It was 6:53 pm on Saturday along the Greenwich Meridian when a sound similar to that of a twig breaking was heard across the planet. It was the sound of the poetic bone of oversensitive tiki-taka saints breaking. After 16 years and a legion of new cross-eyed people, Spain came out of an official match (my keyboard got stuck, but I forced myself to be strong) defeated in possession of the ball. In possession and, misfortune of all misfortunes, in the pass. Four of these sacrosanct things mercilessly torn from the alphabet of the pseudoguardiolistas in a measly hour and a half, specifically the 137th hour and a half (plus possible overtime) played by the Spanish team since the final of the 2008 Euro Cup. retro maturityin counterattack, which consisted of tiki-taka like pork for the Jews.
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