Vasto, September 12, Foggia Foligno-Manfredonia 4-4
After everything was left in midair. Lost in the vague. Of course we'd been out of dall'Aragona broad but as it was still wrapped in the thickest mystery. Friday night Nicole told us about the problems of his car and others still struggling with the exhausting work of the League at that stage of Bari, the party is inevitable Incoming messages to Angelo. "Yes, yes," he said. Car included. Could not imagine what that assertion, even double, would change his life. Life in September, of course. It is not always the case to make an absolute events.
yet. The Lancia Lybra is the same that appears first among the leading protagonists of the first "chapter" of the proto-Crew, the onslaught of promotion in that dream of Cremona. Nicola, who is spared the effort of the pilot sits behind and exclaims: "Oh, now traveling in luxury! At last! ". After all, is not a real trip. It is also a home game, for that matter. It's nothing. That is all. All inclusive, all wrapped up in an irrational act which we have already spoken too long: there are those who jump the roofs, those who jump from the balconies, and those who sing in front of the sports fields. The third would be us, and this is our extreme sport. That why we're leaving. "A luxury," says the Fool, a few hours earlier - on the night of the first candle of Aurelio (by the way, but has turned off?) - Names that did not have to do. Relying on the spirit of the Enlightenment that distinguishes it, that positivism strong superstition that if it becomes ostentatious, he challenged the gods, archaic names pronouncing, inflated with a curse. "Come on! Just to believe in these things. " So be it. At one o'clock we are at. The table with the tarp still offers confetti. The fridge, emptied of all its birds have the guts to be deprived of ominous omens, shows half Borghetti. In addition to muffins Ceska. But we are out of time to eat. To start from fresh, plus. 13.30 Appointment to the steering wheel, then exit and roadside restaurants to shrink the small caravan of vehicles. We are respectful and disciplined. We are told that "you descend and remain locked up, to speak evil of the absent. Because we are animal carcasses that attract lightning. 160 km / h as smooth as a premonition. We keep the group, we aim to dozers, slow down when needed. This time you exit Vasto Sud houses of Termoli on the right and left, then still asphalt. E 5 km from the junction, the light turns red on the dashboard unexpected. "No, damn it!" Shouts the pilot. It is an injection, tell me. I do not suppose anything. Draw near. We explore the complex mechanism that is hidden under the hood as tourists looking to biopark locusts. We share a reduced speed. The dozer has disappeared, the caravan wheel. A few meters and a strange, white smoke announcing a worrying problem behind the parties to the muffler. New lay-by. The sea is white smoke. A piece of plastic dangling painfully melted. There is a problem. We try to solve it manually, removing the foil. We arrive at your destination, sure to have prodded the gods.
A barrage here, at the entrance of the road, just beyond the fences that close access to traffic a barrier there, at the door of the tower block, notorious for the raid a fortnight ago, a patrol agents and six more on, under the wall, the sun. A couple of men on the walkway, with the camera pointing straight to the group. We'll be fifty, I think. After the funny experience of the other Sunday was the case to mobilize more than twenty policemen, police and plainclothes men to lock down a road? But the card did not have to be transformed into a generous savings on security? Mysteries. "The Foggia wins a zero," he says Angelo, before being surrounded by people who asked what happened to the machine; One by one, does the guy on the wall. It seems that the Foligno has also missed a penalty. We are here / Always with you . The hands are high, the voices become more compact, the situation is as beautiful as usual. But inside is being yet another "show" circus. It's strange and fascinating, this year, talk of a team that know the true only in the Cup. It's like a futuristic film about football. Unilaterally decree that ended the first half and we scatter through the plains in search of a bar. At second left, intercepts a police car there. It is difficult. We ask them: "A bar?". Indicate, without speech. Right. Not only is this bar, is tobacco. And it is open. And which has the tables. Bingo. Cyrano Amstel, Heineken and Moretti large. Luckily there Sansonna. The