In the first year of the Age of the card, it will be ironic to die one by one, under "friendly fire".
As in the trenches of World War II. General of cavalry academy and wipes table, graduated crazy ideological and cynical for greed, for greed, careerists leccaculo, spies. To launch the suicide attack enemy lines, to move men toward the fire. With binoculars in hand. And then the police in the rear, to serve the boss of the moment. A men choose to put them on the wall, one in ten, the decimation. A shot Italian to punish them for disobeying the order of being massacred absurd, cowardly executed in real or imagined. They, in that first line there had never been.
happens that way.
exaggerated.
a warning not to die. Of offense from either stage. We should not cry on them ahead of time. So be it. Re-emerge from the analogy of war. And we go out of metaphor: here Maroni was not enough, we also wanted Casillo!
The dream, the miracle at the sky so often invoked by superstitious populace, came true. And he knew even Virgin Radio. The beatification process is began in July. And the city hath been spread like a shroud under the feet of reviving.
Six months. Six months after his first speech on TV. The voice of the old master who returns dall'Ade to claim rights of succession. Tears in the eyes of nostalgic Zemanlandia was (sic), the agora to debate fiercely about the pick and on the promises, so similar to the bravado of not deserving of attention, the ancient lord of these lands. "Carry Zeman carry Pavone, back in the series! Access." Swing early summer. And beneath the surface of appearance, the precise plan of a new scale. The whole city, from its fragile institutions at the mercy of twenty at a more prudent and servile business, happy slave, was part of the rebirth of the business plan approved marpione. Bonapartism, they say in politics. Cesario. Incite the crowds to the sound of a project belligerent, dust off the past, the epic golden age, and drive the mass dreaming and fierce (which never before had seemed to have noticed the decline when it was sunk) hips in soft bureaucracies: the eight members, of course, but also the mayor, the Assindustria, and so on and so forth. A Sword of Longinus, wielded with punctuality chattering to each end of that life ordeal that was the summer of 2010 the Union Sports. Fina won the day, and we all know how it went. It revived the circus: the Journal, the Courier, the Guerin Sportivo, even the Manifesto, elbowing in for a closer look at in vitro fertilization of the dinosaur. Jurassic park on the lawn of Zaccheria. Nani, trapeze artists and dancers at the court of Bohemia, while Don Pasquale collect the granting of the fifteen-free municipal stadium, bartenders and exclude illegal vendors from the temple, picking up around young people under 20 (which earn money mo 'bonus for the league every Sunday playing) to simulate a team to give the Prophet (armored screen for any hint of critical technical and tactical and philosophical), increased to 15 euro tickets of the popular and tied the subscription card to the fans.
Then we have made the fines: the plastic bottles that fly in the field to baptize the referee horned habit typical of average fan-the dawn of time, but also the usual paraphernalia of the ultras: the chants against that piece of shit Maroni until the torches, smoke bombs, firecrackers, waving banners fuoridimensionate by splashing water on the linesman.
Inside, Don Pasquale, after the first penalty in that of Fano.
"Idiots", he penned the scribe Zingarelli. Caused the square, which was rallying around the compact, threatening higher prices and calling for a more careful and targeted repression. As if to say that before the advent of his second reign, the police had been guilty with his hands in his pockets. And now the squire felt an urgent need to recruit new faithful horse in the feud left for too long at the mercy of incompetent and bland performers.
But this has not prevented the stadium remain equal to itself. Same as what has always been. In what they have charm. Just think of a birthday party. Suddenly from the back becomes a space and celebrated in honor of lighting a smoke. Invariably, one in the crowd to laugh, to say mo 'comment: "And you're at the stadium?". Rhetorically, it is clear that the stadium is the place of smoke. For all, forever. But not for the league. Not for the "law".
capopopolo A shrewd, attentive to their own people, would raise the shield and the sword again challenge the above. Rozzi, Ancona, Viola, they would have, at the time. He raised his voice against the loggia of the powerful football. He attacked the shrine of the absurd fines and disciplinary action. He scattered the word, related companies joining forces. It would be attached to the phone, waking up at night Presidents Caves and Nocera, Tarantino and Benevento, to rally to say "Enough!" The silly quirks that strangle the Pro Football League Probably
would the example of the birthday party. Why
18 thousand euro fine for chants against Maroni and color in the stands is far too long for any logic. We heard Don Pasquale squawking for something to be welcomed. And maybe even my generation, who hoped to have him goodbye forever sixteen years ago, would have had sympathy for his cause. For the crusade of beggars C Series Maybe we would not have said explicitly and in public. But a guerrilla war aimed at the prohibition of football and we welcome the abuse. You bet.
Instead, all the ladies here call "Don", never having taken vows church (!), Chose a different exit strategy. It increased to 30 steps tickets €. € 30, 60 thousand pounds, for a game of third set. Decimation. No, mass shooting. Retaliation. To punish the ultras, orphans (and certainly not their fault) of the Curva Nord, tidy up your corner of the so-called East Forum
And the street, which was to occur, mesmerized by the words of Saint Joseph of the caudillo as Vesuvius and worse with the sirens of Ulysses' crew, supported unconditionally. After years of poor fireworks and live animals forced into a desperate flight in the field (the rabbits local population, the cockerels Bari), has suddenly brought backdated. Of special education, English. The barons the fuck have said "Enough!". Enough with the ultras and their incivility. Enough with these criminals masquerading as fans. They have relied on the complaint (with the help of CCTV cameras), the arrest, deportation, stoning. All just to please the new ruler of unreasonable reasons at no cost. An entrepreneur who wants to do so without serious consideration to the normal risks of business (this is no different from Marchionne, but never mind), one who wants to capopopolo without a people. Without intelligence. Without recognition, no respect, against anyone who has followed the Foggia in the darkest nights of midnight. "But it does not give a damn a quello…”, dicono i più avveduti, quelli che la sanno lunga, a mezza bocca. “Quello soldi vuole fare!”. Indubbio. Triste e indubbio.
Così come indubbio è che questo continuo parlare di soldi, questo strapotere dei soldi, questo ritenere i soldi unico valido fine per qualsiasi sacrificio e al contempo unica giustificazione seria per qualsiasi azione, stia smorzando la fiamma di una passione che sembrava inestinguibile.
Anche questo è molto triste. Ma sembra interessi solo ad una minoranza di sudditi.
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