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Soccer Catania. No Go-al.
The morning started like any good Sunday should. Outdoor cafe, cappuccino and my Corriere Della Sera newspaper. Translated to mean "Messenger of the Night," the newspaper is a broadsheet of efficient reporting of national and international news and contains enough color photographs to cause me to read the captions. Pretending to look local, I turn the pages slowly and settle into my cappuccino. Midway through my read, I reach the difficult and diabolical numbers game Sudoku. Folding the newspaper, I ponder my success in completing the puzzle compared to my past success of completing a Sunday Times crossword. One coffee, two coffees later, my mind is spinning on caffeine and the nine squares that need to be filled with numbers 1 to 9 are requiring too much concentration this early in the morning. I turn my attention to mingling crowd of Catania's youth in front of the cafe. A march is forming, and based on the signs they are waving, it has something to do with "pace" - peace. Intrigue sets in. I quit the puzzle, pay my bill and join the march. My walk lasts all but a block our two as I realize I am the only man amongst a sea of schoolgirls. I duck down an alley and back home. At home I gather my running gear and head to Villa Bellini, not far from my apartment. The "villa" is not a villa at all but a park. Or as the short shrubs carved into a hill describe the place, "giardino" - a garden. But the term "giardino" in Sicily is reserved for the abundant "agrumi" (orange and lemon groves). I wonder why this language still confounds me. Earlier in the week, I found out from the police, who set up shop at the north end of the park, that the circular path I tread is 520 yards round. Three loops and I complete a mile and change. Thirteen loops and I am dizzy. I finish five miles in less than 40 minutes. Not bad for a former offensive lineman. I check the time on my iPod and hurry home. I decided during the sports section of the Corriere that I would check out my first "calcio" (soccer) match. I shower, put on a blue and red shirt, the colors of Catania's squad, and direct the taxi driver to the Stadio Cibali. I arrive staring out the cab window to see smoke rising from the stadium. Smoke? I pay the fare and step outside to hear the crowds chanting inside. The match started at three and it is now 3:15. I find the ticket window and it is closed. I look for scalpers and there are none. The only warm bodies are the cops sitting on their cars. I am informed that tickets are available before the games at different offices around the city. But not on Sundays. And documents are required - identification, passports. I find this strange and look back at the smoke rising from the stadium and swallow my words. I feel defeat knowing I have a long walk home. At home, I turn on the TV to find the game. I flip through 40 channels, most duplicates of themselves, and stop on a scene of crowd standing in a stadium. The rapid-fire exchange of two announcers echoes in my apartment. The camera cuts to the broadcast booth where the announcers are sitting and stuffing an ashtray with cigarettes. Scores of Series A, B and C contests scroll across the bottom of the screen followed by Series standings. Juventus, Italy's best squad, sits atop Series A. Catania competes in Series B and is in fifth place amongst a division of twenty-two teams. The announcers continue the play-by-play until we cut to a commercial for home furnishings. A perfect opportunity for me to consult my atlas. Catania is losing to the team from Vicenza. Vicenza, I learn, is located in the Veneto, just west of Venice. Back to the game. A camera pans the crowd waving flags and flares. It starts to rain, the flares are extinguished and the circling smoke sinks into the dark cloud hovering over the stadium. I am happily at home, warm and dry. "Incredibile, Incredibile, INCREDIBILE," blasts from the small speakers of the television. Catania just scored its second of two goals in the span of five minutes to tie the game. The crowd goes wild. The camera shakes. I am on the edge of my seat screaming at the screen. Twenty minutes staring at the TV and I haven't seen a single second of the action. Sky cable owns the rights to Calcio Catania. And for the non-paying customers, the game is broadcast with all the excitement of listening to the radio. I remain on edge with hopes of a highlight; instead we are back in the broadcast booth. One of the announcers removes his headphones, lights a cigarette and speed dials someone on his cell-phone. He notices the camera focusing on him and dismisses the feed with a wave of the hand. We cut to the studio. The Comedy
Post 14 - October'05 Back to home...
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