I love bringing the lesser lights of football to life, and I thought I would endeavour to describe how I organise my trips, and share some of the frustrations that come part and parcel with my passion for Calcio in this article.
You might have an inclination as to when you would like to head to any given destination, but in this modern world of TV, and more locally in Italy, at the whim of the local council or police, the idea that away fans can’t attend, Fidelity card holders only (season ticket sort of idea) can buy a brief, or a late date switch for the television company, all these rationale have provided obstacles to me in the past, but persistence usually pays off.
My organised weekend in the third tier (all Serie C, Girone A in this case) in this tale came about from the way the fixtures were divided up over the Friday night to Sunday period. Seeing how that panned out acted as my catalyst to get a flight booked. Despite the first game not being until 20,30 on the Friday evening, I was determined to make sure it would all be quite leisurely, instead of the fretting involved on my last trip, when a 75 minute delay to a morning flight from Edinburgh to Malpensa wiped out my wiggle room for a lengthy trip that day to Trento for an evening game. I made it, but only courtesy of knowledge of where I needed to go from airport to train terminal, and even more primed for the arrival of the Malpensa Express at Milano Centrale station. Those who have done that service will know it arrives at a platform tucked well away from the main ones, and I was required to test those old school sprint champion days of mine to cover a fair whack of concrete wheeling a wee suitcase to catch my train literally seconds before the doors closed. I wasn’t wishing for a repeat.
However, be careful what you wish for. I had thought of an evening arrival in Milan, a night in my favourite hotel near the station, and a visit to the best Italian restaurant in the Milano Centrale vicinity, before moving onto Brescia the next day. Which would be a handy staging post for Lumezzane alone, but I decided to base myself there for the rest of this weekend stay, more soon.
With flights booked first before checking hotels, this transpired to have been a mistake, with my favoured hotel looking for an outrageous £600 a night. Every hotel in Milan was way overpriced. The hotels near Malpensa were exorbitant too. Something was going on. It transpired to be Milan Fashion Week, and pretty much anywhere within striking distance was overpriced.
Perhaps my knowledge of the satellite towns on the Malpensa Express helped me keep searching. Saronno was still too high, but that little further out and perhaps less known in Busto Arsizio, I found a place. The Tower Hotel, a handy establishment if you arrive late into Malpensa. Busto is just 15 minutes down the tracks, and this modern hotel is just a ten minute walk from Busto Arsizio Nord.
Brescia is almost the forgotten man on the Milan to Venezia train line. It is an absolutely tragedy as it is glorious in the central areas. It is a big old metropolis too, with a very well organised transport system. I have been at four games here, but stayed merely one night many years ago. The hotel I chose, the Corte Novella, is only 6 months old, handy for the train station, as well as being on the fringes of the most beautiful parts of the city.
LUMEZZANE
Brescia is just twenty kilometres away from the aforementioned Lumezzane, but it felt like a reasonable place to set off the next day for Vercelli and Verona on Sunday. The first aspect to iron out was that only buses go to Lumezzane, and they are all off for the night before the game concluded. Contacting a local taxi firm was the answer, and usually, that works well, but I arrived in Brescia without anything arranged. I had even downloaded the Uber app as a precaution, which ended up being my avenue for the post-match return. At least they commit a driver, a car, and tell you where they are. The somewhat draconian local cab company wanted a call from Lumezzane when I was ready, and they would see what they could do?!
I got the bus out to Lumezzane, but even that wasn’t straightforward. A spanking new bus terminal in front of the station doesn’t host the arrival or departure of the necessary bus 201. Instead, it’s tucked away in a side street in a tunnel of sorts under buildings, half a kilometre away. Buses strike fear into me in Italy. They don’t seem as reliable as the trains. I made sure I was in good time so as nothing could go wrong.
With a population of just 22,000, Lumezzane is relatively small. It is a commuter town tucked away in the hills just north of Brescia. I had looked into finding accommodation for the night in Lumezzane, but save one Air BNB, with one bathroom for five rooms rented individually (very old school B&B stuff), I could find nothing, hence the need for a taxi back to Brescia.
As the bus climbed higher and higher into Lumezzane, the views of the hillsides were spectacular, but the sight of the town was doing nothing to inspire me. Following the journey on Google maps, someone pressed the stop bell just outside the ground. I decided to hop off here, but on a chokeful service, with aisle standing room only, I am glad someone else managed to press stop. Even without luggage, it was an arduous fight to the door.
I was too early, but went for a wee peek at the Tulio Saleri, all locked up with no one in sight two hours before kick off. I went for a hike around to see if I could find somewhere for a beer. The only establishment was a place attached to a nearby swimming pool, but if the outside tables were my judge and jury, I decided it wasn’t for me. Indeed, I can honestly say, hand on heart, if I never see Lumezzane again!
