Genova and God have mercy.

By: Ben | October 26th, 2008

Free of the burden of European competition, teams such as the venerable Bologna are free of mid-week fixtures and in turn the credibility garnered from inclusion in such tournaments. Well let’s put all that aside and focus on the task at hand, Sampdoria.
It’s quite rare such occasions as this, where I can’t muster any insult or snide comments to fling like a large heaping fecal mass at a car windshield; poo slinging is impossible without the brown matter.
Yes Sampdoria has a deep place in the cold dark recesses of my poor murmuring heart. For one, it’s the flag my wife dearly stands by (though she was born in Naples and has lived most her life in Emilia-Romagna), two, the great Gianluca Vialli reached his apex with the Blucerchiati, and three, the city of Genova for anyone that has had the pleasure to visit can only kindle warmth and admiration in recollection.
This is where the famed pesto was birthed, simple in it’s ingredients yet like the divine balls of mozzarella di bufala from Campagna, its truth can only be understood if eaten fresh and in the place it is created. If you’re ever there, seek out the Trattoria alle Due Torri and order a plate of the streppe al pesto.
We face a team tomorrow that has been plagued by poor results without in fact playing poorly. Their threats lie in the likes of a true footballing treasure, Antonio Cassano. FantAntonio; aside from the belligerence akin to the insane is nothing but a pleasure to watch. There is a reason they call him Peter Pan, the man moves differently. The moments of natural brilliance he displays I can only find in one other player in the form of Francesco Totti. Their unpredictability and fluidity of movement can only astound.
That being said, let’s hope for a game. I’d like the points but against my better judgment I just don’t care. Actually I’m more occupied by my recent inability to sleep and the poor content of late night public access television. The most recent horror show being, Let a Hebrew Speak where a congregation of radical African American Jews gathered plastic statuettes of Santa Klaus and the Holy Mary and proceeded to hang them from nooses in front of a church sandwiched between miles of asphalt in the outer reaches of Brooklyn.
I can’t find reason for such atrocities other than that these poor souls haven’t found the gift of sport or an alternative pastime to divert their energies. Please God, let their be some special play tomorrow and hopefully a little redemption for these bizarre acts of religious protest that are no doubt in the makings as we speak, in the darker corners of New York Cities outer boroughs.