September 14th
Today will almost certainly be the most terrifying day so far. I've made it through the first week relatively unscathed with only a few social faux pas each day. Last night I asked for tap water at the restaurant and I'm surprised my cranium doesn't have two holes burned through it by the waiter's eyes. Today, though, today is soccer, or should I say football, tryouts and today will be terrifying. Italians do have a certain reputation that precedes them in the world of World Cups. They're the reigning World Champions for God's sake and they've earned that title more times than anyone except Brazil, but I've got to stay focused and remember that I won't be playing against Zidane or Luca Toni, these are just other college age players and their heritage doesn't make them faster or stronger, just more passionate perhaps. I'm not exactly a novice to this game either, I've played since I was six, indoor and select till high school and then on the school team where I made captain as a junior. It is not quite the same though "soccer" doesn't permeate every aspect of life in the U.S. the way football does over here. I didn't eat, breathe and sleep football the same way that these Italians do. It will certainly be interesting to see how I stack up.
September 15th
It's hard to be terrified when you're furious. Yesterday went nothing like I had anticipated I can't believe those chovanistic pigs what right do they have to a relative monopoly on soccer. Sorry, I'm ranting give me a moment to reign in my enraged feminist side and I'll explain it to you. Ok . . . so I hardly even remember being at school yesterday, all I could think about was trying out for the team after class. To tell the truth I probably should have just skipped, I would have gotten about the same amount out of it and it would have given me a chance to work out a few nerves on the practice field. Anyhow the bell finally rings signalling my release from my economics class and I bolt for the door like a horse in pursuit of the Triple Crown. After quickly donning the necessary gear in the bathroom since I have no idea where, or even if, they have a girls locker room, I head down to the field as expediently as I can without appearing to hurry. As the field swings into view I witness a fantastic breakaway followed by a miraculous save and I feel my heart rate jump another 20 or so beats per minute until I realize that this is clearly the guys team. Feeling both relief and a little disappointment that I wouldn't be competing with these talented players, I scanned the horizon for the girls team, and discovered that there was no girls team in sight. Slightly confused I simply stood and loitered for a few moments as I attempted to discern what had gone wrong with my plan. After ten minutes or so I had come to the conclusion that I must be in the wrong place and I worked up the courage to go over and ask one of the male soccer players in my fragmented Italian where the women's soccer team was practicing. In retrospect I should have realized something was wrong simply by the curious and bemused expressions of the guys as I approached, but at that moment I was oblivious. I approached a player on the sidelines and introduced myself. His name was Davide and he kindly pointed me in the direction of a practice field a few hundred meters away. A short walk later and I found myself staring at a group of football players that did not appear quite as competitive as those I had just left. The field they were practicing on told half the story, whereas the boys had been playing on beautifully manicured grass this was debatable as to whether it could even be referred to as grass seeming to be a 50/50 mix between vegetation and barren earth. Feeling my heart plunge somewhere into my left cleat I forced myself to introduce myself and go through the motions but I already knew that this was not the competitive atmosphere that I was seeking. It wasn't necessarily that these girls were bad at soccer it was more that no one had ever expected greatness out of them. None of them had ever dreamed of being a soccer player, thats just not something that conforms to the traditional gender roles in Italy. Practice ended after a scrimmage that's score resembled the football I'm used to more than Italian football at 7-3. As I trudged home dejectedly a tap on the shoulder shattered my reverie, it was the boy I had asked for assistance earlier, Davide, "You played quite good today" he began in a cute Italian accent before I spat back venomously "Yeah? well what good does that do when everyone else I'm forced to play with sucks." Taking it in stride he chuckled, "You should come play with me and my friends sometime, its not official but we play hard." "Yeah, maybe . . ." I glowered before parting ways.
