I’ve been quiet. Largely because there’s been a few controversies around FIFA corruption that have disgusted me so much I couldn’t think deeply about the whole tournament. And a little because the NWSL is back in action so I’ve been trekking down to Pawtucket, RI for Boston Legacy games.

But. Spain are in the Finals, so now you have to hear from me again. Because that is MY TEAM.

For those of you who don’t know, my mother grew up in Spain, across the street from Real Madrid’s Bernabéu and that’s where my love for Spanish football comes from. I knew Spain had a men’s national team before I knew the US had a team. Among other things, this means I was thankfully spared any childhood memories of Alexi Lalas.

I don’t really remember the first time I watched Spain play a game. I’m sure I was young, but probably not that young, because the televised games were a lot harder to find in the US back in the day. I know I remember the 2006 World Cup (and Spain’s somewhat ignominious Round of 16 exit), and all competitions thereafter. I think I remember the 2002 World Cup where we made it to the Quarterfinals, but that might be because of watching recordings and reading about it years later. I do know that I knew the Spain kit by heart by 1999 after my first visit to Spain with my family.

The point is: this is my team. It was my first team, before any others that I claim these days, and as I’ve shared before, once I commit to a team, I will never stop loving them, no matter what. So, when I’m old and suffering from dementia, you can count on me knowing all the words to Spice Girls’ Wannabe, that mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, and that the Spanish National Football team is the sports love of my life.

Let me tell you, briefly, about who I was in 2010, when Spain won the World Cup, earning their first star above the crest. I was 20 years old, about to turn 21. I was not in college, because I had been expelled and I had spent much of the previous 18 months in and out of mental hospitals. Things were not great. But the World Cup came, and things got better.

It was the first World Cup where I was able to watch all of Spain’s games, because I had moved back into my parents house and they now had DVR. I would set them to record while I was at my get-well job at a coffee shop and then watch them with my mom, who was also not having a great time around then for other reasons, when I got home. 

The day of the final, I wore my Spain jersey under my uniform. Even if no one could see it, I would know, and that’s what matters. The game was during my shift, but I managed to avoid any spoilers before rushing home to watch it with my mother. 

I don’t know how she remembers the game, but I have snapshots in my head. The match was tense and physical, with a Men’s World Cup Final record of 14 yellow cards handed out. It was scoreless going into added extra time (overtime in American English). And again, still scoreless after the first half of AET. If you don’t know, Spain have a terrible track record when it comes to penalties. I don’t know if I was actually sweating, but even now when I think of how I felt at 114’ of 0-0 against the Dutch team, I get little palpitations. And then, at 116’, Andrés Iniesta, my handsome hero from La Mancha netted a goal. With only 4 minutes left to play before penalties, Spain was in the lead to win and my mother and I were jumping and screaming and crying.

The remaining 5 minutes until the final whistle lasted a century, but they did it, Spain won the World Cup for the first time. We had a star above our crest. When I tell you this may be the only time in 2010 that I was happy, I am not exaggerating. But, it was a pretty big happy.

Now to 2026, I’ve just had a feeling about this particular team for some time. It just feels like we have all the right parts. The solid veterans, the young stars, team cohesion, and clear, confident management. Then the little superstitious things. The primary kit this year is very similar to the 2010 primary kit. We won the last Euro tournament, as we did in 2008. We were in Group H again. The World Cup anthem this year is by Shakira, as it was in 2010. Meaningless, really, but it felt like an omen, like this was our year.

Then the tournament started and the Spanish team didn’t play as dominantly as I expected. The first match was a draw against the soon-to-be tournament darlings Cabo Verde. Things started looking better though, as we looked much more dominant against Saudi Arabia and in the following fixtures, but I kept expecting a little more dominance than I actually saw.

Meanwhile, I kept looking at France’s performances and sweating. I knew if all went well, we’d be on the same side of the knockouts as France and could potentially face them in the semifinals. The way the timing was, France kept playing the day after Spain would play. And I would think we looked okay, only to watch France to look incredible the following day. 

The closer we got to the semifinals, the more anxious I grew. Once the matchup was set, Spain against France, I started preparing myself for the disappointment. “We had a good run,” “It’s okay, I love them anyway,” “I’m proud of them,” etc, etc. I lived in Cleveland for a long time, I know how to handle sports teams that don’t win championships.

My dread only got worse watching the pre-match coverage where Fox and ITV both essentially stated Spain had no chance. ITV actually said “the only way Spain wins is if France gets a red card.” Spain’s RTVE coverage was even struggling to drum up optimism. You would have thought we were Cabo Verde the way Spain was being set up as the underdog. Spain came into the tournament ranked #2 by FIFA, France as #3. So the underdog storyline was objectively ridiculous, but I could see the point the pundits were making. France looked unstoppable.

The results proved otherwise. The final score was 2-0 to Spain. Arguably the first Spanish goal, a penalty earned by Lamine Yamal was soft, but it wasn’t inaccurate. The second goal, however, was incontrovertible, and Unai Simón held strong at the back for a clean sheet. My relief was intense and involved me picking up my 50lb dog in a hug and a little bit of dancing in my living room. 

And now that leads us up to Sunday’s Final. Spain will play Argentina, ranked #1 by FIFA. If I were a neutral, I’d find this boring. The #1 vs the #2 in the Final. The #3 France vs England, ranked #4, in the Third Place Pity Match. That’s literally the most predictable. And it’s been that level of boring since the Quarterfinals, when the only unpredictable teams were 19th place Switzerland and 31st place Norway. But here we are anyway.

Frankly, if the pattern holds, and Argentina win, I will be disappointed. But, and I hesitate to put this in writing, as someone who is superstitious about sports and still recovering from the Game 7 rain delay of the 2016 World Series, I do think Spain have the edge here. Unless FIFA leans on the refs to favor Messi and his teammates, as many feel has happened thus far. I just feel like Spain have looked the more consistent. But I felt the same about France, so who knows.

I will be watching in Pawtucket, in a parking lot, and bullying other members of the Boston ISA into joining me in cheering on Spain. I am already nervous, and excited.

Sports! How could you not love this!