Champions League players are often said to be the modern gladiators. Thankfully, the job these days involves putting a ball in the back of the net rather than waving a sword and shield at lions, but one legendary venue shares a special connection with ancient Rome: the Stadio Olimpico, which blends the best of contemporary sport with echoes of the past.
Located down the road from Viale dei Gladiatori (Gladiator Avenue), the 70,000-seater venue was built as part of the Foro Italico – a majestic sports complex inspired by Roman forums and decorated liberally with classical marble statues of athletes. Work began in 1927, but the version closest to today’s structure opened in 1953, with further renovations following in 1990 and 2008.
Those upkeep efforts reflect the Olimpico’s continuing importance, and not just to fans of local residents Lazio, Roma and the Italian national team. The vast bowl-shaped arena has often commanded global attention, staging no fewer than four European Cup finals – with memorable feats including Bruce Grobbelaar’s ‘spaghetti-legs’ routine for Liverpool in their 1984 shoot-out win against Roma and Lionel Messi’s leaping header as Barcelona dispatched Manchester United in 2009.
Add in hosting duties for the 1968 and 1980 European Championship deciders, plus the 1990 World Cup final, and you get some sense of why this stadium is a must-have on the bucket list of supporters everywhere. It also served as the central hub of the 1960 Summer Olympics, hence the less-than-popular running track, but forget the name: most of all, the Olimpico means calcio, and who better to tell us what that entails than a fan from each of the Italian capital’s venerated clubs?
It’s the connection point between past and present, the place where I have been coming twice a week for 30 years, the meeting place for me and my friends. Over those years, I have changed, my life has changed, but the Stadio Olimpico is the same as ever.
I remember the choreographies in the Curva Nord when I was a boy. There was the excitement of holding up a coloured A4 card knowing you were part of a huge artwork and waiting to see it on the big screen. It really was emotional to be part of that. Once, we all made a big eagle which covered the whole Tribuna Tevere, but one of the best was a rendering of the Creation of Adam, Michelangelo’s masterpiece.
For me, the Stadio Olimpico is a kind of temple, and from the Tribuna Tevere you can see the golden Madonnina di Monte Mario statue, an evocative sight, especially when it’s lit up on European matchnights. The athletics track may mean the fans can’t be close to the pitch, but it’s all part of the history of this venue.
My favourite part of the stadium remains the Curva Nord, which is the heart of the Biancocelesti fanbase. I watched from there for 15 wonderful years, including those of the most beautiful Lazio side ever, the Scudetto-winning team of 1999/2000. It was where I had my first season ticket, but as my father was a little afraid, I had to wait until I was 18 to get it. Now, I’m a season-ticket holder in the Distinti Sud Ovest, next to the Curva Maestrelli, named after Tommaso Maestrelli, the coach of Lazio’s first Scudetto winners in 1973/74.
My favourite moment came on 14 May 2000, the last day of the Serie A season and the first and only time I went on the pitch. Lazio started in second, two points behind Juventus, and managed to beat Reggina 3-0. However, the second half of Juve’s game was delayed due to a downpour, and the gates of the Olimpico were opened to allow us onto the field. I lived the longest 45 minutes in the history of football waiting for their result. I was in centre circle with my friend Alessandro as we waited to hear that Juve had lost and we had won the Scudetto for the second time in history, but the first in my lifetime.
The captain of the first Scudetto winners, Giuseppe ‘Pino’ Wilson, had a great relationship with the fans. He started working in radio after retiring and talked to supporters every day. I called him too, and it was nice to greet him with, “Good morning, captain!” He was part of an association with other players from that team. They organise a father and son day, which is the first time I went to the stadium with my eldest, Tommaso. It was 2014, and I remember holding my son in my arms. I realised I was taking him there for the first time, in an event that celebrated the passing of Lazio fandom from father to son, and it moved me to tears.
It was 1991 when Antonello Venditti sang that “some loves don’t end; they just go astray and then come back.” Roma fans feel deeply attached to this line, even more than to the refrain of Roma Roma Roma, written by the same pen and played before home games since 1974. It has to do with our belief in the endlessness of true love, which we’ve been witnessing (and practising) during our life as Romanisti more than in our other life.
Since anybody can remember, the theatre where that love unfolds is the Stadio Olimpico. The life of a Roma fan is pain, but we’ve been taught that winning a title under this tangle of white cantilevers is worth more than winning many elsewhere, and a run up to the top of the stairs leading to the stands is enough to understand why. The green expanse appears so suddenly and magnificently that it’s hard not to experience dizziness.
