- Siena
- Spaghetti Carbonara
- Giovanni Trapattoni
- San Pellegrino carbonated lemon drink
- Bunga Bunga partiesâŚ
- Peroni
- Grappa
- Maserati
- Armani suits
- Monica Belucci
- Alberto Tomba
- Greco Di Tufo
- la dolce vita
[ATTACH=full]1326[/ATTACH]
- The upcoming Backstreet Boys gig in Lucca.
[QUOTE=âBandage, post: 955392, member: 9â][ATTACH=full]1326[/ATTACH]
-
The upcoming Backstreet Boys gig in Lucca.[/QUOTE]
-
The Italian version of Quit Playing Games
4.5. San Crispino ice cream just off Trevi fountain
46. Trevi fountain
47. St. Peters Basilica
48. Gianni Agnelli
Silvio berlosconni
- This fat kid diligently working on his freekicks against two goalkeepers in Palaia recently.
[QUOTE=âBandage, post: 959243, member: 9â]50. This fat kid diligently working on his freekicks against two goalkeepers in Palaia recently.
http://img.tapatalk.com/d/14/06/10/depe4eja.jpg[/QUOTE]
Apparently he scored all his teamâs points in a recent coppa regione italiano under 12s final.
- Magnificent Montaione.
@The Selfish Giant[/USER], [USER=2533]@Il Bomber Destro[/USER] and [USER=1632]@JBL I thought ye might enjoy this
http://www.theguardian.com/football/blog/2014/dec/05/sp-golden-goal-fabio-grosso-italy-germany-2006
[SIZE=6]Golden goal: Fabio Grosso for Italy v Germany (2006)[/SIZE]
Our series remembering special goals recalls the moment a journeyman player scored one of Italyâs most famous strikes
The idea that football is a meritocracy is correct, to an extent. If youâre a good enough player as a child youâll be picked up by the relevant scouts and signed, and then if performances are of the right standard youâll progress through the youth set-up into the senior squad. From there, into the top division of whatever country youâre playing in, international recognition, a transfer to a big club if youâre not already there, then come trophies, money, adulation and recognition as one of the best.
Of course, the variables in football are such that you need luck: not perhaps âgoodâ luck, more the ability to avoid bad luck with injuries, incompetent managers and so forth â and this is especially true in international football, where your place of birth, timing and myriad other factors out of your control determine whether you get to do your thing in front of the world. To be laden with the haul of honours that one associates with the greats, even if oral history lets the world know that you were among them, you need serendipity on your side.
George Best had the misfortune to be born in a country that would not qualify for the World Cup in his career. Ferenc Puskas would probably have lifted the 1954 World Cup were it not for a reducer early in the tournament that left him a half-fit passenger in the final. Roberto Baggio was a foot or so away from being Diego Maradona in 1994, having hefted the Italian team onto his back and carried them to Pasadena, in much the same way as the great Argentinian had done eight years earlier. These were men denied their moment of defining international glory through circumstances beyond their control, bad luck or a matter of inches.
In the grander scheme of things, Fabio Grosso would have had a perfectly decent career were it not for the summer of 2006. He was a professional footballer for 17 years for a start, which already elevates him above most of us. He played in two countries, winning the league in both, picked up 48 international caps and generally had a pretty lovely time. Not too many would have remembered him though, were it not for the World Cup.
âIf they were being honest, few Italian fans even knew what Grosso looked like before the tournament began,â wrote John Foot in Calcio: A History of Italian Football. Grosso began his career as a midfielder, playing for Renato Curi in the Eccellenza Abruzzo regional league, and five years before the World Cup he was playing in Serie C2 with Chieti. He earned a move to Perugia in Serie A, but after a promising start which saw him gain his first Italy cap he was sold to Palermo, at that point in Serie B. Still, promotion was achieved, and Grosso was one of four Palermo players included in Marcelo Lippiâs 23-man party for Germany.
Fabio Grosso falls after fighting for the ball with Australian defender Lucas Neill.Photograph: Johannes Simon/AFP/Getty Images
In the squad he may have been but Grosso wasnât meant to be in the starting XI. But the first-choice left-back Gianluca Zambrotta picked up a thigh strain in training, so Grosso stepped in at left-back for the opener against Ghana. The Juventus man recovered in time for the second match against USA and slotted back into the team. However, the right-back Cristian Zaccardo had a fairly disastrous game, scoring the own-goal that would deny the Italians a win, so Grosso came in for the final group encounter against the Czech Republic with Zambrotta switching flanks, which was how the defence remained for the rest of the tournament.
