Spain is forever because if you have to play football, you play football, and you win, and you win fairly. But if you have to go to war, you go, and you win too, and you win by any means necessary. Because yes, because this Spain is forever, it is the world champion, it is the best, the most beautiful, and the ugliest, the thinnest, and the fattest, the tallest, and the shortest. The one that if it needs to be painted, it is painted, and if it needs to break stones, it breaks them. Spain is everything that can be in football and raises the World Cup, the second of its life, to the sky of the unforgettable New York.
A very important, enormous thing
Spain is forever because it deserves it, darn it, because it wasn't fair. Or maybe it was. But no, it wasn't fair, what the heck, that Spain went 106 minutes without being able to score against Argentina. It wasn't fair that, after trying 20 times, they somehow sensed penalties they didn't deserve. The courage of the Albiceleste was moving, an honor for that team, nevertheless, they closed the final without even shooting on goal. Scaloni made all substitutions by the 70th minute because, between injuries and exhaustion, there was nothing left. They were left with one less player just before extra time due to the expulsion of Enzo Fernández and still managed to take Spain to an extraordinary session of agony based on self-love, on courage. They had nothing else, football had abandoned them weeks ago, but it's hard to imagine another team going so far with so little.
Spain is forever. Things were clear from the beginning. Spain went for the game with a premise: not to make mistakes. And Argentina went for the game hoping exactly for that: for the opponent to make mistakes. However, the national team's style forces the opponent to make a constant effort to regain positions, to jump into pressure or retreat if overwhelmed. As minutes passed, fatigue set in. Hence, in the last quarter of an hour before halftime, the team found Dani Olmo and Mikel Oyarzabal better.
Spain is forever. The team of Scaloni where oxygen lacks, the soul arrives, and they are always in the game. The final was played, of course, with the inherent suffocation of these events, with dry synthetic grass, turning the ball into a rabbit, untamable and harming those who want to play it the most, which is always Spain.
Spain is forever. The team matured the game with the feeling that, if it was, it was because of that path, patience. It took them 106 minutes, but they achieved it, not by chance, but with a cross from Pedro Porro, the man of the World Cup, a pass from Nico Williams, who finally played, and a shot from Ferran Torres, fought against everyone and himself, but now forever in the collective imagination of the Spaniards, whatever that may be.
Spain is forever. The team leaves the United States, Mexico, and Canada with the best goalkeeper of the tournament, Unai Simón, the best young player of the tournament, Cubarsí, and the best player of the tournament, Rodri. Spain leaves with the respect and admiration of the whole world because besides competing and winning, it represents values that are no longer common, those that speak of normality, respect, effort, and work. Of being good people.
Spain is forever. Like Messi, impossible to do more for him. The World Cup bids farewell to the greatest player in history with a match faded to black, the myth silenced by a wonderful team. Messi was a spectator. And Spain is forever.