Pair this with the noise, the smoke and the ocean of red-and-yellow scarves, and Roma’s European comebacks take on a much more understandable dimension. My memory of the mother of all comebacks, against Barcelona in 2018, is linked to a small-town travel agency which had become a temporary ticket sales point, where I stood in line from dawn until I realised that the club’s overwhelmed servers could only deal with a couple of customers.
But there’s another night from that season’s Champions League campaign which holds a special place in my heart. We took on Qarabağ a fortnight before Christmas. Freezing cold and family in tow, I’d be lying if I said that the Olimpico was sold out or if I bragged about having the perfect view of the game’s lone goal. From the Distinti Nord sector where I was, numb from an hour of charmless football, it took me a while to realise that Diego Perotti had just scored the winner on the opposite side of the pitch.
As Grazie Roma (yes, also by Venditti) blared from the loudspeakers, and a shirtless Aleksandar Kolarov defied the bone-chilling temperature to stare at the giant screen waiting for Chelsea vs Atlético de Madrid to end, everything felt just right. Quite incredibly, Roma had just topped Group C, the holiday season was right around the corner and I was savouring this experience with thousands of other people.
That must be the best thing about this stadium: feeling as one, even on the most sombre nights, like when we had to wave farewell to Daniele De Rossi. One banner read: “You have represented us on the pitch for 18 years… From today, your curva will represent you forever. We are all DDR.”
Fast forward to 2024 and De Rossi has just been appointed José Mourinho’s successor, making his debut as Roma manager against Hellas Verona. A new banner is unfurled in the stands: “We left each other with a promise. Today, we want to keep it… We are all DDR.” Because nowhere more than inside the Stadio Olimpico are people able to feel that some loves don’t end – they just go astray and then come back.
Champions League players are often said to be the modern gladiators. Thankfully, the job these days involves putting a ball in the back of the net rather than waving a sword and shield at lions, but one legendary venue shares a special connection with ancient Rome: the Stadio Olimpico, which blends the best of contemporary sport with echoes of the past.
Located down the road from Viale dei Gladiatori (Gladiator Avenue), the 70,000-seater venue was built as part of the Foro Italico – a majestic sports complex inspired by Roman forums and decorated liberally with classical marble statues of athletes. Work began in 1927, but the version closest to today’s structure opened in 1953, with further renovations following in 1990 and 2008.
Those upkeep efforts reflect the Olimpico’s continuing importance, and not just to fans of local residents Lazio, Roma and the Italian national team. The vast bowl-shaped arena has often commanded global attention, staging no fewer than four European Cup finals – with memorable feats including Bruce Grobbelaar’s ‘spaghetti-legs’ routine for Liverpool in their 1984 shoot-out win against Roma and Lionel Messi’s leaping header as Barcelona dispatched Manchester United in 2009.
Add in hosting duties for the 1968 and 1980 European Championship deciders, plus the 1990 World Cup final, and you get some sense of why this stadium is a must-have on the bucket list of supporters everywhere. It also served as the central hub of the 1960 Summer Olympics, hence the less-than-popular running track, but forget the name: most of all, the Olimpico means calcio, and who better to tell us what that entails than a fan from each of the Italian capital’s venerated clubs?
It’s the connection point between past and present, the place where I have been coming twice a week for 30 years, the meeting place for me and my friends. Over those years, I have changed, my life has changed, but the Stadio Olimpico is the same as ever.
I remember the choreographies in the Curva Nord when I was a boy. There was the excitement of holding up a coloured A4 card knowing you were part of a huge artwork and waiting to see it on the big screen. It really was emotional to be part of that. Once, we all made a big eagle which covered the whole Tribuna Tevere, but one of the best was a rendering of the Creation of Adam, Michelangelo’s masterpiece.
For me, the Stadio Olimpico is a kind of temple, and from the Tribuna Tevere you can see the golden Madonnina di Monte Mario statue, an evocative sight, especially when it’s lit up on European matchnights. The athletics track may mean the fans can’t be close to the pitch, but it’s all part of the history of this venue.
My favourite part of the stadium remains the Curva Nord, which is the heart of the Biancocelesti fanbase. I watched from there for 15 wonderful years, including those of the most beautiful Lazio side ever, the Scudetto-winning team of 1999/2000. It was where I had my first season ticket, but as my father was a little afraid, I had to wait until I was 18 to get it. Now, I’m a season-ticket holder in the Distinti Sud Ovest, next to the Curva Maestrelli, named after Tommaso Maestrelli, the coach of Lazio’s first Scudetto winners in 1973/74.
My favourite moment came on 14 May 2000, the last day of the Serie A season and the first and only time I went on the pitch. Lazio started in second, two points behind Juventus, and managed to beat Reggina 3-0. However, the second half of Juve’s game was delayed due to a downpour, and the gates of the Olimpico were opened to allow us onto the field. I lived the longest 45 minutes in the history of football waiting for their result. I was in centre circle with my friend Alessandro as we waited to hear that Juve had lost and we had won the Scudetto for the second time in history, but the first in my lifetime.
