After the misery of the robbery and the soaking, soul-draining chaos of Pisa — where I ended up sitting with the home fans, drenched to the bone and wondering what on earth this season was trying to teach me — it felt strangely comforting to be heading back to the Olimpico.
There’s something about walking across Ponte Milvio after a week like that: the city feels louder, the colours brighter, and the sight of sky-blue shirts almost reassuring. Lazio vs Cagliari isn’t the kind of headline fixture that usually stirs the nerves, but after everything that’s happened lately, all I wanted was a normal matchday. No disasters. No drama. Just football.
Of course, with Lazio, it’s never that simple.
Travel Decisions
After the chaos of recent weeks, I wanted this one to be as straightforward as possible. That’s why I made the call to drive down to Rome rather than stay overnight.
No hotel meant no real chance of a proper pre-match beer session — well, maybe one — but it also meant full control over the day. And after Pisa, control felt like a luxury.
The drive itself was easy enough. Travelling alone meant I didn’t have to stop; if my wife or the dogs had been with me, there’d have been at least one break along the way.
With the match on a Monday night, the last thing I wanted was to get caught in traffic or that usual Roman rush that seems to appear out of thin air. So I set off early, took it nice and steady, and tried to enjoy the rare simplicity of a calm journey down the A1.
Parking and Ponte Milvio
I parked up near the Fleming Hotel and, as usual, wandered into the little bar next door — my regular pre-Ponte Milvio pit stop. In the past I’d always grabbed a Super T or two in there, but the last time I told the barman that Liosa had officially banned me from them.
He remembered immediately. With a grin he offered me a Ceres instead, but I had to decline: I was driving, and in truth I wanted to save my beers for Ponte Milvio. So I behaved myself and settled for a coffee.
From there I made my way toward Ponte Milvio, stopping for a slice of pizza and a couple of supplì on the way. One black supplì and one with porchetta — a first for me — and both absolutely delicious.
I drifted into Bar Ballotta for another coffee and to kill some time while waiting for Stefano, but with him stuck in traffic I eventually decided to head toward the stadium.
Passing Jimmy Jus gave me a good laugh. Despite being a health-food and juice place, they’d clearly accepted reality and were happily serving beers to a steady stream of match-goers. You’ve got to respect that kind of adaptability.
About ten minutes later my phone buzzed — Stefano had reached Ponte Milvio after all. So I turned back and headed to Gondi Bistrot, the same place I’d met him and Silvia the week before.
This time I grabbed a Ceres for myself and a Menabrea for him. It was great to catch up properly, to run through the high of the Juventus win, the sadness of the robbery, and the soggy misery of Pisa. Football therapy, basically.
We stopped off at Il Gianfornaio so Stefano could grab a slice of pizza and the two of us could squeeze in one more beer before heading to the stadium. After going through the turnstiles we said our goodbyes.
Stefano reckoned he probably wouldn’t be back again until the Napoli match after Christmas — yet another reminder of how these matchdays shift and change depending on life, work, and pure luck.
Inside the Stadium
Of course, the first thing I did once I got inside was head straight to the toilet — a pre-match ritual at this point — before grabbing a bottle of water. No beer this time.
With a late-night drive ahead of me, the two pre-match beers were already pushing the limit, so responsibility (for once) won the battle.
I made my way up to the top of the Curva, hoping to spot a few familiar faces. Strangely, I didn’t recognise anyone. Maybe it was the Monday-night curse, maybe people were still recovering from the chaos of recent fixtures, or maybe I was just too early.
Either way, it felt a bit odd standing there without the usual crowd around me. Still, being back in the Curva Nord — even alone — felt grounding after the madness of the past week.
VincenzoPaparelli
Vincenzo Paparelli is one of the most tragic names in Lazio’s history — a supporter who lost his life on 28 October 1979 after being struck by a marine flare fired from the Roma end before the Derby della Capitale.
He had gone to the stadium simply to enjoy the match, and instead became a symbol of senseless violence that shook Italian football.
Before the recent Lazio vs Cagliari match, the ultras prepared a special tribute in his honour: a choreography in the Curva Nord where his name shone brightly in lights, illuminating the stand in a moving display of remembrance.
Every year, Lazio fans pay homage to him, but moments like this on his birthday carry a special weight — a sea of white and blue rising in unison to show that Paparelli is not forgotten.
It’s a moment of collective emotion, where his name, his story, and his love for Lazio are celebrated with dignity, pride, and an unbreakable sense of belonging.
The Game
As kick-off approached, the Olimpico slowly filled with that familiar Monday-night restlessness.
It wasn’t electric, not like Juventus or a derby, but there was a quiet intensity in the air — the kind that comes when everyone knows Lazio should win, but nobody fully trusts that they actually will.
After Pisa, after the robbery, after the unpredictability of the past few weeks, I just wanted a straightforward night. Three points, no drama, home safely.
Naturally, Lazio had other ideas.
The opening stages were cagey. Cagliari came to frustrate, sitting deep, slowing everything down, and trying to drag the game into a trench war.
We tried to push, but the rhythm was off — stray passes, heavy touches, moments where the Curva collectively groaned in that way only Lazio fans can. You could almost sense everyone thinking the same thing: Please don’t make this another one of those nights.
But slowly, we grew into it. Zaccagni started asking questions. Guendouzi tried to inject some verticality. Isaksen floated between the lines, looking for that one killer ball that only he can see.
