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The sadness of Spain is not losing. It is not about losing. It's about how and why you lose. It is that you had had an idea, had had the courage to change the usual and go towards something new, created by you, with the pride of the native. You had imagined a new way of playing that allowed you to get out of the hole you had been in all your life. You had dazzled, you had broken the laws of physics, you had subjugated those who never looked at you more than over their shoulders. You had gotten into the ointment and more than that: the ointment was you. And you had made it with your own materials, despised for decades to rise in harmony and cadence never seen before.
You had fallen in love and aroused envy and admiration in equal parts, you had shown the way and you still had a few cards up your sleeve.
And you've never lost applying your medicine.
But you have been returning to what you like best: throwing away what you have achieved, getting tired of winning so you can dedicate yourself to complaining about losing.
The solution is within reach, but it is stronger to flee from boredom. Because everything bores you: winning, losing, what difference does it make if you can have a cobblestone to carry everything.
It is not about losing on the field, but about losing in life.
And now, happily, you can say that you are back in your comfort zone, the zone of thoughtless regret in which, as you well know, is where you least get bored.