This was a hilarious read from Roberto Gotta on Soccernet. Inter fans are something else...though I suppose it's there everywhere.
Inter fans curse their luckEveryone belonging to the posh quarters of the Fourth Estate should, once, watch an important football match within earshot of the home fans. Or, on second thought, it shouldn't. The experience can be wildy exhilarating, veering from the ridiculous to the sublime in the blink of an eye, ascending to the heights and plunging to the depths of what, basically, attending a football match entails.
On Tuesday, at the San Siro or Meazza in Milan, your humble correspondent did just that. Not on purpose, mind you. The extraordinary number of Press credential requests for Inter v Liverpool meant that, as for other Champions League matches in the same venue, some of the media had to sit in the overflow section. Among the fans, that is, which has a tendency to create a whole new atmosphere.
In short, not often have I heard as much swearing as I did on Tuesday. And that was towards Inter players within a few minutes of kick-off, not against the red-clad visitors playing their cat-and-mouse game on the pitch. Boy, what an international, cosmopolitan way to learn new swear words. And what a confirmation of that old cliché about how we Italians make up with creativity and ingenuity what we lack in industry. Although the swearing went on for so long it did require some lung strength.
On the subject of body parts, considering Inter had little left in their legs even in the first half, which should make the remaining of the Serie A season much more interesting than I thought, the tale of the game might well be enriched by the soundtrack of the high-pitched, gravel-voiced, hoarse-voiced, angry, bilious fans.
Their cause severely undermined by the result from the first leg, and with an emergency situation in central defence as their top three choices were out either by suspension or injury, Inter had an even harder task than a side trying to recover from a 0-2 result should. Coach Roberto Mancini could not risk leaving his central defenders,
Cristian Chivu ('*******', as one of his own fans dubbed him before five minutes had passed) and the pompously nicknamed 'Tyson' Rivas, exposed to Fernando Torres' speed, so he had no choice but to use dependable utility man
Esteban Cambiasso ('you square-footed idiot') in his customary position patrolling the space in front of them.
With Liverpool closing down space in their very organized manner, Inter had no avenues left, not with
Vieira ('you slow *******!') on his last legs and
Zanetti ('pass the ball once, you ****', but still a lot of respect for the hard-running captain) struggling to find breathing room. Inter never got into a flow except for a stretch of the first half when good use of the flanks meant they created a couple of half chances, the best one as
Julio Cruz ('you ******* misfiring Argie!') shot just wide of the far post on a great through ball by
Zlatan Ibrahimovic ('booo!').
In another instance, a brilliant, reaction back-heel by
Cruz ('do the simple thing, you &%$£!!!') brought an athletic save by Pepe Reina, but Liverpool kept pressing and defending as a unit, forcing Inter to resort to increasingly desperate attempts by Zanetti to go past his man, only to find another red jersey blocking his path, while
Vieira ('...', ok, you get it) seemed to spend ages bringing the ball under control, thus allowing opponents to close him down quickly.
Inter's cause was not helped by
Dejan Stankovic ('you useless piece of ***!')having a less than impressive outing in his position just behind Ibrahimovic and Cruz, where he was supposed, no, make it expected, to draw defenders out of position and pull Liverpool's defence apart, but the discipline Rafa Benitez's men displayed in the middle of the pitch meant Stankovic was forced to roam for space, and this deprived him of yet another facet of his effectiveness, as - you've guessed it - yet another visiting player would pop up there, too.
Further abuse was heaped on Mancini when he failed to take Stankovic off after the interval, but while Figo (sorry, not insults for him, he was barely seen from the stands) was completing his warm-up and preparing to go in
Nicolàs Burdisso ('you empty-brained nobody!') got himself sent-off with a silly second yellow card, which did not go down too well with Mancini, who complained of a double-standard (actually, he said 'triple') as hacking from behind had been punished at Anfield - two Inter players were booked within 15 minutes there - while that was not the case at the Meazza on four occasions in the first half.
Any lingering criticism of the
ref ('you fat, tanned, bald *****') was quickly forgotten, though, when Mancini memorably asked for a moment's attention from the Italian media ('the English media probably don't care about this') and announced his resignation, effective at the end of the season. He then left, the equivalent of lighting a fuse then leaving the room and wait outside for the blast.
What left everybody stunned was not the content of Mancini's statement, as he'd been rumoured to be on his way out at the end of the season, but the nonchalant manner of the announcement, which obviously evoked a collective frenzy of phone-calls, text messages and hand gestures, all meaning the same: 'Hold the back page'. In the Italian sports dailies world this actually means the first, second and perhaps third pages. And given the circumstances under which the announcement came, you could just picture Inter fans on their way home adding just another little icing on the cake of a swear word, perhaps thinking ahead to the effect Mancini's resignation will have on his players in the next two months of the Serie A.
Of course, this whole story is not meant as a criticism of Inter fans, who on the whole supported their side with vigour, were already in good voice a couple of hours before kick-off and even found the strength to let out one of their customary cheers as the curtains came down on yet another European season for them. I have seen enough matches to know this could have happened, on the night, anywhere in Italy.
But as I nudged a colleague sitting next to me, who was unprepared for such a stream of abuse erupting around him and tried unsuccessfully to change seats midway through the first half, a thought occured: if this is the abuse, or more like pent-up frustration, fans of the best side in Italy express towards their own players, what kind of language would you hear during a relegation six-pointer?