The captain of the first Scudetto winners, Giuseppe ‘Pino’ Wilson, had a great relationship with the fans. He started working in radio after retiring and talked to supporters every day. I called him too, and it was nice to greet him with, “Good morning, captain!” He was part of an association with other players from that team. They organise a father and son day, which is the first time I went to the stadium with my eldest, Tommaso. It was 2014, and I remember holding my son in my arms. I realised I was taking him there for the first time, in an event that celebrated the passing of Lazio fandom from father to son, and it moved me to tears.
It was 1991 when Antonello Venditti sang that “some loves don’t end; they just go astray and then come back.” Roma fans feel deeply attached to this line, even more than to the refrain of Roma Roma Roma, written by the same pen and played before home games since 1974. It has to do with our belief in the endlessness of true love, which we’ve been witnessing (and practising) during our life as Romanisti more than in our other life.
Since anybody can remember, the theatre where that love unfolds is the Stadio Olimpico. The life of a Roma fan is pain, but we’ve been taught that winning a title under this tangle of white cantilevers is worth more than winning many elsewhere, and a run up to the top of the stairs leading to the stands is enough to understand why. The green expanse appears so suddenly and magnificently that it’s hard not to experience dizziness.
Pair this with the noise, the smoke and the ocean of red-and-yellow scarves, and Roma’s European comebacks take on a much more understandable dimension. My memory of the mother of all comebacks, against Barcelona in 2018, is linked to a small-town travel agency which had become a temporary ticket sales point, where I stood in line from dawn until I realised that the club’s overwhelmed servers could only deal with a couple of customers.
But there’s another night from that season’s Champions League campaign which holds a special place in my heart. We took on Qarabağ a fortnight before Christmas. Freezing cold and family in tow, I’d be lying if I said that the Olimpico was sold out or if I bragged about having the perfect view of the game’s lone goal. From the Distinti Nord sector where I was, numb from an hour of charmless football, it took me a while to realise that Diego Perotti had just scored the winner on the opposite side of the pitch.
As Grazie Roma (yes, also by Venditti) blared from the loudspeakers, and a shirtless Aleksandar Kolarov defied the bone-chilling temperature to stare at the giant screen waiting for Chelsea vs Atlético de Madrid to end, everything felt just right. Quite incredibly, Roma had just topped Group C, the holiday season was right around the corner and I was savouring this experience with thousands of other people.
That must be the best thing about this stadium: feeling as one, even on the most sombre nights, like when we had to wave farewell to Daniele De Rossi. One banner read: “You have represented us on the pitch for 18 years… From today, your curva will represent you forever. We are all DDR.”
Fast forward to 2024 and De Rossi has just been appointed José Mourinho’s successor, making his debut as Roma manager against Hellas Verona. A new banner is unfurled in the stands: “We left each other with a promise. Today, we want to keep it… We are all DDR.” Because nowhere more than inside the Stadio Olimpico are people able to feel that some loves don’t end – they just go astray and then come back.
Champions League players are often said to be the modern gladiators. Thankfully, the job these days involves putting a ball in the back of the net rather than waving a sword and shield at lions, but one legendary venue shares a special connection with ancient Rome: the Stadio Olimpico, which blends the best of contemporary sport with echoes of the past.
Located down the road from Viale dei Gladiatori (Gladiator Avenue), the 70,000-seater venue was built as part of the Foro Italico – a majestic sports complex inspired by Roman forums and decorated liberally with classical marble statues of athletes. Work began in 1927, but the version closest to today’s structure opened in 1953, with further renovations following in 1990 and 2008.
Those upkeep efforts reflect the Olimpico’s continuing importance, and not just to fans of local residents Lazio, Roma and the Italian national team. The vast bowl-shaped arena has often commanded global attention, staging no fewer than four European Cup finals – with memorable feats including Bruce Grobbelaar’s ‘spaghetti-legs’ routine for Liverpool in their 1984 shoot-out win against Roma and Lionel Messi’s leaping header as Barcelona dispatched Manchester United in 2009.
Add in hosting duties for the 1968 and 1980 European Championship deciders, plus the 1990 World Cup final, and you get some sense of why this stadium is a must-have on the bucket list of supporters everywhere. It also served as the central hub of the 1960 Summer Olympics, hence the less-than-popular running track, but forget the name: most of all, the Olimpico means calcio, and who better to tell us what that entails than a fan from each of the Italian capital’s venerated clubs?
It’s the connection point between past and present, the place where I have been coming twice a week for 30 years, the meeting place for me and my friends. Over those years, I have changed, my life has changed, but the Stadio Olimpico is the same as ever.
