For more than a month, international football-watching India's body clock resembled a malfunctioning cuckoo. The World Cup in the Americas meant kick-offs at ungodly hours, and bleary-eyed office workers pretending to know everything about last late night's game. The nation became a collective zombie, fuelled by coffee and power naps, united in its attempt to convince everyone of one's punditry of a sport it doesn't actually play. Now, with the final whistle blown and Spain clearly Vishwaguru in something tangible, India can return to its natural circadian rhythm. The collective jet lag remains for a few days, but alarm clocks have resumed their traditional role of tormenting only in the morning, not at night. Suddenly, not having a skin in the game - no Indian team to cheer, no heartbreak to endure - has turned out to be a blessing. Spaniards may still be nursing hangovers of triumph. But non-Spaniard Indians can simply exhale, and go back to their mobile screens, streaming shows and doomscrolling. Or whatever they do when the peer pressure to be synced to an actual global sport subsides.

Once again, our daily commute becomes the only real contact sport we can claim to be world-class in as the nation's body clock ticks back to sanity/routine. We can go back being master spectators, instead of fellow creators of any planetary spectacle.