Domenica Bastardi – Game 21 of 38: Lazio vs Como – Early goal, Curva defiance and a miserable night at the Olimpico

Despite the victory against Hellas Verona, I was still struggling to feel any real optimism ahead of the visit of Como.

This season’s adventure had begun back in August, when we were beaten 2–0 and completely outplayed. That performance lingered in the background all week, a quiet reminder that this fixture had already hurt us once.

I’d booked trains and accommodation back in December, which meant decent prices for both, and I’d arranged to finally meet Mauro — an Italian living in the UK who, incredibly, supports both Watford and Lazio. Basically, an Italian version of me.

The day didn’t start well. I logged on early to try and get tickets for Lecce away, but with only 350 available it was always going to be a lottery. Unsurprisingly, I missed out.

Travel and Lunch

After the chaos of the Verona trains, the journey into Rome was blissfully uneventful. €30 return — one of those rare wins when Italian rail pricing decides to show mercy. I stayed in the same hotel as the Fiorentina game; an older room this time, but clean and comfortable enough. The only thing I still can’t stand are the purple night lights outside — always giving off that slightly unsettling anti-junkie aesthetic.

On the walk to the hotel I spotted Da Nazzareno on the corner and immediately recognised it. My Scottish, Fiorentina-supporting friend Karen had eaten there the week before and raved about it. She was right. The amatriciana was excellent, and while chatting with the owner and waiter, I discovered the owner was also a Lazio fan. A photo was taken, instantly sent to another Laziale, and once again football made strangers feel like friends.

Meeting Mauro, finding Lazio

I’d known Mauro online for years but had never met him in person. Originally from Bari, now UK-based, ex-Watford resident and massive Watford fan — our lives weirdly mirrored each other.

We met near the Colosseum, grabbed a couple of photos, and asked some passing strangers to help. They turned out to be from Cyprus and heading to the game later. One of them even jumped into the photo. Lazio has a way of collecting people as the day goes on.

On the metro towards Ponte Milvio, I bumped into Eva, alerted by my voice before anything else. At Flaminio, we dropped bags at Mauro’s hotel, grabbed a coffee, and did what football fans do best: talked about life, clubs, choices, and the strange paths that lead you to places like this.

At Ponte Milvio we met some of Mauro’s friends, settled into the familiar pre-match rhythm, and waited for Stefano, delayed by Monday-night traffic. Once he arrived, beers were grabbed and we made our way towards the Olimpico.

Somewhere along the walk I lost Mauro in the crowd and never got the chance to say goodbye. Still, it was one of those days that reminds you how football connections don’t need long goodbyes — just shared hours.

The match

Inside the stadium I met Nico from the Dublin Crew and joined him right at the front of the Curva. It felt like the right place to be: close to the noise, close to the emotion, close to people who would sing no matter what happened.

Sadly, the game was effectively over almost as soon as it began.

The early goal killed it. Instantly. Any tension, belief, or sense of narrative drained away. What followed was painfully familiar: slow possession, little threat, and a team that looked unsure how to respond when things turned against them.

The Curva, to its credit, was magnificent early on. The noise was relentless, driven more by defiance than joy. But by the second half, you could hear the frustration creeping in. The songs didn’t stop — they just changed tone. Louder. Sharper. More desperate.

As the football continued to offer nothing, the Curva turned to memory. Chants rang out for past heroes: Beppe Signori, Juan Sebastián Verón, Paul Gascoigne. It didn’t feel like nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake — more like a reminder of identity, of standards, of what this club once represented.

On the pitch, there was no response. No spark. No reaction. Just a long, draining ninety minutes sliding towards a conclusion everyone could see coming.

Domenica Bastardi — Matchday Experience

Conclusion

Leaving the Olimpico, the overriding feeling wasn’t anger — it was emptiness. That heavy, familiar frustration that settles in when you struggle to see where progress is meant to come from.

The performance was poor, the reaction almost non-existent, and optimism about the future feels increasingly difficult to justify. Nights like this leave you staring ahead and wondering what direction this club is actually heading in.

One positive remains: the Curva is still fully behind Maurizio Sarri. The chants were there. The backing was genuine. There’s an understanding that the problems run deeper than the man on the bench.

And yet, despite that support, it’s hard to shake the feeling that Sarri won’t be in charge next season. Whether through resignation or inevitability, this feels like a project slowly running out of road.

Another trip done. Another long walk home. And another reminder that loving Lazio often means learning how to live with disappointment.