Padova & Calcio

The continuation of tales of yesteryear football takes us all all the way back to June 1988, not just the game itself, but the entire entertaining day out for two relative novices going to games abroad at that time, my longstanding chum Grant and I. This was only my second game in Italy, following Cesena v Catania covered in my last memory. I hope you enjoy this one.

“The alarm went off at 7,40am on the first morning of our holiday. A slate grey sky greeted the raising of the shutters, supported magnificently by falling rain. This wasn’t beach weather, but as luck would have it, this particular Sunday hadn’t been reserved for starting the tan, we had more pressing matters of football to be viewed as well as meeting for the first time my penpal Andrea.

Neither Grant nor I had bothered to bring an umbrella, so my first task post breakfast was to acquire such equipment as it would certainly come in handy to keep our intrepid daytrippers dry en route to Padova from our Lido di Jesolo base. Given it was just after 8,30 in the morning there weren’t many shops open, just one in fact, a camera shop, where I thought luck was on my side, one solitary umbrella sat neatly folded in a bucket by the door. Alas this transpired to be the owner’s brolley and he wasn’t best pleased when I took it to the counter with a view to buying it!

So with no shelter from the rain, we set on bus No.2 bound for Piazza Drago, the epicentre of Jesolo life. A quick change and we were soon speeding off in the direction of Mestre, the less than glamorous mainland supply town to Venezia just across the lagoon. Having never arrived in Mestre by bus before, we didn’t really know where to get off, and alighting at the first stop might have been naive in hindsight. We were in the fabulously named Piazza 27th Ottobre, which was about two kilometres from where we wanted to be at the railway station. It did afford us the sight of eager Venezia/Mestre fans waiting their transportation bound for suburban Milan and a game versus Pro Sesto, where they would clinch promotion to the third tier. It was my first encounter with the quirky Venezia Calcio colour scheme of orange, black and dark green. While at this point in history this was a “merged” club, it was obvious Venezia’s more historic colours had won out.

As we continued our journey towards the railway station on foot, thankfully a lot of the pavements were covered by archways like many Italian cities, so we pitched up for the train fairly dry. Mestre to Padova is a short whisk inland along the tracks, and we were soon off the train, and while the sun wasn’t shining, at least it was dry. We had more than an hour before the appointed time to meet Andrea, so with map in hand we decided to venture about a little to see what Padova had to offer near the station.

The first thing we viewed was the statue of Francesco Petrarca, scholar and poet in the Renaissance era, sighted as one of the earliest humanists et all. Then it was onto the famous Cafe Pedrocchi, a neo-classical designed building, a place that has been serving the good citizens of Padua (the Latin name) for more than two centuries. The cafe still retains a considerable status in the city, and it’s grandeur certainly attracts the glitterati. Time precluded more sightseeing at that point, as we needed to head back to the station for our rendezvous with Andrea, and the trail back was largely in the rain once more.

In these pre-digital days, the letter was the only means of communicating, and for three years or so Andrea and I had been writing infrequently as well as exchanging souvenirs as football fans do. That said, it dawned on me that I had no idea what he looked like, and the time table to meet seemed vague at best, between 12 and 1, which wasn’t much to chew on, have you ever been at Padova Station? It’s quite big! Standing around was a bit like a cold war KGB moment, awaiting a man in a raincoat (it was the perfect weather) approaching with the necessary phrase to alert us he was the right person, alas no such “the bears are shitting in the woods” was part of our briefing!! The uncertainty of who would approach, if indeed anyone, was bewildering. After a quarter of an hour of no joy, one chap standing on the nearby stair had been sighted as a possible candidate. That said, closer inspection suggested he was a curious bloke with a big plaster on his nose, but I couldn’t rule him out as I knew Andrea had recently been in a motorbike accident. He moved off, the quandary continued.

A collective decision was taken to change location, so we headed away from the ticket office area out to the centre of the platforms. As long as trains weren’t blocking our view it afforded a greater panorama, as well as giving Andrea a better chance of spotting us, particularly with my screaming pink jumper on our side! (What the hell was I thinking back in those days!) After merely a couple of minutes another possible candidate was making his presence known on our periphery. He seemed to have a good look, but disappeared behind a waiting room. This was indeed Andrea, and after warm greetings it transpired he’d nipped out of sight to check a photo I must have sent him to make sure he had the right idiots who were about to ruin his Sunday!

