OueOueOue! Little pulpito Paul has done it again and brought Spaniards together the way not even Los San Fermines can. I had to stand on my tip toes for 90 minutes plus an extra 30 before I got tears in my eyes watching my novio, Iker Casillas, hoist Spain’s first World Cup over his head. While I would have probably sold my little tentacled-friend en negro to be in Bernabeu in Madrid, I vuvuzuela’d along with the Coruñenses here in La Coruna and follow up the victory with a dip in the Cantabrian Sea, screeching and singing “We Are the Champions” as red fireworks were set off from the Riazor sports stadium around the bay.I sadly couldn’t finish the celebrations, as camp started this morning, but I feel more proud of this country than I have in a while. It’s become my anfitrona – my home away from home, my family away from family. Hoy todos somos Espanoles.
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