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True blue victory

An Italian football fan in Chennai relives the FIFA excitement

Being one of the very few Italians in Chennai is not easy: with the World Cup just over and the Azzurri crowned World Champions for the fourth time, I've been missing my loud fellow countrymen, who were going berserk and invading the squares in Rome, Milan and Naples partying all night long, while I was stuck here in `Cricketland'. Though I do like Chennai, it is easy to understand that at that moment, I would have loved to be back home in Italy or, like every football fan, in Berlin, eager to take part in the victory celebrations. Last Sunday, not only 22 players of 2 different nations were challenging themselves at the Olympiastadion in Berlin, but also a horde of football activists. Soon the challenge gave way to huge celebrations. Since I arrived here a month ago, I have been following all of Italy's games from different places: the entry match won for 3-0 against Ghana and the shameful (an own goal and especially a red card are not things to be proud of) 1-1 draw to the U.S. at my place in Adyar; the well-deserved 2-0 victory over the Czech Republic that reloaded the Azzurri with vital motivation, in a five star hotel on Anna Salai (I got caught in this trap just once - lounge music is not the ideal soundtrack to football); the doubtful penalty with which we defeated Australia 1-0 in a restaurant by the sea in Kottivakkam; the stunning 3-0 defeat of Ukraine in a brand new café in Indira Nagar; and last but not the least, the match that opened the road to the final for Italy: the semi-final 2-0 win against Germany, the hosts of the tournament, and one of the favourites for the World Cup this year, supported by enthusiastic fans.

I was in an Italian restaurant in Nungambakkam, surrounded by Italians, who like me are living in Chennai for cultural purposes or (mostly) are on business trips to the city, and by many Tamil football enthusiasts - a community which, from what I have witnessed, is growing larger and larger. It is amazing how sport can sometimes erase boundaries of every sort: cultural, economic, religious, and especially those caused by social standing. That is the essence of football: for 90 minutes (or 120 in the case of extra time) the audience is united in a fraternal communion of screams, loud abuses of the referees decisions, hugs and kisses after a goal is scored, tears after one is conceded. That is what happens during a proper football game. Boredom must be left at home. But let's stop daydreaming and come back to reality: with the match over, the spell is broken, and everything returns to so-called normality.

As a football militant, back to last Sunday's final. Even if surrounded by a clan of French tourists in the Italian restaurant in Kottivakkam where I had gone, on the verge of a heart attack on quite a few occasions, I must say I really enjoyed the efforts on both sides of the pitch to play a tense game, not only for the eyes of the stadium-goers, but also for those millions of people glued to TV screens across the five continents. I had not watched France's winning penalty against Portugal, according to a superstition diffused among Italy's fans after our loss to France in the Euro 2000 final in Rotterdam six years ago. But that was another story: in Brussels, they were the reigning World Champions, we the daring challengers. Last Sunday, both Italy and France were two teams that had a lot to prove, who unexpectedly but deservingly made it to the final after quite a bit of unfavourable criticism at the beginning of the tournament. I won't say that they had nothing to lose: on the contrary, they had everything to win. France had the chance to win their second World Cup, elevating them to the worldly prestige of a country like Argentina, unjustly eliminated in the quarter finals more by Fate than by Germany; Italy, so far a three-time world-beater, got hold of its fourth World Cup trophy, making its way closer to the five golden trophies won by Brazil, and entering into legend.

It was not Ballack who lifted the 2006 FIFA World Cup (that long ago replaced the Coupe Jules Rimet), nor Zidane, who shamefully ended his career with a red card following some unreasonable behaviour. What a joy when I saw, with my incredulous eyes, Cannavaro laying his hands on football's holiest of holies! All of that after a match played with fair play (ignoring Zidane), breathtaking until the last minute, with no boring tactical slow-downs of rhythm, no goalies' aimless tug-of-war kicks: I only regret those hideous penalties.

But still, thank heavens, Italy won.

GIUSEPPE TRAPANI

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