I don’t know if you have been watching the World Cup, or were already aware of this, but Spanish soccer fans are lunatics. I watched the last game (sorry Germany, it surprised me too) in a town whose name I can never remember and whose size confuses me (why is it so big? There is nothing there!) and our table of three pilgrims stood out as the only people not wearing jerseys.
You could feel everyone holding their breath off and on until Spain finally scored. Everyone jumped up and we were all yelling and screaming and bedlam and I felt something hit my feet and looked down into the glazed and confused eyes of the guy wearing the Spanish flag as a cape who had been sitting next to me and was now passed out on the floor.
He was so excited by the goal he literally fainted dead away. It was only after a couple more rounds of high fives and finishing the song-chant that anyone could control their enthusiasm long enough to pick him up.
Poor guy probably lost all memory of the goal. The good thing for him though is that since then they have replayed the game and goal about forty-seven thousand times. Yesterday there was a pack of a dozen jersey-wearing fans walking around Santiago and they saw a TV showing the game again. They were headed to the Cathedral, but since it was minute 64 and they all knew the goal comes in minute 72, they decided to stand in the street and wait for it.
Eight smiling minutes later we had cheers and a song, and then they were back on their way to church.
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