It was actually a dream. Nothing in this Spain, nor in this football, resembles the chimera staged by a group of men overseas, in the allegorical South Africa of Mandela after 'apartheid', but long before Churchill or Ghandi . The selection wrote its little story on a canvas of great stories, but it has been of little use to us, because we are not as we dream of being a July 11. The flags that were flying, innocent, today wave the old grudges, between the corner of a new right and the complexes of the old left. To be Spanish without being against anyone is to be a castaway. Johannesburg's imaginary ship travels today to the

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