speeches are messages sailors tossed by the wind and always point to the same North Star: the card, the prohibitions, the future. Heavy thoughts that take away a few more minutes. We find the road, we take a climb. "If you do not è questa la traversa, fermiamoci a cantare sotto il palazzo. Tanto, che differenza fa…”. Fantacalcio, fantatifo. Invece la strettoia ci sbuca sulla scalinata della curva. “Stiamo vincendo?”, ci chiedono; “Chi siamo noi?”, rispondiamo. Gli altri già cantano. Uno sguardo al cellulare: siamo al decimo della ripresa. Mi fanno segno con due mani: indice e medio alzato a destra, indice medio e pollice a sinistra. No, mi dico, non può essere. Non può diventare così circense. Uno accetta quel che ricorda, e io ricordo una squadra che sembrava un pallottoliere e che niente aveva a che vedere col calcio così come lo concepisco. Ma questo è troppo anche per la mia memoria preventivamente filtrata! 3-2 al 10’ del secondo tempo. Dico il vero: diventa futile persino sapere per chi. “4-2 per il Foligno”, dice la vedetta lombarda. E si ride. Ma non il riso allegro di chi intende questo sport come puro svago domenicale, alternativa al cinema o all’avanspettacolo televisivo. E ama, chissà perché, vedere tanti gol, e non i gol giusti. Ma il riso di chi, alla quarta, è già sull’orlo della crisi di nervi. 4 gol dal Foligno, con tutto il rispetto, no. Ma non perché così non si sale, ma perché siamo il Foggia. E la parola dice – dovrebbe dire – tutto. Due frame: il coro per Caramanno, indimenticato maestro, e la parola “contestazione”. Non ci placa neppure il pallone that two local children blow us under their feet, not even the goddess of the day, parading in front of the ice cream in hand platoon. Then, you break even. And the fifth graze us, and touch them. It does. At this point may end up even 10 to 10. The smile has long since left my face.
The parade is credited, as usual, vergognosissima. Here and there among the shameless present, whether some rag Rossoneri. A faith-class, which we hope fervently lead again on Sunday at that Barletta, a derby that should apply their own fucking card. The police followed us and does not want to say goodbye. Ran out of time, we should - as Grendizer as Mr.Hyde - change from a dangerous ultras shouting to ordinary citizens to walk to the viewpoint of a village in the Adriatic. But no. "We're leaving?" I ask. Clear the field by misunderstandings. And the misunderstandings we are. Ok. But the car, the Lybra above, left sleeping on the blue lines of free parking, back to flash. And smoking. But the smoke, this time is more dense, and usually ends up in the adjacent ice cream parlor. A pickle. Better to leave the center, then we'll see. A darting into the road, but things do not improve. Indeed, the dense smoke and lightning has been done to the cars in the queue that seems to be the South in the eighties. Better pull over, now do not even know what the most prominent. And here is the irreparable. The machine is turned off, it becomes a boiler. Matthew has lost the use of language, opened the hood tells jumps into the unknown. She sobs, the car, then goes to a boil. Smoking appears that the collapse of a building, goes crazy as the engine muffler. We think he's going to explode. I also think the doorman of a hotel, which slips inside to call the fire department. Advance. But suddenly, thankfully, is not there. There is a curtain of white steam, the discomfort of a state of Vasto Marina, do without a penny in my pocket and disconnected from the rest of the troops. A mechanic on Sunday is unthinkable alchemy. We just have to push the car, now calm after the outburst, to a dormitory parking lot. And start to the station that ensures Nicola, is near. Refugees of faith, with a string of dominant thoughts: The cost of this stunt, jump on the moving train to thirty years old, the appointment of 20.30 in Foggia. In track 2, some say to follow him, that he has scientifically studied the Intercity and knows a surefire way to travel without spending a single euro. A brisk, behind the opinion leaders, to the coaches betting. A brisk, the jaws of the controller. That opens the dance to the controversy. Rejected once, wait for the region, which is really the room to train a new controller. It would be more difficult to escape if a bus. Ok, think of Angelo, we do not have the figures for the age of shit. Better to buy a ticket and wait for the other Intercity. That comes in time. Timely, as the misfortune that we have attracted him.
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