In Napoli

In September 2022 Estonia, then Finland closed its land border with Russia. It totally threw a spanner in the works for my girl Tania and I, with whom I had booked a two week sojourn in Tuscany, with the plan to fly south together from Tallinn. Flights were lost, buses to and from St Petersburg too, but largely hotel rooms were allowed to be altered, but a whack of money was lost. I went directly across to Italy and largely re-shaped the trip with Calcio in mind to keep me busy.

The addition of a visit to Napoli was thrown into the mix as a mad Tuesday inclusion sandwiched into the roster following a Monday night in Siena, and a Thursday evening Fiorentina versus Hearts Euro clash. I dropped my suitcase at my Wednesday/Thursday hotel and hot footed it down to Napoli on a three hour whizz courtesy of the Frecciarossa high speed train service.

I had seen some of Napoli from previous train windows headed north or south from Salerno on a number of occasions, but I always had the wish to experience the city for myself. It might only have been a 24 hour window, but it would act as a sample. There was also the potential of writing a Football Weekends tale, but straying into “big club” football is almost an alien concept for me. 

I decided to sign up for one of these guided fan tour days, as the match was a much anticipated Champions League game versus Ajax, and with Napoli going well in Serie A, it would guarantee a ticket, as well as meeting some like minded fans in the safe hands of a local, with a passion for his city and club. It didn’t turn out that way, with apparently no one else signed for the gig, and even more depressingly, the local host being ill. Instead of refunding a significant whack of the fee, I was given a Spanish student on an exchange course in Napoli! It was a bit like the blind leading the blind, albeit “the host” being totally “live stream” obsessed for his followers, and very often he’s just press play and stream away as we went, all very odd. Anyway, he had never been out to the Maradona stadium either. He was a nice enough lad, a Real Betis maniac, with limited interest in Napoli! However, Betis had recently beaten Roma, so his selection of shirt for the day was going down well on the streets. 

As early as enjoying films such as Cinema Paradiso, I got the notion that Napoli was the capital of the south, and whether slightly tongue in cheek or not, in that film, aspiring to live in Napoli was seen as the pinnacle. I had been given sufficient information from other friends that the city was unique, and the claustrophobic and brilliant hymn to the city and Diego Maradona, Paolo Sorrentino’s The Hand of God film had whet my appetite to finally see Napoli for myself. It might have helped that Georgian starlet Khvicha Kvaratskhelia was on roster at SSC Napoli, it certainly didn’t hurt. But then, even though my enthusiasm for the club is limited, it’s only when I look back, they have had a number of other players, especially from South America in their ranks that I loved to watch, Edison Cavani quite recently, and slightly further back, Daniel Fonseca maybe wasn’t the most blessed forward, but he never gave up trying. 

The traffic in the city is legendary and was always a constant point of chat from others giving advice, with my mate Fabrizio, a great Napoli lover, giving it the moniker of South America in Italy, even though he hadn’t as yet sampled that part of the world, but how right he was. Napoli is unique I was told, something that also cropped up even in TV travel shows, and foodie travelogues where the host usually would relish giving Partenopei (taken from ancient Greek name for the city) this spin too. I am always sceptical of such lofty accolades, but I did catch a glimmer of a very different, very non-Italian city during my brief stay.   

In football parlance Napoli is synonymous with Diego Armando Maradona, and the outpouring of love for the genius footballer might only be rivalled in certain barrios of Buenos Aires, but Napoli has made sure he will never be forgotten. Not only is the stadium now named after him, but a marvellous little square is dedicated to his memory with an almost impromptu shrine that grows arms and legs as time goes by. The amount of items in this area must grow year on year as more is donated, but amongst the scarves on display from Worshipping fans, I was tickled to see that the only Scottish one was from Arbroath. This was my kind of display!