Grosso did not really come to prominence until injury time of the second-round match against Australia, in which he won a penalty in circumstances that were painted as controversial at the time, but objective appraisal suggests there was little contentious about it. Lucas Neill took Grosso down with a rogue section of torso, which was clumsy rather than malicious but still obviously a penalty â a fact which has not prevented some from analysing it as if it is the Zapruder film.
Ukraine were casually dismissed in the quarter-final, setting up the semi against the hosts Germany, the nation fizzing with anticipation and, in a tournament that lacked a dominant team, expectation. Semi-finals arenât supposed to be electrifying, end-to-end affairs, but this was. The remarkable tension of a host side straining to cope with the pressure of having 80m people willing them to win contrasted nicely with Italy, for whom expectations were so low before the tournament it felt like every step forwards was a bonus.
Indeed, the primary reason for that lack of Italian expectations, theCalciopoli scandal, loomed large as the proposed punishments for the clubs involved were announced by the Italian Football Federationâs prosecutor Stefano Palazzi on the morning of the Germany match. He advised that Juventus be demoted to âbelow Serie Bâ, stripped of their 2005 and 2006 scudetti and docked points, with relegations and point penalties imposed on Fiorentina and Lazio, and just the latter for Milan. In total 13 members of the Italy squad and seven of the men who started in the Westfalenstadion played for clubs implicated in the scandal, while the manager Marcelo Lippiâs son Davide was also being investigated, so they would have been forgiven for not having their minds on the job.
If that was true it didnât show when the game began, a frantic affair that wasnât helped (or was helped, depending on your point of view) by the jingoistic atmosphere in the respective countriesâ media. Arrivederci Pizza ran the headline in the ever-subtle Bild, while there were suggestions that Italian TV had played a significant role in the suspension of the German midfielder Torsten Frings, Sky Italia lingering rather on a punch thrown by Frings in a melee after the quarter-final against Argentina. Additionally there was the strange tale of Bruno, a young Italian mountain bear who got lost and found himself in Germany, where he killed various animals and was shot by Bavarian hunters. âTrentino-based Italian supporters carried little toy bears on their way to watch the match in July,â wrote Foot in Calcio ⌠âBruno, it was said, had to be avenged.â The stakes were high.
When the game eventually began, Italy were the better side, but to say either team dominated would be to suggest there was any real pattern to it. Michael Ballack had an early penalty shout, Simone Perrotta wasted a golden chance for the Italians, Bernd Schneider likewise for Germany. In the second half Andrea Pirlo set Grosso free on goal but he hesitated horribly, displaying none of the poise that would emerge later, his effort smothered by Jens Lehmann. The German keeper later did a passable impersonation of Harald Schumacher, clotheslining Perotta in the process of punching a Pirlo pass clear, but it was extra time when the real drama started.
The substitute Alberto Gilardino twisted the blood of assorted German defenders before hitting the upright, and shortly afterwards Zambrotta tested the structural integrity of the goalposts by booming a shot against them from the edge of the box. Lukas Podolski made a dreadful hash of a free header, possibly afforded so much space by the extraordinary gung-ho approach from Lippi, who by this time had introduced Gilardino, Vincenzo Iaquinta and Alessandro Del Piero to play alongside Francesco Totti up front, suggesting he wasnât exactly playing for penalties. His tactics were vaguely absurd but they were consistent throughout the tournament, Lippi seemingly on a one-man crusade to shut the door oncatenaccio and any old stereotypes of Italian football.
A combination of that and the inevitable tiring of legs meant there was space aplenty in which attackers from both sides could roam freely, and further advances were exchanged; Podolski forced a brilliant save from Gigi Buffon, Pirlo did similar to Lehmann, winning a corner. Then âŚ
If your Italian isnât what it could be, it doesnât matter. You get the general idea. The reaction from Fabio Caressa, the Sky Italia commentator who understandably allowed emotions to get the better of him in the most wonderful way as two hours of frantic tension exploded, was reflected on the pitch. Grosso charged away letting out a magnificent roar, a primal scream that said he really didnât know what to do with himself, howling âNon ci credoâ (âI donât believe itâ) over and over again. It wasnât quite on the level of Marco Tardelli in 1982, because the celebration didnât eclipse the goal itself as it has for Tardelli, but it wasnât far off.
