From Verona in Italy, Richard Hough charts the highs and lows of following his local team, Hellas Verona. In this Notes from Verona column he reflects on the unlikely joy that accompanies a three-goal home defeat.
The aftermath of a three-goal humping at home to a side that just a few seasons ago was playing amateur football in Serie D may not seem like the obvious place to start a column on the joys of supporting Hellas Verona but, in all honesty, Sunday lunchtime’s humiliating defeat against Monza at the Bentegodi, was one of those afternoons when my faith in football was, if anything, re-affirmed.
As I said to Tim Parks in the aftermath of the defeat, winning is overrated. There’s so much more to following your local football team than winning. And that’s just as well, because at Verona this season, there has been precious little to celebrate on the pitch.
Sundays are for football
Historically, Sunday afternoon is the traditional slot for Serie A football. The three o’clock kick-off time was ideal because it gave fans time to enjoy a plate of their beloved bollito con pearà with nonna before heading to the stadium to meet the butei for a skinful of pre-match beers.
Nowadays, Sunday afternoon kickoffs are like goals by Hellas Verona strikers – you can only expect a couple each season. Two or three in a good year!
More commonly, we have to settle for a Friday, Saturday or, increasingly frequently, the dreaded Monday evening slot.
While these kickoff times may be great for an international audience of armchair Serie A fans, they are far from ideal for those of us who attend in person.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the occasional evening kick-off under the flood lights, but week-in-week-out, late night kick-offs are a drag, particularly on a school night.
Midweek tea-time fixtures, which are increasingly prevalent, are also universally unpopular with so-called “legacy fans”, as the Italian working day generally drags on until seven in the evening, leaving fans with barely enough time to zip home from the office, grab their scarf and head to the stadium for a couple of swift bombardinos.
For locals, Sunday afternoon football has a different vibe. It’s a more relaxed, civilized affair – a throwback to how the game used to be played in the good old days.
Anyway, back to last Sunday lunchtime.
The joy of defeat
After weeks of heavy rain that saw the Adige breach its lower banks as the murky brown water wound its way through the city, Sunday morning dawned bright and clear.
One of Verona’s greatest innovations is the closure of the Lungadige Attiraglio to traffic on a Sunday. One of the city’s best known and longest roads, it follows the left bank of the river from Castelvecchio, past the dam at Chievo to Parona, a historic village on a great bend in the river eight kilometres northwest of the city.
With the road closed to traffic, we peddle as far as Ponte Catena, where we pick up the cycle path that takes us to within striking distance of the stadium itself. With kids, it’s a fun, convenient and sustainable way to get to the stadium and one of the joys of living in a city like Verona.
We lock our bikes to a lamppost in front of the stadium and head towards the row of vans parked up behind the Curva Sud. We’ve beaten the traffic so there’s no queue as we wait for our made-to-order panino con salsiccia – a delicious rustic sausage sandwich served freshly grilled mushrooms, peppers and onions.
We’re season ticket holders, but the favourable kickoff time has enticed out a few fair-weather fans as well, so my nine-year-old is soon joined by a classmate, while my eldest will abandon us to sit beside his friends.
My kids quickly bore of the pre-match refreshments and are usually keen to enter the stadium as early as possible. Entering about an hour before kick-off, we avoid queues at the gate which tend to build up as kick-off approaches.
We are now well accustomed to the procedure for entering the stadium, but for visiting fans the security arrangements can be something of a novelty, so I’ll briefly set out the drill here.
For home fans, the Bentegodi has three main stands – the Curva Sud (behind the goal, frequented by the most loyal “ultras” – generally, it’s standing room only); the Poltrone Ovest (the main stand behind the dugouts and the tunnel, it also houses the media and VIP areas – tickets here are more expensive, though the stand is rarely full); the Poltrone Est (the stand opposite the dugout is lively and relatively inexpensive).
To enter any part of the stadium you will need photographic ID that matches the name on your ticket. You’ll be subject to a cursory bag check before being admitted to the automated turnstile where you scan your ticket. Once through the turnstile, there’s little in the way of stewarding, but you should, in theory, occupy your designated seat.
Internally, the Bentegodi is famously grubby (unless you’re lucky enough to find yourself in the VIP area), but a decent bar service, convivial atmosphere and sunshine more than make up for the general decrepitude.
Sunshine on the east stand
By midday the temperature has risen to an unseasonably high 24° and the sun trap of the Bentegodi’s east stand is bathed in warm sunshine. By kickoff, even the Italians are stripping off their puffa jackets and rolling up their sleeves.
The match itself was instantly forgettable (for obvious reasons). A late Folorunsho goal provides scant consolation for what was a comprehensive humping. As grim as things have been this season (just 8 points from 12 games), the fans have generally backed the manager and players with the loyalty and enthusiasm for which they are renowned. That all changed with Monza’s third goal.
Many got up and left. Those that remained whistled relentlessly. Even the late consolation goal wasn’t enough to prevent howls of derision that accompanied those players who were brave enough to approach the Curva Sud when the final whistle blew.
It was unquestionably the low point of a pretty poor season.
Descending the manky pigeon-shit-encrusted stairs and emerging from the bowels of the Bentegodi, taking care to avoid the motorino that fly from all angles, we make our way somewhat disconsolately towards Birreria Iter, one of my favourite post-match watering holes. It’s a vast, cavernous pub where there’s always a warm and friendly welcome, even in such deflating circumstances. Our mood soon lifts.
Destination Verona
As well as the many locals I encounter post-match there are always a few visitors from further afield to catch up with. Ned, his brother Jack and their friends Rob, James and Adam have been regular visitors to the Bentegodi for years. They’ve made many friends over here and regularly host a lively group of Verona fans for reciprocal visits to the midlands. The hospitality they encounter when they come to Verona is warm and generous, and I know their experience is far from unique. Over the years I’ve encountered countless English (and a fewScottish) fans who visit Verona on a regular basis and have made similar friendships. A few butei even made it over for James’s wedding in the midlands last summer!
As Tim Parks once observed, football is there for you when you need it most. In fact, as I was finalising this article, an interview with Tim Parks emerged on the official Hellas Verona website. He’d also been at the game and he spoke of the result being secondary to the joy and camaraderie of the stadium. His seminal book, A Season with Verona, captures that spirit better than any other. While it has a massive cult following in the Anglo-Saxon world, it is also universally admired and respected here in Verona. In fact, the Italian translation is entitled Questa pazza fede – This Crazy faith.
No matter what’s happening on the pitch (or indeed off it) football provides a routine, an outlet, a safety valve. An opportunity to spend time with friends and family. To share a moment of common endeavour. Of course, winning is nice, but even when you lose, you win.