I Mondiali or World Cup Fever

We are in full swing with the World Cup. Every evening there's another match to watch on TV - and, yes, we have to watch them ALL. Everyone is talking soccer everywhere you go. Every house has an Italian flag hanging off the balcony in a rare state of patriotism. Rare because Italians aren't like us Americans. They don't hang their flag outside the house like we do, they think we're kind of strange because we do! They think Italy is the best place to live, has the best cuisine in the world, there's no place like home, and all that, but they don't have that raging sense of externalised public patriotism that we do.

This state of affairs is a sort of paradise for soccer fans, particularly one here at my house by the name of Danny. He loves to watch any and all sports, both on TV and in person, when possible. But, like all good Italian males, soccer ("calcio" in Italian) is his all-time favorite sport - both to play and to watch.

Last night Italy played against Ghana - and won 2-0. (Poor Ghana, what chance did they have? This is the first year they have played in the World Cup and they went against Italy in their first match!) During the game, regular life as we know it came to a screeching halt. The streets were deserted, there was no traffic, there was no one out taking a "passeggiata" (evening stroll), shops were empty, the only noise that could be heard was that of TVs all tuned to the same station. This strange and unItalian silence was only broken by the shouts of joy at each Italian goal. The shouts are also always accompanied by blaring horns, sirens, air horns and whistles.

I went to the gym. Yes, I knew the game was on - and I knew more or less how all-consuming everyone's interest in it would be - but it never occured to me that the guys at the gym would want to close early to go watch the game. When they saw me walk in at 8:20 p.m. (or 20,20 they would say here - they use the 24 hour clock) their faces fell just about down to the floor. The game started at 9 p.m. so we agreed that I would work out until 8:55 so that they had time to make it home for the game.

The gym was deserted except for my trainer, Sergio (in photo), another old lady who could care less about soccer, and me. At 8:55 sharp we were about to go home when in walked the one and only man in all of Italy who was not interested in the game. I felt pretty guilty at this point . . . if I hadn't stayed that late, Sergio would have already been home watching the game and this guy would have found the gym closed . . .

So, anyway, Italy won the game. And all hell broke loose! When Italy wins a game, all sane people with an instinct for self-preservation stay indoors for at least half an hour. Because all the maniacs go outside and do crazy celebratory sorts of things. They drive around piled 2 and 3 per Vespa waving the Italian flag and blowing their air horns. Others do the same in cars - with the added variant of at least one person hanging three quarters of the way out the window to wave that requisite flag. Needless to say, they all drive too fast and there are lots of accidents. Yay, we're so happy our team won, let's go out and get ourselves killed! Did I mention they burn trashcans, too?