Wednesday, August 25, Fano-Foggia 1-2
Let's do this. This will be a bit corny, perhaps sad, melancholic as some Impressionist paintings with the sunset, the flowers white and ponds. But in a time like this, I just can not do better. Be satisfied.
--- The other night, Francis, who does not follow, does not know and do not usually want to know anything about these ghostly "parallel worlds" I asked, in essence, to really push - in a football made of poisons , television, repression, interest and collusion - to make the group and go where your heart takes you. Without possibility of refutation, I said that the group itself. Sure, Foggia, Unione Sportiva 1920. No doubt I was a fan of the Rossoneri before anything else. But there is a strange alchemy, a kind of adrenaline da banda, che si autoalimenta a chilometri e compagnia. È lo scarto, il volano, la differenza sostanziale. E qui non c’entrano i discorsi su quanto di puro sia rimasto in un mondo corrotto o baggianate simili. È la verità, comunque la si voglia intendere.
Umberto è del 1994. Io non ci voglio neppure pensare a cosa facevo nel ‘94. Mi stavo per diplomare, sentivo le posse, occupavo scuola. La compilation da trasferta corre sull’asfalto. Walter il mago è del 1993, Sogni di rock and roll del ‘91. Tango forse dell’85. Non ci voglio pensare. È la sua prima trasferta in gruppo. Il sole brucia la A14, direzione Nord. Qualche accenno di incolonnamento da rientro, ma tutto sommato si marcia spediti. Fano could be the last, someone says. And the thought is driven back down, basically. In the hold of the soul. Can not live if we focus on death, and nature takes its course. Millennia of human experience shows that pyramids and Gothic cathedrals rise despite the end is guaranteed for all. That's fine. They forbid us to Lanciano unexplained questions of public policy, then armored Barletta and Castellammare. A glance at the calendar, if all goes well, will return Oct. 10 to travel in the direction of Gela, Sicily. Unless you go through in the Cup. Calculations, combinations, joints. Living your passion is becoming a large-scale Risiko. But we must not think about it, we detto: Umberto, alla sua prima trasferta, non merita de profundis. E allora la storia è la solita: strada, Borghetti, sigarette, musica. L’ingresso nel paese, l’arrivo allo stadio, le sciarpe enormi ed invernali.
Una camionetta di carabinieri e svariate macchine. Tipi appiedati con sguardo eccessivamente serio, visto il contesto ancora pienamente vacanziero. “Qui non si parcheggia”, ci intima un tale in borghese (ma che sia sbirro ce l’ha scritto in faccia). Un dito ci indica un altrove ultraterreno, che nelle nostre manovre si trasforma nel cortile di un condominio. Motivi di sicurezza a noi ignoti, evidentemente, ritengono quel posto di gran lunga più affidabile. Un sorriso al pensiero di Guests parked cars in Campo Real. But you know, logic has abandoned these lands. And then, we have not done mica preventive visits. Maybe that is a residence of Foggia emigrants. At the gates are inflexible. Who is without a ticket must be the queue at the box office. The police sealed the area and that divide the two sides, opening to pass without a coupon. There is a significant line to be the end of August. At least eighty are Foggia. The others are Fano. A row promiscuous, leading fatal thoughts: Why separate upstream that then, by force, you reconnect to the valley? Because, as the ad says, what comes to crush soft? It is not known, but we have set ourselves not to think. That's it, take it or leave it. "Oh, are in a row ... also on behalf of others, you might have to suspend the game because it takes time here?". The
Foggia goes under, draws and wins 2-1. Little else to add, almost nothing to report: the Europol of Insignia, which reminded me to Baggio at the Delle Alpi against us, the good thirty ultras Fano, who infiltrates the police do a great job in coverage (! ), the battles of water (a few sketches hit the linesman, who deems them spit repeated and volunteers, and its report will condemn the Foggia to pay 5 thousand euro, an absurdity that cries out for revenge and opens a thousand other threads currently in progress).
