The World Cups are memories. Each one of yours. All wonderful. Especially in victory. Also in defeats. The first of mine is from Spain'82, with the courtyard of the School La Inmaculada -Cutadura to understand us- full of shirts of Naranjito. Mexico'86 and Italy'90 coincided with the summers of my adolescence and first youth in El Puerto, watching Eloy fail the penalty against Belgium at home with my father. Or to Toto Schillaci, that unexpected…
This story is only covered by news sources that have yet to be evaluated by the independent media monitoring agencies we use to assess the quality and reliability of news outlets on our platform. Learn more here.
The World Cups are memories. Each one of yours. All wonderful. Especially in victory. Also in defeats. The first of mine is from Spain'82, with the courtyard of the School La Inmaculada -Cutadura to understand us- full of shirts of Naranjito. Mexico'86 and Italy'90 coincided with the summers of my adolescence and first youth in El Puerto, watching Eloy fail the penalty against Belgium at home with my father. Or to Toto Schillaci, that unexpected…