Sunday, February 6, Foggia-Barletta 0-2
I saw them. Why was there. A spare, but I was there. With your arms at your sides, look broken, distracted by the thirty membership card with the red and white scarves. That jump in the desert, sing, watch them more and more I seem to fish in an aquarium. To amplify the sense of the surreal, a dream. These are the four coats of a spring afternoon already. The Barletta has just conquered the "Zaccheria. For the first time in history. For what it's worth. For the first time in our. And it is different.
months. Whole spent months talking about the beauty of recovering and re-establish Zemanlandia Zeman, with close to boast of the wonders of the bench area and total power of youth, these young men willing and talented, are provided at no cost to society intuitive happy to capitalize on its champions at the court of Bohemia, the Casillo's vision of his brutal lower costs. A ill-concealed pride in saying that only 10 thousand Euros were spent to package the rose. To raise to the altars of the 3-3 "Flaminio" trimmed or five goals at launch. To justify any mistakes - technical and tactical - attributing it to inexperience of the perpetrators, the hard winter and still counting on the mythological miraculous hand of the Master. To revive the glory days of anti-chattering passion, against nature, a mad fun even when you lose.
And here are the results. A horrible
squad of savvy thirty-something, bad, provocative, putting well on the pitch by an equally out fashion and out of the spotlight, which no one thinks to ask Mourinho's experience in Madrid or in national Prandelli, which requires 2-0, optimizing two set-pieces and speculating on the counterattack.
had already happened, with Syracuse of regret and Silent Ugolotti.
It happened again. But this time the opponent has a name that evokes the most ancient, heard, derby blood of our people. The derby Ofanto. It is not the same thing. From that football is football.
incitement was not enough custom in the week. It is not enough to include these in their twenties, trying to show off to return to Naples or Milan, that this game was not worth as the others. Let alone have understood the bench in the old, whose philosophy of life and excludes the game beating the arterial vein, the adrenaline, the pathos which breaks the wind.
And the final whistle, with the thirty fish jumping and the squad in the industry guests, our turned out for what they are. I saw them. In midfield, look in the face with half the passion that we put in football, with one third of the despair of defeat to the playstation, unilaterally decide to come to greet the curve. As if nothing had happened. As if you can type in your chest and shake his hand to wash the shame. Children of the new generation, so a football match is nothing but a number of techniques, unaware of our representation of the battle. Even offensive, arrogant in not wanting to learn.
A roar. Inhumane, broken, guttural. This is what I heard. And the chorus was more deserving of an entire Sunday spent having to remember to pull off songs to raise the sky. They took a step back, those eleven lords. Dismay, disbelief. This was not the place that would protect them as chicks, anyway? And the mystery? He should not have shield them from criticism? On second thought: I am a living hymn to no desire to grow, to face the world as it should, to become men.
And that is all around us people were peaceful, calm, even the second advantage Barletta. "You'll see Now that we win 4-2. " Or those who, against all evidence, continued to defend them, the chicks spoiled. But with a team of twentysomethings will make the tournament in Viareggio, not the C1. Where there are dancing in the coronary arteries. And dignity. Barletta 2-0 against the "Zaccheria. It was not readily accepted even in the Italian Cup, two years ago. And now? Those big babies, which someone told the story of a beautiful square religious adoration, which accepts the circus without flinching, try to go under the East Stand. New bang. New defenestration. What will the coach? If you do not see that passion can also leave? One with the team in seventh place, which does not rely on the field in a factor city \u200b\u200baccustomed to perceive themselves as fort, what do you think in these situations? What goes on in the brain of one who, if he had called Novelli or sin, should have sought cover as Saviano? Although Arafat has been challenged by the Palestinians, in the end. And it was more humble. E Zeman, we can say that again (at least this one), not Arafat. And the owner? What will the boss? What fools we are destructive not want the good of this team? He, the diviner has found that we perpetuated the vein, which can speculate on the high price of tickets and no one raise his voice, he never thought of putting pockets to equip a team capable of winning the league will not say, but at least to give us the derby at home against third last in the standings. He, who Ariston - by bully - thundered the league in two years, before an audience anesthetized and completely stunned by dauna a variant of Stockholm syndrome. Now
to play hurt, when they deserve to be kicked up the backside.
This is also irony.
As for me, now that team can beat Nocerina and flood networks Atletico Rome. He lost the derby without a fight. My league is spotted. My season is over.
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