As Its National Team Wins, Spain Takes On the Meaning of "Nation"

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

They were praying at the Boabab, an African restaurant up the street, when Spain's goalkeeper Iker Casillas blocked the Dutch Forward Arjen Robben's shot.

But perhaps no one in the Spanish capital sang with more fervor than Mahbubul Alam.

As the buzzer sounded in Johannesburg on the final match of the 2010 World Cup, an entire city 5,000 miles away burst spontaneously into song.

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

The fact that Alam is Bangladeshi hardly seemed to matter.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

In a country where the provinces of Catalonia and the Basque Country — each with its own language and heritage — strive for ever-greater autonomy from the central government in Madrid, soccer has long been an arena for symbolic politics.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

The famously vicious rivalry between Barça (pointed slogan: "more than a team") and Real Madrid derives in large part from the fact that support for the Barcelona team was one of the few means that Catalans had during the 40 years of Franco's dictatorship to express their regional identity (Franco was a big Madrid fan).

(See the Catalan dilemma over Spain's world cup team.)

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

One of Madrid's most ethnically diverse neighborhoods, it's the place where the massive influx of immigrants into Spain in the past two decades is most evident.

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

But perhaps no one in the Spanish capital sang with more fervor than Mahbubul Alam.

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

As Its National Team Wins, Spain Takes On the Meaning of "Nation"


"Yo soy español, español, español!"

Tonight, however, it was a sea of homogeneity — one red shirt after another.

Every World Cup has its stories, but for Spain this year's competition was especially ripe with overarching narratives.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

As the buzzer sounded in Johannesburg on the final match of the 2010 World Cup, an entire city 5,000 miles away burst spontaneously into song.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

And just in case ethnic tolerance wasn't enough to guarantee victory, he added, "I went to the mosque today and prayed for Fernando Torres."

As Its National Team Wins, Spain Takes On the Meaning of "Nation"


"Yo soy español, español, español!"

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

As the buzzer sounded in Johannesburg on the final match of the 2010 World Cup, an entire city 5,000 miles away burst spontaneously into song.

And many Catalans, who dream of one day fielding their own team at the World Cup, have been loathe to support any team bearing the name of Spain.

As Its National Team Wins, Spain Takes On the Meaning of "Nation"


"Yo soy español, español, español!"

When Andres Iniesta scored the game's sole goal, deep in overtime, the Barcelona crowd — many of whose members were draped in the Spanish flag — erupted in joy.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

José Romero, an immigrant from Ecuador, had even painted his normally black-and-white dog Spot with the Spanish colors for the occasion.

It's true that only the day before the final, Barcelona held a massive demonstration (anywhere from 60,000 to 1.1 million people attended — participation counts, like so much in this country, are politically determined) to protest a recent decision by Spain's constitutional court which declared that the region, although entitled to an extensive degree of autonomy, did not have the legal right to call itself a "nation" nor to privilege the Catalan language over Spanish.

The famously vicious rivalry between Barça (pointed slogan: "more than a team") and Real Madrid derives in large part from the fact that support for the Barcelona team was one of the few means that Catalans had during the 40 years of Franco's dictatorship to express their regional identity (Franco was a big Madrid fan).

The famously vicious rivalry between Barça (pointed slogan: "more than a team") and Real Madrid derives in large part from the fact that support for the Barcelona team was one of the few means that Catalans had during the 40 years of Franco's dictatorship to express their regional identity (Franco was a big Madrid fan).

As the buzzer sounded in Johannesburg on the final match of the 2010 World Cup, an entire city 5,000 miles away burst spontaneously into song.

At one point during the evening, , the 20 young Moroccan men sipping Fantas at tables draped in Spanish flags broke spontaneously into a chorus of "Viva España."

But sports, it seems, beats out even the most fervent politics.

José Romero, an immigrant from Ecuador, had even painted his normally black-and-white dog Spot with the Spanish colors for the occasion.

When Andres Iniesta scored the game's sole goal, deep in overtime, the Barcelona crowd — many of whose members were draped in the Spanish flag — erupted in joy.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

In a country where the provinces of Catalonia and the Basque Country — each with its own language and heritage — strive for ever-greater autonomy from the central government in Madrid, soccer has long been an arena for symbolic politics.

In unison, albeit in several different accents, they called the referee "cabrón" ("sh--head").

They were praying at the Boabab, an African restaurant up the street, when Spain's goalkeeper Iker Casillas blocked the Dutch Forward Arjen Robben's shot.

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

At one point during the evening, , the 20 young Moroccan men sipping Fantas at tables draped in Spanish flags broke spontaneously into a chorus of "Viva España."