While I delighted in Napoli rumbling the Serie A establishment, winning their first ever Scudetti (titles) in 1986/87 then 1988/89, both guided in varying degrees by the genius of Maradona, come the World Cup semi-final I had lost patience with this city! As much as I love Argentina, and admire Maradona, his 1990 World Cup squad in Italy was a pale shadow of the side who had so excitingly won the 1986 edition. Brazil and even more depressingly, a fabulous last hoorah of Yugoslavia were knocked out in desperate ways from an Argentine side running scared after an opening day loss to Cameroon.

By contrast, Italy were building up a head of steam, with Roberto Baggio and Toto Schillaci leading an exciting brand of play. Italy was responding, and excitement was building. Then the schedule took them to Napoli for the Semi versus who else but Argentina. Napoli was split, and the atmosphere was a curious affair, with hero Maradona seeing many favour the South Americans remarkably. Argentina would prevail in yet another penalty shoot-out, taking their place in one of the ugliest finals ever, losing 1-0 to Germany, ironically from a penalty. 

Maradona, so revered today, was essentially run out of town but not because of the World Cup loss. Almost in a mirror image of how he arrived from Barcelona, his off field excesses became an embarrassment, and he no longer was the pin-up boy for the boardroom, or standard bearer for acceptable conduct at the club. He would move on to play for Sevilla.  

It took me years to forgive Napoli, and in the clubs angst ridden post financial meltdown days outside Serie A, I took great delight in Ancona never losing away to them in league action nor en route to our Coppa Italia appearance in 1993/94. Napoli also lost the Coppa Italia final 1996/97 final to Lanerossi Vicenza, a great success for the smaller team, albeit Napoli were on the cusp of implosion. It all points towards the signing of Kvaratskhelia, breathing new life into my intrigue with Napoli once more. The city’s outpouring for Maradona touched me too in truth, and in my scramble to get some Diego inspired editions of the Argentinos Juniors shirt, Napoli ended up joining them, with a very natty Argentina-esque tribute shirt.

I had even seen the Partenopei demolish Liverpool, and while merely a friendly at Murrayfield in Edinburgh, it was good fun watching them win, even if my interest was lacking. The Napoli Ultras were allegedly part of a tight circle of five “chums” in the Italian game, with Ancona, SPAL, Genoa and Cosenza, but maybe more with Genoa than the others, and the rest by association, but that arrangement ended four or five years ago.  

One of my wishes was to have a proper Napolitano pizza, especially given the city claims to be the home of the concept. Many chefs have visited Napoli waxing lyrically about the very essence of pizza, the Napoli Margherita. Blete, the Betis boy, googled a typical pizzeria and guided us up and around to the chosen venue. At the last moment I baulked at the thought of just mozzarella and tomato, preferring a more tasty additional topping. It was very nice, but was it any better than elsewhere? I am unsure, but while our chosen hour to eat was at the end of the lunch-time period, having the restaurant to ourselves seemed odd.

Having enjoyed the pizza experience, we continued upwards to the Maradona shrine. Old city Napoli is full of narrow, hilly streets. Having enjoyed the Italian drugs trade drama Gomorrah, a lot of these streets seemed familiar, and any passing moped, of which there were many, was given due respect. The area where Maradona memorabilia is displayed is quite extraordinary, if you visit Napoli, make sure you stop by this area. 

Down by the waters edge, the castle dominates, and around here the piazzas are bigger, the buildings more grand, and the traffic almost Grand Prix-esque. Blete didn’t know about the buses to the stadium, so I volunteered the idea to jump in a taxi. It meant we were outside the ground far too early, but having a beer and soaking up the atmosphere seemed a harmless activity. Arriving in the vicinity more than two hours before kick off at 18.45 on a working day hadn’t detracted from the volume of fans, it was absolutely chaotic. Just as we rounded a corner, about to head for a bar, mayhem broke out, the Napoli team bus was arriving. With Maradona adorning the sides in striking artwork, he goes with the team wherever they go. The passion, and emotion on display was so very South American, and surely an uplifting sight for those on the bus.