That said, this match was about to engross me. Novara, who once could command a sizeable away following but they had merely 30 hardy souls in attendance. They did have the better of the first half exchanges and took to the lead from the spot after one of their forwards had been sideways sythed down. Lumezzane endeavoured to rally but found themselves two down shortly after.
The old adage, a two goal lead can be dangerous, and that certainly caught Novara out after the break. Within minutes, Lumezzane had got a goal back, leading to both teams just rolling up the sleeves and having a good old slug fest. The hosts were the more dangerous side and thought they had equalised, alas the linesman didn’t indicate the ball was over the line as the keeper appeared to paw away the ball from mighty close to behind the line.
Play raged on, Novara won a host of corners as they looked to put the game to bed. Alas, they didn’t reckon on a last-minute back post header, cleverly put across the six yard area to be met on the half volley from a Lumezzane substitute to get them level finally. Both continued to go for the win, but at the cessation of hostilities, it was all square, and I think it was the right result.
A tiddly crowd of no more than 300 were present, and I asked the Gazzetta Dello Sport summariser beside me how they can survive in the professional ranks on such number’s. The answer partly wasn’t a surprise, sponsorship. But what did educate me was that in amongst these hills, in this desperately unpretty town are significant industries, including allegedly a business inured in the construction of engines for Formula One cars! At a stroke, I was fully conversant in why Lume (loomey) as they are known can compete at this level and have a top-notch ground to boot.
Earlier in the evening, I had noted that the driver name and car had disappeared off my Uber booking. It still suggested that the booking was confirmed, so I didn’t fret. But outside the ground in the arranged street, five minutes from the collection time, it changed to ‘booking cancelled, no driver’. My payment was refunded, and at nearly 23.00, halfway up a mountain, 18 kilometres from Brescia, I was close to up the creek without a paddle.
You will recall the unhelpful local taxi company, which sent me into Uber territory. Well, I had no option, I gave them a call. The call centre was surprised to fielding a request from Lumezzane at that time of night, and the chap they despatched had to get to me from Brescia. It was a good old wait, but the relief was palpable. He was a jaunty football fan, too, fretting about his beloved Brescia as we sped down towards the city.
I would not recommend Lumezzane for anyone who doesn’t have their own wheels, especially at night, when the bus goes off before any game would end. I got lucky, and I wouldn’t want anyone else ever to find themselves in a similar position.
VERCELLI
The way this match slotted into game two of the weekend was purposefully done. I had been to Vercelli before and had a peek around the stadium for a tale or two about the quartet of “famous” Eastern Piemonte clubs from this area.
I hadn’t seen Pro Vercelli play at home, as that prior visit coincided with the Rice Field derby, coincidentally at last night’s away side, Novara. What I liked about heading here on this particular day was that it would be my 150th game in Italy, and to celebrate that feat at the home of the seven time Scudetto winners seemed appropriately lofty. Delightfully, this would be an all “Pro” affair, with Busto Arsizio’s finest, Aurora Pro Patria in town.
From Brescia, Vercelli is about 90 minutes of travel on two trains via Milano Centrale. After the fraught nature of last night in Lumezzane, it was nice to be back on safer ground. Although, that said, the rail employees obviously have some ongoing beef with the companies, as for the last 15 months, maybe longer, weekend strikes periodically appear. I have been caught out by two that cost me quite a bit to get around. Perhaps in the run-up to Easter, the proposed strike had been cancelled.
Vercelli is a lovely, well-kept, little town. I inadvertently pitched up on the middle of three pageant days. Once across the road from the station, Frier Tuck, Maid Marion, you name it, with so many people dressed up in yee olde worlde garb. I was half expecting to find a storyteller with a lute regaling tales of ‘brave, brave Sir John’, but while he didn’t show, a thoroughly enthusiastic group of players with weird instruments were whipping the crowd into some form of joyful frenzy!
A little further through town, the main square was readying itself for a medieval parade, complete with trumpet bands, jugglers, and bands of Knights Templar-esque men. Disappointingly, they had brought their own horses, so the coconut shells weren’t needed!
I could see why the game had a later start, allowing people to enjoy yester century entertainment before heading to the well-kept, tidy Silvio Piola stadium, less than 15 minutes walk from all the revelry. Of course, the shields draped along the top of the main stand are testimony to the football side of the town having its own yesteryear (century could apply too) history. It may never be repeated, but no one can take away this magnificent achievement from the Pro CV.
The game plan, first and foremost for Vercelli, was to preserve professional status in Serie C. By contrast, the visitors Pro Patria were resigned to at best a play out. Sitting third bottom, they need to keep fourth bottom within 7 points, or no relegation play off would take place. Maybe slightly complicated, but it is a fair system, in my opinion.