German goalkeeper Jens Lehmann dives in vain to save athe shot from Fabio Grosso. Photograph: AFP PHOTO/AFP/Getty Images
He was not the only one to lose his thread. Totti celebrated by throwing a drinks bottle into the crowd for some reason, Buffon raced from the other end of the pitch so quickly that he was the second Italian to reach/catch Grosso, while Lippi was on the verge of tears. He managed to compose himself for long enough to yell at his players and straighten his preposterously oversized lanyard, a constant source of amusement at these tournaments; imagine the jobsworth who would stop the manager of Italy and tell him he must carry the proper accreditation at all times, or else he ainât getting in. Grosso himself, after being mobbed and covered with ecstatic team-mates, jerked around on the floor like a recently caught fish trying to flap out of an anglerâs hand.
This was perhaps the ultimate âin from the moment it left his footâ goal. The camera angle from behind the net shows the perfect arc of the ball, swooping towards the corner of the net like a sniffer dog homing in on the pockets of a backpacker returning from Amsterdam. Lehmann offered a full dive, but he knew. He had to know he could do nothing, his efforts a mere token.
Itâs usually said of strikers that they âknow where the goal isâ, but one of the more remarkable things about this goal is that Grosso didnât look up, and neither did it appear like an especially convincing shot. It seemed as though Grossoâs legs were travelling through water, or that he had an anvil attached to his ankle. It resembled a baseball hitter just closing his eyes, swinging from his heels and hoping for the best, then looking up just in time to see the ball sail over the fence. Not that this is necessarily a criticism: it was a moment of instinct, from which some of the best goals are scored. Grosso didnât have the time or, given his fatigue and the tension of the occasion, the capability to think about it. He swung his foot one second and was an Italian hero the next.
Fabio Grosso scores the for Italy. after Andrea Pirloâs pass. Photograph: Lee Smith/Action Images
But before the goal, the pass. Oh the pass. In the film Looking For Eric, Eric Cantona is asked what his favourite moment in a Manchester United shirt was. Cantona, or at least the fictionalised version of him, rejected the dozens of brilliant goals he scored and instead picked a dinked pass for Denis Irwin to find the net instead. If someone ever does the same for Pirlo, his answer may well be the same. It was only a six- or seven-yard ball, but it was the timing that made it.
If in jazz it is the notes you donât play that matter, it was the opportunities Pirlo didnât take to play the pass on this occasion that were important, the playmakerâs playmaker delaying and delaying until the moment was exactly right. Picking up the ball on the edge of the area in the last minutes of a World Cup semi-final might panic many, but not Pirlo. There was even a hint of a showboat thrown in there, looking towards the right touchline as he slipped the ball the other way, between Bastian Schweinsteiger and Christoph Metzelder, the latter in theory supposed to be marking Grosso from the corner. The sheer audacity of playing a no-look pass in that situation is very nearly better than the goal itself.
âI hoped the ball would arrive,â Grosso told the Italian paper La Repubblica earlier this year. âWhen I saw that Andrea had the ball at his feet the chances of it coming to me increased. At times he doesnât look at you but he often finds the perfect moment to pass to you. I had a feeling it would come to me â and it did. I aimed for the corner without looking at the goal, imagining where the corner was. Luckily I pictured it correctly, in the right place.â His reaction immediately after the game was a little more emotional. âI am drunk with joy,â he said. âI havenât got much to say only that it is a victory for a strong group of people.â
Germany attempted to equalise, but their spirit was surely broken. As they threw everything forwards, Italy countered and Gilardino fed Del Piero to open his body, curl the ball into the top corner and make it 2-0, dumping salt into a gaping wound. It was a little like a gangster standing over a body to shoot bullets into a freshly-killed adversary, not even to make sure they were dead but more to assert absolute superiority. Del Piero ran off to celebrate in front of Noel Gallagher, high in the stands, with whom he is implausibly rather good pals, and who the Juventus forward thus decided was a lucky charm and insisted he attend the final, wearing exactly the same clothes.
Fabio Grosso curls the ball into the net. Photograph: Tom Jenkins/Guardian
After the goal, and the win, mere details for Grosso. All he then did was score the winning penalty to give Italy the most unlikely World Cup victory since, well, the last time they won it. In theory that penalty was more significant than the semi-final goal because it won the tournament, but without the strike a few days earlier they might not even have been there.
