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Phil Willis Online |
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Dec 21st, 2005As the saying goes, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do" which for me meant finding a place to watch my first Italian Soccer game.To be fair, most of my information about Italy's most popular sport comes from my inadequate translations of Italian newspaper articles and my even more error-prone conversations with locals. So keep that in mind and regard most of what happens next to be suspect. Italy seems to only have one sport: soccer. "Il Calcio" is played throughout the entire year (not just in the winter months). To get some idea of Italy's facincation with the sport you only have to look at the structure of their tournament divisions. The consist of several tiers:
I had no idea where the local Romans got together to watch the game, but I did know of an Irish pub near Piazza Navona where they advertised more sports channels than any other. My decision was also swayed by the allure of free internet access and the prospect of getting my first pint of guinness in about three weeks. Nestled in a room filled with Italian men all old enough to be my father (none of whom spoke English) I was ready to see Rome play Chieve. Within five minutes a fight had broken out. Not on the field - in the pub! Italians don't seem to need a reason to start a heated exchange. Some even seem to behave in a way to start one on purpose, such as cutting in on a long queue of patiently waiting tourists in a ticket line. In this confrontation, the ringleader was a hefty guy with a walrus moustache dressed like Ernest Hemmingway in a khaki vest. Truth be told, he looked uncannily like one of the old men from the movie "Cocoon". I'm not sure what happened on field to spark the outrage, but "Ernest Hemmingway" was very vocal and expressively using the classic Italian gesture I'd only ever seen in parody. It goes something like this: Two hands in front of the chest, fingers loosely grouped and lightly touching the thumbs, with the forearms pumping up and down in a desperately pleading gesture of supplication as if to say, "Please! I'm begging you. Can't you see what I'm saying is true!" The only word I understood in the whole argument was one of the few Italian swearwords I know: "Vaffunculo!" I hesitate to translate it to English, but I believe it is a more offensive (and considerably more physically painful) version of "Up yours!" Despite how much I swear in English, I still haven't gotten comfortable swearing in Italian yet. Not because I don't know the words, but mostly because I don't know when it's appropriate to use them. I'm sure there are mild oaths, which you could safely say in front of your parents, and then there are the filthiest of blasphemies, obscenities and profanities, but until I learn the difference I'm playing it safe and just sticking to "Mama mia!" which seems to be the most widely used acceptable low level curse used here. As quickly as it started, the ruckous was over with cries of "Ah, mi scusa" and we resumed watching the game. Rome's captain Totti scored the first goal and if I was expecting a wild post-goal celebration I was not disappointed. I would have settled for Totti pulling his shirt up over his head and running around arms outstretched like an airplane. Instead, he ran for the sideline and started "feeding" a blonde haired doll dressed in a tiny Rome jersey with the name of his six-week-old son "Christian" on the back. Even the exhuberant American football post-touchdown dances rarely get that elaborate. It wasn't long before Totti had scored again, and Rome was 2-0 going into the halftime break which apparantly was the signal for everyone to pull out a pipe, grip it between their teeth and march outside en masse for a smoke. The second half was a one-sided affair where (again) the most excitement came from within the pub when the Irish bartender dropped and smashed two full glasses of beer within five minutes of each other. I'd noted that the bartender's Italian had been decent the whole night, but once he got upset he reverted to English to curse his frustrations. Again, supporting my thesis that if you're going to swear, it's best to do it in your native tongue. In the end, Rome won 4-0 but with about five minutes to go, "Ernest Hemmingway" and his companions got up, kissed each other goodnight (I'm not joking!) and walked off into the chilly Roman night. Unfortunately, soccer takes a break over Christmas so the next Series A game isn't until Jan 8th. I'll be in Sienna by then, so I'll probably need to shift loyalties from Rome to the local team. Until then I'll do my best to keep up with my daily ritual of translating the sports pages of "Corriere Della Sera" and try to learn the Italian word for "offside". |
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