Diary of an Italy fan at Wembley
Highs, lows and a whole lot of tension. Here’s what it was like to be at Wembley to see Italy win the Euros
Walking into the cauldron that is Wembley Stadium for the first time in my life was both exhilarating and daunting. This was the first game of football I’d been to since the pre-lockdown era when I’d visited Craven Cottage to see Fulham vs Preston North End, a Championship football match back in early 2020.
But this was England vs Italy, the Final of the European Championship.
Having a cricketing background, I do love a good sledging. And boy did I cop a bit on the way in. North London was hit by the white and red tsunami of English football shirts. There was one devout bloke doing laps in an old restored vehicle as a tribute to the Three Lions. Dedication and passion are two of my favourite things.
I’d decided to wear a Fiorentina shirt from the 2020/21 Serie A season, that I was given by a good mate, so there were plenty of chummy English fans who’d struck up conversations about the halcyon days of Gabriel Batistuta and Luca Toni.
I knew that this would be an ice-breaker with die-hard English supporters, especially those who’d followed Channel 4’s coverage of Serie A during the 90s. A tactical choice that was a winner. Well played, David.
The anticipated inflated prices for warm beer in a plastic cup, and being banned from seeing the field if holding an ale, was a big boost for the Tesco just outside the ground.
How can I put this nicely? “the lovely fans queuing for the supermarket were downing as many beers as possible, with class, in order to feel football…ish”.
The push-and-shove part came as we passed through the gates. A few brutal scenes indeed which I’m sure the English press will filter into your news feed. I feel for those stewards, who are probably paid a pittance, that had to prevent fans without tickets from entering the stadium.
The skies grew ever-greyer but that didn’t stop the tens of thousands of fans from piling into the stadium. After the offers of “let me take a photo of your ticket for £50” failed to persuade me, we were in.
You see, I’d managed to get tickets in the Italy section. Four priceless tickets thanks to persevering with the UEFA ticketing system and becoming a Vivo Azzurro member during the tournament.
Sure I could have sold them for a profit and bought a cottage in rural Romania, but instead I’d decided to invite three English fans along. To think they had reservations about safety concerns in the Italian section *Giggle*.
I might also mention that we drove to the stadium in my Mini Countryman. And I’m sure I didn’t have to tell you that Atomic Kitten’s “Football’s Coming Home Again” was being sung and played in my British broom-broom for most of the ninety minute journey from Kent.
Entering through the gates of Wembley Stadium, the trickle of Italy shirts flowed into a sea of Azzurro amidst a festival of 2006 song medleys from FIFA 2006. The Italians had arrived, most of them were residents of the great United Kingdom, just like myself.
What a beautiful thing. We love this country, and to be honest…full disclosure time… if England had won it would have been a decent booby-prize, witnessing the home nation pile out onto the streets in celebration, jubilant that it was finally home.
After all, Italy had 4 FIFA World Cups and the 1 Euro Trophy. Share the wealth? I’m trying to be neutral here, as I would be if I was commentating.
I’d chugged my beer down, mainly due to nerves and so that I could just get to my allotted seat. For the first time on match day I had been complimented (on-repeat) by the singing Italian brigade “Grande Fiorentina, ci sta, ci sta”. Basically, the shirt was a hit.
In true Italian fashion, finding the correct seat was like ordering a coffee at Catania airport. You stand around in a bunch and try to get pole position. All this just to see the Italy warmup.
Football’s Coming Home, Sweet Caroline, Oasis, Levels! It felt like we were attending a music festival with a football game as entertainment in the break. Then thirty minutes of chit chat with “the neighbours” was over and the anthems hit us right in the chest.
Fratelli Italia…with the English whistling along, although at a different tempo and perhaps with different intent. And then the first wake up call, God Save the Queen. It felt like an England Australia rugby match for a moment, such was the passion around that magnificent stadium.
Brividi! Goose bumps — you name it, we tested positive for it.
The Game
Then the eruption. Luke Shaw had set alight 90% of the Wembley crowd, his finish at the near post hitting Donnarumma’s net after a couple of minutes. That was the second wake up call.
