Lewandowski's Catalan flag and Lamine's Palestinian flag mark Barça's party

BarcelonaBarely 24 hours had passed since winning the League title when Barcelona went out on the street again to celebrate the championship. The first team players of Barça gave themselves a mass bath in a multitudinous parade that began and ended at the Camp Nou and passed through some of the most central points of the Catalan capital. Party, chants, humor, pyrotechnics and demands, such as Lewandowski waving an estelada or Lamine Yamal with the flag of Palestine. Two iconic images, especially the second, which quickly began to go around the world.

The communion between the team and the fans is palpable immediately. Holding parades is not new. But no one gets tired. After all, it's once a year. And if it comes after winning the title right under the nose of the eternal rival, all the better. The squad is homegrown, feels the colors and knows what it means to win a title with the Barça crest. They are young, winners. They connect with the fans, whom they understand and whom they are eager to cheer for. It is no coincidence that an estelada is raised on the bus, that Lewandowski picks it up and they pass it among the footballers. Or that Lamine takes advantage of all the media impact of a Barça parade to position himself in favor of Palestine. He, who is destined to be the best player in the world, and not just any footballer.

The party lasted all afternoon but could have lasted all day. For footballers it's not a formality, it comes from within. They feed off each other. They don't wave at empty air and raise their fists out of inertia; they do it looking into the eyes of a girl waving a scarf, of a grandfather applauding with his cane, or of a wide-eyed child vigorously shaking a flag bigger than him.

The most impatient were already waiting for the expedition at five in the afternoon, a magnificent time to start the champions' parade. A day tinged with blaugrana. Transversal, where everyone has a place. From small to large. There is a huge crowd and gatherings in the center. Moving by private vehicle is impossible and some –perhaps lovers of other colors– let out protests. They are a minority.

The parade is long and everyone wants to be well-positioned. The mouths of the metro and trains don't tire of spitting out fans. Suddenly, beach balls appear and people pass them around while they wait for their idols to arrive to the cry of ""Vinícius, beach ball". Others disguise themselves with a cone on their heads. A couple of percussionists set the rhythm for the songs playing at the Camp Nou, which are now part of popular culture.

The little ones are not content with a single pass and sprint down the sides to get positions and watch the bus go by two, three, four times or as many as needed. Those who don't wear the shirt, wear the cap. Or a scarf, or a flag, or have painted their faces. They jump, shout and sing and impose chaos on the Guardia Urbana and the Mossos, who make efforts to avoid accidents. But it's a day of celebration and nothing happens. The older ones are also there, and they are content with getting a good spot to see the team up close. Perhaps in the street, perhaps on a balcony. The most important thing is to be there. To feel it.

Perhaps it was a more serene parade compared to other years, but equally emotional. With the mascot Cat leading the way and the footballers in the background, on top of a bus where two trophies are secured, La Liga and the Supercopa. It's a special day for Lewandowski, aware that it will very likely be his last celebration in Barcelona as a player. The Pole climbs to the front of the bus, drinking beer, because today everything is allowed. Then his compatriot Tek joins him, who vapes without hiding while the fans chant "Szczesny the smoker" at him. Who knows if he understands it. But he surely doesn't care. He, who went from being retired in the sun of Marbella to experiencing firsthand the blaugrana ecstasy and lifting five titles in two years. In his entire career he had lifted eleven. Casadó takes off his shirt, Raphinha dances samba and Araújo excites the crowd when he starts singing at the top of his lungs ""Perico, tell me what it feels like". And his teammates and the people, delighted, follow him instantly. Midway through the parade, Lewandowski picks up a Catalan flag, waves it and hands it to his teammates, and Lamine joins the protests with a flag of Palestine.

Flick's gaze, contemplating the spectacle with rapture, sitting in the front row, is not that of an ordinary coach hired to do a job. It is that of a sexagenarian who has become the most Mediterranean German on the planet. Someone who is living a second youth and enjoys being a coach, a father, and a pillar of the locker room. On Sunday morning, he was informed that his father had died. Even so, he stayed to sit on the bench in the decisive classic. On Monday, he also didn't leave, but rather stayed in the city to proudly contemplate the work he had helped to build. He has received a tremendous return from the street, with shouts of encouragement and words of thanks.

Past Camp Nou, Travessera de les Corts, Balmes, Gran Via, and Passeig de Gracia, the expedition reaches La Pedrera, a symbolic spot for the centenary of the death of architect Antoni Gaudí. The players begin to retrace their steps, and the party is already winding down, although the most persistent want to squeeze the parade until the end. The fans return home with a smile on their lips and one wish. What if next year, they also celebrate the Champions League?