Vicenza Salvezza

I recently discovered some of my early writing, and given this COVID period where football is scarce, I thought I would lift some of these tales from typed paper into the modern world of my blog! We start with one of my earliest games abroad, a remarkable pivotal moment in the history of Vicenza Calcio in June 1990. This was written in circa 1995.

“A mere five days ahead of the opening game of Italia ‘90, the domestic Italian lower leagues remained unresolved. Scotland had made it to the World Cup party once more, following a fantastic 2-0 win over France at Hampden, the fulcrum of our qualifying campaign. The Tartan Army was mobilising once more, albeit with diminishing expectation, but at least we should beat Costa Rica!

This was my first ever World Cup Finals (I have now been at 5), and I was keen to savour the build up, arriving well ahead of the majority, nine days before Scotland’s first match. As an avid follower of Calcio (Italian football), my early arrival was to coincide with the last round of league fixtures in the lower leagues. I follow the fortunes of Ancona (see My Ancona parts 1 to 4, below) but they were set to be involved in a rather mundane, nothing at stake Serie B encounter with Como. Stefano had suggested that this would be nothing more than a kick about in the sun, and besides I was looking for one of those last day dramas every league throws up.

My curiosity took me to Vicenza, (a club that less than a decade later would win the Coppa Italia), but here on the last day of the ‘89/90 season they were fighting for their third tier lives. Was it possible that such a famous old club, who had frequented Serie A as recently as the ‘80’s were on the cusp of nose diving into the fourth division? It was a situation that was still tenuously in their own hands, as the equation that particular early June Sunday was simple, they needed to beat the opponents of the day, Prato, to force a play off to avoid the drop, versus Prato!

I arrived in Vicenza early on the morning of the match, found myself a bed for the night at Hotel Vicenza, and set about discovering the city prior to the game. I have done a vast amount of travelling in Italy in my time, but back in 1990 not many places had come close to the beguiling charm of Vicenza. It is an hour west from Venezia by train, in an area they refer to as “silicon valley”, with Vicenza at its heart. The centre is a maze of winding streets and squares. A bright, beautiful Sunday morning was the perfect time to discover the home city of Andreas Palladio, the great architect, whose work adorns Vicenza. Now I know it sounds naff, but the parks here have a proper atmosphere, no football pitches, no ice cream vans, or lured rubbish bins, just greenery interspersed with mature trees, gravel paths, ponds, follies and an inordinate collection of smouldering statuary.

In one of these very splendid parks I made enquiries of a couple of lads as to how one might buy a ticket for this afternoon’s game. (Do remember this was pre-Internet, everything was more mystical back then!). Understandably they were confused by my pathetic Italian, but one responded in perfect English “tickets are only 1,000 Lira” (circa 50p or less!). It transpired, and rightly so, the club wanted every man and his dog to turn up at the stadium to give the team a lift and scare the living daylights out of Prato. There departing advice was to go to the stadium early if I wanted to get in, sage and worthy chat, but ahead of leaving me, first a volley of questions came my way, especially surrounding the notion, “why would anyone from outside Vicenza want to see this game”, and a more valid point, “why was a Scotland fan wearing a Sweden shirt if they were in our group?”!! The lad with no English nipped off, rushing back after a brief period with a scarf, pennant and a poster advertising the Prato match! Where oh where amongst these magical trees had they unearthed these gems! It was all very gratifying, but as cultural exchanges go, a rather embarrassing one way affair as I had nothing to leave them. It was a really lovely moment, another of these, football brings people together moments. It left a marked impression, and Vicenza has been visited a number of times since that day, as well as retaining a “soft” spot for the club.

Needless to say these two lads were going to game, headed to the centre-stand no less, but no 1,000 lira seats here, they were lording it up with tickets 46 times the price of the cheapest! They were suitably apprehensive for the game, indeed puzzled as to how such a talented squad had so miserably failed, finding themselves two points adrift. (Two points for a win day’s). Their encouragement came from the fact the season could still be saved, if it had been anyone else but Prato they were playing today they were convinced they would be relegated, but they were full of anticipation of an electrifying atmosphere, and as I was to discover, the fans did their bit.

