flirt. They fired back: not bazookas for the “brazuca”, but rather “selfies” and laughs. The military cars scratched the road, trying to hit the rhythm of our bus. The windows almost kissed. At that moment, I realized the origin of samba’s steps: help us not burn in the coals of LUCIFER. I also realized that a kid, in spite of being armed, will always be a kid. Later in Copacabana, while eating a Portuguese cabbage soup with a couple of German friends in a crowded outdoor bar, Neymar scored the penalty shootout of victory.