Somehow it doesnât seem fair that Grosso could have two moments like this. Baggio, and indeed Franco Baresi, will forever be haunted by their misses in the 1994 final, two of the greats of Italian football left to wonder what might have been and who, despite their weighty hauls at club level, donât have the medal, or the moments, that Grosso does. But as your mother almost certainly told you, life isnât fair, and neither is football.
[QUOTE=âThe Big Cheese, post: 1053789, member: 1137â]@The Selfish Giant[/USER], [USER=2533]@Il Bomber Destro[/USER] and [USER=1632]@JBL I thought ye might enjoy this
http://www.theguardian.com/football/blog/2014/dec/05/sp-golden-goal-fabio-grosso-italy-germany-2006
[SIZE=6]Golden goal: Fabio Grosso for Italy v Germany (2006)[/SIZE]
Our series remembering special goals recalls the moment a journeyman player scored one of Italyâs most famous strikes
The idea that football is a meritocracy is correct, to an extent. If youâre a good enough player as a child youâll be picked up by the relevant scouts and signed, and then if performances are of the right standard youâll progress through the youth set-up into the senior squad. From there, into the top division of whatever country youâre playing in, international recognition, a transfer to a big club if youâre not already there, then come trophies, money, adulation and recognition as one of the best.
Of course, the variables in football are such that you need luck: not perhaps âgoodâ luck, more the ability to avoid bad luck with injuries, incompetent managers and so forth â and this is especially true in international football, where your place of birth, timing and myriad other factors out of your control determine whether you get to do your thing in front of the world. To be laden with the haul of honours that one associates with the greats, even if oral history lets the world know that you were among them, you need serendipity on your side.
George Best had the misfortune to be born in a country that would not qualify for the World Cup in his career. Ferenc Puskas would probably have lifted the 1954 World Cup were it not for a reducer early in the tournament that left him a half-fit passenger in the final. Roberto Baggio was a foot or so away from being Diego Maradona in 1994, having hefted the Italian team onto his back and carried them to Pasadena, in much the same way as the great Argentinian had done eight years earlier. These were men denied their moment of defining international glory through circumstances beyond their control, bad luck or a matter of inches.
In the grander scheme of things, Fabio Grosso would have had a perfectly decent career were it not for the summer of 2006. He was a professional footballer for 17 years for a start, which already elevates him above most of us. He played in two countries, winning the league in both, picked up 48 international caps and generally had a pretty lovely time. Not too many would have remembered him though, were it not for the World Cup.
âIf they were being honest, few Italian fans even knew what Grosso looked like before the tournament began,â wrote John Foot in Calcio: A History of Italian Football. Grosso began his career as a midfielder, playing for Renato Curi in the Eccellenza Abruzzo regional league, and five years before the World Cup he was playing in Serie C2 with Chieti. He earned a move to Perugia in Serie A, but after a promising start which saw him gain his first Italy cap he was sold to Palermo, at that point in Serie B. Still, promotion was achieved, and Grosso was one of four Palermo players included in Marcelo Lippiâs 23-man party for Germany.
Fabio Grosso falls after fighting for the ball with Australian defender Lucas Neill.Photograph: Johannes Simon/AFP/Getty Images
In the squad he may have been but Grosso wasnât meant to be in the starting XI. But the first-choice left-back Gianluca Zambrotta picked up a thigh strain in training, so Grosso stepped in at left-back for the opener against Ghana. The Juventus man recovered in time for the second match against USA and slotted back into the team. However, the right-back Cristian Zaccardo had a fairly disastrous game, scoring the own-goal that would deny the Italians a win, so Grosso came in for the final group encounter against the Czech Republic with Zambrotta switching flanks, which was how the defence remained for the rest of the tournament.
Grosso did not really come to prominence until injury time of the second-round match against Australia, in which he won a penalty in circumstances that were painted as controversial at the time, but objective appraisal suggests there was little contentious about it. Lucas Neill took Grosso down with a rogue section of torso, which was clumsy rather than malicious but still obviously a penalty â a fact which has not prevented some from analysing it as if it is the Zapruder film.
Ukraine were casually dismissed in the quarter-final, setting up the semi against the hosts Germany, the nation fizzing with anticipation and, in a tournament that lacked a dominant team, expectation. Semi-finals arenât supposed to be electrifying, end-to-end affairs, but this was. The remarkable tension of a host side straining to cope with the pressure of having 80m people willing them to win contrasted nicely with Italy, for whom expectations were so low before the tournament it felt like every step forwards was a bonus.
