(by Arturo Minervini) – Zero to this bad smell. From the ground of Dall’Ara a bad smell climbs up to the nostrils, a miasma that instinctively leads to covering one’s mouth and nose. Some unripe spectator would scream unbelievably, but it isn’t incredible. Because it has already happened, many times. The form is certainly innovative: Napoli scores, goes 2-0 and closes a game that is dominating. At the Var, however, I disagree, they see a touch of Osimhen’s hand. What would you say: “Finally, what zeal!”. They break those images under the microscope and find the mistake. Too bad, however, that in the decomposition, a piece is lost. THE PIECE. The most important: that Osimhen touches the ball with his hand because it is knocked down. The audio will have been this: “Come and see, there is a touch of the hand. But don’t look at what happens first, it is forbidden for minors under 39 ”. The cool 38-year-old Easter performs.
One like the yellow card, the maximum penalty in the new rules introduced for Bologna. There is the obvious prohibition to assign the second card, despite the killer income of Danilo and Schouten. A senseless, illogical, conditioning management. Also on the occasion devoured by Orsolini, Easter plays Pontius Pilate and washes his hands on a foul on Fabian. In an evening of constant omissions, the only vital momentum on the touch of Osimhen’s hands: but did you take us for balls? Be kind.
Two out. With long faces, the face that tells in advance what will be made public shortly after. Mario and Faouzi, at the news of the Campania yellow zone have started ‘great walks’ (cit.). Trekking passion that did not soften the heart of Gattuso, one who even in the aisles of the supermarket enters pressing on the elderly lady who wants to blow the last box of peeled tomatoes. That’s how it is with Rino, it’s all out in the open. Do everything as if it were the last time. That the life of guarantees on any second chances has never given. The best day to go all out is here. And now. It is always time.
Three points that tell many things. Qualities, of a team that goes to Bologna and effectively annihilates the opponent. Defects, of a team that is a shark that has lost the Killer Instinct, in the throes of a crisis of conscience in front of the prey that now seems resigned. Everything goes on the scale of judgments, often corrupted by personal sympathies. So those who love Gattuso will say: race dominated. Who hates him: we won because of Orsolini’s mistake. Who is honest: he could have finished even seven to zero. Take a seat (spaced, please).
Four like the fourth estate. Nobody in the news notices the penalty on Osimhen. Even in some newspapers there is no trace of the episode, which yet would have a central position in the story. Inefficiencies and media dysfunctions, silences or lines never written that have the strength to guide thoughts and judgments. Quoting Charles Foster Kane in the masterpiece of Orson Welles: “Do you care what people think? I can enlighten you on this topic, I am an authority on how to make people think ”.
Five like the fingers of David’s little hand, King certainly not for the first night. In the chaos of ballot anxiety, too many times he has failed to highlight the Colombian’s merits. It’s not his fault if there’s someone as strong as Meret on the bench. So let’s face it: Ospina is an excellent goalkeeper, he has perhaps the best aspect of his game in his head. After a race of inactivity that not even Checco Zalone in the exercise of his duties as a ‘permanent position’, finds the reflex to say no to Orsolini. El Patron has attributes, peer control, leadership – better have him on your side.
Six wins out of five games and a goal difference of + 11. Like a kite chasing the right wind, Napoli still hovers in its sky, looking for stable currents. The numbers tell, they fight with the subjectivity of opinions. The numbers tell us that so far Gattuso is right, that the team concedes little and creates more and more of the opponents. Every so often he loses his balance, but it is clear that ‘to take a step forward you have to lose your balance for a moment’. The road is the right one. The wind, too.
Seven to Elseid’s work of mercy: the painting will be exhibited at the Pio Monte di Misericordia, to the right of a Caravaggio. Hysaj immolates himself as a bulwark of Justice, for his homeland, for his teammates, for that coach who has made him once again a very titular. At the end of the race the Albanian is decisive, sacrificing his own body to the cause. A cause that now feels his again, a heart once again serving a purpose. Too many times with the suitcase, too many times with the feet already on the mat for greetings. And instead, like Vasco Rossi, the Albanian sings ‘I’m still here’. Of course. Feline, with unlimited lives.
Eight appearances and two goals. This is where the numbers lie, which must be dissected by putting memories into them. Dries has had many opportunities in this first part of the seasons, from ‘his tile’ as Gattuso recalls. And from there Ciro is a non-negotiable sentence, like Jules Winnfield who recites Ezekiel 25:17 before knocking out the victim. But Ciro is now stuck. He confuses words, hesitates with his hand on the trigger, thinks too much. Here is the problem. Rationality versus instinct: absolute evil for a primitive bomber like Dries. Mistakes that suggest other mistakes, dogs with bitten tails and a few small wounds to heal. It’s just a fog in the head: it’s there, but you can’t see it. He will go away to the first ballet to be dedicated to his friend Starace.
Nine to the big boy, which is stone found at depths where the ground takes on a robust consistency. It must be smoothed, pampered, protected. Osimhem sails. Suspended in the air, waiting for the most important appointment with the ball. Celebrate Victor, with his finger pointing to the sky, looking for a star. A comfort. A caress that reaches up to the cheek, a face that wants to show off. Grinds meters, which do not weigh on the heart. With his head he hammers his body, imposes a shot, then another. Then take a second, but just a second, and again to charge with your head down. It takes awareness, vision, file details. Learn by making mistakes, correcting yourself by playing. It is a fascinating project, which can turn into a car with few defects. Let it run. Indeed, sailing on the waves of his contagious enthusiasm.
Ten in Lozano, previously shy and insecure, who now looks like Genny Savastano returning from Honduras. The Mexican Calimero has come out of his shell, now going crazy in the right lane with his organized chaos, shambling movements that send opponents out of time who have only one alternative: to take him down. Dominant, more than what the result tells, more than what that agile and agile body tells. They made him wear many masks, none suited to his face. Now he’s got rid of it, Gattuso didn’t ask him to be anything other than what he is. He learned to be ordered when Napoli defends, but when he attacks he plays his football. A football made of unpredictability., Of shots, of dribbling, of lunges. A football made of a different beauty, like that of An Thurman. A beauty that makes you fall in love, every time for a detail that had escaped you. The sweetness he puts in the cross for Osimhen is an extra-luxury chocolate pill. “When stev la in Honduras stev ‘rind a na capann..e nsiem’ a me stev nu mexican c parlav parlav pcchè tnev paur ..”. Now fear no longer knows what it is.
A post shared by Arturo Minervini (@arturo_minervini) on Nov 9, 2020 at 1:50 am PST
–
–