As the buzzer sounded in Johannesburg on the final match of the 2010 World Cup, an entire city 5,000 miles away burst spontaneously into song.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

In a country where the provinces of Catalonia and the Basque Country — each with its own language and heritage — strive for ever-greater autonomy from the central government in Madrid, soccer has long been an arena for symbolic politics.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

As Its National Team Wins, Spain Takes On the Meaning of "Nation"


"Yo soy español, español, español!"

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

The 22-year-old had immigrated by himself to Spain from Morocco when he was just 12, and the intervening years explain, he says, his loyalty to the Spanish team.

They were praying at the Boabab, an African restaurant up the street, when Spain's goalkeeper Iker Casillas blocked the Dutch Forward Arjen Robben's shot.

"They're gods of the game," said Mohammed Dauud, in reference to the Spanish team.

At one point during the evening, , the 20 young Moroccan men sipping Fantas at tables draped in Spanish flags broke spontaneously into a chorus of "Viva España."

José Romero, an immigrant from Ecuador, had even painted his normally black-and-white dog Spot with the Spanish colors for the occasion.

Tonight, however, it was a sea of homogeneity — one red shirt after another.

But sports, it seems, beats out even the most fervent politics.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

It's true that only the day before the final, Barcelona held a massive demonstration (anywhere from 60,000 to 1.1 million people attended — participation counts, like so much in this country, are politically determined) to protest a recent decision by Spain's constitutional court which declared that the region, although entitled to an extensive degree of autonomy, did not have the legal right to call itself a "nation" nor to privilege the Catalan language over Spanish.

Tonight, however, it was a sea of homogeneity — one red shirt after another.

Seated outside with friends, Azhar Abbas, from Pakistan, was ecstatic before the game even began.

Of all the stories, the nationalist one has received the most attention.

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

As the buzzer sounded in Johannesburg on the final match of the 2010 World Cup, an entire city 5,000 miles away burst spontaneously into song.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

Asked if the same logic meant he was also a supporter of Real Madrid, however, Dauud demurred.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

"Are you crazy?" he said, shaking his head.

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

Tonight, however, it was a sea of homogeneity — one red shirt after another.

José Romero, an immigrant from Ecuador, had even painted his normally black-and-white dog Spot with the Spanish colors for the occasion.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

With a red-and-yellow scarf tied around his neck, and a Spanish flag emerging from his collar, he was sure Spain would win because it was such a good country.

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

As Its National Team Wins, Spain Takes On the Meaning of "Nation"


"Yo soy español, español, español!"

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

"Are you crazy?" he said, shaking his head.

And just in case ethnic tolerance wasn't enough to guarantee victory, he added, "I went to the mosque today and prayed for Fernando Torres."

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

But perhaps no one in the Spanish capital sang with more fervor than Mahbubul Alam.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

It's true that only the day before the final, Barcelona held a massive demonstration (anywhere from 60,000 to 1.1 million people attended — participation counts, like so much in this country, are politically determined) to protest a recent decision by Spain's constitutional court which declared that the region, although entitled to an extensive degree of autonomy, did not have the legal right to call itself a "nation" nor to privilege the Catalan language over Spanish.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

With a red-and-yellow scarf tied around his neck, and a Spanish flag emerging from his collar, he was sure Spain would win because it was such a good country.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

In a country where the provinces of Catalonia and the Basque Country — each with its own language and heritage — strive for ever-greater autonomy from the central government in Madrid, soccer has long been an arena for symbolic politics.

They were praying at the Boabab, an African restaurant up the street, when Spain's goalkeeper Iker Casillas blocked the Dutch Forward Arjen Robben's shot.

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

Every World Cup has its stories, but for Spain this year's competition was especially ripe with overarching narratives.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

José Romero, an immigrant from Ecuador, had even painted his normally black-and-white dog Spot with the Spanish colors for the occasion.

It's true that only the day before the final, Barcelona held a massive demonstration (anywhere from 60,000 to 1.1 million people attended — participation counts, like so much in this country, are politically determined) to protest a recent decision by Spain's constitutional court which declared that the region, although entitled to an extensive degree of autonomy, did not have the legal right to call itself a "nation" nor to privilege the Catalan language over Spanish.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

As Its National Team Wins, Spain Takes On the Meaning of "Nation"


"Yo soy español, español, español!"

This year, however, with five members of the Spanish team from Catalonia, things were different.

Seated outside with friends, Azhar Abbas, from Pakistan, was ecstatic before the game even began.

The famously vicious rivalry between Barça (pointed slogan: "more than a team") and Real Madrid derives in large part from the fact that support for the Barcelona team was one of the few means that Catalans had during the 40 years of Franco's dictatorship to express their regional identity (Franco was a big Madrid fan).

