The country is so stunned, so anesthetized, that football once again occupies its rightful place as an outlet for collective passions, so tamed since the defeat of the Partido Proceso (Procession Process). Banks and large corporations are back, their blackmail fulfilled; the sociovergence is slowly returning, with a single administrator, the PSC (Spanish Socialist Workers' Party). And the eternal duel between Barça and Madrid returns to channel a sentiment that has no mainstream political expression. A diffuse, globalized Catalanism hides behind the celebration of Barça's goals, and is also expressed in the truce with the eternal rival, the ministerial team full of galacticos. The Cularada no longer calls the 17:14 minute, but they enjoy chanting in Catalan and projecting a more manageable difference than the complex amalgam of loyalties that constitutes today's Catalonia. Football functions as a funnel or a still where a self-referential, real, and vibrant elixir is distilled, but politically innocuous, as it has always been, except during the decade of the Revolution.