began almost as a joke – like many important things in my life. It was lunchtime at work and I was texting my girlfriend, now my wife: “Napoli play tonight. Is it OK if we stay home?” She asked, “Why don’t you try to get tickets?” I told her they’d been sold out for weeks. “Try anyway,” she said. “What do you have to lose?”
A few hours later, “trying costs nothing” became our motto for the night. For us, that meant somehow getting into a roaring, gladiatorial Stadio Diego Armando Maradona. For Napoli, it was about facing a supposedly unstoppable Liverpool side. We succeeded in our mission. Astonishingly, I looked on the club website and somehow found tickets – it’s as if Lady Luck was saying nothing is impossible. And for Luciano Spalletti and his players, the word impossible didn’t exist either in an unforgettable season that brought a first Italian title in 33 years.
It’s hard to describe what happened at the stadium as we witnessed it unfold. The drums became deafening. Our field of vision was invaded by hundreds of swirling flags, banners and scarves. As we scored the fourth goal, an ethereal sense of wonderment seemed to spread through the stands: the eyes of children were illuminated by the floodlights, while the adults looked far into the distance and back into the past, incredulous at having gone from courtroom bankruptcy to dominating one of Europe’s strongest teams.
At the final whistle, I heard an old-timer behind me tell some kids, “Trust me, young blood, you’ll never forget this night.”
Leaving the stadium, we were greeted by the racket of youngsters draped in blue scarves and flags speeding on scooters, horns honking loudly. Somewhere, maybe around the Spanish Quarters, someone decided to add fireworks to the general bedlam of a city that would struggle to sleep that night. We’d see this again and again that season. It was the perfect overture for what would prove the most important year for us Napoli fans born after the advent of Maradona.
began almost as a joke – like many important things in my life. It was lunchtime at work and I was texting my girlfriend, now my wife: “Napoli play tonight. Is it OK if we stay home?” She asked, “Why don’t you try to get tickets?” I told her they’d been sold out for weeks. “Try anyway,” she said. “What do you have to lose?”
A few hours later, “trying costs nothing” became our motto for the night. For us, that meant somehow getting into a roaring, gladiatorial Stadio Diego Armando Maradona. For Napoli, it was about facing a supposedly unstoppable Liverpool side. We succeeded in our mission. Astonishingly, I looked on the club website and somehow found tickets – it’s as if Lady Luck was saying nothing is impossible. And for Luciano Spalletti and his players, the word impossible didn’t exist either in an unforgettable season that brought a first Italian title in 33 years.
It’s hard to describe what happened at the stadium as we witnessed it unfold. The drums became deafening. Our field of vision was invaded by hundreds of swirling flags, banners and scarves. As we scored the fourth goal, an ethereal sense of wonderment seemed to spread through the stands: the eyes of children were illuminated by the floodlights, while the adults looked far into the distance and back into the past, incredulous at having gone from courtroom bankruptcy to dominating one of Europe’s strongest teams.
At the final whistle, I heard an old-timer behind me tell some kids, “Trust me, young blood, you’ll never forget this night.”
Leaving the stadium, we were greeted by the racket of youngsters draped in blue scarves and flags speeding on scooters, horns honking loudly. Somewhere, maybe around the Spanish Quarters, someone decided to add fireworks to the general bedlam of a city that would struggle to sleep that night. We’d see this again and again that season. It was the perfect overture for what would prove the most important year for us Napoli fans born after the advent of Maradona.
began almost as a joke – like many important things in my life. It was lunchtime at work and I was texting my girlfriend, now my wife: “Napoli play tonight. Is it OK if we stay home?” She asked, “Why don’t you try to get tickets?” I told her they’d been sold out for weeks. “Try anyway,” she said. “What do you have to lose?”
A few hours later, “trying costs nothing” became our motto for the night. For us, that meant somehow getting into a roaring, gladiatorial Stadio Diego Armando Maradona. For Napoli, it was about facing a supposedly unstoppable Liverpool side. We succeeded in our mission. Astonishingly, I looked on the club website and somehow found tickets – it’s as if Lady Luck was saying nothing is impossible. And for Luciano Spalletti and his players, the word impossible didn’t exist either in an unforgettable season that brought a first Italian title in 33 years.
It’s hard to describe what happened at the stadium as we witnessed it unfold. The drums became deafening. Our field of vision was invaded by hundreds of swirling flags, banners and scarves. As we scored the fourth goal, an ethereal sense of wonderment seemed to spread through the stands: the eyes of children were illuminated by the floodlights, while the adults looked far into the distance and back into the past, incredulous at having gone from courtroom bankruptcy to dominating one of Europe’s strongest teams.
At the final whistle, I heard an old-timer behind me tell some kids, “Trust me, young blood, you’ll never forget this night.”
Leaving the stadium, we were greeted by the racket of youngsters draped in blue scarves and flags speeding on scooters, horns honking loudly. Somewhere, maybe around the Spanish Quarters, someone decided to add fireworks to the general bedlam of a city that would struggle to sleep that night. We’d see this again and again that season. It was the perfect overture for what would prove the most important year for us Napoli fans born after the advent of Maradona.
began almost as a joke – like many important things in my life. It was lunchtime at work and I was texting my girlfriend, now my wife: “Napoli play tonight. Is it OK if we stay home?” She asked, “Why don’t you try to get tickets?” I told her they’d been sold out for weeks. “Try anyway,” she said. “What do you have to lose?”
