LAS ROZAS DE MADRID, Spain -- The handle turns, the door opens and Saul Niguez bursts into the room. There's just enough space to slip quietly past, out towards the training pitch and up to the players' residence for lunch, but he's not about to do that. He's been listening in from a small office covered with hundreds of old portraits of footballers at the Spanish national team's Las Rozas HQ, 25km northwest of Madrid, and he's grinning.
"¡Joder, que ingles, loco!" he shouts as he bounds through, giggling. Roughly, it means: Bloody hell, what English, man!