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Church, lunch, and the game are the three pillars upon which the Italian Sunday was built. Three clustered events spaced 🏧 a few hours within each other: first duty, then necessity, and finally pleasure. Even if it does seem excessive calling 🏧 it a pleasure, for all the times an afternoon defeat made our baked pasta go down the wrong way and 🏧 along with it, the entire weekend.

At my parents’ house I discovered a drawer full of old pocket radios. I then 🏧 found an identical one when we emptied my grandmother’s house. I was reminded of them present in family photos, with 🏧 that unintentionally vintage design, often surrounded by an engrossed group of people of all ages, hands cupped around their ears. 🏧 I remembered afternoons in the mid-nineties when they were still used. As a child I used to take them with 🏧 me on Sunday outings for the same reason everyone else took them: to follow the ball game.

In today’s connected world, 🏧 the ball game now comes to us. Our grandparents would have gone mad, as well as our parents limited by 🏧 pay-TV, if with a few taps on a screen they’d had access to live matches, able to watch them on 🏧 the beach, at a wedding, on the road, anywhere. The new football times may be irritating, or may seem like 🏧 an obstacle to sharing, but these new means actually allow for greater access. Of course, they take away a bit 🏧 of the sentimentality, but watching matches is part of Italian culture, and a fragmented schedule will not undermine this tradition. 🏧 After all, even church times have changed, and Sunday lunch is now often replaced by the American style brunch. Some 🏧 things change over time, but the essence is the same. The peanuts at the stadium still taste as they did 🏧 when my grandfather took my father in the early 1950s. And likewise when he then took me forty years later. 🏧 Seeing the green lawn in person for the first time, seeming so immense while climbing the bleachers, will always be 🏧 an emotion shared by children from all generations. The same as congregating in front of a screen with friends and 🏧 family, cheering for a goal or consoling after a defeat. The radio broadcast continues to accompany us, especially in the 🏧 car; and – if there’s no signal – to this day we still have the pluck to ask strangers “Who 🏧 hit the goalpost?” like Paolo Fantozzi did in the iconic movie scene. Because that’s how we like it, and we 🏧 can’t do without.

It is so beautiful then, to call it like they used to: the ball game “la partita di 🏧 pallone”, a simpler and more common version of the “football match”. A name handed down from generation to generation and 🏧 now so obvious that it has been permanently shortened to the “game”. It’s Sunday in Italy. If we’re going to 🏧 see the game, it can only be football. So let’s arm ourselves with an internet connection, radio, TV, or head 🏧 to the stadium, and let’s watch it with our favorite people.

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