to "piece of the Lake" is playing soccer in the street . Asphalt. In the midst of the housing of the '60s. The door was the gate of a garage. And the goal they all felt. A house of the brothers, the Drillinger and the Duke, we went to recharge the batteries, check the Corriere dello Sport, pull your feet in front of the Juve tivvù. We also went before every game of our team. We called ourselves "Olympique". The name I chose. In honor of the French who humiliated Milan, Galliani but especially in the final of Champions Cup. Great. Marseille also bought a scarf. Then came the split. We gave her a firm Orsara who knew my father. The emphasis on white with two blue horizontal stripes. For serious challenges, the first field was the Opera San Jose. Concrete. He won with all but with Real Madrid. The match against the "whites" local was "the game." The times we have prevailed were few. Immense satisfaction. In the microcosm of the high school football Bonghi l'Olympique era imbattibile. Noi eravamo quelli della terza "C". alla seconda "B" impartivamo delle vere e proprie lezioni di calcio. Eravamo un punto di riferimento e un termine di paragone per loro. Una soddisfazione. La squadra era solida, compatta. Ognuno aveva un suo ruolo specifico. Il Duca impostava e difendeva, dando ordine al quintetto. "Cinque polmoni" lo sosteneva nell'azione di filtro e rilancio. Drillinger teneva palla e rifiniva l'azione. Io facevo gol. U'Divers, in porta, volava da un palo all'altro. Se la partita prendeva una brutta piega lo si capiva subito. I più nervosi erano i due fratelli. Il Duca urlava e insultava pesantemente, Drillinger subiva e si abbacchiava. Più raramente era U'Divers a dare in escandescenze. Ma lui se la prendeva con tutti. "Cinque polmoni", invece, se la pigliava con me e con la mia inerzia indolente e ridanciana che mi pigliava in alcune partite poco sentite. Se a sbagliare match ero io, lo spaccone, il giorno dopo, in qualche maniera, me la dovevano far pagare. Una volta si vendicarono bene. La cosa fu originale, bonariamente cattiva, volutamente comica, alla Aldo-Giovanni e Giacomo. Fui chiamato per l'interrogazione di letteratura latina. Furono chiamati anche il Duca e U'Divers (l'unico a scamparla fu "Cinque polmoni"). Loro rifiutarono la chiamata e si presero un 2. Io mi alzai dal banco con spavalderia, sbeffeggiandoli per l'esito infausto del loro forfait. Masticavano amaro. Meditavano vendetta. All'interrogazione, con disinvoltura, I brought with me a notebook on which I used to write down a few keys and synthetic concepts of the lessons I politely. It was a plot to "own play." My questions were always a little 'theater. Modestly snooty. The game that I found it was a beauty, especially in Italian and history. A little 'less in the history of art (the technical terms I care, making everything less fluid). The notebook was open on his knees, his eyes hidden by the desk and the professor, clearly visible to my furtive glances and concentrated. Keyword, paraculesco around concepts and the game was done. The question was a pure amazement. And I, every now and then, glancing sarcastic to the "3:00 to 3:00. They looked at me with a mixture of hatred y wonder. "Vid a quill," he thought. U 'Divers had a twinkle in his eyes. He grinned. It was a moment. "Professor, Quitadamo is reading from the notebook." Brilliant. Laughing, and trying to make it look as absolutely not fraudulent, the plot showed the prof. No problem. After all, there was a job behind. It was only an outline. The professor told us that it could continue. The rest of the question was no book to take home. But now we were in injury time. The game was won.
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