Parma vaffanculo' becomes a roar. Fists are raised. Marco's eyes gleam. Everyone and everything is being invited to fuck itself. Red flares fizz overhead.
Rain hardens and thunder rolls in theatrical timing as the players jog into the arena.
A forest of right arms stretches upward in fascist salute. A giant screen flashes the players' names and faces. In staccato it sounds like thousands of monkeys. Parma are fielding four black players. A feast for the irriducibili.