Indeed, the primary reason for that lack of Italian expectations, theCalciopoli scandal, loomed large as the proposed punishments for the clubs involved were announced by the Italian Football Federationâs prosecutor Stefano Palazzi on the morning of the Germany match. He advised that Juventus be demoted to âbelow Serie Bâ, stripped of their 2005 and 2006 scudetti and docked points, with relegations and point penalties imposed on Fiorentina and Lazio, and just the latter for Milan. In total 13 members of the Italy squad and seven of the men who started in the Westfalenstadion played for clubs implicated in the scandal, while the manager Marcelo Lippiâs son Davide was also being investigated, so they would have been forgiven for not having their minds on the job.
If that was true it didnât show when the game began, a frantic affair that wasnât helped (or was helped, depending on your point of view) by the jingoistic atmosphere in the respective countriesâ media. Arrivederci Pizza ran the headline in the ever-subtle Bild, while there were suggestions that Italian TV had played a significant role in the suspension of the German midfielder Torsten Frings, Sky Italia lingering rather on a punch thrown by Frings in a melee after the quarter-final against Argentina. Additionally there was the strange tale of Bruno, a young Italian mountain bear who got lost and found himself in Germany, where he killed various animals and was shot by Bavarian hunters. âTrentino-based Italian supporters carried little toy bears on their way to watch the match in July,â wrote Foot in Calcio ⌠âBruno, it was said, had to be avenged.â The stakes were high.
When the game eventually began, Italy were the better side, but to say either team dominated would be to suggest there was any real pattern to it. Michael Ballack had an early penalty shout, Simone Perrotta wasted a golden chance for the Italians, Bernd Schneider likewise for Germany. In the second half Andrea Pirlo set Grosso free on goal but he hesitated horribly, displaying none of the poise that would emerge later, his effort smothered by Jens Lehmann. The German keeper later did a passable impersonation of Harald Schumacher, clotheslining Perotta in the process of punching a Pirlo pass clear, but it was extra time when the real drama started.
The substitute Alberto Gilardino twisted the blood of assorted German defenders before hitting the upright, and shortly afterwards Zambrotta tested the structural integrity of the goalposts by booming a shot against them from the edge of the box. Lukas Podolski made a dreadful hash of a free header, possibly afforded so much space by the extraordinary gung-ho approach from Lippi, who by this time had introduced Gilardino, Vincenzo Iaquinta and Alessandro Del Piero to play alongside Francesco Totti up front, suggesting he wasnât exactly playing for penalties. His tactics were vaguely absurd but they were consistent throughout the tournament, Lippi seemingly on a one-man crusade to shut the door oncatenaccio and any old stereotypes of Italian football.
A combination of that and the inevitable tiring of legs meant there was space aplenty in which attackers from both sides could roam freely, and further advances were exchanged; Podolski forced a brilliant save from Gigi Buffon, Pirlo did similar to Lehmann, winning a corner. Then âŚ
If your Italian isnât what it could be, it doesnât matter. You get the general idea. The reaction from Fabio Caressa, the Sky Italia commentator who understandably allowed emotions to get the better of him in the most wonderful way as two hours of frantic tension exploded, was reflected on the pitch. Grosso charged away letting out a magnificent roar, a primal scream that said he really didnât know what to do with himself, howling âNon ci credoâ (âI donât believe itâ) over and over again. It wasnât quite on the level of Marco Tardelli in 1982, because the celebration didnât eclipse the goal itself as it has for Tardelli, but it wasnât far off.
German goalkeeper Jens Lehmann dives in vain to save athe shot from Fabio Grosso. Photograph: AFP PHOTO/AFP/Getty Images
He was not the only one to lose his thread. Totti celebrated by throwing a drinks bottle into the crowd for some reason, Buffon raced from the other end of the pitch so quickly that he was the second Italian to reach/catch Grosso, while Lippi was on the verge of tears. He managed to compose himself for long enough to yell at his players and straighten his preposterously oversized lanyard, a constant source of amusement at these tournaments; imagine the jobsworth who would stop the manager of Italy and tell him he must carry the proper accreditation at all times, or else he ainât getting in. Grosso himself, after being mobbed and covered with ecstatic team-mates, jerked around on the floor like a recently caught fish trying to flap out of an anglerâs hand.
