“We’ve never been so bad in our history and you don’t know if you’ve reached the bottom, or are still digging.”

Welcome to the inner torment of a Sampdoria fan. The depth to which their team has slumped has stunned even the most pessimistic of Blucerchiati. And even then, there’s an acceptance that further humiliation may be just around the corner. 

This is a club whose fans have been to European finals, seen Scudettos clinched and Coppas lifted. Now the glory days of the 1990s could not appear further away in the rear-view mirror as they motor towards oblivion and a first trip to the third tier.

Sat in the relegation zone with six matches left to play and fewer victories to their name than any other side in Serie B apart from basement-boys Cosenza, it was never meant to come to this. 

The season had started with Andrea Pirlo and play-off pretensions. Three managers and 32 points later, there’s a genuine concern that unwanted history could be theirs come the end of May. 

And yet, in spite of all this, the passion of supporters endures. The sense of duty in watching the nightmare unfold in front of their eyes is real for all, whether eight feet from the pitch at the Stadio Luigi Ferraris, or more than 800 miles away, in front of a screen in London.

David Platt, Dismal Penalties and Despair

Sampdoria’s UK fan club has gone to ground over the past few years. A number of factors have contributed to that; a drop out of the top flight has meant TV coverage is harder to come by and enthusiasm has dwindled. Throw into the mix a number of ex-pats relocating home due to the disastrous cocktail of Covid-19 and Brexit, and it is clear to see why regular meets have fallen by the wayside. 

But there are shoots of recovery. A tight-knit base are reinvigorating the group, which has close to 50 members spread out among different WhatsApp groups. The re-emergence of their team on TV has helped, with a substantial chunk of their matches having been aired on Destination Calcio this season. 

The knowledge of an upcoming televised match has seen a plan hatched to convene in central London. The pub of choice is The Volley, a minute’s walk from Old Street underground station. It’s a spot fast becoming the go-to for international fan groups around the country’s capital. 

Run by Scotsman Mark Hislop, the bar shares its name with the pub in the cult classic movie Trainspotting, but any similarities between the establishments end there.

A far cry from the spit-and-sawdust, rough-and-ready vibes of the Edinburgh boozer made famous by Begbie and Co, entering its English namesake is like stepping into football fan nirvana. Each wall is adorned with an eclectic mix of memorabilia. A West Ham away shirt from 2020 greets you on your left as you come through the door, slightly obscuring the ‘Forza Napoli’ scarf secured on the panel behind it. On the opposite side, an Arsenal pennant, signed by members of the Invincibles, sits framed below a print of a young Alan Shearer in his Southampton days. More shirts flood the senses, and that’s before you notice the row upon row of scarves obscuring the ceiling, from Falkirk to Nottingham Forest, Sturm Graz to Seattle Sounders. 

There are two flights of stairs up to the bar, one at either end, resembling that layout of a stadium every supporter knows all too well from years of searching up and down isles for that elusive seat.

Despite the two tiers, there’s no danger of Begbie-style brawls – the one punter removed to date was a Partick Thistle fan upset by his side’s display against Raith Rovers.  Broken pool cues and flying pint glasses this isn’t. 

It’s at the top of the stairs that the Sampdoria fans have set up, perching over the edge to drape their flags in front of the wood panelling. The main one is a cross of St George which pays equal homage to the Italian giants and Portsmouth, the English team followed by one of the group’s most avid members. Another has the faces of English stars to have graced the Marassi – from David Platt to Des Walker. 

The big screens have been rolled out, ready to show the clash with Frosinone. There are two projectors, with dozens of other screens catering for each booth and table.

Aside from the band of calcio devotees, the place is quiet. Perhaps this is to be expected in a UK pub dedicated to football on a Saturday afternoon, when many prospective clients will be dotted around the capital’s grounds.

Despite the modest numbers, there’s a genuine buzz. There is the process of putting faces to names from the WhatsApp groups and acquaintances reuniting after several months, or in some cases years. 

