“You can’t see it anymore,” referee Gonella tells the players: San Siro has fallen into a total gray area
During the Christmas days of 1972, strange things happened. It was as if San Siro had become the set of a film, one of those “scary” ones, where everything is shrouded in fog and a silent threat accompanies every step of those who venture beyond the path of common sense. It was as if an impalpable and indefinite horror stuck like molasses to people’s skin, absorbing their deepest fears, as we often read in Stephen King’s novels.
