In the microcosm invented by the writer there were faces, laughter and passions of an entire country
Inside the Sports bar by Stefano Benni there was – simply – Italy. That microcosm guarded an entire country, there the spirit of that distant time nestled. Some laughter never age, the joyful echo of that bar still resonates. Between the Luisona and the technician, between the poolside and the telephone with a sight, behind a stack of coffers of beer, the anthropological chaos of the special humanity that frequented the Sport bar stared at faces, symbols, names, dusty corners witnesses of a common story, a giant photo of Gino Bartali signed by the Izoard, poster yellowed that still today – on the day we greet Benni and Fifty years from the release of the book – they kept the ancient loss, to future memory, to remind us who we were, of what we laughed, of the secret for which we digestive everything, the indestructible decan of the pasta more than anything else.
dance
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Nothing has changed since then. Everything has changed since then. At the Sport Bar a country was shaking that was looking for the exit from the darkest period of its history, lengthened her hand, attempting the light switch, while the bar grandfather who, entering, is always from behind, after the usual unleashed, as soon as he felt the word Merckx, he exposed the denture in an aggressive grin and he complained, because in his time there were no real corridors, Merckx. The fuse of the lead years was about to explode two years after the release of what would become a long-seller, the red brigades kidnapped and killed Aldo Moro. Nothing would have been more as before. Inside that maternal uterus, Italy changed their skin, resolved its wounded history and meanwhile discussed “champions, challenges, cappuccinos, center forward, flags, trips, sex, meringues and the Sagittarius cinema program”. Then we all went to dance, at Flamengo di Modena.
like the national team
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In the cover fourth of one of the first editions of the book, it was known that “the Sport Bar is more loved than the national football team”. And in fact it was like this, those were wolves for our national team, pieces from the 1974 World Cup in Germany and still looking for an identity. The need urgent – inside and outside the game perimeter – of prophets, visionaries, perhaps even just bar technicians, indeed “tennics” – as it was of use at the time – who talked about everything, “football, sports in general, politics, morals, machines, agriculture, fruit prices, diabetes, sex, tractors, cinema, bottling, spying”. An opinion, epigones of the keyboard lions these skied times, but with the less sharp teeth and nails, but with less protervy, but with a silent irony that, in the end, diluted. Without any ideological or expressive subordination, everyone, at the Sport Bar, was given the right of speech. A system of virtuous democracy on which he supervised, in perennial and funeral exposure, the Luisona.
the “tennic”
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The bar technician was there, standing, ready for analysis or the invective, between Bovinelli-Alutare, Professor Piscopo, the Playboy, the child of ice cream, Masotti father and son, the accountant Nizzi who fell in love with the new cashier, Pasquale the barber, mulone of the wise cinema, the pazzo of the Giroscope and other extras, standing, the bar, the bar. Theater of life. “He read, indeed he studied, the” Gazzetta dello Sport “, enjoyed prestige and trust regardless of everyone, began every speech with the classic” Look, he knows what I say “, shake his head and – for the use and consumption of the public – the day before a national team game, he showed off the training, with” On Porta Zoff, Rocca and Fedele full -backs “and on the way, explaining background of accidents, disquisiting surgical precision of clinical folders and broken menischi and sentenced that Savoldi, Beppe Savoldi center forward of Bologna, the team he cheered for, had to play the owner alongside Riva, because – Stop everyone, silence in the room – “has small feet”. that “it is not a porcino foot”.
trips
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At the sports bar it was played in bowls, the life was organized, the trips were organized, between the lake of Misurina and Assisi, with a stop in Tarvisio, for a ski in company even if the skis remained tied and in the meantime the Bologna had lost 6-0, “but after having been in the lead for a long time”. At the Sport Bar was told of Amedeo Piva, sixth of sixty -two brothers all very poor, who one day was seen driving with a ball of rags from Mazzarone, the famous arrival of the Inter of the twenty -five badges. Names remained remained in the imagination, provincial myths. Cenerutolo, the dishwasher who dreamed of being a waiter, an Estro called, Scardovazzi the center forward who was a boulder, the coach Juarezk, Polish-Uruguayan who did the verse to the wizard Herrera and to every question that was asked he answered “the Bala Es Tonda”. Everything was hyperbole, everything was likely. Everything was invented, everything was so true. The truth is a dream that we tell each other, Stefano Benni told it better than all.
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