Naples in Serie A: A Sunday like a thriller – Sport

It could have been so beautiful, the apotheosis at home in Naples. Prayed for, longed for, endured for so long. Naples could have been Italian football champions on Sunday. Should. Must. For the third time in the history of the Società Sportiva Calcio, the SSC. 33 years after the second title. And this number looks even rounder when it’s written out: thirty-three. Then it unfolds this historical heaviness, which of course is quite rightly attributed to the long waiting time. 33 years. More than a generation. Wasn’t Jesus 33?

Now they will perform their choir for a few more days, one in future tense. “Vinceremo, vinceremo il tricolor’!” We will win the tricolor, the championship badge in the three national colors. That’s how it sounded for a Sunday in Naples, intoned again and again, at the train station, Napoli Centrale, then down Corso Umberto I., through Via Toledo, which everyone actually calls Via Roma, over to Piazza del Plebiscito, the city’s salotto , the stage for all joie de vivre. Everything was ready.

Naples, April 30, 2023, a Sunday like in a thriller. The usual wonderful drama had preceded it. The match between Napoli and Salernitana, Campanian derby, should have taken place on Saturday. But then it was quickly postponed to Sunday at the last minute, following Inter Milan against Lazio Rome – by the Interior Ministry, because of security concerns, a matter of state.

Aurelio De Laurentiis, the President of Napoli, who, and this should not come as a surprise, is a Roman film producer, had asked. Someone with a sense for plots, for arcs of suspense. The safety concerns in this case didn’t really make sense to anyone, the television stations were upset, as were the other clubs. But that’s the way it was. “One step from heaven,” wrote Il Mattinothe city’s newspaper.

12.30 p.m., the game in Milan begins. If Lazio wins, Napoli cannot yet become champions, arithmetically impossible. Not this Sunday, at home in the comfortably named Stadio Diego Armando Maradona outside, in Fuorigrotta, the game starts at 3 p.m. The whole staging, the Lord’s Day as “Scudetto Day”, it would be a flop, an anti-climax. It would then mean: Let’s just say it, one does not anticipate fate.

12:56 p.m. Lazio takes the lead, and in front of the bar on Via Chiaia, which has a large screen in front of the bar, silence falls on the dense crowd of onlookers – a hundred, two hundred? Suddenly quiet. During the break, some go up to Donna Sofia for a “pizza portafoglio,” a folded margherita that’s easier to eat while walking. A little bit of salt today, no one complains. The people wear azure jerseys from all eras, the sponsor peels off from the old ones, a mineral water. Children on their fathers’ shoulders, the latter much more moved than the former. 33 years! In Naples, people like to remember the title of a famous film starring the immense, unforgettable Neapolitan actor Massimo Troisi: “Scusate il ritardo”. Sorry for the delay.

Like a last escort for Diego Maradona

2:05 p.m., Inter equalizes, the gates of heaven open a little. And in front of the bar on Via Chiaia, the mood shifts to salvation mode. The horns are so loud that a dog barks at every sound. “Poverino,” says a woman. “The poor man probably doesn’t know what’s happening to him anymore.” 2:09 p.m .: Inter turns the game and takes the lead. 2:17 p.m .: Inter moves away.

Now the paradise of the Neapolitans is wide open, dazzlingly bright. And because the Neapolitans love nothing more than triumphing over Juventus, even more than Inter, Milan, Lazio and Roma, because that’s where great history and great politics are mix with a mixture that definitely needs a longer consideration, they now intone: “Chi non salta, juventino è!” If you don’t jump, you’re Juventino.” A couple of Dutch tourists stopped dead in their tracks. Suddenly you see T-shirts with the words “Campioni d’Italia” printed on them. They probably wore them under their jerseys until now.

Open detailed view

3 p.m., the game starts at the Stadio Maradona. Diego Armando Maradona is there, everywhere, on the cheap flags, on the vests, on the banderoles, as if what seems to be happening was also intended as his final escort. Napoli only ever won with him, in 1987 and 1990. Because of him, thanks to him. The stadium is the same as it was back then, only slightly renovated, and it only holds 54,000 spectators. Everyone else does laps around town and down the Gulf Seafront. What a set, and the Vesuvius is surrounded by clouds. Ever since soccer games were streamed onto mobile phones, the “Radiolina” has also fallen out of fashion, the small radio that gentlemen used to press to their ears when strolling with their families on Sunday afternoons.

4.15 p.m., still no goal has been scored. On the marble benches in front of City Hall, someone says: “We haven’t scored for a long time, how many goals have we scored in the last few games?” The thriller, half an hour to go, attack after attack, the Salernitana blocks everything. You can now just close your eyes and listen to the city, every attack a choral sigh from the streets.

4:20 p.m. Mathias Olivera, on-call left-back, Uruguayan from Montevideo, 25, heads in for the opener. But what would this finale be like if it just floated away to a foreseeable end. 4:40 p.m., Salernitana equalizes, almost out of nowhere. And again it becomes very quiet.

The Piazza del Plebiscito would be full now, because joy in the south is only really good when it’s shared. It’s about to start raining. Napoli will still be champions, maybe in the sixth round from the last. It takes place in the middle of the week, Wednesday and Thursday. It’s just not Sunday. The main rehearsal went wrong. Scusate il ritardo.