I’m not ruling out the return. Franco Califano and Inter

Let’s start with 2006, when Italy became world champions and reality shows were something relatively new. In one of them, connected to the world of music (music farmbroadcast for three issues on Rai 2), at 3am the night cameras filmed a man lying unconscious in a deep sleep and in a bed that was too small, breaking the silence and saying: «Did I tell you about the creation of Inter? Toldo, Zanetti, Materazzi, Cordoba and Wome». This restless man, sleeping steadily and soundly a few nights later, would say: «Enricuccio, I have to tell you. This Inter is breaking my balls».

This man, who takes on another life and form at night, responds to the name of Franco CalifanoCaliph for his fans, as he often emphasized S final to convey the idea of ​​multiplicity.

For him, cheering on Inter was something subconscious. Almost a hallucination that occurs in sleep when the defenses of rationality are lowered. Califano, who left us exactly 10 years ago, has nothing sensible in it and his support for Inter represented, always in a visceral way, the end of a life unscheduled. Without going into detail about the caliph’s deeds and biography (for some hagiography), let’s create an amorous playlist – like that talk about love by Roland Barthes – where the songs of the Roman singer-songwriter find an equivalent in his beloved Inter.

A little time

(I’m not ruling out the return2005)

Califfology can’t help but start with this song. Paradoxically, but in the life of our Franco, the paradoxical is the ordinary, this song is part of the penultimate album of his career. In many performances in San Remo, 2005 was chosen by Califano as “I do not rule out the return”. Epitaph for his tombstone in the cemetery of Ardea. A small period was also revived by a happy and “tidy” version of Tiromancino, in which the phrase “And I threw my heart in every toilet“became”Throw my heart everywhere“.

Premise. To fully understand this text one must be (or have been) an artist or at least have accepted to live even a single day and lose oneself in seemingly misleading or useless mental (de-)constructions. It is necessary, as Califano sings, to have a late lunch at dinner and “look at the screens with an ironic expression”, but above all “to enclose the world in a mixed meal”. If someone were wondering or researching the meaning ofbe a fanCould sing: “And I risked my memories / To then be reborn under the stars / But I sure didn’t forget a crazy love / In a short time».

Here are many of the coordinates of the thing that we can’t get rid of. Exactly cheers.

Califano, if we rewrite and shift the subject from the love of football, seems to want to get rid of a mad love in order to be reborn under the stars. Start from scratch and probably forget all the pain. But the impossibility of forgetting this crazy love keeps him from taking the risk of risking everything. And so we are in a little time – a sad time, or perhaps too little to consume too much joy. Many times those who support live in this state of incomprehensionsimply because you’ve decided to devote all your love, time, and attention to something useless (in the eyes of others) and indispensable.

If you think about it, Inter’s recent big wins have thrived on that contrast. The great seasons of Mancini and Mourinho were also born on the ashes of Calciopoli and a championship without rivals for years. A little time where penalties and summary judgments marked the schizophrenic Inter’s transformation into the perfect machine. The same goes for Conte’s (Blitz) era, where Inter celebrated their 19th Scudetto in the empty stadiums of Coronafootball. Time always seems to conspire against the Beneamata.

It seems like Mourinho silenced the Camp Nou yesterday while wagging his finger at his boys. In reality it is Mou who runs under the Curva Sud. Don’t you hear the sentence ring out: «And I threw my heart in every toilet»? Enemy noise aside, it’s here a shrinking time until it gets really small.

A Little Time is, as we have said, an art song and the various metaphors the caliph attaches to his mixed meal inevitably remind us of one of the perhaps masterful goals – as one would say of a work of art – of recent Nerazzurri history. Yuri Djorkaeff’s overhead kick against Roma, not a random opponent for that matter. It was January 5, 1997. Inter was coached by Roy Hodgson and Roma by Carlos Bianchi. In the 39th minute, Ganz dropped an inconspicuous shot that Sterchele fended off badly with his feet.

