This review could and should have been a sort of advice for reading under the umbrella, since I had finished reading it in the middle of summer, but then I ended up long, even very long due, as always, to the various and burdensome editorial and work commitments . The late compensation attempt takes place on the eve of the presentation of the same in Rome, which will be held tomorrow, Saturday 25 March at 7 pm at the “Sally Brown rude pub”, in via degli Etruschi 3. Anyone in the area can go directly in person and get an idea from the voice of the protagonists and the authors of this book. Having said that and apologizing again for the delay, I try to amend myself by offering my honest analysis of the book.
Ferrara’s footballing ascent has been marked in parallel by a strong growth in its fan base. Do you want to ride the unbearable rhetoric according to which “we in the game wouldn’t give a f*ck…”, because results are also needed to attract fresh forces to the Curva and then work from there on the aggregation level. It is sown in times of fat cows to hope to enjoy the fruits when the winds begin to blow adversely. That’s exactly what the guys from the have done and are still doing West Curve. From the classic summer parties to debates, to social commitment passing through the obvious and always central active militancy in the stadium.
Of the many collateral activities of the Ovest, we note this one of the (first?) collective novel entirely written and produced by ultras of the Curva itself. Autobiographies of groups on the waterline between history and self-referentiality have been seen and read a lot, a novel on the other hand – at least by heart, but mine is very labile – never. Even if later, and for a strange joke of the case, I found in my hands something very similar in this sense of which I hope to speak separately shortly.
There are 255 pages, on sale at the price of €15 and purchasable at the Curva Ovest itself, also online for those physically unable to go to their events. “More than eleven”, as the book is called, actually bears the signature of the “Collettivo LAPS” mirror acronym to that of its football team which would stand for “Laboratorio Autonomo Produzioni Spalline”. A multiple name, a contract between equals that without specific references has produced this little gem. Behind this collective there are not only ultras as there are not only ultras inside a Curva, but a variety of different souls and experiences, of former militants as well as those who still fight, of sympathizers, of simple fans, students, professionals, men, women . A transversal world exactly like that of the stadium, intergenerational, interclassist, a multiplicity of forms that has found its richness and strength in diversity to survive even the darkest moments, to evolve, to exist and resist in spite of any strenuous opposing force, as some would more or less say…
The same variety of characters can be found in the book, which is essentially a collection of stories which then intertwine with each other, precisely taking on the appearance of a single and organic convergent narrative. There is John Volandraelderly fan who dreams of flying his kite again (vulandra precisely, in Ferrara) as when he went to the stadium with his father as a child; Andrea Marchetti moved by a promise and a memory; the ultras with their notorious load of shared love; Luca Brenda that working in the right place at the right time can combine business with pleasure; Gem for whom the match represents a larger form of reconciliation. And the match in question is the one of dreams, set in a hypothetical future in which Spal manages to snatch a qualification in Europe at the last minute. It is around this European debut that the various singular stories coagulate which all together tell a passion and with it the various forms, physical and spiritual if you will, that make a Curva, a fan base as a whole.
It all begins with the draw in Nyon, the urn says Rapid Bucharest and from here onwards a whirlwind of ideas, thoughts and actions aimed towards the Regie Stadium. “The draw”, “the journey” and then “Bucharest” are the three great chapters in which the paragraphs develop with the adventures and misadventures of the various characters who then, inevitably, soon or as a last resort, start to cross each other They. I want to be brutally honest with the authors of the book, whom I know and respect, and with the readers to whom I owe intellectual honesty: not all the stories and not all the characters convinced me completely, something seemed a bit stretched strength and someone characterized in a – in my opinion – a bit inconsistent. Even if there is a clear feeling that in various circumstances one may have drawn on actually existing facts or people. Perhaps however, by narrowing the field to fewer subjects and having a less wide range of stories, the plot would perhaps have gained strength.
But all in all, “More than eleven” is an absolutely enjoyable book, which can be read very well and involves in its rhythm, enticing you to leaf through one page after another. Not a masterpiece of world literature, God forbid, but it raises the bar anyway and compared to the average of self-produced books within the ultras world it is at least a cut above in setting, content, workmanship, style, everything. It is a book that could easily be included in the upper segment of generalist sports literature, both in terms of quality and ability to be read and even reach a “lay” public not strictly informed on ultras issues, which moreover here are absolutely not the nerve center of the whole but only a part of it. So, of course, don’t expect who knows what epic of clashes in this sense, but if you ask me if I would recommend it or not, my answer would undoubtedly be yes.