This was perhaps the ultimate âin from the moment it left his footâ goal. The camera angle from behind the net shows the perfect arc of the ball, swooping towards the corner of the net like a sniffer dog homing in on the pockets of a backpacker returning from Amsterdam. Lehmann offered a full dive, but he knew. He had to know he could do nothing, his efforts a mere token.
Itâs usually said of strikers that they âknow where the goal isâ, but one of the more remarkable things about this goal is that Grosso didnât look up, and neither did it appear like an especially convincing shot. It seemed as though Grossoâs legs were travelling through water, or that he had an anvil attached to his ankle. It resembled a baseball hitter just closing his eyes, swinging from his heels and hoping for the best, then looking up just in time to see the ball sail over the fence. Not that this is necessarily a criticism: it was a moment of instinct, from which some of the best goals are scored. Grosso didnât have the time or, given his fatigue and the tension of the occasion, the capability to think about it. He swung his foot one second and was an Italian hero the next.
Fabio Grosso scores the for Italy. after Andrea Pirloâs pass. Photograph: Lee Smith/Action Images
But before the goal, the pass. Oh the pass. In the film Looking For Eric, Eric Cantona is asked what his favourite moment in a Manchester United shirt was. Cantona, or at least the fictionalised version of him, rejected the dozens of brilliant goals he scored and instead picked a dinked pass for Denis Irwin to find the net instead. If someone ever does the same for Pirlo, his answer may well be the same. It was only a six- or seven-yard ball, but it was the timing that made it.
If in jazz it is the notes you donât play that matter, it was the opportunities Pirlo didnât take to play the pass on this occasion that were important, the playmakerâs playmaker delaying and delaying until the moment was exactly right. Picking up the ball on the edge of the area in the last minutes of a World Cup semi-final might panic many, but not Pirlo. There was even a hint of a showboat thrown in there, looking towards the right touchline as he slipped the ball the other way, between Bastian Schweinsteiger and Christoph Metzelder, the latter in theory supposed to be marking Grosso from the corner. The sheer audacity of playing a no-look pass in that situation is very nearly better than the goal itself.
âI hoped the ball would arrive,â Grosso told the Italian paper La Repubblica earlier this year. âWhen I saw that Andrea had the ball at his feet the chances of it coming to me increased. At times he doesnât look at you but he often finds the perfect moment to pass to you. I had a feeling it would come to me â and it did. I aimed for the corner without looking at the goal, imagining where the corner was. Luckily I pictured it correctly, in the right place.â His reaction immediately after the game was a little more emotional. âI am drunk with joy,â he said. âI havenât got much to say only that it is a victory for a strong group of people.â
Germany attempted to equalise, but their spirit was surely broken. As they threw everything forwards, Italy countered and Gilardino fed Del Piero to open his body, curl the ball into the top corner and make it 2-0, dumping salt into a gaping wound. It was a little like a gangster standing over a body to shoot bullets into a freshly-killed adversary, not even to make sure they were dead but more to assert absolute superiority. Del Piero ran off to celebrate in front of Noel Gallagher, high in the stands, with whom he is implausibly rather good pals, and who the Juventus forward thus decided was a lucky charm and insisted he attend the final, wearing exactly the same clothes.
Fabio Grosso curls the ball into the net. Photograph: Tom Jenkins/Guardian
After the goal, and the win, mere details for Grosso. All he then did was score the winning penalty to give Italy the most unlikely World Cup victory since, well, the last time they won it. In theory that penalty was more significant than the semi-final goal because it won the tournament, but without the strike a few days earlier they might not even have been there.
Somehow it doesnât seem fair that Grosso could have two moments like this. Baggio, and indeed Franco Baresi, will forever be haunted by their misses in the 1994 final, two of the greats of Italian football left to wonder what might have been and who, despite their weighty hauls at club level, donât have the medal, or the moments, that Grosso does. But as your mother almost certainly told you, life isnât fair, and neither is football.[/QUOTE]
My favourite goal of all time.
- Montepulciano dâAbbruzzo wine, available for âŹ5.49 in Lidl.
amazing post by tbc
I fucking love this thread!
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Brunello di Montalcino
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The Bay of Naples
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Plebiscite Square
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Stadio San Paolo
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Capri
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The âPalio di Sienaâ
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Gianluigi Buffon
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Fiat