The pressure built, layer by layer, until finally, the breakthrough came. A bit of chaos in the box, a flash of sky blue, and the Olimpico erupted when Isaksen scored a cracker. Relief more than joy — the sound of 36,000 people letting go of their nerves for just a moment.
From there, it should have been simple. But Lazio never do simple!
Cagliari had their moments, forcing a couple of jittery clearances and keeping the tension alive right to the end.
The Curva Nord tried to lift the team, singing louder, pushing them through those nervy minutes. I stood there, gripping my water, half-praying we wouldn’t throw it away, half-thinking about the long drive home that would feel a lot longer if we conceded.
But for once, Lazio held firm. No last-minute panic, no self-inflicted disaster thanks to Zaccagni making it 2-0 in the 91st minute!
When the final whistle went, it wasn’t a roar — it was an exhale. A win, a clean sheet, and a small but important step towards restoring some order after a chaotic few weeks.
Maybe not a classic. Maybe not spectacular. But exactly what I needed.
Post-Match and Heading Out
I wasn’t in any rush to leave. I never am. I always stay to applaud the team, partly out of respect, partly out of habit, and partly because I still carry the years when I barely made it to any matches at all.
Maybe that’s why I cling to every minute inside the Olimpico — because I never quite know when life will pull me away again.
After I first left Italy in 2005, it took me four years to come back. I was too sad, too raw, too heartbroken to face returning to a place that had become home.
And when I finally did, sitting on that fairly uninspiring shuttle from Ciampino to the centre, I stared out the window like a lovesick puppy. Liosa looked over and said, “Okay… we need to get you back living here!” She wasn’t wrong.
She moved back in 2019 after taking on the job of running a school, and I followed in 2020 once everything was in place.
Italy just has that hold on you — the amazing cities, the culture and calcio. It pulls you in, whether you’re ready or not.
After the players disappeared down the tunnel, I finally made my way out of the stadium.
Back at Ponte Milvio, I stopped by the kiosk to see if anyone was still around. I said hi to Eva, Giulia, Lids, and Massimo before bumping into Simone.
I told him I was heading straight back but wanted to say hello, and that I’d see everyone properly — with a few drinks — at the Lecce game in a couple of weeks.
From there I headed back up toward the car, stopping once more at the bar for a final coffee and one last toilet break before hitting the road.
No rush, no chaos — just a calm end to a night that, for once, didn’t throw any unexpected curveballs my way.
The Journey Home
The plan had been to stop at Autogrill Badia al Pino. I’d wanted to pull in, pay my respects at Gabriele Sandri’s memorial stone, and leave some of the old choreography I’d been carrying with me from the derby and the Atalanta game. It felt like the right moment to visit, especially after the emotional chaos of the past few weeks.
But as I hit the motorway, I realised I still felt surprisingly fresh. Maybe it was the calmness of the night, maybe it was the satisfaction of the win, or maybe it was just the simple pleasure of a drama-free matchday for once. Either way, I decided to power on through and head straight home.
Google Maps had predicted a 3:10 am arrival, which felt brutal enough… but somewhere between the A1, a steady playlist, and the good mood of three well-earned points, I managed to shave forty minutes off the journey. I rolled in at 2:30am — tired, sure, but happy. Happy with the result, happy with the drive, and unreasonably happy knowing I’d beaten Google Maps.
Sometimes, that’s the real victory.
Matchday Experience
| Category | Details |
| Stadium Name | Stadio Olimpico, Rome |
| Attendance | 35,000 (typical for a Monday night vs Cagliari) |
| Ticket Price | €35 (Curva Nord) if you had been buying on the day |
| Travel Costs | Fuel + tolls Florence–Rome return (approx. €100) |
| Parking | Free street parking near Fleming Hotel |
| Beer-o-Meter 🍺 | ★★★☆☆ (3/5) – Limited due to driving; two pre-match beers at Ponte Milvio (Ceres + Menabrea). Water only inside the stadium. |
| Food | Pizza + black supplì and porchetta supplì on the way to Ponte Milvio; post-match coffee near the car |
| Weather | Cool, dry evening — a huge relief after the Pisa monsoon |
| Atmosphere | Steady and supportive; not the loudest due to Monday night, but Curva Nord still carried the rhythm |
| Highlight of the Day | Catching up with Stefano at Gondi Bistrot and enjoying a calm, drama-free win after a chaotic few weeks |
| Lowlight of the Day | Not seeing any of the usual faces in the Curva — Monday nights always scatter the regular crowd |
| Overall Experience | A smooth, almost peaceful matchday: good company, a solid win, no drama, and a victorious 2:30am arrival back in Florence after beating Google Maps |
Conclusion
After the chaos of the robbery and the soaking misery of Pisa, this trip to the Olimpico felt like a reset — a reminder of why I keep doing this, week after week, kilometre after kilometre. It wasn’t the most glamorous fixture, it wasn’t the loudest crowd, and it certainly wasn’t the easiest Monday night, but it brought a sense of calm I desperately needed.
From the familiar walk around Ponte Milvio to the quiet moments in the Curva, from catching up with friends to the late-night drive back through the darkness of the A1, this was a matchday that stitched a bit of normality back together.
Lazio delivered three points without sending my blood pressure through the roof, and for once the journey home was smooth, almost meditative.
Nights like this don’t make headlines, but they matter. They’re the glue that holds a season — and a supporter — together. And as I rolled back into Florence at 2:30am, beating Google Maps and still buzzing with the satisfaction of a simple win, I felt something I hadn’t felt in weeks: peace.
On to Inter away. And hopefully, a few more beers.
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