As the blog begins, it seems that I should lend some credibility to my self proclaimed “expertise” in Italian football. And like every other love story, it came about with falling in love with an experience rather than an individual. The weekend in question is one of my most recent experiences, but by far the most varied so it seemed like the best place to start. This blog will cover day one, so look out for days two and three coming…
In early April I travelled for “just another” Calcio weekender with my 15 year old daughter Isabelle in tow. I guess that makes us a little unique too, most people go to matches with their mates or their son, I take a 15 year old girl. Anyone who knows anything about 15 year old girls will know that spending time with Dad isn’t always viewed as cool and they certainly don’t appreciate early starts and late finishes! But God bless her, my kid Isabelle goes with it and I tend to pay for it the couple of days after we’ve returned.
Pizza and beer and football are three of my favourite things and I think the Italians do them all better than most of Europe.
So I earmarked the first weekend in April. Inter were away at Parma, which is not a million miles from Bologna. Bologna is easily accessible with Ryanair via London Stansted and the rail network in Italy meant that we had easy access to Parma. Further to this, Bologna would play Napoli the same weekend. With both Inter and Napoli chasing a Scudetto I knew there was no chance Italian TV schedules would allow the games to be on the same day.
£55 later and Isabelle and I have return flights booked from Stansted to Bologna. Ok, £55 is stretching it a bit, I added prebooked seats, fast track security and a checked bag for us to share so it was more like £200 between us. But come on, £100 a head to get to Italy and back in relative comfort once I’d added everything on? I can’t go to Manchester from London for that!
My go to when travelling is always Airbnb. I don’t really know why, hotels are great, especially if you can get breakfast included. I just like the local experience and those apartment buildings in Italy are a great authentic experience. We chose one on Via Pescherie Vecchie just off the central Piazza Maggiore. Naturally, with Ryanair and a night flight, it was late so we didn’t arrive at the apartment until 1:30am on Saturday morning, but whatever, we’re on holiday. Who cares?
The check in was so easy, there was a lockbox that I had a code to, we opened it and found the apartment key and let ourselves in. The place was “cosy” but again, who cares, we’re only sleeping here.
The ambience at 1:30am betrayed the ambience for the rest of our trip. At check in we were completely alone, waking up at 8am we were atop a busy bustling market street with Parma ham, parmesan and coffee the main wares being sold. Truly, it was fantastic, the sights and smells of Italy right there, absorbed in the culture. What else was there to do but head for a coffee in the Piazza. Honestly, sat there with my daughter with a cappuccino in the sun, picking at a croissant I have never felt so anti-Brexit. Europe is fantastic, what the hell were we doing leaving this place??
The chilled start to the day belied what was to follow. Saturday was the day of Parma v Inter. We still had to get to Parma, then we had to find tickets. Shit, I never mentioned, I still had no tickets for the main game we came to see! I’d tried online, surely I would secure a Parma ticket? They hadn’t sold out all season! Bullshit, they sold this game out immediately. No ticket. Well, there’s always a chance on the day…
The next best thing was paying slightly over the odds on Vivaticket. Secondary reselling sites are common in Italy and mostly they’re ok to be trusted. You’ll pay more than you would directly to the club, but if you’re desperate to see the game it’s a really good option. The only problem here was, nothing was hitting the website!
Now we reached desperation time. I joined every Parma fan group on Facebook. It must be possible, people must be surely not travelling to the game who have season tickets. Surely they’ll help out a foreigner in need?? Surely??
For about a week before the match I hit nothing but brick walls. But fuck it, I could travel to the game and surely find someone selling there? Isabelle and I set off for Parma from Bologna station, for a mere €14 each return. This is something I need to praise Italy for. The transport system is a joke compared to the rest of Europe. It’s cheap and it’s more often than not on time. Don’t get me wrong, try to get to Como in peak summer season and the trains arrive whenever they feel like it, but I’ve had nothing but broadly positive experiences on Trenitalia. I tend to use the English website to buy my tickets and just download them to my phone, but the big stations have super helpful staff who all speak your language and will help. Definitely don’t get caught without a ticket though! The wrong ticket’s fine, your ignorance as a tourist will be accepted, but having no ticket is a problem!
Anyway, 1h10 minutes or so later, Isabelle and I are pulling into Parma and the first thing we see is the Inter team bus parked up at a hotel opposite the station. We hang around for a bit, hoping for photo opportunities that never materialise before jumping in a cab to the ground. We’d hoped to explore Parma a bit but the tickets are more pressing. It’s a shame because Parma looks magnificent.
As we arrive at the Stadio Ennio Tardini, there’s hustle and bustle everywhere. But no one selling tickets! We hang around the shop, the ticket office and are informed that maybe by 3pm there’ll be some returns for sale. Not exactly promising. I increase my desperation to the Facebook Groups – “Please, I’m English, I’ve only travelled for the game” – but no response. Well, we have three hours, so let’s go grab lunch.
Easy as pie in Italy, avoid anything touristy looking and you’re getting a fantastic meal for next to nothing. The food is incredible in this country, always has been, always will be. It’s the first thing that always comes to mind when you think of Italy; pasta and pizza. So true to form, we drop into the first place we walk past and Oh My God look at this pizza below! Parma Ham and Parmigiana! That, in the sun with a cold beer and the world of work felt a million miles away!
