Sunday, August 22, Cavese-Foggia 0-3
We saw the game at Lido del Sole, in a break from work. A
think of it, this morning I did not see anything but kind to the beach. Rhodes Garganico the marina, boats moored and styles of Bellavista cloned. "Ahead is the local Lele Mora, say many, not without a bit of undue pride. Squared with us at the bar enough, the tobacco shop I intercept a waitress, suspiciously caring that I could be wrong door and slip in the adjacent restaurant from 50 € per meal. Today begins the championship. I am appalled at the thought of passing here - including trunks "Thumper" and the concert flycase Luca Carboni - among locals and tourists head elsewhere, still firmly anchored to the summer season and the squandering of profits. At 16 plays Foggia. At Cava dei Tirreni. This concept soon shattered against the rocks as bathing and worst of the rough sea. At other times, the game would Cava catalyzed spasmodic attention, breath-taking. But for three years, no sets foot in Foggia Cava, Cava and no to Zaccheria. They have won or at least have the advantage. Friday morning there was also a half-opening, or a distraction. We thought we could pass through the gates of Lamberti. Then, around noon the cancellation: only enter the card holders and residents. The U.S. Foggia announces prophetically (and do not know by what strange premonition) that will be so for the whole season, not just Cava, Barletta, Castellammare, travel hot, even for those considered "free" - Viareggio, Lancaster Gela - the prefectures will limit access to residents only, as well as to members. A vague sense of mutilation, a bad feeling. Negative vibrations. Just worth mentioning, in this age of irrationality overflowing, that the unfair provvedimento della Tessera del tifoso entrerà in vigore domenica 29 agosto, all’apertura del campionato di A. Poco vale. Ormai la legge è un’arma nelle mani delle banche, e si è pronti anche a rispettare una legge che ancora non è tale. E qui il sole scotta, e le prime miss passeggiano sul molo. Teleblu, la tv foggiana che ha vinto la gara per l’assegnazione dei diritti, ha commesso un’infrazione imperdonabile: detiene l’esclusiva ma non ha un canale satellitare. E non può appoggiarsi a nessun altro. I foggiani che abitano fuori dal capoluogo dovranno rassegnarsi, in attesa di contrordini. Angelo chiama da Peschici: neppure quella in chiaro si vede. La gente domanda marzianamente: “Che partita c’è?”. Daniele è al Lido. Giuseppe e Piotrek battono Rodi, bar per bar, casa per casa. Segnale assente. Tranne che per un locale del centro, che però non ci vuole tra i piedi nella fascia oraria dello struscio postprandiale. Inutile insistere. La situazione si sblocca alle 15,15. C’è un posto a Lido del Sole che trasmette il match. Ormai il palco si tiene in piedi da solo. Possiamo andare. E la strana impressione si ripete. In campo, sullo schermo piatto tagliato dal sole, ci sono le gloriose maglie bianche da trasferta. Attorno, la gente è in costume. Sembra Mtv. Ma più profondo di quest’impatto resta il dato: la piazza sta ribollendo. Le inquadrature su Zeman fanno immancabilmente scattare un accenno di coro. Lo capirebbe anche un bambino: the worship of the Bohemian - icon and symbol in these parts long before his "crusade" against the Palace and pharmacies - is palpable. In the immediate risk of seriously depleted stocks of subscriptions, resulting surge of the card and voluntary exclusion from the ramparts of the groups. Much depends on these first few games. We did not have hidden among us, especially after the mass pilgrimage to Vasto, a couple of defeats suffered would not hurt. Cool a bit 'the environment, would make it more realistic and less religiously impassioned. Maybe if the first cue Zeman there will be some more chance to access tickets on Sunday. Of course, We ultras and the game do not care. Of course, gossip. We are the exponential evolution of cheering from the stadium, we need the steps. Would Demonstrators outside, teddy boys, skinheads, Papaboys. We would be less beautiful, but the ultras is a phenomenon that stage. Tied hand in glove with the rituals of the stadium. Without the church, the cult disappears. O moves in the catacombs. So, logically, we should cheer against. Cavese cheer. But the thought darkens. Like death. Maybe let's keep away, deal with this board in the second row, we order a big beer 3 € (Ah, the Gargano ...), and dissertations of this and that, while the game takes its course. We try not to get involved. It is only a plasma screen, after all, that replicates reality. It is not the reality. If we were to mark the Cavese or Foggia, well, deal with it at the moment. The reflection of the sun darkens the field, the ball often disappears. The first table is folded forward, as if to grab the screen with his eyes. We say that it is not bad Lido del Sole, we expected a smaller, less collection. And then the wild stretch of beach until Rhodes is really nice, though a little 'dirty. "But what they think of those fish to shore?", "Dunno." "What happened this morning?" "Well, well, the stage is small enough, only two transport trucks, I think tonight we should have finished the first of three "," Good. " But the looks flee as fugitives in the plain. Every so often someone tries to provoke, "Cava Force", but before we know, laugh and do not fall for it. The Foggia plays. They see it all. Us too. Shit, I think. Kids who are not afraid of Cava, which attack and lower jaw. We are emerging from years of senators, people with experience in fields of the third series, that if he went to Cava to sweep back and took the insults and provocations ovation and snatched a 0-0 draw. It will be the ingenuity, it is the unconscious that favors the bold, the unconscious. What do you know of a quarry as Kone, born in 1990, fighting for every ball e taglia il campo con la forza di un trattore? Che ne sa Laribi, classe 1991? Dovremmo dirglielo? Dirgli degli scontri epici degli anni Ottanta, quando tutto era ancora possibile? E perché mai? È un altro sport, questo. E il Foggia macina azioni, cade spesso in fuorigioco ma fa capire di poter colpire. E colpisce. Goooooool, siiiiiiiii! Prima. Poi ci guardiamo. Il sorriso nasconde l’angoscia: Cristo, siamo tifosi del Foggia con le ali spezzate, che non possono dare vita a quella passione che hanno esternato per anni. Se questi vincono – e questi possono vincere, s’è capito, laddove non s’è mai vinto – domattina ci troveremo le strade imbandierate. E la coda giù ai botteghini. A giugno stavamo morendo ed eravamo 200 in strada, a gridare la nostra rabbia. Adesso siamo più vivi che mai. E negli abbracci di circostanza al carro del vincitore, siamo stati tagliati fuori. Per indole, certo, per nostra rivendicata scelta: ma non possiamo tifare contro la nostra squadra. Meglio affondare – e affonderemo – continuando ad amarla d’un amore diverso, che tradirla. A fine primo tempo, il raddoppio toglie i dubbi residui. Sono felice e sono triste, mi sento scippato, per la seconda volta in vita mia. E non è tanto per la gioia da pochi intimi che si prova a cantare come pazzi mentre si perde 4-0 a Cosenza. Il calcio è sport popolare per antonomasia, figurarsi se mi metto a sponsorizzare i club privè. Ma così, così è ingiusto. It is as if a procession of carnival parades under the windows of a deceased person, like watching water gushing from the well on the day of departure of those who, in the well, has spent most of his life. The festive crowd in the rear is in serious danger of sweeping away the old army. And we do not need to pretend that we do not care. It is tearing. Thinking that the Foggia win 3-0 in Cava dei Tirreni, facilitating our suffocation, is one of those joys which you can cry. Nostalgia.
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