He and his cohorts lead the crowd in chanting several cheers, perhaps more accurately described as jeers, including the popular ‘pezzo di merda, pezzo di pezzo di merda.’ Not all the cheers were obscene, though. One that was fairly easy to pick up was ‘Forza, Parma,’ sung to the tune of ‘La Bamba.’ There were huge hand painted flags waving around, and I was glad we heeded the advice to not sit front and center. Also fascinating to observe were the physical reactions and gestures employed by the spectators. (Tifosi = fans, from tifo, typhoid, because of the feverishness of it all.) Of course there was clapping, but whistling was only in angry disapproval. There was lots of celebratory fist shaking. When the ref made terrible calls, or terribly missed calls (there were a lot of these that even I could see) the stands erupted in raised hands making a gesture that is hard to explain verbally, but is the Italian way of saying ‘go away’ or ‘leave me alone.’
As far as the actual sports-relevant content of this post, I can’t offer much. Near the end of the first half, Genoa scored a goal. Later, another. Parma responded. Good good. Parma tried to respond again, missed, but a Genoa kicked in the blocked ball. Works for us. Alas, though probably good for that poor Genoa player, Genoa scored again, making what would ultimately be the winning goal. In this one game, I saw more goals scored than I had seen, combined, in all the games I have watched previously while here. There was also way less overacting of anguish for each missed goal.
By the last few minutes, the fans began to dwindle, leaving trails of smoke in their wake. I don’t know what the security guard at the entrance expected to accomplish by asking me whether I had a lighter. I was surrounded by cigarette exhaust for the entire game. As I made my way home, wearing my new blue and yellow Curva Nord scarf, I kept getting stopped by strangers. Suddenly I was an ambassador for the team. Who won? What was the final score? So, next time you go to a soccer game in Italy, if you walk the streets wearing team paraphernalia, expect to meet a lot of inquisitive tifosi.
Aaand stuff:
I’d heard about it, but it has finally happened. Someone said ‘hi’ to me by way of farewell. I guess if in your language it’s the same word, it would not seem strange to think it is the same in other languages.
I finally saw a guy wearing jeans with an American dollar bill sewn onto the back pocket.
Unlike in the US, where velcro shoes are mostly relegated to toddlers, losers, and the elderly, velcro sneakers seem to be rather popular and totally socially acceptable here. In a similar vein, people of all ages and all genders tie their sweaters around their waists here. I haven’t seen it so widely done since around middle school.
There is a strange preponderance of wedge-heeled sneakers. I do not understand this. To me, it seems like the worst of both worlds. Sneakers are supposed to be comfortable and good for getting around. Heels are supposed to be classy and somewhat formal. These seem to be none of the above. Unless a lot of people have height inferiority complexes, I just don’t get it.
I got my first facebook friend request from one of my students at Toschi.
It’s still disconcerting to see fifteen year olds with a carton of cigarettes on their desk next to their pencil box. Or to hear them tell their teachers they need to go smoke. Or to know that people regularly smoke in the bathroom – and apparently there are no smoke detectors around.
I watched one of my students clean out her nails with a box-cutter. Oh art school.
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