Yesterday was a red letter day in Spain. La Roja, the Red, as España is fondly known, was in the finals for the World Cup for the very first time and against Holland who was hoping to be 'third time lucky' after having lost the World Cup final twice before.
I watched my first ever World Cup match at La Alegria Bar in Benalmadena Pueblo. In spite of the visible and vociferous support for Spain, they lost to Switzerland.
The next match I watched was in in the home of my Spanish friends. I cheered when David Villa scored the winning goal against Portugal.
In the words of Paul Breen-Turner, "The truth is that the Spanish team are a bit tasty, with quality all the way through the side. They work together for one another and there are no 'prima donnas'!"
The headlines trumpeted 'La Roja beat Germany in Wednesday's semi-final thanks to a goal from Payol', a match that I watched at Mesón Miuria.
The Spanish TV news stated that 60,000 Dutch people live in Spain but not an orange jersey was in sight last night as I returned to La Algeria to watch the final. My superstitious nature was on high alert because I had watched Spain lose in this bar so I ameliorated the bad luck by wearing a red soccer shirt emblazoned with "Villa" and "7" on the back and Spain's crest on the front.
In overtime, ice hockey games are settled by 'sudden death' but in soccer, extra time is thirty minutes, full stop. This meant that Holland had approximately two minutes in which to redeem themselves. The tension was such that I thought my head might blow-up and the 120 or so seconds until Spain was declared the winners of the World Cup seemed to last much longer than a mere two minutes.
Pandemonium ensued and even people who are not veteran futbol fans celebrated throughout the night.
This is the last of the Correo Costa del Sol. Please read The AFB, my newsletter from Singapore.