Then suddenly a breakthrough… a message on Facebook, from a knight in shining armour! It was a simple message, “I have a woman ticket. 14 year old ok”. First I’d ever heard of a woman’s only ticket, but then there was a pin dropped to a pub around half a mile from the ground. And this is where it gets interesting. Really interesting!
Isabelle and I set off immediately on foot towards the pub, Google Maps reckons 25 minutes but I’m half running. We pass the ground and are now heading in the opposite direction, please god please!
On the final stretch a truly bizarre encounter. As we wander up the road, a VERY familiar figure walks out in front of us. No, surely it isn’t? It is, someone else just asked for a photo… “Lilian!” I shout, “A picture?”
Somehow, in this little back street cut through in Parma, I’ve bumped into former Parma and Juventus player and French World Cup Winner Lilian Thuram. His son now plays for Inter so it makes sense he’d be in attendance for this match. A lovely bloke, with very little English, he happily posed for photos with Isabelle and I before we head off to the pub.
As we approach the pub, it’s clear this is a testosterone charged environment. This is the Ultras. Mattia greets Isabelle and I at the door and ushers us in, I duly buy him a pint.
Now, the Ultras have a very mixed reception in Italy and Europe. Viewed on by some as nothing more than hooligans, but by others – including themselves – as the life blood of the club. They travel to every match, they rally the team when required, they organise charity events and they fill the stadium with noise and get every chant going. And yes, they fight each other.
It’s a complicated relationship that clubs have with their Ultras and the other fans at the clubs, which I won’t go into in any great detail here but if you want to know more, Tobias Jones’ book Ultra is a great insight into their World.
One thing I will say is, if you turn up and you’re ready to get involved and be part of their World – you cannot wish to meet a friendlier and more welcoming bunch. Immediately a Sambuca shot is thrust into my hand, a scarf wrapped around my neck and I’m welcomed.
Their English is probably only slightly better than my Italian and conversation is limited to saying names like “Gianfranco Zola” and everyone nodding and cheering. Mattia brings over his friend Andrea, an absolute tree of a man, who hugs me and welcomes me.
I explain the ticket predicament to him, “No problem”, he says, “we can get you in”. Pints downed, we march off the four of us to the ground, Mattia on his pushbike, and I’m handed Andrea’s son’s season card and his ID. Apparently I’m going to be passing for a 12 year old boy. Andrea explains that I just need to keep my thumb over the picture, “the only check the name matches”. Surely, surely, this isn’t going to work.
As we arrive at the Tardini, the throng of people at the gates parts and we are ushered to the front. Andrea must be a big deal I figure, and even more so when none of our tickets are even checked, we’re ushered into the ground. I hand over – as agreed – a €50 note to Mattia and he takes us into the underbelly of the huge open Kop behind the goal. Again, the queues part and we are handed a beer each, more people come to kiss Andrea on each cheek – yep, he’s the guy here.
Mattia takes Isabelle and I into the stand in the last few minutes before kick off and it is absolute pandemonium in there. People are everywhere, there are far more people than there’s space for and we take our place a third of the way up a staircase. There’s no stewards or security inside this stand, another quirk of the Ultras sections – the club expects them to self police. Largely it works. Yeah it’s over subscribed and there’s a strong smell of weed around, but there’s good vibes only here.
As the game kicks off, no one is paying any attention whatsoever. The young lads down at the front are on their perch, back to the pitch facing the crowd, megaphone to their mouths starting every chant. Flags everywhere wave around, we can only catch glimpses of the match through the singing, jumping, flags and general party vibe. Football is secondary today to everyone just getting together and catching up on their weeks. Perhaps it’s not always like this, Inter are top and Parma scrapping to survive, so defeat is generally accepted before a ball was even kicked.
And sure enough, Darmian gives Inter the lead after 15 minutes and the away section erupts behind the opposite goal. Right on half time, Thuram doubles Inters’ lead with potentially one of the worst goals he’ll ever score. And no one noticed. The noise never stopped, the singing never stopped, the flags never stopped. They’re here to support their team, not to react to a setback.
In the second half a new Parma emerge, pulling a goal back on the hour before equalising on 69 minutes from Ondrejka. And you can bet your life that there were spectacular scenes on the equaliser. Limbs everywhere, people falling downstairs, beers being hurled in the air, pure delirium, this was a brilliant display of emotion and it was impossible not to raise a smile for them. Ultimately they deserved it, they fought right until the end and Inter were poor. The game ended in a draw, this was to be the theme of the weekend, 2-2 but it felt like a victory for Parma. They deserved it.
As we filtered out of the stadium, I joined my new friends back at the same bar and we had a few more beers and sambucas, posed for photos and exchanged numbers to become friends for life. Every now and again I still get a text from Andrea after a matchday and we briefly speak to each other in broken English about football. One day they want to join me in Gillingham for a match, I think they’ll be disappointed by the atmosphere.
I sat on the 10pm train back to Bologna with Isabelle and shared a smile with no words as we ate kebab. This was everything we loved about travelling to Italy to watch football, the experiences, the dashing around, the new friends, the atmosphere and the crazy games. And, above all, it’s only day one. There’s two days left yet…
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