I had arrived on Monday in time to watch Italy dive their way to victory over Australia on the projector in the meeting room. No such opportunity today, however, so I decided to go and mix it with the locals downtown. The scene on entering Piazza del Duomo this sweaty Friday evening was something akin to a nationalist rally - Italian flags absolutely everywhere, facepaint and bare torsos. Stalls set up throughout the crowd were doing a roaring trade in air horns, which were being let off indiscriminately at anything and everything that appeared on the screen (e.g. the appearance of the Ukraine mascots). Pug faced, leather-skinned vendors were ploughing carts laden with water, coke and beer through the throng, who, judging by the fervour of the chanting, jumping and honking were fairly well oiled (although not by British standards). A lone Ukraine flag was being waved tentatively towards the back of the crowd; I felt quite sorry for it.
5 minutes: GOAL! Well that's ruined it - the Italians, being Italians, will defend and waste time for the rest of the game now. Strong driving run from Zambrotta on the right wing, cuts inside the defender and wellies the ball into the bottom corner from 20 yards. Rather a lot of horn, as you might imagine. I discreetly cram my fingers in my ears.
11 minutes: The battery of horns behind me, having been sounded non-stop for the last 20 minutes, are beginning to squeal and die. Hah! (Of course, such satisfaction is short lived - next time I look over my shoulder, I see that the main horn bearers have at least three of the things each.)
13 minutes: First Italian time wasting - Gattuso falls on his back and it is a whole minute before he decides he isn't hurt after all, and gets back up again.
19 minutes: A second Ukrainian flag appears next to the first one.
c. 22 minutes: After a series of shoddy fouls puts him in the spotlight, I realise that the Ukraine no. 15 is a dead ringer for Bobby Gillespie. I hope for his team's sake that he's not been at the disco biscuits.
25 minutes: Gattuso wastes another minute by falling over clutching his wrist. He returns to the pitch with an improbably large bandage on his forearm. Wuss.
c. 35 minutes: Totti is everywhere this evening. From where I'm standing, at least.
Half time: Whistle blows; horns are sounded.
46 minutes: Cannavaro gets one in the knackers and crumples to the turf. More horns.
57 minutes: GOAL! A set piece move that Toni nuts in from six yards. Following the obligatory horn symphony, my section of the crowd start singing a wordless tune that sounds very like the baseline to 'Seven Nation Army' by the White Stripes. Poor old Ukraine, they were just beginning to look threatening, too.
72 minutes: The TV picture disappears, an error message flashes up. A howl rips through the crowd. There may be a riot.
74 minutes: Picture is back, and almost straight away... GOAL! Totti leads the Ukraine defence a merry dance, Toni taps in from two yards. There may be a riot.
80 minutes: Three nutters clear a space in the crowd in front of me, and let off green, white and red flares. Two more dissipated individuals grab a massive Italian flag and run around in a circle carrying it and each other.
87 minutes: The crowd have noticed the Ukranian flags (now numbering four) and have turned around and started chanting and pointing en masse. Bullies.
90 minutes: Andriy Shevchenko has a legitimate appeal for a penalty turned down. The Italian crowd stop venting at the Ukraine fans and instead start singing 'Shevchenko bastardo!' to the tune of the baseline to 'Seven Nation Army'.
90 2 minutes: There are so many flags being waved, I can no longer see the screen.
Full time: Horns. Time to get out of here.
12.30 am. I can still hear car and scooter horns screaming in the distance, even from my secluded apartment.
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