It was as though it had ripped through and smashed every single one of us Italy supporters right in the face. We were silent, the chanting of the English hitting us in surround sound from right, left, above and beyond.
It felt like we were the Barbarian horde in Russell Crowe’s Gladiator, up against Scipio Africanus. And for the next 20 minutes not much changed.
Italy was soaking up the pressure and the Azzurri fans were putting on a brave face. It seemed futile to shout “Italia, Italia” as we knew Chiellini and co. couldn’t even hear us, such was the heat radiating from the English tifosi.
This is the moment when you start making deals with the Football Gods.
As my English guests sitting with me were wishing that full time would come as soon as possible, I was praying for anything but. “Dio mio, I’ll take 1–1 and penalties if I have to”.
Half time arrived. Should I look at my phone? Sure, I’ll tweet about having faith, go for a wee and then gulp down half a lukewarm beer. Oh, they’re playing Football’s Coming Home again. Mannaggia…
The second half was underway. But by now, the English fans had stopped singing. Southgate’s side hardly had possession let alone a second attempt on goal.
Italy was in control and the home crowd knew it.
As tensions grew exponentially, I needed another wee. Mi Scapa La Pipi, Papà.
So off I trotted up the stairs to the near-empty mens bathroom. “If I get this over and done with quick then I wont miss much”.
“Wash your hands, David, and just don’t slip over. You don’t want to go down in the fan-juice that’s coating the floor”. I’m able to speed up to a jog and then it’s “ahhhh……. ahhhhh” from the crowd.
“That’s gotta be the Italians”, I thought to myself as I approached the entry point to descend back down the stairs to my seating row. Italy were obviously attacking the goal.
“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”
“That’s definitely the Italians cheering”. GOAL. Flags, cheers and hugs greeted me at the top of the stairs, as If I’m the guy who just scored the equaliser. I’d seen nothing.
People I’d never met embraced me. We communicated in an unspoken language. We are Italians. We were there for Italy. I don’t care what your name is or where you come from, just jump for Italy. Salta!
I’d totally missed Italy’s goal. Thanks, bladder.
After a couple of minutes I’d made my way back to my seat. By then I was able to see the replay on the big screen. Leonardo Bonucci had bundled home the equaliser. The scores were level.
Football was neither “home” nor “a casa”.
The English were silent. The Italians, naturally, were rowdy. We stomped and shouted out the bass line of “Seven Nation Army” by the White Stripes. We were back in this.
Azzurri hearts fluttered at the rare foray forward from Sterling or Mount, which induced big decibel injections from the English fans. But it was mostly Italy.
Cristante, Berardi and Belotti were on and the belief was there amongst us. By now the English fans that I had come to the game with were praying for penalties, as were the shirtless Chelsea Ultras that probably scalped tickets and somehow ended up in the Italian section with us.
The main guy thought he was Robert Carlyle’s character, Begbie, in Trainspotting. You know, the five foot tall bloke with his shirt off to reveal his fresh (insert club name here) tattoo.
So, I was threatening all Englishmen sat around me that I would go and urinate again so Italy would win 2–1. It would be David Ferrini’s voiding phase and voluntary peeing that leads Italy to the Cup. Oh the headlines!
But I just didn’t have the wee in me.
I’ve thought about this since. If going to the bathroom meant your team was going to score then England would have been up by a hundred thousand goals by full time. Dio only knows what those stadium toilets went through at the Euro 2020 Final. Those toilet bowls should have received a medal of appreciation.
The “tipsy” Chelsea lads had been belting out “Looking back at when we first met” but by extra-time they couldn’t remember the next line. Who would of thought that Gareth Southgate, Mr “You Still Turn Me On”, was THAT sexy? I mean, he’s a great dresser but so is Italy’s coach, Roberto Mancini, however no Italians were getting moist over him.
Back to the game. England looked spent, and so did their fans. It felt like they no longer believed and had conceded that Italy was on top. The sense of fear emanating from the other three stands in the stadium was similar to that shown by Zio Mario rushing to the toilet paper isle at Esselunga after a lockdown announcement.
