How Destination Calcio Survived the Carnival of Chaos as Napoli Erupted in Scudetto Celebrations
By Emmet Gates
Few football cities do title celebrations quite like Naples.
Yet before last Friday night, they had done it just three times. So, as trains, planes and automobiles carried Neapolitans home as they prayed for a fourth, Destination Calcio was among them.
And it was as chaotic, jubilant and special as we expected.
Arriving via a frantic journey from Rome amid national rail strikes, the frenetic buzz could be felt stepping off the train hours ahead of the clash with Cagliari that could deliver the Scudetto.
Even on the most tranquil of days, this place has an energy that’s hard to articulate. You just have to feel it.
This time, with so much on the line, that energy multiplied by a thousand.
The main train station, Napoli Centrale, was hectic. Travelling to our accommodation not far from the Stadio Diego Maradona, my Australian-Neapolitan taxi driver was optimistic, but like most locals, still had a touch of doubt.
“Cagliari have nothing to play for, and those kind of teams are the most dangerous,” he said in Australian-accented English. Despite returning to Naples over 20 years ago after living in Perth throughout his childhood, Francesco still possesses the Australian twang when speaking his second language.
Talk of Aurelio De Laurentiis, Antonio Conte and Scott McTominay punctuated our journey as he fluidly moved from English to Italian to Neapolitan. I asked if he was going to the Piazza del Plebiscito or to the stadium, he said neither.
“My uncle had an extra ticket and wanted me to go, but I’m staying with the family and some friends in the house and watching it on TV.”
The decision to move Napoli’s game and Inter’s match at Como to a Friday due to the possibility of a Scudetto play-off was not exactly a popular decision, yet that didn’t stop Neapolitans from going to the Maradona five hours before kick-off.
The stadium was cloaked in blue and white smog from hundreds of flares, and horns were blaring at ear-piercing levels. Families were decked out in Napoli gear or, this being Naples, half Napoli-half Argentina shirts.
McTominay shirts were everywhere. The Scot has become the face of the Napoli title push, the 28-year-old endearing himself to the Partenopei faithful with his goals, performances and attitude.
Kids could be seen with a combination of the Scot’s shirt and Maradona wigs because, despite McTominay being flavour of the season, this is still Diego’s city.
Around the Maradona was bedlam as the kick-off time grew closer. Security was present but at times powerless to control the flow of people.
All roads leading to the stadium were manic, horns blasting and billowing smoke turning the sky into a haze of colours made it feel like we were witnessing something truly special.
The walk down Via Toledo towards Piazza del Plebiscito was an event in itself. Napoli shirts abound but also the other teams Maradona represented: Argentina, Boca Juniors and even a nod to his lone season with Sevilla.
Sadly for the football shirt hipster in me, there was no Newell’s Old Boys present.
If McTominay is flavour of the season, then Lazio’s Pedro is very much flavour of the week. His two goals against Inter Milan on match day 37 denied the Nerazzurri a chance to return to the top of the table as Napoli were held in Parma.
Pedro has since been morphed into ‘San Pedro’ complete with pictures of the Spaniard depicted as a saint.
Yet Neapolitans weren’t half tempting fate. For a superstitious city, the number four could be seen in shop windows and on banners hung between the claustrophobic alleys of the Quartieri Spagnoli.
It wasn’t won just yet.
Piazza del Plebiscito, with its semi-circular shape, is one of Italy’s more unique piazzas, which tend to be square in nature.
The size of the crowd hours before kick-off was frightening. People of all ages stood side by side, sharing drinks and cigarettes, waiting patiently.
For the vertically-challenged, the likelihood of seeing the screen was minimal, yet they didn’t care. They were here for Napoli, for the city, to bathe in the euphoria of a fourth league title, to party like it was 1999.
The crowd continued to swell as the game started. Estimates of how many people were present is hard to put a finger on, but if it was revealed there were close to 200,000, or a million, it wouldn’t be a surprise.
Amid the plumes of smoke and ear-splitting horns, standing in the piazza was not for the weak-hearted: space was at a premium, people were jockeying for a better position, pushing and pulling was normal, toes were trod on, elbows swinging, one woman fainted.
As the sun set, the temperature rose, and then Napoli took to the pitch.
As the chances came and went for the home side in that opening half hour, tension filled the air. Would they be made to regret wasted opportunities? Francesco’s earlier words about Cagliari began running through my mind.
Like the best rollercoasters, the decibel level rose and then dipped. Most of the crowd, myself included, could only decipher how the game was going based on the reaction from those at the front.
Many were watching through the phone screen of the person in front, zoomed in. An ingenious method it must be said.
In a sea of locals, I found myself standing next to a bemused Canadian family who were in Italy on a two-week holiday, their final day being in Naples.
They had no interest in the game, yet were intrigued to venture into the sweaty mosh pit that was now the piazza. “Stay put, you could be about to see something very special,” I advised.
Credit to them, they lasted until half-time, experiencing McTominay’s goal in all its exquisite beauty. Or rather, they heard it.
The pent-up tension over the preceding 40 minutes was unleashed in a wave of ecstasy as the Scot put Napoli in front.
McTominay has become the symbol of this Scudetto, and Scottish flags have never been so popular in Naples.
His bicycle kick took them one step closer, cue pandemonium.
Hugs and kisses were shared, embracing whoever was next to you became normal for five minutes, fireworks penetrated the sky, lighting the night with a mix of yellows, oranges and reds.
Flares went off, masking the crowd in semi-darkness for a couple of minutes. A cacophony of horns blasted at full volume.
Half-time brought a respite from the chaos, a chance to calm down and refuel. There was more to come.
Romelu Lukaku is arguably the other face of the Scudetto, and as the Belgian raced through to face Cagliari stopper Alen Sherri one-on-one after gliding past two defenders, the noise level simmered. As his shot hit the back of the net, a mass of flailing limbs could no doubt be seen from space.
Napoli were closing in. The crowd sensed it was time to conserve energy – and flares – for the full-time whistle.
Bar the odd outbreak of ‘chi non salta è una Interista’ (who doesn’t jump is an Interista), the crowd remained quiet until referee Federico La Penna blew his whistle.
As Mount Vesuvius loomed over us all, looking on, the city produced a volcanic explosion of its own.
The Neapolitan sky was masked by a mix of fireworks, flags and flares, to the point where the night was no longer visible.
Bright oranges and reds, mixed with Napoli blue, fused together as the crackle of hundreds of thousands of euros’ worth of fireworks went off in every direction.
It was like a scene from Francis Ford Coppola’s 1979 masterpiece Apocalypse Now.
This was the power of sport, of this sport. A cultural phenomenon par excellence that unifies people in a way nothing else on Earth can.
“See Naples and die.” That famous expression often credited to 18th century German writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was never more pertinent.
If the 2023 title party was a little limp due to Napoli having wrapped up the league by early April, this was anything but.
It was all or nothing here: joy or desolation, nothing in between. The word around the city all day had been ‘ansia’ (anxiety), a small feeling that Napoli might just bottle it given recent draws with Genoa and Parma.
They didn’t, and the party was just getting started.
Those of us who had been in the piazza for hours filed out in search of food, while others coming from the stadium filed in to join the celebration.
Boatloads of takeaway pizza was being consumed on anything resembling a seat as restaurants wisely shut their doors upon the full-time whistle.
The carnival atmosphere continued until the sun came up, no expense was spared on fireworks as they continued for hours and hours all across the city, one rejoicing in the most unlikely of Scudetto wins.
Few, if anyone, does a title party quite like a Napoli Scudetto party.
See Naples and die, indeed.
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