Immortal Torino by Roberto Pennino is published by Pitch Publishing. A review will soon be available on the site, but please enjoy the wonderful and moving extract below .
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It was just after five o’clock on 4 May 1949 as the Avio Linee Italiane Fiat G.212, carrying 18 players of AC Torino and 13 other passengers, was preparing to land at Turin’s Aeritalia airport. Thick fog meant visibility was poor, and strong winds had blown the plane off course. Disorientated, the plane was around ten miles from the runway and flying at in excess of 100mph, when suddenly, out of the fog emerged the Basilica of Superga. With no time for the pilot to react, the plane crashed into the Basilica, killing all 31 passengers instantly.
Known as Grande Torino, in honour of their achievements, AC Torino had dominated their domestic league, and on the international stage their players were the backbone of the national team. They were on the verge of winning their fifth successive championship when they flew to Lisbon to face Benfica in a friendly on 1 May, before flying home via Barcelona three days later. Immortal Torino is Roberto Pennino’s emotional story of the rise and tragic fall of one of Italian football’s greatest ever teams.
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As dawn arrives, Turin awakens in shock. La Stampa pays tribute to the deceased players this morning by respectfully placing their photos under the headline: ‘The Aristocracy of Italian Football’. Not only football fans but every Turin resident realises that an era has come to an end. An era of hope and pride. An era of rebuilding upon the smouldering remains of the war. And now, totally unexpectedly, a new low point has been reached. Visible to all those who climb, with great reluctance, the Superga hill to see with their own eyes the aftermath of the disaster. On the site of the crash, where the plane flew into the basilica, is now a gaping hole with a diameter of four metres. But the open wound in the hearts of the mourners is far greater.
The harsh facts contain yet another reality. How will the bereaved families, friends and acquaintances of the players ever be able to deal with this immense loss? And the children of the men who are lost to the city? The ineffable grief of those who will no longer, or perhaps just barely, remember their fathers when the smoke clouds at Superga finally clear.
Franco Ossola’s wife is expecting and will have to bring their child into the world on her own. The public might not have a clear image of most of the children, but there’s one little boy they do know. It’s the young Sandrino Mazzola, who, at the age of only six, often accompanied his father to training sessions and matches. He was the mascot of Il Grande Torino. Perhaps the sorrow of this little boy most starkly symbolises how the Superga air disaster has left a hole in the state of mind of the entire city. In recent years, after the deprivation of the war, the Torino players had brought back smiles to people’s faces, and hope for a better future. But now, suddenly everything has changed. And to feel that, you don’t even have to have been at Superga.
It’s unclear whether there was a human error of judgement or a technical malfunction in the I-ELCE. A malfunctioning altimeter is mentioned as a possible culprit. The Gazzetta dello Sport looks with dismay at the investigation ordered by the Italian government into the causes of the tragedy:
It is of course a good thing to look into this terrible accident, as to, if possible, bring down the number of plane accidents in the future. But what kind of value does this investigation hold for us, the people on the streets, the fans in the stadium, the supporters, who have no understanding of technology? Our beloved players will never return to the green pitch. They will only live on in our imagination and in our dreams.
The city council makes the Palazzo Madama, one of its most prestigious buildings, available to set up a space of mourning. It’s surreal to see the names of those famous players not in superlatives in the newspapers, but in black letters on the plaques next to their coffins. It’s sad to see their family members, gathered around the coffins with all their sorrow. Many pinch their arms, hoping against better judgement to wake up from this terrible nightmare. But it’s all true, very very true.
The youth players of Torino also gather in the mourning room. Here lie their heroes, the men they’ve trained with on numerous Thursdays on the practice grounds. Their mentors who took them under their wing and treated them to a sandwich or an ice cream, now lie invisibly arranged, awaiting their collective burial.
Youth players Antonio Giammarinaro, Umberto Motto and some of their team-mates stand with solemn faces in their football kits beside the coffins. They know what’s expected of them. In a few days, they’ll have to do the honours. Because even though the football association has officially awarded the national championship to Torino, four league matches still need to be played.
It’s a heavy burden on these young shoulders, but at the same time it’s the last thing they can do for the men who died on 4 May, less than a week after the decisive match at San Siro against Internazionale. Now they’ll be forever immortal.
It’s in line with how Milanese journalist Indro Montanelli expresses his feelings shortly after the tragedy in the Corriere della Sera: ‘Heroes are immortal in the eyes of those who believe in them. And that’s why the boys believe that Torino’s team is not dead, that they are just travelling.’
It seems he wants to console himself and his readers at this moment of immense loss with the thought that the youngest fans will continue to imitate their football heroes and that it will make little difference to them that those heroes themselves will never touch a ball again. Although the great men themselves are no more, the children on the squares of Turin will still call themselves Mazzola, Loik or Gabetto, until the moment, when older, they can no longer ignore the truth.
In the same newspaper, Montanelli writes an article that he will give the compelling header: ‘In the Great Stadium of the Hereafter, Mazzola Passes the Ball to Gabetto’:
It has only been five days since we last saw them play, here in Milan. The team was incomplete, captain Mazzola was absent due to injury. That evening in Milan, disappointment lingered throughout the stadium because the team from the rival city had sewn the fifth scudetto on their chests, in San Siro, no less. But already tomorrow, weeds will start to grow on the graves of those eighteen young athletes who seemed to symbolise a Homeric, eternal, miraculous youth.
The fairy tale of Torino has suddenly ended. And it wasn’t with: ‘And they lived happily ever after …’
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For more information on the book, check out Pitch’s website-