#itlay

MALENA (2000) - Group shots

Italy with Gattuso in charge feels exactly like you expect. Intense. Combative. Very serious about control in the ugly parts of a match. This roster piece imagines what that version of the Azzurri might look like when the next World Cup arrives.

The article starts at the back, as any proper Italy preview should. It looks at the keepers and center backs who can anchor a group that still wants to defend with pride but also live higher up the pitch. In midfield, it becomes a conversation about bite and brains. Who wins duels. Who connects play. Who has the freedom to create.

Up front, it is about goals and work rate together. Gattuso teams rarely carry passengers, so every attacking pick has to bring pressing and effort as well as quality. The piece makes the whole thing feel like a real blueprint, not a fantasy list.

If you love the idea of Italy mixing old school grit with a modern shape, this one sits right in your lane.

Raining Moments, Autumn 2023, Turin, Italy

Somewhere in northern Italy…

there’s an old man walking down the street; with a loaf of bread in his hands; it looks as though it’s a baguette, today’s dinner or tomorrow’s breakfast, I don’t know and neither does he. He walks past me, we smile at each other and never cross paths again.

But why do I think of him when I reach home?

I remove my rings and notice a white circular patch marking its dominance, it protected me from sunlight. The man had a similar circular patch, left hand, ring finger, clenching onto the baguette, I wonder what it protected him of?

I close the blinders of the train window, a pretty lady taught me how to do that, the shadows make a pattern on my arm, it’s similar to slit diffraction pattern, brown skin, wavy remembrance, like satin sand.

New city, the bench in front of me has ‘Ti Amo’ written on it in the corner, ‘ah love’; it’s pretty, reminds me of the couple kissing in the seat in front of me; of the one person I thought I’d never think about again, he would’ve loved it. Now what exactly do I mean by ‘it’, I’m quite unaware. I pluck a white daisy, it’s safe in my diary.

There’s a woman at the platform shivering, she’s old; people drop coins in her bowl. Pity? Charity? Fright?

A man plays the violin in front of a cathedral...hymns. People place coins in his bowl. Pity? Charity? Appreciation? Faith?