A Fling in Florence

Lucca

My nerves were shot. After preparing for calcio storico all year, the moment was finally here. The finals. As exhilarating as this game was, it still came with a lot of anxiety and a sense of impending doom. I was confident in my team, the Reds, but there was a near guarantee we wouldn't all leave the field in one piece.

We all sat in Piazza Santa Maria Novella, mentally preparing for the battle ahead. And it would be a battle. Our opponents, the Greens, were a well trained and physical team. In the words of King Henry III, our sport was 'too small to be a war, and too cruel to be a game.'

He was right, of course, calcio fiorentino was not a game for the faint of heart. I had poured my mind, body, and soul into this game and my body showed the price I paid for just three years. I had packed on a lot of muscle since my rookie year, I needed to after getting my ass kicked that first semifinal against the Whites. I left that game with a broken jaw, splintered bone in my left foot, two broken ribs, and my head hung low after an embarrassing defeat.

Calcio was a livelihood for us competitors here in Florencia, and despite the fact there was no real prize for winning each year, it gave us a sense of pride and nationalism to honor our ancestors' tradition.

The parade has begun and the Chianina calf, our symbolic 'prize,' was being marched through the center to Piazza Santa Croce. Slowly, the teams all stand for our parade in historical costumes through the center to the field. The screaming crowds that line the square help to motivate me. They are screaming for us, for me, for our city and its rich tradition.

We walk amongst other teams, even if we are about to face them in the field. Despite the violence of our sport— the tackling, punching, kicking, and more— we still follow the code of chivalry and honor. We all put our bodies on the line and our hearts into the game, and we respect one another for it.

The display of our teams walking through the rowdy crowd is masculine and powerful. We give off an air of fearlessness and physical prowess, donning our costume pants and nothing else.

As we strut towards Santa Cruce, I hear the roars of women around me, but I stay focused. My head needed to be in the right place when the 50 minute game began. I was right in the middle of telling myself to stay sharp when I heard it. I could single it out amongst the other noise, it cut right through my steely mind and I lost track of where I was, frozen in my spot.

It was an angelic sound. A feminine  laugh that you could tell was genuine and light. Other athletes pushed their way around me while I stood stark still, my wild eyes searching for the sound that had made my heart stop.

Finally my eyes landed on her. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I couldn't peel my eyes from her petite and glowing figure. Her eyes weren't on me, however, but on another man next to her in the crowd. Her boyfriend, maybe? My nostrils flared as I felt a twang of jealousy that he had this angel's attention.

I was enthralled with this bella, watching her long, slender fingers cover her sweet mouth, trying to stifle her laugh. It felt like I had watched her for an eternity before she finally turned toward me. Our eyes locked and hers went wide, as if she had seen some monster before her. Mine narrowed back at her, as if to say 'mine' and claim her.

Suddenly I was shoved from behind. When I turned to find the culprit, my nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed, I found my best mate, Antonio. His eyes had followed mine and he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"Not the time, amico. Let's go, we need to make sure we don't die today," he chuckled and pushed me along until my feet got moving, tearing me from the woman I wasn't sure how I lived without before this moment.

Antonio was right, though. Once we stepped foot onto that patch of dirt, there was no room for anything else in my mind. I needed to clear my head of that vixen and do what my team needed. We were here for glory.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of dirt and sweat. The tension of fierce competition was in the air and it was like a drug. The opposing team began their chanting as we followed suit, trying to shout deeper and louder than they could.

The small cannon sounded and signaled the beginning of our match. Immediately several of our forwards swallowed up opposing forwards, trying to incapacitate them with kicks, hacks, and punches. Because I was more lean and toned than most of the bigger front line men, I needed to run the ball to the goal. The other backs and I held back with the ball until we saw an opening, and when I saw Antonio roundhouse kick the player grappling him, I took my opportunity.

Players closed in on me on all sides, trying to knock me down or injure me. I dodged several before tossing the ball to another back with a clearer path than I. Before I could turn my head back and block for my team, I felt the thud of a shin across my chest. It knocked the wind out of me, leaving me stunned and unable to defend the next blow. The man across from me swung and knocked me to the ground, pinning me down until we were legally allowed to get back up after a goal.

While on the ground, I felt my anger build as I realized what a bad start I was off to. I couldn't let this happen again if I planned on my body lasting the whole match. The man on top of me was gripping me tightly, while I jostled on the ground trying to irritate him while we waited for play to finish.

I heard the cheering of my teammates as the first goal was scored, and I pushed my opponent off me, ready to join my team. But when I stood to join the celebration, I caught sight of the beautiful enchantress I had spotted earlier. Her eyes were on me, only me. She was still standing with that coglione, which immediately made my fists ball at my sides. I was frozen, stuck in her gaze, completely awestruck by her beauty.

The referees shook me from my trance, getting me back to my side for the next possession. She's watching you, Lucca. Show her what you got. The cannon sounded and I was off. While my full back carried the ball, I grabbed the nearest man by his hair and swung.

The crunch under my knuckles was exhilarating and I moved on to the next man while one of my forwards kept him on the ground. I blew through men coming at me— uppercuts, knees to the ribs, leg sweeps, and even picking them up to body slam them to the ground. As we fought our way forward, my full back tossed the ball to me, and I simply had to stiff arm one final player before casually tossing the ball into the net.

As my teammates swarmed me to celebrate another goal, I looked for her in the crowd. Our eyes connected yet again and even while my teammates playfully punched my chiseled upper body and ruffled my hair, my focus was on her. I was hungry for her. I gave her a smirk and cocked an eyebrow, and the smile she sent back knocked the air from my lungs faster than any man on this field had.

I felt invincible, and I was going to show her exactly what I could do.

Translations:

Bella- beautiful

Amico- friend

Coglione- fucker