If I had to guess, I wouldn't consider football fans or, in general, sports enthusiasts in the audience of this magazine to be the majority. But if you have to look at the famous ending between Titín and Retegi, and certainly most of them in the veins, excited or at least surprised.

The enumeration of the repugnant aspects of sport has been repeated and leaves no room for other reflections, so leave them on the shore. The aim of this place is to highlight a grotesque aspect, from the role of the nauseabundo.

Those who have played ball at the low level know how difficult sport is, especially in the mental. There were many, in childhood, better players, long matches, strong hand pains and long breaths, long distances for matches and terrible blows. And the one who didn't like the ball couldn't go on. There always existed, from Álava to Zuberoa, Olaizola or Irujo to cast aside the dreams of the modest pelotari with the repetition of the monumental scourges.

I have seen the double triumph of Mikel Urrutikoetxea as a father who has projected all his frustrated illusions on his sons and daughters. He raises his head in the middle of a dip and jumps in admiration.