It hurts, it hurts a lot for the Diego and because we love the world. We like it because we grew up playing the gig in the checkbox with our first friends or against the next block, because they were our first sporting prowess impossible to score goals between two poles of clothing made a bun. The siesta and walking playing the ball to the popcorn, or putting the court on the street: "Auto," and stopped the ball and then we followed. And hock when the owner of the ball was in penance: "What we do, we will ride a bike?"
Because they were our first rules in life, the first discussions about what is right and what is cheating, and there we left the amazing life discussions, we were our own referees and outsiders are made of wood. The prisons and at the gate golentras cutest on the block, mud balls stamped on the walls and seals, such as territorial marking, as a set of our street. Chupenmé opinólogos egg all, the opening or closing are one thing, but the world as we all play with heart, because we're the heroes of the court and that night we were going to bathe without protest, we had our old will the feat with luxury details and we were going to sleep on a cloud and we slept getting goals and doing the same dribbling, the same facilities to the pot. But if we lost, reflection, frustration and eternity until the day of revenge.
The World Cup is the connection with those times, when we were fogueando in life. Germany are the fucking on the next block, the ball having the newest, the cancheritos, to play with some boots and shin guards, this time we won, but just this once. And yeah, they lament lost championships, not explained, and is not a good player of the bolus to be accusing or looking for blame. We lost all.
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