How about...

... y Dylan

Tan cerca de fulano

Dylan es tantos hombres que me pierdo.
Apenas aprendido, te despista:
el folksinger, el duro, el loco, el cuerdo;
el francotirador de la autopista.

El máster de las vísceras urgentes;
el novio de la Virgen del Asombro
que esconde una gillette entre los dientes
cuando sale a cantar manga por hombro.

Qué tormenta de otoño en primavera;
otra vuelta de tuerca, otro verano
por los de abajo, desde tan arriba.

Más joven y más viejo que cualquiera.
Tan lejos y tan cerca de fulano:
Roberto Zimmerman en sangre viva.

Joaquín Sabina

Siempre Sabina

El miércoles asistimos al conciertazo del maestro en el ruedo capitalino. No estoy muy locuaz, así que dejaré que Juan Cruz hable por mí.

Pese a mi extraño estado de ánimo, que no me permitió disfrutar todo lo que me hubiera gustado, puedo decir que el concierto fue emocionante: me pareció ver a Sabina soltar una lagrimita cuando agradecía al público el calor y el cariño, tras habernos ofrecido sus dos himnos a Madrid, a cual más hermoso y emotivo: Yo me bajo en Atocha y la imperecedera Pongamos que hablo de Madrid. Esta última, claro, con el final "corregido":

Cuando la muerte venga a visitarme
No me despiertes, déjame dormir
Aquí he vidido, aquí quiero quedarme
Pongamos que hablo de Madrid

...and what to say now of Espppaña?!

After praising the greeks for their impressive job in beating the americans, what to say now about my own national team?

I've spent the weekend with a few friends in Salobreña, and went (A and me, the girls were not at all into it) to watch the game to a bar. Mostly, because we didn't get the channel it was on at home, but also so we could share the emotion of victory (for there was no doubt we would win...:-P).

And so we did, cause Spain, without their biggest star, played an amazing game, beating the greeks from the beginning to the end: 70-47 was the final result.

A very good team was overwhelmed by an even better one, which played like a bunch fanatics so they could dedicate the win to their injured leader, Pau Gasol (they entered the court wearing a shirt that read "Pau también juega" (Pau is also playing)).

I know part of the emotion I felt came from the fact that it was "my" team which won, but I want to believe it stems mostly from my love of the game, as the "Golden Boys", as they are known since they won the junior World Championship in 1999, played by far the best basketball of the tournament, maybe the best I've ever seen.

Go Greece, Go!

I've just been watching the game between USA and Greece for a place in the final of the Basketball World Championship (one of the ups of working as a civil servant, especially when my manager is on holiday: I've taken a breakfast break of almost an hour...).

I, like everyone else in the cafeteria, was cheering for the greeks and am now exultant: "we" beat the americans, the NBA stars!!

I was about to write "against all odds", but this is no longer such a big surprise. The USA has the best ball players in the world, at least most of them, but they don't know how to play as a team. And, as we've just been shown, basketball is a team sport.

Greece, on the other side, is a great team. Even though they have some outstanding players, Papaloukas above them all, they play offense and defense in a collective fashion, one thing the americans seem to have forgotten.

I want to think it was not anti-americanism, but pro-europeism that moved us to support the reigning european champions :)

In less than an hour, Spain will face Argentina for the other spot in the final.

I surely will be supporting my national team, but I don't think that, if we win, I'll be as thrilled as I am now, after watching the amazing greeks beat the so-called Dream Team...