The game kept every single fan on their feet so the first time we’d sat down was at the halftime break of extra time. Every single fan, English and Italian, was consumed by nerves. Thankfully someone hit play on Freed From Desire and breathed life back into the 67,000 fans.
Just being in the stands was exhausting enough, I can only imagine how the players felt. Giorgio Chiellini was at walking pace by now. My knees were caving in from merely standing up for so long and jumping about every now and then.
With a few minutes left of extra time, it was sinking in. And English fans had realised their game plan had failed. Perhaps the early goal had stifled their game management tactics.
If the result was decided on points then it would be awarded to Italy.
Penalties
But penalties it was. And I already knew that no team had ever won two penalty shootouts at the same Euro tournament. Italy had beaten Spain on penalties to get here, so history favoured England.
English fans were relieved to still be in with a chance, the Italians had their footballing rosary beads out. I saw a Pope lookalike in the stadium at some point earlier. Perhaps he’d dropped in a prayer as well.
Pickford’s save on Belotti, English frenzy, Italian despair. Not one breath collectively amongst the Italians in the stands. It was like we’d all been following the Wim Hoff method. Respira! We were in this position against Spain in the semi final.
“Keep the faith, forget the history of penalties”. I couldn’t get any phone coverage at this point so I couldn’t tweet it. Mannaggia…
Leonardo Bonucci stepped up and fired his penalty high above the goalie. Italy was back in it. The balls of steel on the man.
Gigi Donnarumma then took matters into his own hands, literally.
Like Rocky Balboa climbing the ropes against Apollo Creed, the Neopolitan single-handedly, actually double handedly, hauled Italy back into the lead.
Jorginho steps up. If he scores, Italy wins. Seeing as he’d scored the winning penalty against Spain, even the England fans had conceded defeat.
But Pickford had risen to the occasion to keep the life support plugged in. Save/post combo. I’d been filming that spot kick attempt to savour for later.
Delete.
The script seemed to be re-written by the standing ovation. England just needed to score one and save one potentially and football was home. I was mentally preparing myself for the two hour drive back to Kent “Southgate you’re the one, you STILL turn me on”.
There was no way to predict that England would fail to convert those three penalties. As an Italian, I know just how much it hurts to lose from a shootout, so condolences to England. I still remember/have nightmares dragging myself off to school in Australia after getting up at 4am to watch Italy vs Brazil.
Gigi Donnarumma’s heroics, which won him the Player of the Tournament title, were a reflection of what Italy’s collective efforts had displayed to the world.
You can fail to qualify (2018) and then bounce back to greatness if you put in the hard work and plan for the future. It was a privilege to be there at Wembley to see it with our own eyes.
This Italy team of 2021 is truly great.
Just like the players on the pitch, we 7000 Italy fans at Wembley were ingested into the belly of the beast. But instead of being digested and excreted out the back door we’d somehow slashed our way out through the navel like a Roman legionary wielding swords. Ok, ok, enough of the Italianisms.
It was frightening at times, nerve racking but ultimately euphoric.
But to gain anything, one has to risk something. It cost most people a week’s wages just to get in. I’m so proud of this national team, as well as Serie A’s notable focus on nurturing young talent.
I guess the “farmer’s league” has done something right.
It should be noted how honourable the Italy fans were at Wembley, as well as 99% of the English fans — two great nations indeed. It was luscious to witness Chiellini lift that trophy in front of us as Un Estate Italiana filled the airwaves.
The hugs and kisses I shared with total strangers will never be forgotten as for one night Wembley would become green, white and red.
To all of the millions of Italy fans around the world who are celebrating…
PO PO PO PO PO PO… PO
SIAMO CAMPIONI D’EUROPA
Calcio’s Coming Home
Read Decade of Domination : Juventus by David Ferrini
David Ferrini on Twitter https://twitter.com/davidferrini_
David Ferrini on the web : www.davidferrini.com
