Il senso del calcio nella vita dischiuso dopo l'ultima giornata di campionato, ma più che altro dopo il sogno di una notte piovosa di maggio
More than the last day of the championship, or the outcome of today's Champions League final, I realized that the sense of Football is better understood through a little story that I dreamed the other night. I was in the backyard of my grandmother's sister (who is not ultra unleashed her) and standing there in the middle there was no other than a well-known filmmaker shamelessly idolized by me (despite attempts to conceal this thing here, there is little to do, the appearance of your dreams is the penultimate step on the path to fanaticism, before it placed under the house). The well-known filmmaker had a child aged 5-6 years with whom I was playing happily on the lawn. When I could finally listen to the Master, the pallosissimi flooded with congratulations on his latest film that whetted her not a little snobbery. He said that he liked to have all these fans. I tried to remedy by talking about his new book in a less laudatory, but nothing. Instead, the child had taken a great liking to me and asked the father how to quit school if I could not go to sleep that night they are to continue playing football together all the time. I, as a joke and by virtue of any sympathy aroused by the joke, to convince the filmmaker to welcome me into his house, I said that I won all the matches. But the great film-maker shook his head, putting implied in that gesture, all the hopes that a father may have against their child. Understanding denial, say something like:-Of course I'm stronger, I have coached at least twenty more! -. But he misses my irony, stain, let alone if he wanted to host me in his house. He started with the usual old story that in sport, as in most of the arts in which the body uses, age is a detrimental factor, etc. ... As if I had not said this just for fun, so to play on a paradox, but to really claim a right of way on her infant. But you know, the guy is a snob, though not inclined to be too much. But his take literally this sentence reminded me of the main way of football, or at least its economy deeply founded on injustice. Do not count the sacrifices, the merits that are purchased with the age, accuracy, the vision, take notes on the notebook, the various counter-charms, the will of spirit, sacrifice, good game, and all these beautiful things pleasing to God that you teach a child. All of these things at some point are zero, and the truth is that the victory of your opponent's team could always get a surprise in the night, as a theft in the dogmatic slumber of old age, as the kingdom of heaven to the foolish virgins of the parable (or especially for those wise), because the meaning of football is Rosica, Rosica, Rosica, but if you like ass, rosicare to others (that is, despite appearances, a passive function of rosicare itself). Point. After that, the connection to all other feelings unexpressed and repressed in other areas of life can be deduced by itself, and there is no need, as fa ad esempio un mio amico, di citare uno studio che dice che la strategia di gioco dell'Italia è il catenaccio perché storicamente è stato un paese sempre invaso da stranieri ecc... ecc... da cui questo accento sulla strategia difensiva ecc...ecc... Non c'è bisogno di altro. Ripeto, Rosicare*. That's all.**
*(Ci sono altre varianti dialettali del termine, forse di significato un po' più scurrile, come il siculo sucare e il toscano puppare , che cito ora solo per aumentare le visite su questo blog. Infatti, ho scoperto da un po' che la chiave di ricerca in assoluto più cliccata con la quale i lettori incappano here is the word "sluts" or "old bitch". Therefore it seems proper to make small gifts every now and then to my most loyal pornomaniaci) ** (If you are disappointed by this way so miserable that I have proposed, may reveal more secrets of the famous filmmaker me revealed in a dream. He said that he for high artistic merit was able to penetrate where any sportswriter is forced, in spite of the wall, to stop: he entered the dressing room and has encountered and filmed, the motivational technique by which M. will win its final tonight:
These sketches I did after Bruno Enna told me by phone about His toughts Should start how the story. Then, When Was the script done, I cracked on keeping only the pages Some passages. Guess this preliminar work was very useful!
I made these drafts after Bruno Enna me of the ideas expressed by phone buzzed overhead on how to start the story. Only some of these shots I then served to make the final table, but it was still a very useful work!
