Summertime, and the winning is easy...

...when you play sorry Germans. Blimey, they were poor. But let's not focus on mediocrity. Spain played sublimely, throughout the tournament.

As soon as the referee blew the whistle, people took to the streets to celebrate. Honking horns, flying flags (bought that same day, as enthusiasm for this tournament took a while to get going), and generally making lots of noise until deep into the night.

Gary Lineker's over-qouted statement about football being a game of eleven against eleven, with the Germans always winning at the end, can now finally be shelved. Hundreds of Spanish pundits dredged up this quote in the run up to the final, as part of a complete overkill of punditry (the TV station airing the final had no fewer than 6 commentators in the stadium, 2 motor-mouth John Motson types, 2 expert summarizers, 1 walking-talking football encycplodia, and 1 newspaper editor in chief who's good mates with the owner of the TV station).

Like I said, Lineker's quote can now be shelved, as Germany has lost just as many finals as it has won. From now on, facing Germany in a final is a good omen, especially when Ballack is playing, he hasn't won a final in his life, and he still insists on wearing the number 13.

While Casillas and his buddies were preparing for the game, we were lying on the beach. Gonzo is now finding his independence in the water, aided by his high-tech floating devices. After a cautious start, he figured out that he can propel himself by kicking with his legs...and off he was.