And you're discouraged. Do you think that everything was ready. The van, the flags, the highways. The slip to meet friends, our modern immigrants. From Bologna, Rome. The adrenaline under the skin, the number of kilometers, the passenger load of smoke and screams, speeches stacked and scattered, Borghetti of plastic cups in plastic glide from one row to another, falling on the pants of what is ahead. And the swearing. Music, crumpled newspapers, sandwiches, the motorway services. I could not wait, I thought, and I was not really into the skin. Like the time before the special train in Ancona. Like that I was fifteen. But how can any comparison to Viareggio Naples 3-3, when we were in A ', I thought, until ten minutes ago. And I would say that life does not always have to search for answers. Antonio Yesterday I mentioned this to the game: "You will see that this ban as well. Tomorrow we meet at the Centre ", and I, to the tune of Battiato, answered with ostentatious complacency (but then who the fuck is safe from me to me when I say?) That the Centre will meet on Thursday, this time has already dealt with the thorny case of Esperia Viareggio-Foggia, on Saturday, and just did not find footholds to ban. Then came the Incoming messages. Prohibition of sale to residents of Puglia. He decided the Prefect of Lucca. And you're discouraged. You fall in his arms. Adrenaline you felt (for a transfer of shit, it must be said) is transformed into anger and despair. Would you like to send everyone to hell. But you say you have to rationalize. Writing, even for those who do not read it. Or who, while reading, do not understand. Will continue not to want to understand. That the battle against the card is a battle of citizenship. Of freedom. Not only the folk trying to continue, undeterred, in the practice of violating other stages. And the peace of good people, which by its nature does not know, want to know. There
perversion. Of aggressive. The phantom of
Casms - Observatory or heck you want to call it - a dummy instrument of the Ministry of Interior, as the first stage of a process of repression. Binding only in the pouring out prohibitions. Otherwise, or if even this lame dummy repents grounds of impeding the free trip out of the handpieces of Italian citizens who intend to march to follow their team, took over the local bureaucracies.
And the bureaucrat, the prefect, the superintendent, a crazed voice wonders if that Sunday (or on that Saturday) wants, genius work. What would you reply to a pizza called to work overtime? What a mason at the construction site? Only pizza and masons who go to overtime mandatory, and can not afford to waste blather, while these servants of the state can afford titled the luxury - the Maroni decree granting him, as if they did not have enough privileges - to place a hand on her stomach, instead of conscience, and say that no, this Saturday there is holding its own to deploy ten men in uniform to guard the invasion of one hundred Foggia. Even in the city about to host the Carnival. The luxury of rejecting the work they have chosen to do. That for which the taxes of this people dull provide the monthly salary. Easy
the trick. Perverse, deviant, and yet so banal.
We still rage. A wordless rage. Without banks, without safeguards. Surrounded by lobotomized individuals who, without understanding, they continue to chant: "It let the card. "
We wanted our isolation? Maybe, I do not discuss. And it is the tragedy of not being able to communicate outside of your circle, from the driver of that van smoky and noisy, the sense of mutilation that you try. Sure, some will say, these facts are not serious. Exactly, then you agree with me that this rage has no reason to exist?
passion. The pure, disinterested, which brings you to spend time, money, voice. A steal attention to the rest. Fouled by the power games that we have nothing to do. And our boss? Our press officer who raises up the signs of the substitutions and, on command, the Juve Stabia wand and its leadership? Perché tacciono? Perché, difensori virtuali del calcio etico e sottocosto, non alzano la voce per dire che è una ingiustizia, di più, che è una merdata vera e propria quella che stanno compiendo sugli ultras del Foggia? Quella che costringe la squadra a giocare senza sostegno, mentre – buon per loro, per carità – ad altri è ancora permesso godersi il brivido minore delle passeggiate e dei cori? Una vendetta, premeditata, preordinata, contro quei duecento rompicoglioni che non sono corsi ai botteghini per barattare la propria dignità col sogno di una nuova Zemanlandia. Ecco cos’è. Perché non è normale – non lo è affatto – che Lucca, piuttosto che Pisa, piuttosto che Foligno, are identified - with weeks in advance! - Travel as "high risk"? And where is the risk? In our presence? All go to hell!, This would say, rational or not. But in these situations the need to fight is even more pressing. As the adrenaline of the above. We are taking a bend to abuse, these infamous. I bet even today, that does not make it. But there is priced high.
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