Do you remember the conspiracy of the strong powers of the north against the Scudetto in Naples?

I would like to have the cheek of some of your commentators who today celebrate the Napoli championship with the rhetoric of the raspberry from the south to the games of the north regardless of the fact that only a few months ago they swore they knew that Napoli would not be champions because there was a plot by the strong powers of the north, the mafia of the Milanese and Turinese who would have prevented it. I don’t have it, thank God, but when at the beginning of the year I said that the Arsenal everyone was blowing on wouldn’t win the Premier League, I was more of a prophet than someone who has the standing of a persecuted writer with a straight back . While you drown in rhetoric, submerged by cartoons and photomontages of Maradona who celebrates the Scudetto from heaven looking at the dead and wounded of Naples who still make a lot of redemption and folklore, I drink beer and spread butter enjoying the fact that finally we realize that After all, Messi is an asshole like many others. It is obvious, the media-popular narration has now decided that he is the good guy and Cristiano Ronaldo the bad guy, the loser who at 38 goes to play in Saudi Arabia while his rival wins the World Cup. Now that even the Pulce could go and play with the Bedouins, and at only 35 years old, what about it? Naturally it will be told as a far-sighted and courageous choice, the rest of the demigod who with his presence will make a football movement still in its infancy grow and so on with other bullshit.

I didn’t think Paris Saint-Germain fans had the lucidity to realize they’ve been taken for a ride for years by a club that has filled the team with stickers but so far has only won a few Ligue 1s, the equivalent of a neighborhood tournament. The protests outside the homes of Neymar and Messi will be stigmatized by journalists who know a lot, but they are the most humane and popular thing seen in those parts in the last decade. Haaland is not human (and with this sentence I win the Rai Sport award for banality), who on Tuesday with his City will play against Real Madrid in the only serious semi-final of this year’s Champions League. The boy with the hair of an 80s girl has broken another record for goals scored and, if as I hope and believe he lifts the cup on 10 June next, as well as winning the league and possibly the FA Cup against dead United, I hope that the jury of puppets that awards the Ballon d’Or will give it to him, and not to the carpet who took a few penalties well in Qatar. It won’t happen, but Haaland has time to make up for it. As long as he doesn’t end up doing interviews on the importance of losing in life, giving lessons on how much more you learn after a defeat than after a triumph (so what the fuck do we give cups at the end of a tournament?). A genre now so abused in sport that even female soccer players have begun to explain to us the cathartic power of not winning. And here I am silent which is better.