We go out. There is to be recovered Manu mother, walking with his buggy and Aurelio in Fano emergency ultras, and decide: Marotta or Mondolfo. Eternal dilemma. The first is the sea. A beer, we assume, will cost a pandemonium. The second is just over the hills. But in more than 2 km scared to death, so he opts for the blunder. The kiosk is a stone's throw from the beach, the sky is gray, the sea as well. Luna low and barely audible, heavy metal music. 4 a € 0.66. We knew it. But like Aurelio and enjoyed the view to follow the waves. He decides for all. "We can sit down?" Ask politely. "Yes, but I do not discount anyone, "replied the girl, a jar hydro sympathy. Came the first glasses. And the perfect time is actualized. Again. For the last time? Do not think about it, forget about it. We try, but the card occupies our thoughts, our words soak. It could not be otherwise. It is a sword of Damocles over the heads of us all. A fucking sword of Damocles. There are civil rights, of course, there is the business of banking, safe, and there is football sick and devastated by the TV and interests, of course. But there we are, above all. The Plot to avoid new nights like this. Unbearable. The speech turns. We have no use denying it, major problems of communication. We talk no discounts in Foggia, but also in Pisa or Lucca, we arrived early in the face to face against ultras fans, against individual groups. A polarization, a taste of the battle, which is perplexing. Nor do we know when it started - perhaps with the challenge of "new Foggia" Ariston, perhaps in Vasto Cup, perhaps long before - but to the point where we are is difficult to stop the inertia of the avalanche. Of course, new fans who bartered for Foggia dignity are annoying as mosquitoes killer. But there is no critical self-criticism, and even in our own house we must rid ourselves of certain misconceptions. From the desire of the ghetto that we like so much from religious quell'esclusività leads to prefer loyalty to the explanation. Undoubtedly, it would be difficult to get in line at the box office to evangelize the candidates subscribers - keen to revive the dream of what remains for them Zemanlandia - not to fall into the trap. But a greater effort of communication would not be out of place. Many people, stray dogs according to the Vulgate, are not our enemies. We define violence, do not break the soul looted or devastated as highway, do not give us the ills of the country. Are not our enemies. We should first understand their confusion? They feel "non-guaranteed"? Probably yes. And now it's pretty darn late. We were split with a hatchet blow. It meanders between us disorientation, mixed with an alarming desire to normality: what will happen to our hearts, our colors, our miles of Easter Monday evenings like this? Doubt is atrocious, strategies absent. There remains a deep melancholy. That not even the second and third round of beers subsides.
still do not know - while the girl liking us courtesy of a couple of plates of flat bread - that the trip to Lancaster will be considered "high risk" and that Casillo said that the fine will be passed on without the fans, with the increase in ticket prices. We do not know, but in the evening hides the sea, and at home We expect tens of neo-fans virtually angry, so tired of "paying for the ultras" (!) which - backed the Casillo-thought - could easily do without us. Unless one of us? How? Turning points in the stages of boredom and the void, turning passive users definitively tied to the chariot of the "show" Sports of the third series? It is a hypothesis so absurd that, for the first time, it seems plausible. Even feasible. Premonitory fourth round, we are perhaps on the edge of the inevitable defeat and try to postpone the inevitable fall? Better change the subject. Better ritualized initiation of Humbert, the class Ninety-four on his first trip with the group. It sounds obvious irony: while we nominate riders lose the estate. Irresponsible, reckless, idealistic. The new flash. Angel is about a Pizza Zeman that good at that prepares Giacinto di Fermo, or Porto San Giorgio, he has not understood. "They are less than 80 km from here." Behind us the moon is high, tomorrow is a normal business Thursday, the pizza does not arrive before 2 am, but who cares. Irresponsible, reckless, idealistic.
All we know at the moment is that we do not know much, but as defenders reject our funeral and grave. We defend passively. The radio broadcasts news of the assault on atalantini Maroni. It had to happen, we are happy, even if we have enough experience to imagine how high it further raising - at this time - the voices of the trumpets: "The ultras have a favor to Maroni." Yeah, sure. It's national sport: challenging those who dispute, natural sequel to inaction. But so be it. The pizzeria is closed, but Still there is still a bar. "Incredible to think about how the Fano not able to sweep in 11 against 10," Angel is saying, for the twentieth time. And when the first grabs a chair from the pile and places it on the street, we all understand that the moment is perfect again. It will not end for a couple of hours. Today should be so, and the fatigue that also emerges is not a valid deterrent. Well, at least that's for sure: do not ever take us to exhaustion.
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