I remember the choreographies in the Curva Nord when I was a boy. There was the excitement of holding up a coloured A4 card knowing you were part of a huge artwork and waiting to see it on the big screen. It really was emotional to be part of that. Once, we all made a big eagle which covered the whole Tribuna Tevere, but one of the best was a rendering of the Creation of Adam, Michelangelo’s masterpiece.
For me, the Stadio Olimpico is a kind of temple, and from the Tribuna Tevere you can see the golden Madonnina di Monte Mario statue, an evocative sight, especially when it’s lit up on European matchnights. The athletics track may mean the fans can’t be close to the pitch, but it’s all part of the history of this venue.
My favourite part of the stadium remains the Curva Nord, which is the heart of the Biancocelesti fanbase. I watched from there for 15 wonderful years, including those of the most beautiful Lazio side ever, the Scudetto-winning team of 1999/2000. It was where I had my first season ticket, but as my father was a little afraid, I had to wait until I was 18 to get it. Now, I’m a season-ticket holder in the Distinti Sud Ovest, next to the Curva Maestrelli, named after Tommaso Maestrelli, the coach of Lazio’s first Scudetto winners in 1973/74.
My favourite moment came on 14 May 2000, the last day of the Serie A season and the first and only time I went on the pitch. Lazio started in second, two points behind Juventus, and managed to beat Reggina 3-0. However, the second half of Juve’s game was delayed due to a downpour, and the gates of the Olimpico were opened to allow us onto the field. I lived the longest 45 minutes in the history of football waiting for their result. I was in centre circle with my friend Alessandro as we waited to hear that Juve had lost and we had won the Scudetto for the second time in history, but the first in my lifetime.
The captain of the first Scudetto winners, Giuseppe ‘Pino’ Wilson, had a great relationship with the fans. He started working in radio after retiring and talked to supporters every day. I called him too, and it was nice to greet him with, “Good morning, captain!” He was part of an association with other players from that team. They organise a father and son day, which is the first time I went to the stadium with my eldest, Tommaso. It was 2014, and I remember holding my son in my arms. I realised I was taking him there for the first time, in an event that celebrated the passing of Lazio fandom from father to son, and it moved me to tears.
It was 1991 when Antonello Venditti sang that “some loves don’t end; they just go astray and then come back.” Roma fans feel deeply attached to this line, even more than to the refrain of Roma Roma Roma, written by the same pen and played before home games since 1974. It has to do with our belief in the endlessness of true love, which we’ve been witnessing (and practising) during our life as Romanisti more than in our other life.
Since anybody can remember, the theatre where that love unfolds is the Stadio Olimpico. The life of a Roma fan is pain, but we’ve been taught that winning a title under this tangle of white cantilevers is worth more than winning many elsewhere, and a run up to the top of the stairs leading to the stands is enough to understand why. The green expanse appears so suddenly and magnificently that it’s hard not to experience dizziness.
Pair this with the noise, the smoke and the ocean of red-and-yellow scarves, and Roma’s European comebacks take on a much more understandable dimension. My memory of the mother of all comebacks, against Barcelona in 2018, is linked to a small-town travel agency which had become a temporary ticket sales point, where I stood in line from dawn until I realised that the club’s overwhelmed servers could only deal with a couple of customers.
But there’s another night from that season’s Champions League campaign which holds a special place in my heart. We took on Qarabağ a fortnight before Christmas. Freezing cold and family in tow, I’d be lying if I said that the Olimpico was sold out or if I bragged about having the perfect view of the game’s lone goal. From the Distinti Nord sector where I was, numb from an hour of charmless football, it took me a while to realise that Diego Perotti had just scored the winner on the opposite side of the pitch.
As Grazie Roma (yes, also by Venditti) blared from the loudspeakers, and a shirtless Aleksandar Kolarov defied the bone-chilling temperature to stare at the giant screen waiting for Chelsea vs Atlético de Madrid to end, everything felt just right. Quite incredibly, Roma had just topped Group C, the holiday season was right around the corner and I was savouring this experience with thousands of other people.
That must be the best thing about this stadium: feeling as one, even on the most sombre nights, like when we had to wave farewell to Daniele De Rossi. One banner read: “You have represented us on the pitch for 18 years… From today, your curva will represent you forever. We are all DDR.”
Fast forward to 2024 and De Rossi has just been appointed José Mourinho’s successor, making his debut as Roma manager against Hellas Verona. A new banner is unfurled in the stands: “We left each other with a promise. Today, we want to keep it… We are all DDR.” Because nowhere more than inside the Stadio Olimpico are people able to feel that some loves don’t end – they just go astray and then come back.
