Forza Italia!!!

In case you, like an unfortunate many Americans, haven't been following the World Cup for the past few weeks, you can at least keep up with a little water cooler conversation knowing that as of last night, Italy is the 2006 World Champion.

Will and I, along with our friend Ashley who is visiting from New York, watched the game at Circo Massimo with about 300,000 of our closest Roman pals. It was insane. I've been to places with large groups of people: a few Lollapaloozas (a music festival with probably around 15-20000 people), one Buring Man with 30,000 and the Anti-War March in London in 2002 with 2 Million people in the streets, but never before have I seen this many people gather. To watch television.

There were three projection screens set up: 2x25' and 1x50' and people came to Rome from all over the country. We came from the other side of town on the most crowded metro car ever. It was filled with fans, young and old, in various red-white-and-green get-ups including face paint and wigs. Also, you couldn't swing a dead cat without whacking someone in an Azzuri (the Italian team's blue) shirt. On the metro platform at Termini, the crowd started chanting a tune that we assumed was the lead-in to a national anthem or war ditty. Only later did we realize that their battlecry was the insidious baseline to the White Stripes Seven Nation Army.

Just before the end of the game, we climbed the hill to face the crowd-- we were itching to see what that many people looked like all smooshed together (amazing). Not realizing that there were like three penalty kicks for Italy to take before the end of the match, we thought Italy had won when the crowd erupted the first time. Literally thousands of Italian flags waved, big and small, in every direction.

But when the last point was finally scored and the win was official, the crowd exploded into absolute madness. Flags, fireworks (directly above the crowd, no less) and cameras went off, people cheered, they cried, I even saw one tough guy sprint uphill, high-five his friend and then give him a kiss on each cheek before he took to the streets on his moto to wave his flag and beep his horn with everyone else. Literally everyone.

We walked home among the throngs of exuberant Italians, cheering and screaming and tooting and flag-waving as if they themselves had scored the winning goal. I felt a little reserved, actually, which is not a familiar feeling in my world. But even without a flag, it was incredibly exciting to be in the company of champions.

As one shirtless painted man exclaimed to me with a boatfull of giddy in his eyes, "campioni del mundo!!"

We drank a bottle of Spumante in celebration and I finally went to bed around 130am with horns still beeping and people still cheering. A few people in the building next to us were so ingenious as to take the lids to their pots and pans and take to the streets like a marching band! Middle-aged adults! For hours!

Now as I write this over 24 hours later, horns are still beeping and flags are still waving and that damned bassline just won't let go of it's place in my head. Surprisingly, it hasn't gotten old. Yet.

I wonder what they're doing in Paris...