A bell tower was born, onto which Petruzzi pounced even more clumsily, creating a surreal arch. The ball didn’t seem to want to land and both Petruzzi and Djorkaeff looked for answers. Then Yuri mixed vodka with tonic water, painted the soul on an anonymous canvas and took to the skies to defy the laws of physics. Hence the historic “not even” overhead kick – which requires your back to goal – and Djorkaeff slipped the ball under the bar from an impossible position. Yuri rolled uphill as if by magic.

Adventures with the transvestite

(I lose you1979)

Here is a key feature of Califano: the irony. If you don’t understand the irony, you can’t get close to his songs. If you don’t understand that irony is the serious game on which Franco built his life and in some cases hides his true colors, much of all that poetry gets lost. Califano paid dearly for his choices, and more importantly, for wanting to tell them what they were, which was adventure. So let’s not moralize or the wisdom of correctness in dealing with certain subjects.

1979, when Italy “came out” of the leadership years and Beccalossis Inter finished fourth, Franco sang and discovered sexuality across all cultural borders. To go back to the short time mentioned above, Franco’s words would still be a scandal today because, reading the full text, they touch in every way the sublime that frightens us. But since Franco’s great art consists in hiding and hiding, we want to fall back on the game of metaphors right from the first stanza: «Ihis face was smoother than wax / What a shave he had that night / It really was a bomb, I said to myself / I can’t remember if I’m not going to put her to bed».

This is the story of Luciano was Eriberto at Inter. Acrobatic winger Eriberto, 23, was part of Miracolo Chievo and was close to joining Lazio in 2002 if it hadn’t been for him disguise. That very summer Eriberto fled to Brazil and when he returned to Italy he did so with Luciano, the person he had always been. A person three years older (little time keeps coming). After a six-month ban and a €160,000 fine, Luciano joined Inter on loan in 2003. In his season there were only 5 appearances and no goals. Frank would say:

“You see the sun and you find the storm / It’s Monday at the tide and it looks like a party / Life is a doubt everything to discover”.

The last friend leaves

(A bastard who came from the south1972)

We always stay on the ironic vein. This song from Califfo’s first studio album seems to have been written for the season following the Scudetto and the traumatic arrival of Simone Inzaghi. Via Hakimi, via Lukaku and here comes the verse “He old group ‘nd ò remainI lost her so / when I know, forget me, So many friends and then … tiè!». There is nothing to add. Franco has already said everything.

This brings us to one of the “unimaginably” most beautiful stadium songs. A song, minuetthat one would accuse today mansplaining.

Because the text written by Califano tells of the love of a woman. The genius, even if we should speak of delicacy in this case, is that the lyrics are a litmus test for the Franco-Latin lover’s mistakes, which are accused of him in many songs. The organic nature of man in his inevitable having a female and a male part She comes out without any shame – specific shame, because for some it’s a shame to have a feminine side – and looks into the mirror of complementarity.

He rereads his impulses, understands his wounds, condemns his escapes when they become empty and spasmodic expectations for the other: «Now I admit it maybe it’s just my fault / I should have lost you / instead I was looking for you». If we want to read everything under a soccer lens – and we’re doing that here – try listening to the song and imagining yourself in the stadium.

Especially the moment when the sentence begins «And come to my house….” which ends in a riot La-la-la. Unbelievable. You see the scarves, you see the field amidst the smoke bombs and it’s like a night away in the away sector, you get out last and you have to wait for everyone, even the firefighters. And then you sing. you just sing. And that’s one of the inexplicable reasons why Franco is loved because he’s always lived in the away sector.

Ah fan

(Blue Moon concert by Ogliastro Marina, 1992)

Perhaps, and we must admit doubt, this song is – indeed a performative reading – could represent Califano’s unconscious Giallorossi. Born in Tripoli, raised in Rome with success in Milan, Franco is a perpetual uprooted, which in itself goes against the very concept of being a fan.

Franco is everywhere and the international with his suffix Inter, his to be between things, represents it perfectly. In this song, however, there appears perhaps that domestic and territorial life that Franco would have had if he had come from Rome: «It’s Friday, my wait begins / It’s always like this when we play at home / By Sunday I’ll know how a man lies in a coma / Only Roma will revive me».

Cover manufactured by contrasts. Thanks for the background on San Siro Simone Daino