Church, lunch, and the game are the three pillars upon which the Italian Sunday was built. 5️⃣ Three clustered events spaced a few hours within each other: first duty, then necessity, and finally pleasure. Even if it 5️⃣ does seem excessive calling it a pleasure, for all the times an afternoon defeat made our baked pasta go down 5️⃣ the wrong way and along with it, the entire weekend.

At my parents’ house I discovered a drawer full of old 5️⃣ pocket radios. I then found an identical one when we emptied my grandmother’s house. I was reminded of them present 5️⃣ in family photos, with that unintentionally vintage design, often surrounded by an engrossed group of people of all ages, hands 5️⃣ cupped around their ears. I remembered afternoons in the mid-nineties when they were still used. As a child I used 5️⃣ to take them with me on Sunday outings for the same reason everyone else took them: to follow the ball 5️⃣ game.

The cult of the game does not have specific areas of competence, no typical geographical indication, like wine does, but 5️⃣ it has always brought people together within its single large leather sphere. From North to South, from the countryside to 5️⃣ the big cities, from the mountains to the sea. Those who could went to the stadium, up to the time 5️⃣ it was more comfortable to watch matches on TV. Lunch was at home, then down to the bar, until the 5️⃣ call of the family became too insistent to be ignored. At that point the pocket radio came in handy.

But like 5️⃣ all cultural symbols, fans have had to deal with the progression of the sport’s economic sector growing disproportionately in just 5️⃣ a few years. The first change was the match schedule: after more than half a century of Sunday afternoon starts, 5️⃣ the delay was born. It was the 1993 of great changes, with Italy in political turmoil and television rights becoming 5️⃣ a greater feature of the sport. It was the first upheaval of many. In February 2024 the first round of 5️⃣ the Series A schedule was split between Friday afternoon and Monday evening, with no match played at the same time. 5️⃣ For the older folks this was an outrage. Who knows what my grandparents would have said, used to arriving at 5️⃣ Sunday dinner knowing the rankings were already updated. Obviously it was no longer possible to follow games on the radio 5️⃣ minute by minute, as I did as a child. My parents were never big fans, but when we would go 5️⃣ on our Sunday outings in the car, we listened to the live broadcast on the radio, which started immediately after 5️⃣ the iconic theme song, A Taste of Honey, by Herb Albert & the Tijuana Brass. And when we went for 5️⃣ a walk, I had the trusty pocket radio with me. The excitement was palpable as the reports came from field 5️⃣ to field, the format used then by the Rai network for live football events. The reporter was often interrupted by 5️⃣ the jingle announcing a goal in another stadium. I clearly remember the sensation I felt seconds before the correspondent would 5️⃣ give updates on the match; moments when I hoped news would be about my favorite team but – careful! – 5️⃣ also in that moment the opposing team could have scored. I swayed on that swing between relief and disappointment each 5️⃣ time, every Sunday.