Andrea typified the initial feeling of Padova, even though he was a university student, he was exquisitely dressed, unlike the pair of us in holiday mode in the rain. While his command of English wasn’t as good as he wrote, it was considerably better than my awful Italian. Nevertheless we communicated well and he was about to make our first trip to his city a memorable occasion, besides anything else, he had an umbrella! We made our way to his Fiat Uno, our tour bus for the afternoon, but alas the battery was dead, and we scrambled out to give him a push start. A quick “avanti” from Andrea and we duly started to push, little did we know that the lightweight nature of the car, coupled with our gusto merely resulted in our shove pushing the car straight into the one in front! Not exactly an endearing start, but thankfully little damage was done.. Having got the car manoeuvred to a better angle, our shove quickly got the car firing into life, and we set off on a mini car tour as Andrea tried to put life in the battery.

Being men of priority, one of the first things on the agenda was lunch, after all breakfast had been a good while ago. To give us the full Italian experience, Andrea took us to a restaurant on Prato Della Valle, the biggest square in Europe other than Red Square, called Zairo. A distinctly no pizza pavilion, those would get wolfed down by the Adriatic Sea in days to come, but an odd combo of Lasagna starter, followed by a magnificent Florentine steak did the trick of filling us up, as well as acting as an excellent soaking up agent for prerequisite birra or due! Andrea was a genial host amusing us with tales of Padova and its calcio, not only at the dinner table, but throughout our drizzle hampered day.

After enjoying seeing the duomo and a second sighting of Cafe Pedrocchi, we were back near the Prato to enjoy its splendours, as well as being our route to the extremely centrally located Stadio Appiani for the late afternoon’s partita (game), Padova v Cremonese. Through Andrea, I had been following Padova’s predominantly Serie B fortunes, and despite all the wonderful sights we’d seen in the city, for the football fan, getting into the stadium is a special event, particularly in these early days of calcio when everything seemed new and shiney, after all this was only my second Italian game. Stadio Appiani (now sadly no longer used) is a strange old stadium with nearly three quarters of the 23,000 capacity housed in one enormous stand towering down the length of one side of the pitch (see photo).

The match itself meant little to Padova, they were neither going up, nor down, so a smaller than normal crowd was anticipated, but in the end around 13,000 turned up on a miserable day. It wasn’t a dead game for Cremonese, who were still dreaming of returning to Serie A with three games to go, but if they couldn’t head back to Lombardia with the win, this fixture was going to be on the 88/89 roster once more. Watching football in June was a rare thing in those days, but the good people of Cremona switched off already, as they hadn’t travelled in great numbers, merely a couple of hundred at best.

Despite the damp conditions, flares were lit by the youthful Padova ultras as the teams trotted out. Both teams were in traditional attire, Padova in all white, and the visitors in their unique red and grey stripes. The visitors were the first to settle, giving Padova’s cult and eccentric custodian Mirko Benevelli plenty to think about. Indeed his saves would certainly give a manager in Britain regular heart failure, as every time a shot rifled in, his unwillingness to catch the ball was extraordinary, Mirko was a puncher.

Cremonese’s bright opening gradually faded without registering a goal, as Claudio Fermanelli and Fulvio Simonini (a link to my first Italian game as he’d played for Cesena the season before!) began to push the visitors back. Alas the first half petered out with a distinct lack of goalmouth action, coupled with a rash of petty fouling.

The second half was to be a complete contrast, with those poor final balls now finding their man more accurately and Padova really were stretching Cremonese now. It was little wonder when a fabulous dummy by Simonini put his strike partner Fermanelli clear through. His clinical finish was a delicious chip over the outstretched Michelagelo Rampulla and into the net, but amid the celebrations, to everyone’s horror the linesman adjudged Fermanelli to have been offside. This merely stung the home team into more frenzied determination, and they continued to test the Cremonese defence and Rampulla. (Who was a great servant to the club ahead of a decade at Juventus, where he only played a fraction of the games he did for Cremonese).

A few minutes later, a beautiful crossfield ball found dangerman Fermanelli in space on the edge of the box. He wriggled clear and as he cut into the box near the bye line, his pins were taken from under him, rigore Padova. Fulvio Simonini, who’d passed up the chance for glory a year earlier for Cesena from the spot, this time took the responsibility, albeit unlike the year before, this wasn’t exactly a pressure kick. He nicely placed the ball in the centre of the goal as Rampulla dived to give the home team a well deserved lead. Two minutes later Damiano Longhi had possession in midfield, and a now desperate Cremonese defence charged out, but he remained Mr. Cool and chipped the ball right over the entire defensive unit and he charged through on to his own ball, clean through with just the goalie to beat. He chose to chip again, but it flew just agonisingly by the right hand post, nevertheless, the crowd appreciated the skills involved and the applause was thunderous, indeed louder than the goal itself.