The dubious “ football tour” package was in truth non-existent, with my “host” holding a ticket at the opposite end of the stadium! Venturing into the stadium nearly an hour before kick off would seem ridiculous in cooler northern lands, but the queues were heavy, and upon entering the ellipse shaped arena, it was already 70% full. Getting in though was to prove distressing. The steward, upon checking my ticket with my passport, started pushing me backwards, saying “Nord Europeo”. Essentially I wasn’t getting in because I was North European?! I stood my ground and shouted to the supervisor. She came over, looked at both articles in the stewards hand, waved me through as they were given back to me. As I walked away, an almost Fawlty Towers moment, Basil to Manuel scenario was unfolding, as she gave the girl a right dressing down, along the lines I think, that not all Northern Europeans were Dutch!

It disturbed my pleasure of the surroundings and the building atmosphere ahead of the game. It even had me fretting that a UK passport holder in the mainstand in Florence for the visit of Hearts might see me refused entry. I even wrote to the Football Weekends editor Jim while sitting in the Diego Armando Maradona stadium to ask if he could put a letter together stating I was attending to write an article. That fretting transpired to have been totally for nothing as the Fiorentina check was negligible and the first sight seen in the stands were fully Hearts kitted fans. What was I worried about!   

I had seen many of the Napoli games in 22/23 online, and they were a curious mixture of breathtaking brilliance and unfathomable periods of amateur hour stuff, where the opposition would be given encouragement, followed by a late rally of more sublime skill and pace. This captivating clash played out in exactly this way. For the first twenty minutes Napoli were unplayable, scoring twice and blowing Ajax away. It would have been impossible to keep up this scintillating pace from the entire game, but they eased off, started making mistakes and Ajax could smell a comeback. However, it would be rude not to mention the extraordinary atmosphere. Everytime Kvaratskhalia got on the ball the sense of anticipation rose. 

Just after the break Ajax got a goal back, but the reduced lead wasn’t enough to see Napoli recover themselves, and they continued to field more attacks from the Amsterdam club, with spluttering attempts to counter. However when they were awarded a penalty, duly dispatched by the exciting Georgian, they might have been two goals in front again, but the play was still sloppy. Ajax would reduce the arrears from a penalty, and only then did the real Napoli spark into life, culminating in Osimhen sealing the win in the 89th minute with a brilliant finish following a fabulous move, cue bedlam. 

The post match attempt to rendez-vous with Blete was surprisingly easy, and with the vicinity a total gridlock we decided to start off on the long walk back to the centre with a view to flagging down a cab when the opportunity arrived. We walked a good distance but then hit a junction where taxi’s seemed to be coming and going. Patience finally paid dividends, but we were about to put our lives into the hands of an absolute maniac. Driving the busy corniche road back to the centre with only one hand on the steering wheel whilst fielding phone calls on a mobile in his other hand was bad enough, but swerving out into the oncoming traffic side if they came to a halt was just hair raising and utter madness. Every time he got away with it he laughed like a demonic lunatic. It was a relief to get out and head for the hotel, where switching on the light in my room fused the entire lights on my floor. It was easily resolved by the hotel handyman, and safer going out of the lights than in that utterly crazed cab, but in a nutshell this paragraph sums up Napoli, a bit of a thrill ride mixed with an air of tension. 

Napoli had been an experience, a mere dipping of the toe, as 24 hours is insufficient to get a full handle on the city. Maybe I will head back again someday, but it didn’t pull me in like many places in Italy and in Campania, especially where we will end up, Salerno. I will be back peeking at the city from a train window again for a while, I think. I am glad I saw Napoli in a title winning season, and I was delighted to see Kvaratskhelia at his best, as opposed to “water-gate” nonsense at Hampden the next year. I will continue to follow his career, and if he decides to stay at Napoli, I might well be back, although I suspect after a disappointing post Scudetto winning campaign, the old gang will be broken up.