A few hours later, “trying costs nothing” became our motto for the night. For us, that meant somehow getting into a roaring, gladiatorial Stadio Diego Armando Maradona. For Napoli, it was about facing a supposedly unstoppable Liverpool side. We succeeded in our mission. Astonishingly, I looked on the club website and somehow found tickets – it’s as if Lady Luck was saying nothing is impossible. And for Luciano Spalletti and his players, the word impossible didn’t exist either in an unforgettable season that brought a first Italian title in 33 years.
It’s hard to describe what happened at the stadium as we witnessed it unfold. The drums became deafening. Our field of vision was invaded by hundreds of swirling flags, banners and scarves. As we scored the fourth goal, an ethereal sense of wonderment seemed to spread through the stands: the eyes of children were illuminated by the floodlights, while the adults looked far into the distance and back into the past, incredulous at having gone from courtroom bankruptcy to dominating one of Europe’s strongest teams.
At the final whistle, I heard an old-timer behind me tell some kids, “Trust me, young blood, you’ll never forget this night.”
Leaving the stadium, we were greeted by the racket of youngsters draped in blue scarves and flags speeding on scooters, horns honking loudly. Somewhere, maybe around the Spanish Quarters, someone decided to add fireworks to the general bedlam of a city that would struggle to sleep that night. We’d see this again and again that season. It was the perfect overture for what would prove the most important year for us Napoli fans born after the advent of Maradona.
began almost as a joke – like many important things in my life. It was lunchtime at work and I was texting my girlfriend, now my wife: “Napoli play tonight. Is it OK if we stay home?” She asked, “Why don’t you try to get tickets?” I told her they’d been sold out for weeks. “Try anyway,” she said. “What do you have to lose?”
A few hours later, “trying costs nothing” became our motto for the night. For us, that meant somehow getting into a roaring, gladiatorial Stadio Diego Armando Maradona. For Napoli, it was about facing a supposedly unstoppable Liverpool side. We succeeded in our mission. Astonishingly, I looked on the club website and somehow found tickets – it’s as if Lady Luck was saying nothing is impossible. And for Luciano Spalletti and his players, the word impossible didn’t exist either in an unforgettable season that brought a first Italian title in 33 years.
It’s hard to describe what happened at the stadium as we witnessed it unfold. The drums became deafening. Our field of vision was invaded by hundreds of swirling flags, banners and scarves. As we scored the fourth goal, an ethereal sense of wonderment seemed to spread through the stands: the eyes of children were illuminated by the floodlights, while the adults looked far into the distance and back into the past, incredulous at having gone from courtroom bankruptcy to dominating one of Europe’s strongest teams.
At the final whistle, I heard an old-timer behind me tell some kids, “Trust me, young blood, you’ll never forget this night.”
Leaving the stadium, we were greeted by the racket of youngsters draped in blue scarves and flags speeding on scooters, horns honking loudly. Somewhere, maybe around the Spanish Quarters, someone decided to add fireworks to the general bedlam of a city that would struggle to sleep that night. We’d see this again and again that season. It was the perfect overture for what would prove the most important year for us Napoli fans born after the advent of Maradona.
began almost as a joke – like many important things in my life. It was lunchtime at work and I was texting my girlfriend, now my wife: “Napoli play tonight. Is it OK if we stay home?” She asked, “Why don’t you try to get tickets?” I told her they’d been sold out for weeks. “Try anyway,” she said. “What do you have to lose?”
A few hours later, “trying costs nothing” became our motto for the night. For us, that meant somehow getting into a roaring, gladiatorial Stadio Diego Armando Maradona. For Napoli, it was about facing a supposedly unstoppable Liverpool side. We succeeded in our mission. Astonishingly, I looked on the club website and somehow found tickets – it’s as if Lady Luck was saying nothing is impossible. And for Luciano Spalletti and his players, the word impossible didn’t exist either in an unforgettable season that brought a first Italian title in 33 years.
It’s hard to describe what happened at the stadium as we witnessed it unfold. The drums became deafening. Our field of vision was invaded by hundreds of swirling flags, banners and scarves. As we scored the fourth goal, an ethereal sense of wonderment seemed to spread through the stands: the eyes of children were illuminated by the floodlights, while the adults looked far into the distance and back into the past, incredulous at having gone from courtroom bankruptcy to dominating one of Europe’s strongest teams.
At the final whistle, I heard an old-timer behind me tell some kids, “Trust me, young blood, you’ll never forget this night.”
Leaving the stadium, we were greeted by the racket of youngsters draped in blue scarves and flags speeding on scooters, horns honking loudly. Somewhere, maybe around the Spanish Quarters, someone decided to add fireworks to the general bedlam of a city that would struggle to sleep that night. We’d see this again and again that season. It was the perfect overture for what would prove the most important year for us Napoli fans born after the advent of Maradona.
