In search of Rafa’s belly-button

Right about now Spain is feeling all kinds of wonderful. And my Venezuelan abuelita is probably turning over in her grave that I dared to go against Paul the Prognosticating Pulpo and voted for a giant-toppling Netherlands victory. If she were still alive she would probably slap me upside the head with a chancla. And I would deserve it too. I mean who roots against Spain when you have watered-down Spanish blood flowing through your own veins?

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