Big red speaker, Louis Vuitton trophy and tattoo bet – how Spain celebrated World Cup victory | Spain
Oon the night Spain won its first World Cup in 2010, Rodrigo Hernández was camping somewhere lost in the woods of Connecticut. He had been sailing when the choose beat Germany in the semi-final, was upset at the miss, and in the final he convinced one of the managers to let him watch, alone, on a mini-laptop in the hut where the crew slept. When Andrés Iniesta scored the winning goal in the 116th minute, he ran away screaming, running into the pool. He was 14 years old.
On the night Spain won its second World Cup 16 years later, Rodrigo Hernández was back in the US, not that far away. When Ferran Torres scored the winning goal in the 106th minute, he ran away screaming in the straight line and accompanied this time: towards the corner where his other. the family be. And when it was over, when the fight was over, he collected the trophy, standing just long enough for Donald Trump to leave the center of the stadium before raising it, his time here as well.
It wasn’t the only trophy he had, but those can be given away and this didn’t happen. When Rodri left at 9.38pm eastern time, the last man out of the New Jersey New York Stadium dressing room, he could not carry them all: with him, just ahead, Ladis had to lend a hand. A football team is never just players, or just coaches. When he left the dressing room nine minutes earlier, the same thing happened to Pau Cubarsí. Nuria helped him, their boy: just 19, he looks like a kid down here on the field in real life but not on the field where he is the leader. Luis de la Fuente was with Paloma.
Rodri came away with the trophy for the best player in the tournament. Cubarsí had a young player award, Unai Simón Golden Glove. They also have two world cups, every Spanish player does: their likeness on the trunk of a black Louis Vuitton trophy, which is not easy to fit under the arm, and another in Lego. Rodri had three: both of them i cup. They are carrying heavy loads, big plastic bags full, pieces of history they have made. Shirts, red and yellow and blue and white. Balls, boots. They had cut the net and took pieces of it. They were given rings, NBA style.
Before the start of the final, Marc Cucurella crept up to the touchline and buried a coin on the pitch, just like fellow left-back Joan Capdevila did in 2010. Iniesta was there, his name chanted, as he showed the trophy to the stands. After it, Sergio Ramos brought it back again. Coming out, kissing it with joy, he placed it on this new generation, reaching the impossible in imitation, to go and gather. They passed one by one, Borja Iglesias and Lamine Yamal among those who avoided shaking Trump’s hand the most, until Rodri took the trophy and raised it to the sky.
Nico Williams went to meet his mother at the front and presented him with his medal. Lamine Yamal had passed to Lionel Messi, who was sitting but stood up for him, hugging the boy in the shower, a fan: a passing ritual, an image that will last forever. Actor Javier Bardem was hugging Iglesias, his new friend and idol. Ferran Torres spoke of “great freedom”: he had suffered, hearing how cruel this game can be, how people can be with them, but he said: “The end is written: God gives those who deserve it.” And Keyne is, well, Keyne. In the dressing room – the same one, Cucurella noted, where he had been for the Team World Cup last year – the champagne was broken.
It was a short time – the flight to Spain was scheduled for 11pm and they wanted to come back – and soon they were on their way again. Behind the screen, along the corridor they came, coming down into the depth and light that was part of the arena. The president, the staff, all the players; Many, many people have done this. Iglesias was carrying a large bag as if he were a student taking his clothes home, and he was struggling to stop the box from sliding. On the other side he was driving a big red speaker. Now playing: Dirty Cash (Money Talks) by PAWSA & Adventures of Stevie V. Lamine Yamal came, through the drug war room, wearing orange glasses, four chains, a black cap backwards. He did not wear his medal, but most of them wore thick discs around their necks. And commemorative shirts, ordered up if possible.
Back in Dallas, in the celebration after winning the semifinal, someone made a joke to the president of the confederation, Rafael Louzán, that the shirts should say world champions on one side and Finalissima winners on the other, two trophies on the other. It’s tempting, but they only have one trophy, “Spain 26” back. The war in the Middle East had prevented the Finalissima from proceeding to Doha as planned in March and every time another option was offered, Argentina said no, the idea of a group, an alliance, running in panic. “It’s a good job we didn’t play,” said Emi Martínez at the time, after they beat Mauritania in a hastily arranged friendly that closed the gap. “If we were playing [Spain] like this…”
Something like this could happen. Not because Argentina played like this, but because Spain made them play like this. “We beat them,” came the decision of one of those who were leaving the dressing room. This was not just a victory; this was more. Is 1-0 ever strong? There was a time when the game was over, it was still 0-0, the Spanish fans chanted: “Look at them, look at them! and they were wrong. Argentina could not come out the whole game; as Spain turned the screw, it is still young, the goal seems inevitable; what was surprising was that it had not come, that there would be only one. When it came as a freedom but also an act of the mind that cannot be denied.
Torres’ goal was his 20th for Spain. Argentina did not manage one until the 115th minute. They didn’t manage any targets, the whole game. In the 900 World Cup games that Opta has their statistics on, this is only the third time a team has missed a shot. And this is the final. They had done to Argentina what they did to France and to everyone else, strangling them. Throughout the tournament Spain had an xG against 0.3 per game. “If my gloves could talk, they would say they don’t have much work to do,” said Simón. “Many teams lean too far back,” said Aymeric Laporte, but not Spain.
This was a collective, team victory; it ended in New York, but was built in Chattanooga and beyond, over 51 days. It is a victory for an idea, a belief and a coach as well: a victory for De la Fuente and the program he leads and the program that made him who he is. He started his coaching career at Deportivo Alavés in the third division, where he stayed for only 11 games. It was November 2011 when he left and he hasn’t had a club job since. For months, no one came back. He stayed for a year and a half until he saw a job advertisement: the Spanish federation was looking for a youth coach. He started at the age of 17. He won the European Under-19 and Under-21 championships. Then he won it with a big team; now he has won the World Cup.
“They asked me what is left for them to win, we said the next game is in September because they are not satisfied,” he emphasized afterwards. Simón said: “The manager is outstanding; he was our leader.” Cucurella was in trouble. He had promised that if Spain won the World Cup, he would get a tattoo of De la Fuente’s face and now he has to decide where to put it to minimize the damage, the plane back home has a chance to think. Not least considering how stupid he was.
“I said: ‘You made a bad mistake’,” joked the coach. But it’s not like I’m so terribly bad that you have to put it out of sight. And they are men with their voice. For all the laughs, that last line really mattered, and you know: 10 of them played with him at junior level. The first title he ever won was at the Under-19 Euros in 2015. In his field that day was Rodrigo Hernández.
11 years ago, 16 since he watched Spain win the World Cup for the first time, sought inspiration and identified with the winners, Rodri was back in the US. The epitome of that idea, the closest player to perfection here, no one has played more passes or made more tackles than him. No one was above his weight, the captain leading Spain and leading them back. Like many of his teammates in a fair and responsible competition, he suffered from this, succumbing to a cruciate ligament.
“It doesn’t matter if you fall, we always have a reason to get up again,” he said, holding us right here in his hands. It was 9.40pm when he boarded the bus to the airport, carrying the actual World Cup.