just want to add the trailer of The Secret of Kells (2009), an Irish-French-Belgian animated feature film by Cartoon Saloon . Did not see it yet, But It looks really interesting. Love the use of colors and textures. It Reminds Those animation movies I used to see When I was a child! Add
then the trailer for The Secret of Kells (2009), a Franco-Belgian co-produced by Irish- Cartoon Saloon . The pictures are very beautiful, even for the use of textures and colors, and make you breathe the taste of those beautiful hand-made cartoons, as it once:)
Do not football fans, even by recent football fans, even by recent football fans almost disaffected (or who is permanently disamorerà when Italy will come out world, ie the group), I can only say one thing: football is not any sense. But it is also true that a little 'I am passionate about the matter, and not more potendomi feel completely alien to football fortunes of the human race, the question of which way this thing has me I had to ask. Once established that the athletic feats that make the twenty-two people scattered on the ground are not then the fulcrum of all the interest that this matter is able to elicit not only me, but in the millions of people who, day by day, devote much of their free time to make predictions on changes in the championship, or trying to dowse the strategies that lie behind the enigmatic Mourinho's exit, or to guess the reason dell'insanabile cassano tear-lippi, I like the feeling of being in front of a great enigma, perhaps, or maybe too little to be explored was already very loose. This is not to say that I am I will succeed, because we do not succeed, of course. The first thing that I associate with football is the fear I remember screaming distorted roars in from my Sempreviva post-traumatic memory. They were my grandparents that broke to the goal. Since I was born a few weeks before the glorious world of 82, the same memory deforming suggests to me that they were linked to the screams of the national goals, who must be ruined forever my placid, unreflective, quiet infant. But let's say that this is the fictionalized version of history. The screams of which are very safe undoubtedly go back a few years later and have been linked to the achievements of Rome, of which my grandparents were avid fans. (My grandmother still. My grandmother as a regulator of mood outside was chosen totti, and in moments of fervor than this external controller becomes direttamentente totti's knee, that if you think about it is that from which everything else depends, to a Romanist seriously. My grandmother even made a few years ago when an afternoon nap and woke up with a dreamy smile as a teenager, he told me he had just dreamed of being heavily courted by Spalletti. In fact, my grandmother is now in pieces for the Italian Cup final, not only for the result, of course, but because his hero has fallen, although in reality it is not just dropped, simply showed the irrepressible instinct he had learned from borgataro over the years to disguise, not him and he fell, but the idealized image that everyone, including my grandmother, had tried to stitching him on. And it goes well. Understood this and more). However it seems that every time you scream to celebrate the goal, I were to cry, not understanding the subtle but instantly change from flat calm to quell'animosità sudden a little 'coarse. So despite my idea of \u200b\u200bfans is born under an unlucky star, said in elementary school cheer Rome. Svantaggiosissima choice, seeing the world in those days, the center north, was divided into Juventus and AC Milan. So take me all the piss and that Rome, according to them, which soon won so little, before he started to become for me a real social handicap, I made the plunge without too many thoughts in my oblivion. And I chose the easy way out. Squadra.Iniziai changed to cheer for New Team. Never was there more serious emotional investment than this: no team, you know, in football history and history of all team sports, has never been able to give the audience moments of extreme pathos so inextricably linked to the certainty of victory. Never. Followed it with my cousin Holly and Benji with a passion that I never had any television program for later. (Great shit. I know that some years later Beverly Hills was awarded the Palme d'Or of the decade, ranking in the television of my heart. Fortunately, however, was not talking about football. But this television brackets does not make sense because Holly and Benji not was something television had a faith and it was real life to the point that). With my cousin tried and tried to make the catapult hellish brothers Derrick in a Sunday afternoon when I risked to break a rib. Because clearly I had to play the twin most unlucky that extends to the ground and gives another push to make him jump up and touch the sun with a finger, making a quadruple somersault, jump over the bar, from there take a reverse and then, GOAL! Only me that my cousin fell on him much earlier. But overall she was a force of nature, she discarded four male thugs at a time down in the yard, despite these surpass in height. A real put ahead of its time, now we have arrived at an age when we are bigger than many players (which start to find disturbing). When we played together, when it endeavored to teach me a lesson to keep up the family honor, she always played Holly, and I never wanted to do Benji, so do not give a paravo, then I wanted to be Tom Becker, who provides the most Part of assists for Holly, but she gave me permission to be Tom because he knew too that I wanted to be at least Tom and shook his head. So I proposed to the play against her as Mark Lenders, but to lose with honor. Only this idea was even worse than the previous six years because I could evoke everything except the physical power of Lenders. In fact I remember one day she (who is smaller than me a bit 'of months, those months that make the difference when you're small), without even explicitly state what I considered inappropriate for the role he said only two words, crucial: you do Bruce.
(this is not even the end of history to tell the truth. But to talk sense to wait at least the end of the season)
readed Just a short book by Juan Antonio Gaya Nuño (1913-1976) , entitled "The Horrifying Story of the Skull of Goya" . The book was about Francisco Goya y Lucientes - one of the greatest spanish artists ever - who died in Bordeaux , France in 1828. His body lied nearly forgotten in the Bordeaux cemetery for years and then moved to Madrid . When the body was exhumed, the skull was missing. This book is the story of that skull, between enquiry and legend. After reading it I remembered what Goya expressed in one of his etchings : '' El sueño de la razón produce monstruos - (The sleep of reason brings forth monsters) '' (- capricho n° 43, done in 1797 -). This illustration is the result.
I recently read a short book by Juan Antonio Gaya Nuño (1913-1976) , titled "The History of Skull Goya's horrifying." Francisco Goya y Lucientes , one of the greatest English artists of all time, died in Bordeaux, France, in 1828. His body was buried in the cemetery of the city for years and then moved, after many vicissitudes, in the church of San Antonio de la Florida in Madrid. Exhumed skeleton, however, it was discovered that the skull was missing. The book, as you can guess already from the title, gives an explanation for this mysterious theft, between historical inquiry and legend. After reading it I thought back to an idea expressed by one of his etchings in Goya: El sueño ''de la Razón produce monstruos - (The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters) '' (- Capricho n ° 43 , built in 1797 -). The illustration above is the result.
