The roar that went up in Puerta del Sol was heart-stopping and goosebump-evoking.
The square had been transformed three days before the tournament started and was going to be like this until the end, because to them, Espana was nothing but going to the end.
On the far end, a giant screen had been erected with barriers lining the perimeter and the whole thing turning one of Madrid's most recognisable spaces into something that looked and sounded like a stadium without a roof.
By the time the second half began, the crowd in it was beyond counting.
People, mainly kids, sat on other people's shoulders.
Others got comfortable on the same thing they weren't supposed to be on, the barriers.
They watched the second half, not losing any interest even after a quarter of an hour had passed.
Until the square came apart when the Spanish number 10 showed up on the touchline, fixing his kit as the fourth official's board went up and with that came the chants.
"I-ZAN. I-ZAN. I-ZAN."