September 21st
So after a week of sulking I finally decided to take Davide up on his offer. I spent a few days venting my frustration by simply dominating the girls team but after I had calmed down I realized I was being childish and that these lopsided match ups weren't particularly fun for me or my opponents, so I quit the girls team. This however left me in the awkward position of not having anyone to play soccer with, something I hadn't really experienced in over a decade. It was only a matter of time before I caved and asked Davide if I could play with him and his friends, regardless of how irate I had been over the offer initially; which truthfully was more because I had been in quite a bad mood at the time, not because the offer was in any way offensive. So late Thursday night I made my way back to the University football fields where this had all began. There I stumbled upon something I had been missing, pure unadulterated love of the game. There were no age limits nor gender exclusion here, things like that were immaterial. The teams were still for the most part all guys but there was a girl here or there brave enough to play with them. I spotted Davide and beelined over to him where he introduced me to his friends Enso and Deangelo. Then we began to play and I forgot about everything else. I've never seen people play so hard for a game that had no consequence. Whether they won or lost they wouldn't gain or lose anything from this match yet goalies still dove for every save, midfielders still sprinted back and forth across the field and forwards fought passionately for the ball. After the last few days the competition felt glorious. Instead of playing down to someone's level I was being forced to play as well as I ever had, these guys were good, very good. Two and a half hours went by in the blink of an eye and my team lost a heartbreaking 2 to 1. As the players began to meander off to their respective homes Davide and I and a few others simply collapsed onto the field sprawling, sitting or laying as befitted each person's preference. There we bonded over the sweet sense of exhaustion that had soaked into our muscles and for the first time in at least a month I felt a sense of belonging. As I lay there enjoying the experience of doing nothing for a few moments a voice, Deangelo's voice, intruded, "Do you like AS Roma or SS Lazio" He said in a surprisingly serious tone. Taking a panorama of the faces around me I recognized the question for what it was, a test. Luckily I had been forewarned about this particular pitfall and taking into account that I was in the inner more populous section of Rome I answered confidently, "AS Roma." That seemed to completely shatter any remaining ice, before they had been cordial, and amiable now they were downright familial. It's amazing how much a soccer team can define identity over here. Over the course of the next half hour or so I must have been asked to come to dinner at least fifteen times, but the invitation that sticks with me was from Davide's friend Enso. He approached me almost shyly and said, "Me and a few friends are going to the AS Roma game this Sunday, would you like to come?" Taken off guard I nodded dumbly in the affirmative.
September 25th
Today was my first A S Roma game and let me tell you it was quite the experience. Imagine the most raucous, extreme football or basketball game you've been to and then imagine what it would have been like if everyone there was twice as passionate and you'll begin to have an idea of what its like. There truly isn't an equivalent in the states, admittedly there are select groups of football or basketball fans who rival the Italians for passion, but what differentiates calcio (Italian for soccer) is that it encompasses everyone. We arrived a half hour early and the stadium was already nearly full. As we waited excitedly more and more fans filtered in till the arena seemed as if it might burst from the strain. Enso explained to me that this game, against FC Barcelona was extremely important as both teams were exceptionally good. He pointed out the huge number of fans who had traveled from Barcelona to cheer for their team. A few sections of fans seemed exceptionally fired up and even had organized signs and cheers. I asked about them and was told that they were ultras, a sort of fan club made up mostly of youth whose objective was to attend as many of their teams games as possible and do as much as possible to ensure that they won. Then the game begun and conversation became impossible as the stadium grew even louder, I feat I had thought implausible only minutes before. The blue and red of Barcelona swirled together with the orange red and black of Roma the players constantly in motion in a display reminiscent of choreography, all the more spectacular due to its spontanaeity. When Tutti fired a shot past the goalies outstretched fingers and into the corner in the forty-seventh minute the stadium exploded. A bystander unaware of the source of the noice may have believed that the heavens themselves had torn asunder and some divine being was descending bringing with him apocalyptic wrath. In the seventy-third minute a Barcelona player whose name I didn't catch made a miraculous header off of a corner kick, returning balance to the anxiety of the two congregations where as Barcelona had bourne the majority of it while the score lay uneven. The goalies performed exceptionally for the rest of the game, as if to make up for the fact that their honor had been besmirched earlier in the evening, and the match came to a close with the score tied 1-1. I lingered for a while in the stadium and silently observed what had been the noisiest place on earth for three hours gradually become as quite and deserted as a cemetery. Finally I wandered out of the stadium in a daze, into the still warm September night, amazed at the cultural ritual I had just participated in.
Epilogue
While this medium certainly does not come off as overly academic the short story above is based upon real scenarios experienced by me personally, related to me by other students in the program, or from interviewing Roman residents. The story both intentionally and unfortunately focuses exclusively upon soccer and while this is far and away the dominant sport in Italy I'd like to take this opportunity to expound upon a few of the other popular athletic past times in Italy. Basketball and volleyball are considered the 2nd and 3rd most popular sports in Italy respectively and their numbers continue to rise as more and more of Italian youth become influenced by westernization and adopt some of its sports. Currently the Italian Basketball League is considered third in the world ranked only behind the Spanish ACB and of course our very own NBA. Two other sports that have a lengthy history in Italy are cycling and Formula 1 racing. While neither draws anywhere near the numbers of fans that soccer does they still have a passionate Italian following. In fact early in the 20th century cycling is said to have eclipsed even soccer in terms of national popularity. It will certainly be interesting to observe if futbol maintains its dominance over the next few decades, or if Italian youth will be enraptured by a different past-time.
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