This Friday night there is more than a football match in Lisbon. Something more than the triumph of a team that gets rid of another by scoring nine goals, one of them an own goal and as a gift for the ridiculous account of the rival. This Friday night a reckless bet comes to an end: that of a country that decided to turn an inconsequential game into the engine of its main illusions and some of the boys who played it into untouchable, almost divine idols.

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