My father knew that Morata was going to miss his penalty out of sheer superstition: as the television cameras focused on him on his way to the area, our neighbor’s dog began to howl. Go ahead that my old man is a perfectly honest person and that the pooch has a reputation for announcing – always with the same scandal – the visits of the grim reaper to the town, much anticipating the first relative who discovers the deceased stiff and gives the second voice of alarm.
On Tuesday, for the first time in many years, my father did not fear for his delicate heart as he listened to it. Not even for mine, which is also supporting his. What he did was put his hands on his head, look at me for a couple of endless seconds and say that about “It is going to fail; any of these days I kill that damn dog. “ He was so convinced of his premonition, so desperate to know that time would end up proving him right, that for a moment I thought that maybe it was poor Morata who died just before kicking, the responsibility would then fall on another partner and our neighbor’s dog, in addition to life, would retain its gloomy prestige intact once again: it could not be.
It is curious to analyze the process that half a country has completed with the performance of the National Team in this European Championship: the famous role, at least this time, was not a matter of the footballers or the coach, but of a part of the fans – and on all from the press – who bet all their chips on the resounding and premature failure of ours. Since the times of Clemente and that radio crusade that made us take part, no previous one was remembered with so much pessimism, so much chest blow and so much veiled warning. With the ball rolling, it was no longer about Spain playing better or worse, winning or drawing: it was only important to be right and, in the midst of this collective madness, everyone looked with cat eyes at Morata, Luis Enrique , the famous fridge, Laporte’s passport and Pedri’s ID.
The Juventus striker was especially bloody. In a tribune-like country like few others, their eternal careers, their titanic effort or their tactical rigor were of no use.
The Juventus striker was especially bloody. In a tribune-like country like few others, their eternal careers, their titanic effort or their tactical rigor were of no use. Suddenly we were led to think that only Morata failed sung goals, that those who sent Mbappé, Cristiano Ronaldo or Harry Kane to limbo were another matter, and that the main culprits of all this were Luis Enrique for trusting him, his teammates for not putting together a good mutiny and Ceferin for acting with a silk glove and not banishing him from the UEFA universe forever. He and his family even received death threats, our daily bread in this poisoned Spain where hating is so cheap that we no longer even attend to the rest of the offer.
Elimination in the semifinals, after dismounting with the usual weapons the hype A precious Italian from Italy, she left a bitter aftertaste because even the most incredulous had to hand over their weapons. But we missed a number to complete the bingo. It would have been nice to be crowned champions at Wembley, if possible against England and with a Frenchman leading the defense, but, unfortunately for an entire country, my neighbor’s dog started howling at the worst moment. “What are we going to do: that penalty could not enter”My father told me yesterday, on the way to the funeral for Doña Erundina’s soul.
Subscribe here to our special newsletter about Euro 2021