CALCIO STORICO = HISTORIC FOOTBALL: Ritual, Rivalry and What Else?
Reenactors in period costumes... You see them all the time in Italian cities, those with a claim to history and culture, which is to say most Italian cities.
Few, however, can rival Florence when it comes to liveried heralds, gowned damsels, armed warriors, robed officials and caparisoned horsemen —wave after wave, day after day, tromping through the streets.
Such exponents of living history are always perfectly turned out, painstakingly rehearsed and at the absolute top of their reenactor game.
Meanwhile, they crack smiles, joke with the police and share the fun.
Past or present? Whenever and whatever!
The event belongs to them and that's the essential fact.
For all its imaginative elaboration, Florence's Calcio Storico recalls a documented occurence.
During the autumn and winter of 1529-30, a coalition of forces assembled by the Holy Roman Emperor laid siege to the city.
The Florentines knew they were in trouble, but reacted with a bravura gesture for the ages.
On 17 February 1530, they processed in splendor to Piazza Santa Croce, with bells ringing and cannons firing,
There, in the public space most visible to the enemy in the hills, they enacted a festive contest— showing the world that they were neither down nor out.
"If destiny is against us, that's its problem! Florence Super-fans."
Thumbing one's nose at fate still comes naturally to Florentines —especially supporters of modern (rather than historic) football, who cherish the vagaries of their perennially problematic home team.
In later centuries, there was ongoing fascination with this historic event and sporadic revivals under Medici patronage.
However, the Calcio Storico we know today dates back only to 1930.
Alessandro Pavolini, its chief proponent, was a man of exquisite culture, fervently committed to local tradtions.
So, he resurrected this sport in his home town for the greater glory of the Tuscan people.
Pavolini was also a despised fomenter of Fascist terror.
He ended his days as a dangling carcass in Piazza Loreto in Milan, alongside Benito Mussolini.
There is much to say about the Calcio Storico, both in fact and theory.
Commentators usually focus on the exuberant pagentry of the spectacle and the thuggish violence of the actual game— both of which are notable.
But how about the contenders on the field and their family, friends and neighbors in the stands?
"TO OUR GODS", with a green heart, a massive fist and celestial wings.
Heavy Metal? Hells Angels? WWE?
The Verdi are channeling a whole range of outside influences, but they still mean exactly what they say.
What is this all about...really?
Florence as a whole or four conflicting quarters? As they are now or as they used to be?
How do you even ask that question, in a city where antagonism is the chief common bond?
You can't be Florentine without being part of a neighborhood. You can't be part of a neighborhood without mercilessly deriding the others.
Any Verde (Green), Bianco (White), Rosso (Red) or Azzurro (Blue) is glad to share that tribal knowledge, usually with a laugh.
"Total chaos out there, mate!" I remember the reaction of an Australian beer-drinker to a television replay of the Calcio Storico in a Florentine bar ages ago.
Chaos, not hardly... Apart from the essential chaos baked into the event.
The hyperactive fellow above, second from the left (with the sunglasses and the fresh fade) is just one of the guys.
He is also an acknowledged leader with an essential role in the big show.
He pops up more or less everywhere in my brother's photos, since he was just a a few rows in front of us— doing his modern yet traditional thing.
First, some intricate counter-programming.
We see all of Florence in the main ring—out on the field.
Meanwhile, the Verdi and the Bianchi go through their own motions in the stands.
And across the piazza, on the Green side...
...a choreography worthy of Broadway.
Or rather, a scenografia as they call it.
A total work of art, with green fumogeni (smoke bombs).
...and a vast super-striscione (the English word "banner" is hardly adequate) covering much of the stand and everyone in it...
...sheltering them in the comforting shadow of the Baptistry, the defining feature of Quartiere San Giovanni.
The Verdi clearly triumphed when it came to scenic effects, although the Bianchi had their share of banners, chants and colored smoke.
On the field, however, the Bianchi ran away with it— as everyone knew they would.
These days, the chief prize is an artistic banner (the cencio, or rag, as it is affectionately called).
Back in the day, the victors also took home a calf— mainstay of their celebratory banquet.
But whatever else, "Keeping It Real" remains the name of the game, as you drag the cencio on the ground and cram it into the back of your car.
Nothing is more fiercely Florentine than forcing yourself over the top.
Then once you get there, you shrug your shoulders and say, "No big deal!"
Related posts
GOING TO THE INDIAN: Across Florence’s Cascine Park and off the Edge of the Earth (Part 3)
In Florence, “Going to the Indian” is more than a very long walk. It is an existential journey leaving the known world behind.
In 1870, the young Maharajah of Kohlapoor died in the Tuscan capital and a lavish monument was erected at the site of his cremation at the farthest limit of the city’s largest park.
Then Florentine culture and custom kicked in…
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For centuries, the Cascine functioned as both a working farm and a princely hunting preserve.
Then in the course of the 19th and 20th centuries, modern athletic pursuits developed in that increasingly public park—making it ground zero for almost everything that is played in Florence today.
We cross the vast expanse of the Cascine, tracking half-forgotten pastimes like pallamaglio (a precursor of croquet and golf), pallone al bracciale and tamburello (cousins of handball and racquetball). Then comes soccer, tennis, horse racing and polo.
“Going to the Indian” means "trekking to the edge of the earth". But as we approach the Maharajah’s monument on the far side of the Cascine, another adage comes to mind,
“Go throw myself off the Indian” refers to the “Viaduct of the Indian”, an ill-omened highway overpass right nearby.
This potent magnet for local suicides has a dire history of its own.
HEALTHY FASCIST MIND, HEALTHY FASCIST BODY: Mussolini’s Foro Italico in Rome
Mussolini enshrined this ideal in his Foro Italico (Italic Forum) in Rome, popularly known as the "Mussolini Forum".
Especially in the adjoining Stadio dei Marmi (Stadium of the Marble Statues), with its onslaught of colossal male nudes.
But then the years pass and present-day Romans move in, doing what present-day Romans do...
PUNKED BY A MIME ARTIST OUTSIDE THE UFFIZI GALLERY
Don't mess with Florentine Street Performers!
They are smarter than you, tougher than you and have secret powers.
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