They were praying at the Boabab, an African restaurant up the street, when Spain's goalkeeper Iker Casillas blocked the Dutch Forward Arjen Robben's shot.

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

But perhaps no one in the Spanish capital sang with more fervor than Mahbubul Alam.

But perhaps no one in the Spanish capital sang with more fervor than Mahbubul Alam.

This year, however, with five members of the Spanish team from Catalonia, things were different.

Meanwhile, in Lavapies, another of the new Spain's identity stories was unwinding.

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

But sports, it seems, beats out even the most fervent politics.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

The famously vicious rivalry between Barça (pointed slogan: "more than a team") and Real Madrid derives in large part from the fact that support for the Barcelona team was one of the few means that Catalans had during the 40 years of Franco's dictatorship to express their regional identity (Franco was a big Madrid fan).

Of all the stories, the nationalist one has received the most attention.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

But sports, it seems, beats out even the most fervent politics.

With a red-and-yellow scarf tied around his neck, and a Spanish flag emerging from his collar, he was sure Spain would win because it was such a good country.

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

And just in case ethnic tolerance wasn't enough to guarantee victory, he added, "I went to the mosque today and prayed for Fernando Torres."

"It's not like Germany or Italy where there's discrimination," he said.

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

With a red-and-yellow scarf tied around his neck, and a Spanish flag emerging from his collar, he was sure Spain would win because it was such a good country.

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

"It's not like Germany or Italy where there's discrimination," he said.

At one point during the evening, , the 20 young Moroccan men sipping Fantas at tables draped in Spanish flags broke spontaneously into a chorus of "Viva España."

They were praying at the Boabab, an African restaurant up the street, when Spain's goalkeeper Iker Casillas blocked the Dutch Forward Arjen Robben's shot.

José Romero, an immigrant from Ecuador, had even painted his normally black-and-white dog Spot with the Spanish colors for the occasion.

As the buzzer sounded in Johannesburg on the final match of the 2010 World Cup, an entire city 5,000 miles away burst spontaneously into song.

As the buzzer sounded in Johannesburg on the final match of the 2010 World Cup, an entire city 5,000 miles away burst spontaneously into song.

"They're gods of the game," said Mohammed Dauud, in reference to the Spanish team.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

It's true that only the day before the final, Barcelona held a massive demonstration (anywhere from 60,000 to 1.1 million people attended — participation counts, like so much in this country, are politically determined) to protest a recent decision by Spain's constitutional court which declared that the region, although entitled to an extensive degree of autonomy, did not have the legal right to call itself a "nation" nor to privilege the Catalan language over Spanish.

When Andres Iniesta scored the game's sole goal, deep in overtime, the Barcelona crowd — many of whose members were draped in the Spanish flag — erupted in joy.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

José Romero, an immigrant from Ecuador, had even painted his normally black-and-white dog Spot with the Spanish colors for the occasion.

The famously vicious rivalry between Barça (pointed slogan: "more than a team") and Real Madrid derives in large part from the fact that support for the Barcelona team was one of the few means that Catalans had during the 40 years of Franco's dictatorship to express their regional identity (Franco was a big Madrid fan).

José Romero, an immigrant from Ecuador, had even painted his normally black-and-white dog Spot with the Spanish colors for the occasion.

Seated outside with friends, Azhar Abbas, from Pakistan, was ecstatic before the game even began.

The fact that Alam is Bangladeshi hardly seemed to matter.

But perhaps no one in the Spanish capital sang with more fervor than Mahbubul Alam.

It's true that only the day before the final, Barcelona held a massive demonstration (anywhere from 60,000 to 1.1 million people attended — participation counts, like so much in this country, are politically determined) to protest a recent decision by Spain's constitutional court which declared that the region, although entitled to an extensive degree of autonomy, did not have the legal right to call itself a "nation" nor to privilege the Catalan language over Spanish.

It's true that only the day before the final, Barcelona held a massive demonstration (anywhere from 60,000 to 1.1 million people attended — participation counts, like so much in this country, are politically determined) to protest a recent decision by Spain's constitutional court which declared that the region, although entitled to an extensive degree of autonomy, did not have the legal right to call itself a "nation" nor to privilege the Catalan language over Spanish.

They were praying at the Boabab, an African restaurant up the street, when Spain's goalkeeper Iker Casillas blocked the Dutch Forward Arjen Robben's shot.

But sports, it seems, beats out even the most fervent politics.

In a country where the provinces of Catalonia and the Basque Country — each with its own language and heritage — strive for ever-greater autonomy from the central government in Madrid, soccer has long been an arena for symbolic politics.

