Bobo Maroni’s latest blues. The embrace of the old League around the coffin of the “secretary”

Varese. They felt alive remembering a dead person. At Bobo Maroni’s funeral, the Northern League cried twice. They mourned the body of the former secretary and they mourned for the party, a prisoner of their secretary. When the coffin, made of light, shiny walnut, was raised, it struck 11. The dog Diablo, an hour earlier, was sniffing the chairs of the Basilica of San Vittore. There were no explosives. At Caffè Biffi, Maroni’s coffee, they guaranteed that the one just poured was the twentieth grappa. At the newsstand in Corso Matteotti La Prealpina was already sold out. A Northern League supporter: “We had a congress thanks to a funeral”. How long has it been since they hugged?