The game was scheduled to start at 4pm, and having experienced it before I was versed in the ritual of turning up well ahead of kick off. I set off from the city centre to the ground a good two hours before the appointed hour. I managed to obtain a ticket for Curva Sud (days long before need for passport and ID checks etc), and climbed the steps up towards the terracing in the Romeo Menti stadium. The sight that greeted me, a full 90 minutes before the kick off was just incredible, the Curva Nord at the opposite end was full to bursting, flags were waving and the cacophony of song was fabulous. These were the Vicenza hardcore fans, the Ultras, and true fans, not like hangers on, like me. Spaces were at a premium in my more sedate end, and I ended up in the very front row behind a thick wire fence. The best chance to see the action clearly was to stand right at the fence and peek through the holes. As the teams came out to warm up the volume rose, and reach a frighteningly intimidating level by the time the game started.

Prato, a town in Tuscany, just north of the capital Firenze had no more than 200/300 at the game corralled like criminals behind a thick wall of policemen, smack bang in the middle of the Curva Sud, not a million miles from where I was standing. Perhaps the volume of home noise and the intimidating atmosphere had already raised the away fans level of foreboding, but they did chipper up, albeit with a resigned, subdued occasional chant which was always immediately booed down.

Whether Vicenza’s plight had been caused by neglect of fiscal diligence, or merely a lack of foresight by the board, but the Gradinata opposite the main stand was closed. It looked as if it had been allowed to fall into disrepair and was certainly cluttered with some intriguing pieces of debris that would have sent panic waves surging through the Prato fans if the home Ultras had managed to get their hands of any of it!

At the kick off the gates were closed, the three sides were choke full and I could see that many had been left disappointed outside unable to get a ticket. I was struck by guilt at this point, what right did I have to take a ticket ahead of a local? It was too late to speculate, just strap yourself in Jim and enjoy the ride. The attendance was given as 17,203 and believe me, each and every one of the home fans did their part to make Prato feel unwelcome.

Right from the off, it was obvious Vicenza were the hungrier side, passing the ball with great fluency, and not looking like a side on the cusp of an historic drop into Serie C2 (the fourth tier). The stirring passages of play whipped the crowd into a louder and louder frenzy. But then it struck me what Vicenza’s issue was, throughout a possession dominated first quarter they might have all the beautiful ball skills, off the ball running and exquisite passing movements, but absolutely zero penetration. Prato potentially already knew that, and their rearguard action was working a treat, the goalkeeper could have leaned against a post and lit a Hamlet cigar!

However, having just reached that conclusion, invariably football coughs up a different tack, and on the twentieth minute the first “dive” of the game came along. It was to be the first of a few along the way, as both teams tried to deceive the referee with a wee routine! Timber doesn’t fall as quickly, but here I believe the fans played a part putting Signore Rivola under increasing pressure. The sense of injustice was voluble from the partisan crowd as he waved away the claims. It was an atmosphere that gladiators would have relished! It did inspire a rare riposte, an admonishment from the Pratesi, who summed up the energy to finally taunt back. It was a chant soon quelled as a shower of plastic bottles and coins were aimed in their general direction. The atmosphere had just turned toxic, and the police were spoiling for a fight with anyone now!

Perhaps the referee foresaw trouble brewing, and when a cross from the right by Vicenza’s Pellizzaro found his colleague Butti, he tangled with Prato’s Marta in the box, down he went like a sack of spuds, “rigore, rigore” (penalty) shouted the crowd, “si” said il arbitro, pointing to the spot. This decision resulted in the coin throwing competition reversing its direction as the visiting fans were incensed by a seeming sense of injustice. One coin connected with the head of the ref, things were held up while he was patched up, but minutes later amid chaotic scenes Chiappino held his nerve to score and the stadium went wild!

If I was there as a “neutral” it was impossible in such a cauldron. Besides, I was sporting my recently acquired gift, the red and white scarf of Vicenza. I couldn’t help sympathising with the plight of Prato in this drama however, who were thrown to the lions in a figurative sense, but anything other than standing up and joining in the joy would have been deemed subversive.

A goal behind, the initial hold out plan was blown, Prato reverted to plan B and they started to edge forward, and they did so with growing confidence, cashing in on what appeared to be false bravado from the home team. The lead now seemed fragile, as a distinctly nervous rearguard failed to cope with this growing onslaught. The equaliser when it came was thoroughly deserved and showed what Prato were able to do when the shackles of defending were thrown to the wind. When a fine move was halted in its tracks, Marta thumped home a cracking free kick from outside the box, immediately puncturing the carnival atmosphere.

