For you see, as the final moments of each Eurobasket match concludes, it is then that a particular song emerges loudly from the pavilion’s loudspeakers. This song is both a bittersweet elegy to the fleeting laurels of conquest, and by extension, a meditation on our own mortality…
Ah, there it is! As the keyboards soar, the sublime music floats above the parquets, gripping me with its melancholic elegance, and bequeathing my skin a ripple of gooseflesh.
Perhaps you have heard this obra maestra yourself? It comes by way of a grouping known by its continental ambition: Europe.
In other newsworthiness, Marca.com interviewed me with queries that yielded news of tidbitsiness:
—I will not partake of terror movies. Going to the cinema and paying to be frightened is an incomprehensible activity.
—My iPod is brimming with hip-hop, although Europe and other strains of hairy metal will soon be added.
—I do not cook. My mother and Cristina prepare many meals, or I enjoy restaurant fare. If I dine solo, my repast will be composed of unfrozen foods. And as I gaze at the microwave and the digital seconds decrease before my eyes, an aria will always rise, unbidden, to my mind. Can you guess what it is? I thought as much!