Good afternoon from number 3 Via Roma in the heart of the city. If any of you have read Tim Park's book, 'A Season with Verona' this match report may well be more familiar and easier to imagine i suspect.
It was at 7.30am that 6 English lads met behind Siena's impressive fortezza (fortress) where a small convoy of three coaches were waiting in a largely empty car park.
Cold and tired, we huddled amongst the bianconeri (nickname for Siena's fans- literally meaning black and whites). I always thought to myself what must these Italians think of us?
Together we embarked on a monster, six hour journey south into Italy's mezzogiorno. We boarded one coach specifically for La Curva Robur- one the many "firms" (I use the term loosley) affiliated to the club.
I think i Fedelissimi is the most important and largest of groups but La Curva definitely comes a close second. They certainly consider themselves to be the most vocal, which is exactly why we wanted to be with them.
We left at 8am on the dot, none of us having slept the night before. We had only just finished partying two hours ago so I hoped and prayed I could get my head down, keep a low profile and wake up in Naples.
Its safe enough to say, neither I, nor any of my friends knew what to expect from our first away game of the season.
One thing that quickly became apparent was the hierarchy within the supporters club, which reflected itself even within the coach.
The oldest guys all sat up at the front, the younger ones at the back and il piu vecchio (the oldest) strutting up and down the aisle, surveying the proceedings- everyone called him "the general.
We found ourselves somewhere in the middle and at first there were some awkward silences, eyes leering, blank stares but eventually Siena's "utlras" (hardcore fans) began to scrutinise us.
After some dialogue they even talked to us, asking endless questions about English football, which teams we supported etc. They began to offer us cigarettes, beer, wine...so far so good!
The coach made a few stops along the way. One lad should have paid more attention as he had to settle for an empty plastic bottle. We then came to the motorway toll and all I could see were rows and rows of policemen.
This was (apparently) a routine check and we eventually all had to get off the buses on the side of the motorway. The booze was then stowed away underneath, in the hold, whilst everyone was searched.
We had to provide our match tickets and documenti (photo ID, the word is used a lot in Italy and anyone can be requested to show their ID to the police no matter where they are. I think its a continental thing). Presumably this was to prevent any trouble makers getting as far as the stadium.
The whole exercise didn't take too long, surprising given these sorts of routine checks and anything administrative usually takes an eternity in Italy. It must be a different story when Roma bring 3000 fans to every away game.
Lastly a police officer filmed us as we climbed aboard one by one back onto the bus. Again, my thoughts took me back to: 'who could possibly love Siena football club enough to make this crusade, again and again, week in, week out?'
Finally: we arrived in Naples, Vesuvius towering over everything, the stadium towering over us.
We were, or so I was told, the first to be permitted to come to Naples to watch football in over a year and a half! Violence and crowd trouble at the San Paolo stadium had forced the authorities to take action.
As we walked in I got the lads singing my rendition of: "hallo, hallo we are the Siena boys!" (particularly proud of that one), which I had taught the Italians on the bus ride. We had them singing it the whole way down to Naples and to have 50 bianconeri singing it now put a smile on my face.
Siena were looking for only their second away win of the season and this was as tough a place to come and get it, especially with Napoli in such rich vein of form.
So, in that respect a point didn't even seem likely. To add to the scenario 50,000 incensed napolitani fans in this giant bowl of a stadium who cheer on every pass made by the Napoli players.
Siena started off bravely with 4-4-2 formation, Maccarone and Ghezzal the two target men up front. For the first 45 minutes it actually looked like it could work.
We, as away fans were allotted a tiny section in a low corner of the stadium, surrounded by netting and at least 30 yards away from the pitch itself so being able to see what was truly happening on the pitch was almost impossible.
Why do they insist on having these derelict athletics tracks in Italian stadiums?
The breakthrough came just after an hour as Christian Maggio scored followed quickly by German Deni's goal ten minutes later. Both came from wide deliveries and the defenders failing to deal with the threat from the flanks.
Very poor defending from our beloved Siena and the Curva Robur fell agonisingly quiet. No one continued to sing. A few guys waved their flags almost in defiance of the score line.
The end of the game couldn't come soon enough but once the final whistle had gone we were then kept inside for a further 45 minutes, maybe even an hour. We watched as all the terroni (derogatory name used for southerners) all funnelled out.
The Siena fans couldn't help but have a last dig and we all shouted "forza Vesuvio" (Vesuvius- erupt!), probably out of bitterness as much as it was for the sake of a bit of banter.
All that was left to contemplate was Palermo away on Sunday. A part of me wished i was on that bus down to Sicily come Friday night, but on second thoughts I told myself I'd sit this one out.
Inter the following weekend was one not to be missed!
FORZA SIENA, FORZA LA ROBUR!
il vostro corrispondente,
JB
I asked one Siena fan on the return journey- "do you always sit in the Curva Robur?" (also the name of the stand at Siena where the home fans sit). He replied, "Si si, noi siamo La Curva Robur" (Yes, we are the Curva Robur). What is it about football that can lead grown men to such serious devotion, passion and commitment?
