At the time of Lugaresi Senior, the Cavalluccio rhymed with continuity. With stability. But now…
I fell for it again
I fell for it again
You think it’s a game
Seeing me catch fire
Fuck. No. I fell for it again. Yes, again. Like any – sigh – Achille Lauro. Like one of those old and nostalgic nostalgics who always misses the times gone by. However – I’m thinking in a different voice, eh – it’s not easy, for someone like me who grew up on bread (sorry, piadina), ham, Selen and Edmeo Lugaresi, to see all these continuous upheavals inside the Cavalluccio’s control room . No, it’s not easy. Why Lugaresi Senior’s long Juventus reign – twenty-two consecutive seasons at the helm of the club, from the year of our Lord 1980 to the year of our Lord 2002 – he ‘accompanied’ my first time at Fiorita, my first day at school, my first kiss, my first kiss, my first holiday in London, the my first trip overseas, my first (and last) degree thesis. While now, at Cesena, the powerful in American style stage corporate reversals with the same frequency with which I bring up an interview with Nicola Ravaglia. With the same frequency with which my very plump neighbor of clear Apulian origins goes to the plastic surgeon. With the same frequency with which Al Bano goes to make his usual appearance on Domenica In. Practically, in Cesena, a ‘forty-eight’ happens once every 12 months. Or so. Not exactly reassuring news for those who still miss that romantic football of the past. That football that rhymed with passion. With poetry. With Romagna style. With continuity. With stability. Then oh, let’s give to Caesar what is Caesar’s: I, with the Americans at the Summit, I really feel like a big cumshot. A very rich man. One who, with big dollars, can immediately attempt – with Roberto D’Aversa on the bench – the assault on Serie A. With Edmeo Lugaresi at the helm of the Juventus vessel, however, I felt safer. Yes just like this. With the unrivaled Edmeo Lugaresi at the helm I felt less arrogant. Less rich. But safer. Much safer. You no? Hey, dear nostalgics: I’m talking to you…
Oh yeah, I really don’t care
Yes, I don’t care
Make fun of me for believing it
This love is whipped cream with poison