The famously vicious rivalry between Barça (pointed slogan: "more than a team") and Real Madrid derives in large part from the fact that support for the Barcelona team was one of the few means that Catalans had during the 40 years of Franco's dictatorship to express their regional identity (Franco was a big Madrid fan).

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

And just in case ethnic tolerance wasn't enough to guarantee victory, he added, "I went to the mosque today and prayed for Fernando Torres."

Together with a handful of Bangladeshis, one Chinese woman, and a couple of native-born Spaniards, a half-dozen red-shirted Senegalese — all of them glued to the restaurant's television set — screamed in outrage when Dutch Midfielder Nigel De Jong's foot connected with Spanish midfielder Xabi Alonso's chest.

Every World Cup has its stories, but for Spain this year's competition was especially ripe with overarching narratives.

From the historically enlightening (some 500 years after the Duke of Alba first crushed the Dutch revolt, the Spanish again take on the House of Orange) to the classically inspiring (after decades of dashed hopes, a team of golden boys finally makes good on its promise), to the compellingly weird (Muchas gracias to the tentacled Pulpo Paul), Spain's 2010 World Cup has been about far more than just goals and penalties.

José Romero, an immigrant from Ecuador, had even painted his normally black-and-white dog Spot with the Spanish colors for the occasion.

"It's not like Germany or Italy where there's discrimination," he said.

"It's not like Germany or Italy where there's discrimination," he said.

And many Catalans, who dream of one day fielding their own team at the World Cup, have been loathe to support any team bearing the name of Spain.

"Here there's no difference between Spaniards and foreigners."

In unison, albeit in several different accents, they called the referee "cabrón" ("sh--head").

Seated outside with friends, Azhar Abbas, from Pakistan, was ecstatic before the game even began.

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

(See pictures from Spain's victorious World Cup competition.)

They were praying at the Boabab, an African restaurant up the street, when Spain's goalkeeper Iker Casillas blocked the Dutch Forward Arjen Robben's shot.

Chinese wholesale shops press up against Moroccan butchers and Peruvian women in long black skirts buy fruit from the Senegalese grocer on the corner.

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

When Andres Iniesta scored the game's sole goal, deep in overtime, the Barcelona crowd — many of whose members were draped in the Spanish flag — erupted in joy.

As Its National Team Wins, Spain Takes On the Meaning of "Nation"


"Yo soy español, español, español!"

At one point during the evening, , the 20 young Moroccan men sipping Fantas at tables draped in Spanish flags broke spontaneously into a chorus of "Viva España."

Of all the stories, the nationalist one has received the most attention.

It's true that only the day before the final, Barcelona held a massive demonstration (anywhere from 60,000 to 1.1 million people attended — participation counts, like so much in this country, are politically determined) to protest a recent decision by Spain's constitutional court which declared that the region, although entitled to an extensive degree of autonomy, did not have the legal right to call itself a "nation" nor to privilege the Catalan language over Spanish.

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

And many Catalans, who dream of one day fielding their own team at the World Cup, have been loathe to support any team bearing the name of Spain.

It's true that only the day before the final, Barcelona held a massive demonstration (anywhere from 60,000 to 1.1 million people attended — participation counts, like so much in this country, are politically determined) to protest a recent decision by Spain's constitutional court which declared that the region, although entitled to an extensive degree of autonomy, did not have the legal right to call itself a "nation" nor to privilege the Catalan language over Spanish.

On the night of the final game, another 75,000 — or maybe they had also come out the day before — turned up to watch the game on the giant screen that, for the first time in its history, the municipal government of Barcelona had erected outdoors.

One of Madrid's most ethnically diverse neighborhoods, it's the place where the massive influx of immigrants into Spain in the past two decades is most evident.

And many Catalans, who dream of one day fielding their own team at the World Cup, have been loathe to support any team bearing the name of Spain.

"Of course, Spain is going to be my team."

Watching the game through the window of a cafe in the Lavapies neighborhood, his entire body shook as he gleefully belted out the words the whole city was singing: I am Spanish, Spanish, Spanish!

In a country where the provinces of Catalonia and the Basque Country — each with its own language and heritage — strive for ever-greater autonomy from the central government in Madrid, soccer has long been an arena for symbolic politics.

From the shirtless kids taking a celebratory jump into the Cibeles fountain to the old men crowded around a 13-inch tv set in at their fluorescently-lit corner bar, all of Madrid, it seemed, was chanting the same joyful (if annoyingly repetitive) lyrics.

In a country where the provinces of Catalonia and the Basque Country — each with its own language and heritage — strive for ever-greater autonomy from the central government in Madrid, soccer has long been an arena for symbolic politics.

They were praying at the Boabab, an African restaurant up the street, when Spain's goalkeeper Iker Casillas blocked the Dutch Forward Arjen Robben's shot.