I have seen the swinging tactic many times in Italy, where a side having achieved what they wanted, resorted back to the original withdrawn role, but Prato were in the mood, and they took the bull by the horns, there would be no letting up. They continued to pour forward, going for the kill, and amongst the chances Prato created they managed to hit the post with the keeper beaten all ends up, sending panic throughout the Stadio Menti. The crowd remained mute until the half time whistle. It was lucky for Vicenza that they went in level. As the teams trotted down the tunnel, it was only a small section of Tuscans that were making any noise, things weren’t going to plan.

The break doubtlessly gave the Vicenza boss a chance to rip into his charges, but it also acted as a renewal in the terraces. It was as if someone had pressed the reset button, and by the re-commencement of the game, the ferocity was back. The opposite might have happened in the Prato dressing room as the timid side that started the game was back.

In surrendering the initiative back to Vicenza at the start of the second period, it was to prove Prato’s downfall. The home team seized the opportunity with both hands and quickly established the upper hand again, probing and probing until they finally found a chink in the defensive set up, and Vicenza were ahead again. Following a great cross, Butti rose high to head the ball home, right in front of the Curva Nord Ultras, bedlam was back! This time Prato had no reply, Vicenza’s fragile confidence had been overcome and they were not going to ease up now. They continued to dominate the ball, at times toying with the defence with a certain morsel of arrogant swagger, still looking for that clinching third goal, but also playing game management and knocking time off the clock.

In a game of 60 plus fouls, it will come as no surprise that the vital final goal once more came from the penalty spot, but this time a tired defender certainly did bring the attacker down. Not only were they facing a second penalty, but the culprit was brandished with a red card for his fool hardy lunge. Our man Chiappino slotted home again, in exactly the same corner as his first, and seconds later the referee blew for time. The final whistle had been lost in the goal celebrations, as upon realising it was all over, many tried to ascend the fence and get on the pitch, while others cried out with relief.

Vicenza had done it, but in reality it was only half time as four days later they’d play Prato again in neutral Ferrara. So, the day before Cameroon stunned the world and beat Argentina, Vicenza repeated the feat winning 2-0 to stay in the third tier and relegating Prato. It would have been another night of celebration in Vicenza. I had contemplated going to Ferrara, but the logistics from my World Cup base near Genoa meant it was near impossible on the day.

Four days later Scotland added to our CV of kindly World Cup Finals losses and draws, going down to a very impressive Costa Rica, and we sneaked out of the Luigi Ferraris and back down the coast to Santa Margherita di Ligure to lose the kilt finery and blend into the local community without being laughed at! As we headed down the slope from the railway station to the hotel we bumped into Rod Stewart, as you do! He of course had managed to break the drinking curfew and was standing in the doorway of a little bar. He chatted a little, downbeat like the rest of us, and was up for coming to watch England v Eire match with us until his bouncer whispered in his ear and the plan was off. Upon relaying this tale to our English hotelier, she said we could have had free board if we brought Rod to her establishment. We were nearly running back up the hill to see if he was still there!

My first World Cup match had ended in a damp squib, this was the only game I was going too, forced to be back at work the day before Scotland played Sweden as a colleague had taken that day off ahead of his wedding. I was livid and it was made worse by the fact I was almost surplus to requirements in the office that day! The day at Vicenza lives long in my mind as my best football experience of 1990.”

Vicenza gradually eased themselves back to Serie A, incredibly winning the Coppa Italia in 1997 beating Napoli, for the biggest success in the clubs history. They very nearly made it to the Cup Winners Cup Final the following season going down to three late goals at Stamford Bridge to Chelsea in the semi-final, having won the home leg 1-0, and taking the lead in London too! Those nights versus Napoli and Chelsea were doubtlessly in front of all four sides of the Romeo Menti being full to overflowing. The club nearly hit the fourth tier again, winning another play off to avoid that hideous drop just a couple of years ago, ahead of going bust, but as Covid closed the leagues down, Vicenza were in pole position to step back to B. It is rarely dull in Vicenza!