(by Arturo Minervini) – Zero to those who… Those that Napoli are always an ‘Almost’. Friends, not brilliant, who must always put an asterisk in their judgments on the Azzurri. From Parma under construction, to Genoa with Covid, to the disassembled table at Ikea: we had already heard of some crap. Not even trimming four baby food to Atalanta in 41 ‘convinced them. They lit the torches, they went down into the caves, speleologists of nothingness to look for different reasons, when it was enough to simply say: extraordinary Naples. In the pro-Atalantine tale by Marchegiani e Costacurta it was just a bad day of the Goddess. Ignoring the true Goddess that should be celebrated without conditions: Partenope. He canceled, as if it were raining.
One goal was granted, a charitable act inserted between pages of football brutality. Atalanta bounces off the ropes, stunned, helpless, dug out of that swollen chest perhaps with certainties and pride. Gasperini’s arrogance demolished by Gattuso in a few moves. Yes, Rino, ‘A fucking southerner ‘(using a phrase much loved by the Bergamo staff) who destroys Gasp. Double lust with all the trimmings.
Two in the middle with Bakayoko taking up space. That closes space. That invades space. Physicality added to a ward that was deficient in that vitamin. A lighthouse, which sheds light on the distances and allows every sailor to know his right position in a flash. Because the ideals will also be immortal, but when it comes to fighting there in the middle the muscles are still a convincing argument. At the first Gattuso immediately sends him on the field and does not betray: I smell the untouchable.
Three points made in Geppetto. Stories of saws, carpenters, tables and lies as in the tale of Pinocchio and the Old Lady Fairy. Tales told in front of microphones, truths revealed from the pitch: an embarrassing Juve does not win even in Crotone where a Messias has revealed the defects of a team in an identity crisis. Now I will submit you an exercise in logic: given Napoli and Juventus, if there is anyone who should sending a bouquet of flowers to the ASL is Andrea Agnelli, the man of the rules. They are just ‘Crazy Things’: “And remember, Mr. Agnelli that it is a coincidence, just a coincidence that my rules have fallen and not yours!”.
Four goals. There is something better than four goals. There is the hug between Gattuso e Osimhen. Between a man and a boy who found a reference in a life that had enjoyed making the world around him collapse. How wonderful the sport. A school that trains people, that celebrates the concept of team, that creates a community of people who strongly pursue the same goal. And the goal is not victory: the goal is to feel victorious and defeated to the same extent. Becoming a TEAM is the true ambition, in those two hearts that rub the secret of a Naples that turns out to be devastating. That humiliates Atalanta. And scare the league …
Five times already decisive in the league with 3 goals and 2 assists. Ciro was born again, a new Ciro was born: the third. From winger to center-forward, he has now started to be a director: he retreats with the position, supervises the work, projects his football visions on the wall of the game in a free pattern, like the child prodigy of ‘The Great Beauty’. There is the visionary genius of a serene man, of the freedom that moves the deeds of those who do not like to take themselves too seriously. It’s Mertens, but it looks like Jorginho. It is Mertens, who scores and scores. Who drags Napoli on his shoulders, finding the humility to position himself behind the camera. He doesn’t care about recognition: what he wants, now more than ever, is that the film be a masterpiece.
You are like a breath. Oxygen that is life, brain, vision: Fabiàn ‘Garcia Marquez’ exposes his magical realism against Atalanta. He sets up the exhibition of his works, few guests because the understanding of certain arts is limited. Verticalize in the clouds, unite skies and planets with the simplicity of the seamstress who battles with the crochet between right and left. Peaks of a balloon that loves to please and like itself, to look at itself without running the risk of narcissism. “I love you not for who you are but for who I am when I am with you” one would say. Dreams of glory can only pass from Mr. Ruiz Peña’s ball dissertations.
Seven to Politano. To that left that splits, to that dynamism that has the effect of a plane on the whole left lane of Atalanta. The goal is the claim of a right, the composed scream of those who would like to remember: I’m here too. He has malice when he points the man, he has control of the situation when he awaits the overlaps of Di Lorenzo. All true, all right, but then beauty takes over and claims priority. The left-handed who breaks Gasperini’s heart in two demands priority in the story, deserves to be seen and reviewed a hundred times. Joy for the eyes, in the preparation and in the execution that caresses the doors of perfection.
Otto in Lozano, the scalpel that opens the Goddess in two. It sinks inexorably, like fate that leaves no alternatives. It is perpetual movement that becomes force, a wave that leaves no debris. He brings everything with him Hirving, moved by a feeling that deserves respect: revenge. Why do you throw down so many, too many. Because he wanted to be first of all a man, not a monstrous budgeted figure. They treated him like a number, Gattuso looked him in the eye. She smiled at him, he smiled. Lozano did not need (only) tactics, technique, talk. Lozano needed a hug. It is called trust: it is the already powerful fuel known in nature. Ringhio was at the gas station, this time Hirving to avoid being left on foot filled up.
Nine to the ubiquitous Osimhem. There is Tazmania with the Napoli shirt, who does not miss even a crumb of the match. It waters the ground of the possible without stopping, sends an entire defense into a tailspin, wearing out the nervous system. “Mica try to take this too?”. Yes. The answer that damned the people of Bergamo is that ‘Yes’. Victor goes everywhere, Victor can leave no stone unturned. And Victor scores, scores and dreams. And Victor laughs when his teammates score. He laughs heartily. He explodes with joy, for a goal from another. Like the children who have not yet discovered the wickedness and envy. Don’t look at his goal: look at his reactions to the goals of others. To the goals of Napoli. Of what is already HIS Naples. “It was Edmond Dantès. And it was my father. And my mother, my brother, a friend of mine. It was her, it was me, it was all of us”. Or for EVERYWHERE.
Ten to the administrator Ringhio. Right now Gattuso has total control of what happens in his condominium, managed with ideas that now explode like flowers that want to overturn the sequence of the seasons. It’s spring in Rino’s head, on the San Paolo field, in the colored heads of the coach’s boys. And there were the bells. And the butterflies fluttered in the stomach. Cicadas chattered under a starry sky. Something special was born, but don’t think it’s accidental. At the base there is a true, transparent, loyal man. A football worker who wants to amaze that world that has known him as a ‘mallet’ in the middle, and which he now wants to conquer by offering a celestial kick. There were bells at the San Paolo. And the butterflies. And the cicadas. And love in the air. Rino is in the air …
Nine to the ubiquitous #Osimhem. There is Tazmania with the Napoli shirt, who does not miss even a crumb of the match. It waters the ground of the possible without stopping, sends an entire defense into a tailspin, wearing out the nervous system. “Mica try to take this too?”. Yes. The answer that damned the people of Bergamo is that ‘Yes’. Victor goes everywhere, Victor can leave no stone unturned. And Victor scores, scores and dreams. And Victor laughs when his teammates score. He laughs heartily. He explodes with joy, for a goal from another. Like the children who have not yet discovered the wickedness and envy. Don’t look at his goal: look at his reactions to the goals of others. To the goals of Napoli. Of what is already HIS Naples. “It was Edmond Dantès. And he was my father. And my mother, my brother, a friend of mine. It was her, it was me, it was all of us ”. Or for EVERYWHERE.
A post shared by Arturo Minervini (@arturo_minervini) on Oct 18, 2020 at 2:08 am PDT