Serie C, Girone A
Saturday 24 Sep 2022
Played at Stadio Breda
Ground Tick 406
Italian Beer Ticks - 68
A Blog. Within which I take another shallow dive into lower level Italian Football and Ultra Firms. And, of course, when I surface, all I have confirmed is I still have no fucking idea what is going on. This one was a doozy.
Part of the story is churn in Italian football. Teams going under. Legacy and phoenix clubs coming out of the flames.
The away team were Sangiuliano City. Coming in to existence in that form in just 2021. There was a previous club called ASD Citta' Di San Giuliano. And they had an active Ultra Group called The Offenders. In all honesty, I don't really know what happened to ASD. But I do know that a property development group (Gruppo Luce), bought out another club - NibionnOggiono - who were playing in Serie D.
That was churn. Proper, fucking full on, franchise football. Changed their name and identity to Sangiuliano City. And, it seems The Offenders churned an' all. Throwing their lot behind the new Sangiuliano City.
Except. Some Italian football regulation that I don't understand meant that the new club couldn't (and still can't) play their home games in San Giuliano. So, having been promoted to Serie C in just their first season, they are still a Cuckoo Club. Having to play their home games in Nova Milanese.
And, The Offenders, appear to be pissed off that their club can't/aren't playing home games in the San Giuliano borough. So. They have fucking boycotted all the home games & are only going away.
Yes. You have fucking read that right. Those Ultra supporters of Johnny Come Lately FC. Having bought & disbanded another club. Have thrown their drum & pyro out of the pram and have never attended a home game.
This game was a Milanese Postcode Derby. Pro Sesto proudly repping 20099. The Arrivistes from (nominally) 20098. Flags from both sets of Ultras proudly displaying those codes. San Giovanni versus San Giuliano. Let's get at it.
I'll finish my churn point by explaining that Sangiuliano City's next game, at home, presumably boycotted by The Offenders, is against Piacenza. A team I have seen Sheffield United play (Anglo Italian Cup).
Right. Now. When the Carrier Bag Firm rocked up at the ground, we were discombobulated to find rather large queues at the ticket windows. From what we could see the ground was three sided. A covered main stand down one side. An uncovered stand on the other side. And an uncovered end behind just one goal - that was The Curva - the traditional home Ultra End. It was raining. Uncovered ends & seats weren't attractive.
But, the CBF were even more concerned by the prices listed on the board. The top price for this, a Serie C match was fifty five fucking Euros. Outside of The Curva, the cheapest was €25. Well. Rain or no rain. We ain't paying more than ten. The Curva it is.
We assumed the ticket window queue must have been because fans needed to phone their Banks to authorise those eye watering prices. But no. The reason for the queue became apparent. Everybody at the ticket window had to present photo ID (passport in my case). And, I mean everybody. The passport details were typed into the computer, and the (Ticketmaster) ticket was printed on the attached machine with your name on it. Everybody. We had to walk 40 yards from the ticket window to the gate. And the guy letting you in the ground checks the name on the ticket against the name on your passport. Everybody.
Finally. If you think you've beaten the system and got a potentially lethal umbrella onto the rain swept and uncovered Curva. Wrong. You have to deposit said Brolly against the wall.
And. Then. The. Clincher. There was nobody in the uncovered stand on my left. Fair enough. It's not a big crowd. Those who can are in the Main Stand. Those who won't (us) are on The Curva. Why open all the ground? Half two kick off. Game gets underway. At three o'clock. 30 gone. What happens? Go on? What fucking happens?
Correct.
The Sangiuliano City Ultras, The Offenders, dressed (mainly) in black, enter the empty stand, cram together in a single central block, get the banners & wavy flags out. And go fucking crazy. Thirty minutes in. Obviously pre-planned. What the fuck? No, me either.
In a sense they looked the part. They acted the part, including that on 30 minutes choreographed entrance. But, my nouse says they hadn't come for mither. They'd come for joy. Sing the songs. Bang the drum. Wave the flags. Do the Poznan. All joyous. When people get sniffy & stuffy about Ultra Culture in England. They forget all that. These lads n lasses had come for a banging time. But, why they wasted the first 30 minutes of that time, I'll never know!!!!
Anyway the San Goos won 2-1 after being a goal behind. Both sets of players celebrated or commiserated with their Ultras. The celebrations were truly joyous and wild. And, reinforcing my no mither nouse, both Ultra Groups applauded each other & fucked off into more rain feeling that was ten Euros well spent.
The Stadio Breda, with it's long queues, and passport details, and impromptu umbrella display and one stand only used for a frankly baffling 60 minutes, was the 406th ground I have watched football on.
Before all that, we were in
La Buttiga Beer Room Martesana
Via Melchiorre Gioia, 194, 20125 Milano MI, Italy
Got to it on the #43 from Sondrio Metro, and then, after, got the #81 to up near the ground. If we'd have left the pub earlier there wouldn't have been such a big passport queue at the ground. If we'd have left the pub earlier, we would have only had one beer. But, if we'd scheduled to arrive at the ground the same time as The Offenders, we'd have been Royally pissed!!!
Eight on Keg from la Buttiga and three guests.
Vetra, Vetra Loop, Session IPA on Keg at 3.5%
Billed as Session IPA. So, it's a perfectly decent low abv beer. But, I'm not in the vicinity of any hop action. Light and golden. Just the right amount of sweetness. Some tang in the finish as you get further in.
La Buttiga Craft Brewery, Sognodoro, Pale Ale on Keg at 5%
Again, a bit of a mis-billing. A lovely, just a bit of honey, Golden Ale. The sugar drifts across your smackers and just touches your tongue.
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