It never rains but it pours

My match report for Roma-Samp on Wednesday night: I got wet. Not through any orgasm inducing football or impromtu piss games, just incessant, pounding rain. The players came out, swam around a bit, then after Juan unsuccessfuly tried to pass the ball five yards only for it to plop to a halt two inches from his boot, went back into the dressing room. We got a full five minutes of watery action, which was enough time for me to hear the ‘oo-oo’ sound again, this time directed at everyone’s favourite Eurotrash brat Antonio Cassano. Maybe I misjudged the outburst against Inter after all.

Anyway, it was wet. Have I told you that yet? It was very, very wet indeed. Take a look for yourself.

The picture doesn’t really do it justice; as we got off the tram and started to walk to the ground, what had been a few specks of rain suddenly turned in a torrential downpour. If God was having a piss like I used to think as a seven year old, he’d had a night on the Tenant’s Super, and we were his roadside hedge. It wasn’t the right night to not have a hood or a brolly, nor was great timing for my brand new suede Gazelles, which considerably slowed my pace getting into the ground (mud on suede is like a total no-no, fellow metrosexuals). Suffice to say I got fucking drenched and spent the rest of my time (not filled up with watching a comedy pre-match F1 display on the swimming/running track and the subsequent short-lived farce of a ‘game’) slopping around in with my jeans rolled up past my ankles so they didn’t ruin my trainers. Yes readers, I am a sad cunt.

Not that in the ground was any better. Thanks to a brilliant piece of design that gave the Olimpico a big gap at the back between the wall and the roof, water came gushing in from the back, while the wind pushed it in our faces, meaning that everyone ended up huddled in the middle of the section. This didn’t help the mood at the Olimpico, which was already not a happy one; when the names of the team were being read out, their were whistles and jeers, with only De Rossi and Totti getting unananimous approval. The anger at the team grew when Samp’s players came out in the pissing rain to clap their 500 or so supporters – garnering a round of applause from the Sud – while Roma’s lot stayed put. Now, I can understand why applauding people that have travelled six hours to go to a game that was called off is more important than doing the same for people who can get a bus home, but politically it was a very bad move. Chants of ‘andate a lavorare’ (‘go to work’) filled poured down from the Sud, and as I trudged out with the rain still tipping down a large group of ultras had gather outside the posh stand where the players were to berate them with the same chant. Meanwhile Spelletti has admitted that the players aren’t listening to him anymore and people are starting to look very unhappy, both in stands and on the pitch.

Still, only Juve and Chelsea coming up, so things should pick up.

Eep.

On the plus side, my trainers escaped unscathed.

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3 Responses

  1. You poor sod.

    Did you ever get that wet at the Bridge? The Shed had a much better roof.

    BTW, it wasn’t F1. It was this ersatz thing that some clown has put together in which football club sponsors the cars. They can’t even give tickets away.

    And Rosella gave them money. Of course so did Daniel Levy.

    We have more in common than you may think.

  2. Nah I never had the pleasure of standing on the Shed, it was knocked down at the end my first season of going, and we’ve always been nicely sheltered. I do remember the West Stand benches getting very icy in winter though, and a friend of a friend once slipped and bashed his head on the concrete floor celebrating a John Spencer goal against Liverpool (2-2, 1996, nerdy fact fans).

  3. I always forget how young you are.

    I have the same problem with Spangles, which indicates that the actual issue may be that I refuse to acknowledge how old I am.

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