Champions night. The fact that the culerada is unstable like an empty water bottle on a terrace in Portbou and laughably fearful like no other hobby, makes it ideal to appreciate in X of her her state of mind to the sound of the game. As long as things don’t go too bad and the team doesn’t play buffoons, she’s able to laugh at herself.

Everything that follows is worth demonstrating. A football match of the Barça men’s first team in a Champions League tie is the actress @dianagmz7 ensuring with a 1-0 in the 15th minute that “it will be too long for us” and @jordibaste asking the referee for the time, of course. It is, with a 2-0 score two minutes later, the journalist @nicolastomas stating that he turns off the TV “just in case” shouting “watch Barça, damn it”. And it is the scriptwriter @DolorsBoatella placing this same scoreboard at the level of historical events: “And you, what were you doing on the day of the second goal of Barça’s round of 16 against Naples?”

The euphoria is so much that the parody account @PuyiFCB praises half the team, to top it off with “fuck you, Ousmane Dembélé, wherever you are.” And giving birth to another Messi is so necessary that the desire leads the networks to place Lamine Yamal on altars… even just for running.

It is precisely Lamine Yamal –Yamine Lamal for dyslexics who do not apply the Puerto Rican lambdacist mnemonic rule for April la puelta, yamal– who focuses the attention. On match day the hoax triumphs that she is not 16 years old, but older. 17, 18, 20, to the taste of the intoxicant. The bad tongues in X attribute the lie to the Madrid environment. The ball gets big, but @EliLeezayy finds an explanation for his success: “Imagine that you are so good that your rivals think you are guilty of age fraud.”

So the culé returns to his old ways: “Enjoy Lamine Yamal, he has little left to retire,” says @Torren__.

The revelry continues and the game is won. @JaumeTorres14 comes up and asks to meet Madrid.

“Calm down,” they tell him.

–All in, always –he answers.

Xavi, for his part, shakes off the criticism. “It was said that we were the jester of the Champions League. What do we do now?” reproaches the coach. But it is clear that when Ramon Besa, rightly, wrote it he was not referring to Xavi’s Barça, but to the last Barças of recent years. The 2-8 against Bayern Munich, the 4-0 in Liverpool, the 3-0 in Rome. Xavi would do well to read the chronicle well. In any case, a proper jester also laughs at himself