The dedication of those present is clear when the question turns to the journey into central London. Dan has travelled from the south coast, along with his flag and very understanding partner Lucy. 

“I went to watch Sampdoria 10 years ago with a few mates,” he tells Destination Calcio. “I wanted to go in with the ultras, to learn what it was all about. I messaged a few fan groups and eventually someone said to meet them at Cafe Eden. 

“We walked up to the ground with them, past the river and one of them said: ‘From this point, you don’t speak’.

“We get to the gate, there’s a shuffling around of the tickets, we get patted down, the guy gives a nod to the steward and they just let us go through.

“Up in the stand he turns back to me and says: ‘You’re in our house, this is my family. You’re our guests, do whatever you want’.

“We walk around the corner and it was just the flags, the flares, this unadulterated passion that you can’t get anymore – even among the best atmospheres – in England. It was like something ripped out of my soul.”

Nicola knows the pull of the Ferraris all too well having grown up in Genoa. Now 52, he is in London to check in on the flat he owns, a job offer in Milan too good to turn down having taken him and his family back to Italy. “My daughters hate me,” he jokes. 

Division at home is nothing new. Nicola’s love for Sampdoria was forged alongside his dad and brother. His mum’s side of the family were all Genoa CFC fans. For long swathes of time, it must have felt like he had fallen on the right side of the fence.

“The European Cup final in 1992 was my first experience of London,” he says.

“I went with my dad and my brother. We got the bus all the way from Genoa. Two days there, two days back.

“After the match we were walking away from the ground and my dad turned to me. He said, ‘I’ll never see Sampdoria in another European final in my lifetime. And neither will you’. 

“It turns out he was right.”

Prescient as his dad’s pessimism was, even he would have struggled to ever imagine their predicament today.

They are facing the unthinkable – relegation to Serie C. Victory is becoming more of a necessity with each passing game. This match has taken on a more critical feel following some unexpected results for the teams around them.

The mood in the pub becomes a little more serious as it kicks off. Eyes are glued to the screens, cries for fouls – in English and Italian – penetrate the silence sporadically.

Finally one is given by the referee, inside the Frosinone box. A penalty for Sampdoria. There is brief respite from the tension. Some embrace, forgetting there is a crucial component still missing. The kick has yet to be taken. 

As quickly as the doom and gloom is lifted, it is restored by Massimo Coda’s tame effort from 12 yards. Palms are slammed into tables. Heads are sunk into hands. 

“I hate football,” bemoans Nicola at half-time. “In the next life, I’m going to focus solely on cricket.” 

Maybe the Genoa Cricket and Football Club was the way to go after all. It must feel that way as the second half unfolds. Frosinone, buoyed after their let-off, take the lead. Silence greets the goal. Soon there is a second. Then a third.

For one fan, the fury among those present isn’t enough. He takes out his phone and loads up a TV station in Genoa, listening along to immaculately turned-out studio pundits berating another insipid display. Such is the clamour for calcio in Italy, watchalongs aren’t just consigned to YouTube.

When the game is over, the group take part in a time-honoured tradition, standing en masse in front of a screen to join the Curva in letting the players know their feelings. The message from the UK is just as forceful. 

Eventually the anger subsides and humour replaces it. “What are the chances of Destination Calcio acquiring the rights to Serie C next season?” one fan asks. 

The beauty of this faction, and this meet-up, kicks in. The chat turns to better days, better trips, the memories of the cities and towns their passion for this club has helped them discover. Tales of Parma are shared, Modena’s food scene is praised, the quirks of Reggio Emilia are discussed.

There’s a sudden realisation that the group photo to send to the rest of the fan club has yet to be taken. Smiles restored, the weight of defeat is lifted. 

As thoughts turn to leaving, Nicola admires the different shirts and scarves on the walls, prolonging the moment before returning to the mundanity of a Saturday afternoon.

“As my mother tells me, there are more important things in life than football,” he says. “What those are, I don’t know.” 

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