Cremonese had to throw caution to the wind, but it took until the last ten minutes for them to make strides to try to get level. Marco Nicoletti led a spirited assault, but Padova held firm despite a handful of near misses and a remarkable stop from the entertainer Benevelli. During this period of late dominance from the visitors the heavens opened, much heavier than before.

The final whistle was greeted with delight at having seen Padova win, coupled with some really entertaining football. Andrea, a Padova and Juve fan (they all seem to have a big team and the local team in there locker in Italy, which is fine) was happy that they’d ended Cremonese’s promotion push, and then another cheer went around as people were leaving the stadium, as news broke that Triestina had lost 3-2 at Parma. Andrea told me that no one outside Trieste likes Triestina as they had tried to cheat two seasons earlier, caught up in a bribery scandal also involving rivals Vicenza. Given Padova had been caught up in match fixing five years earlier and relegated automatically for it, there was no moral high ground on this point! Besides, I had a soft spot for Triestina, and I was looking forward to seeing them play the following Sunday at Brescia. (In 2018 I was in Trieste for the first ever time, a game versus Padova. The rivalry was clear, with much singing of “Italia, Italia” from the away end.

After the game, the three of us tried in vain to shelter under one small umbrella, but it was impossible, so Grant with the shortest and “fastest” hair of the trio went for the wet look as we made our way back to the car. If we were reasonably dry when we got back, we weren’t after we’d give the wee Uno another push start. The station was a considerable distance off so the lift was very much appreciated. We said our goodbyes, it had been great to finally meet Andrea, he had done Padova proud. (Thirty five years after we first wrote, we are still good friends and in touch. We have shared three matches since; in 1991 at Padova v Reggina; Vicenza v Ancona in 2008, and on his one trip to Scotland with his family two years later, which included Hearts v St Johnstone. I did try to get Andrea, Stefano and I together for a Padova v Ancona game, but the TV messed about with the tie so much a Friday night game meant Stefano couldn’t go, and a further change to Monday night prevented me seeing my first game in Padova’s “new” stadium). Needless to say our goodbye was performed without the car engine being cut, otherwise, well you know what!

A quick glance at the station’s departure board told us a train was due to depart in one minute. A quick dash down through the sottopassaggio and up the stairs only brought us a view of the departing back end of the train, such unusual promptness. However, we only had to wait ten minutes for the next Mestre bound service. This one alas was a “fast train” which carries a supplement for all those with a normal ticket. Of course we hadn’t observed closely enough, and while no one had checked our ticket on the outbound trip, they were practically just inside the door waiting to issue a fine! It was only 5,200 lira, but doubled the expense of the trip.

The rain continued to pour down at Mestre, where we had 15 minutes to catch the bus back to Jesolo, but where the ATVO bus stop was near the railway station remained a mystery. Having failed to find the necessary stop, we decided to leg it back to Piazza 27 Ottobre, but we were fast running out of time, and the incessant rain wouldn’t cut us a break. We made it to the Piazza, but the nightmare continued as we couldn’t see the bus number on any of the stops. By complete accident we happened on it, round the corner off the square in a narrow little road, just seconds before the bus arrived, and off we sped in the warmth of the coach into a dark and angry Venetian evening.

One final change of bus at Piazza Drago back in Jesolo and we were on the final leg. The problem was, having only arrived the day before, now in the dark on a very straight road with countless hotels, where did we get off? It obviously wasn’t meant to be the terminus at the far end of the route, so we shot off, and back on board having bought the necessary ticket much to the amusement of the driver, who on this return leg was commandeered to help let us off at the right stop. After a long day, a shower was the first order to warm up, followed by our first trip of many visits to what we became coined as “Woody’s”, a pizzeria nearby, purely on the basis that the owner looked like Woody Allen! The European Championship football was going on that June too, “stuffed by ‘orrible little Basten” being one of the most offensive Sun headlines I have ever read, after Marco had run riot versus England!

The Padova day had been a great success, despite the weather. We repeated the bus/train gig with greater accuracy the week after, but no one had told us just how far Brescia’s Stadio Rigamonti was from the railway station, thus the legendary “Brescia run” was born as we had to keep a good pace going back after the game to make sure we got the necessary train to coordinate with the buses, all thankfully in the sun. Brescia won 2-0 with little at stake for either club, although it was the penultimate game ever played by Franco Causio. I am glad we could say we’d seen him play. I have been at many games in Italy since, but I have never been back to Lido di Jesolo.