For an hour, the two sides, neither of whom has managed 30 goals in more than that number of games, were showing exactly why. It had 0-0 written all over it. Then a fantastic free-kick from Patria put them in front. What followed was utterly absorbing and, at times, completely bonkers. Vercelli were stung into swift action, and they soon pulled level from a nice low shot, just out of the reach of the keeper.
Pro Patria rolled up their sleeves and kept coming. Following neat work down the left, a cross, and it was tucked home by the on rushing forward from a few yards out. It was turning into a goal fest. The locals, seemingly all very well to do, started to get annoyed, wearing the famous white shirt of seven time Scudetto winners carries some weight of expectation after all.
They kept going, and it just felt that the scoring wasn’t over. Patria could feel it too, and wanted the comfort blanket third. As it was, in the last minute of added time, Vercelli were awarded a penalty. I am unsure if it was or not, but no one around me was caring. They duly scored it, sparking wild celebrations. As the game ended, the feeling was one of relief in keeping a tidy gap to Pro Patria and below.
As I set off back towards the station after the game (no more than 25 minutes leisurely walking), the medieval pageantry had headed into a park area with lengthy wooden tables and benches full of people supping a yard of ale, and generally having fun while awaiting the offerings from an enormous BBQ. It was as if Lord Farquhar was having a party, but alas, I think I know where the three piggies were!
VERONA
This was technically the easiest transfer of the weekend, from Brescia to Verona. However, I have often found delays on this route, and my 11,30 train, which should have arrived at Porta Nuova station at 12.15 was more than twenty-five minutes late rolling in from a 45 minute journey. The Virtus stadium is closer to the next station down the tracks, Porto Vescovo. But, as luck would have it, not as the case was, there were essential repairs to the tracks between Verona’s main station and Vicenza. A well chosen day for such antics to annoy the many visiting biancorossi! Bus replacement services were available, albeit they were obviously so secret squirrel, I couldn’t see any such activity! I didn’t fret upon arrival and realisation that the forecast rain had been and gone, I decided to walk the five kilometres to the ground. I still had time to do so leisurely.
Ahead of my trek, once off the train, the station was absolutely pandemonium. A special train of Genoa fans, headed to the Bentegodi to play Hellas, were setting off fire crackers, flares, and scuffling with the police. Kids were screaming and upset, as riot police tried to shield the regular clientele from what was unfolding. Those headed to trains were being stopped, and they were blocking the stairs going down, leaving hundreds of people to file one by one through bodies and luggage. It was an unfortunate time to arrive, but I made sure I delayed my return to the station sufficiently to make sure these idiots were on their way back to Liguria. Take a note that when Genoa plays Hellas, it’s not pleasant. These two diametrically diverse sets of supporters do not like each other.
If you are ever headed to a Virtus match and want to experience the full range of offerings in Verona, the walking route will tick many of the great tourism boxes passing a plethora of attractions ahead of crossing the river, where the pace of life becomes more sedate, then positively leafy and suburban.
Verona has three sides of note: well, in truth, two in the professional ranks, following the demise of Chievo, now on the way back in Serie D, the fourth tier. So Virtus are the second team of Verona these days. A fascinating team who started out in 1921 as Unione Sportiva Virtus Borgo Venezia, a bit of a mouthful. However, don’t be confused, Borgo Venezia isn’t a Veneto lagoon, but an area of Verona. Gradually, and perhaps under the radar unspectacularly, they have worked their way up from the lowest tier over the decades at a steady pace that suits their own progression.
They reached Serie C, the highest thus far, for the first time in 2012/13, and despite a relegation setback, they returned in 2017/18. They are now a well established third tier side, and that my friends is all down to one man. Let me explain,
You might have come across the name Guy Roux, who managed Auxerre from 1964 to 2000. Well, that extraordinary achievement is eclipsed at Virtus, whose manager, Luigi Fresco has only managed one club. He has been in charge for the last 43 years, since 1982! Added to his daily duties, he is also the club chairman!
The home of Romeo and Giuleta has a certain reputation of being a right-wing society. However, no city can be exclusively one way or another, surely, and the counterbalance to such leanings are Virtus, perhaps we could call them the “thinking persons” Verona. They are proud wearers of a natty line in red and blue halved kit, just like Lumezzane, Genoa, Sestri Levante, and the resurgent Sambenedettese, to name a handful of similar shirts in Italy. Needless to say, such a colour scheme goes down very well with an Inverness fan. The fanbase is distinctly anti-fascist, and have fan tie ups with the royalty of the Italian left, Livorno and Cosenza, as well as Marseille, but perhaps most unusually, with Wrexham.
This match was at the compact Virtus stadium, known as Gavagnin Nocini (capacity only 1,200). It was the smallest capacity stadium I have seen a match in Italy! Undoubtedly it was going to be a challenge getting a brief for this one as the games were running out, and while the hosts were comfortably in with a shot of the playoffs, the visitors had altogether loftier ambitions, as well as being a very well supported side, Lanerossi Vicenza.
All season, Lane, as the Vicenza fans refer to themselves, have been chasing down the early runaway leaders Padova. Only one of them was going to win the title and consequently go up automatically. The other would merely obtain the ‘consolation’ prize of a quarter-final berth in the 28 team playoffs. In many respects, both know the heartache of losing the final in recent years. Neither would wish to go down that route again.
The tiny capacity would test Virtus on all fronts, especially endeavouring to stop away fans getting home tickets, so anticipating a challenge, as usual in such a scenario, I endeavoured to head off any issues by getting assistance from the club.
The pressure on the capacity also extended to the press area, but with the wonderful assistance of a requested letter from editor Jim (forever grateful, my man), my submission was successful. Paolo, the Virtus media man, asked for my phone number with a view to send details and my pass via WhatsApp. If you use this app, unless you make a point of looking, your own profile photo isn’t there for you to see. Only those you are communicating with can see it. Lo and behold, had I not forgotten that my profile photo taken in Siracusa, Sicily last September by Lidiya is of yours truly sporting a Vicenza away shirt! It was the first thing Paolo commented on, and I suspect, despite my protestations to the contrary, that I am a calcio shirt collector, which I am, he felt another Vicenza fan had duped their way in! That was not the case. Even if in this two horse promotion race with Padova, the fans and the stadium in Vicenza are more together, more passionate, and better facilities. So, in a way, I was rooting for Lane, but I was here to tell the Virtus story.
In the general chaos in such a small environment, my allocated seat had either never been put in place, or some sneaky journalists with laptops made sure my name was covered and upon enquring of a variety of characters in the press area, I was met largely with blank faces. The Vicenza media unit only pitched up five minutes before kickoff, resulting in me being squeezed in between their press man and the social media lady. Who am I to complain, it was just a privilege to be at this very important match. I might not have had a table to take notes, but it was a splendid place to take photos.
The local Ultras, undoubtedly a small band, have been boycotting matches all season as they are at odds with the club in retaining the services of a certain player who has been found to have done something extremely unsavoury, without due punishment, but I did spot a home flag or two, and faint chants occasionally, however many home seats seemed to have passed into the hands of nervous Vicenza fans.
When the dust settled on proceedings, after a thoroughly captivating clash, it was the league leaders who would be left disappointed. If in two weeks’ time, Padova clinch promotion, they should order a job lot of pizza and send them to Virtus. They fought tenaciously throughout proceedings, defended for their lives for large parts, but struck twice to get a vital win for themselves.
Vicenza were always the better side, and had an absolute shedload of possession, but it’s what you do with it that counts. In many respects, they played straight into the hands of Virtus and their two banks of five at times. Vicenza needed to be quicker and almost encourage Virtus out, but time and again, the attacks came to nothing.
Leading by a goal at half-time, Virtus had eaten away at a fragile confidence in the visitors, who haven’t had too long to get used to being top. Those around me grew increasingly twitchy. The marvellously named Capone and Ferrari added needed zest, and the latter, who is Argentine, swivelled and found the far left corner of the goal, Lane were level with fifteen to play. Anticipation grew from the red and white corner.
They threw everything at it, Padova were leading at Triestina, and they had to find a winner. As it was, the desperation allowed Virtus to break out occasionally, and just ahead of the final whistle, they found an unlikely winner. The home fans were rightly thrilled, as were the team. There is a noticeable close bond between them.
The win guarantees Virtus another crack at the post season play offs, but in a tight zone, even getting 4th and skipping a round is plausible, but finishing 5th to 7th would get them a home match for round 1. For Vicenza, with trickier fixtures than Padova, trailing by two points again at this stage felt fatal. Vicenza were second last season and made it all the way to the final, only to lose talisman Ferrari to injury and ultimately the two-legged final to Carrarese. Padova have lost the final twice, as well. All these things were dwelling on those around me. I wished them well, but their faces seemed gaunt, even haunted.
Virtus might not have a stadium that sits in the pantheon of great venues, but if want to sample real Verona calcio, with a relaxed, friendly crowd, who on this occasion didn’t seem to mind many Vicenza fans were amongst them, you’ll enjoy a day out here.
Well, there you have it, a weekend in Northern Italy using one city as a base and dotting around. Hopefully, some of the information lost amid my drivel might one day prove useful. The sensible weekend traveller would be flying home tomorrow, but not yours truly. A few days off the football in Brindisi, and then some more top calcio in Puglia, where more organising is needed to guarantee access, and a tricky double header requiring a booked taxi. As Del Amitri once sang, ‘the needle returns to the start of the song, and we all go along like before’.
Football Adventures with James Rendall 