Hold. Impatient, wearying, anxious. Hot lava entering any space, wraps and melts all that dwells in the brain to take place and solidify into a single, hegemonic and dictatorial granite block of thoughts: the derby.
The derby is a lot like the others? The cock. The derby is a match, is a mental condition that lasts at least 2 weeks. The pre is common to both sides, the post is carried by only one, and I know cocks for losers. The post, in case of sensational outcome of the dispute, can extend beyond the normal seven days. Even indefinitely. Even forever.
From kids were playing with supersantos, doors regulations with empirical cross shaft and jackets, that may reach up spit goalkeeper: there were people who drooled him not to raise the bar too. Against a challenge with a third port in order to establish scientific criteria about who is the strongest. When he could to score, rejoicing in the manner of their sample preferred a hoarse voice and fake newsreels of a Sandro Ciotti in raptures for the feat. The most skillful Pizzul a dare.
In the week before the derby racing fury multiplied. Determine who was the better became a necessity. Challenges to burst.
I still remember the glossy pre-derby Davidao reviews on the subject, which, with a dirty sheet in his hand to me: "Do not worry, look at the formations in comparison: for each role ours is stronger than their" Seeing the perplexity that are probably with every muscle of his face, confirmed his theory by ruling: "Why do you think when Fonseca does the one on one in the courtyard of the palace against Matthews does not win?"
"destroys"
"so what? "
Davidao knew: we opened them as a peach.
Returning to this derby. In the office there was no talk of another all week. My children are desperate because my wife excluded the possibility that they could skip school on Monday, in case of defeat. The kids know to be very bad when they take the piss. However they knew that in the case, I would have brought with me in secret, at the park, because also known to be very great evil when they take the piss.
But my expectation was calm, I was quiet. I was sure we would have won this unusual midweek derby. All it took was a look at the sports page on the Republic. Formations. Danielino De Rossi on one side and the other Mudingayi. One on one in the palace courtyard, with Buffon in goal. There is no story: they open like a peach.
Office: 16:59 stampede the turnstiles, 17:01 bales of hay. Traffic unlikely. In the jam feel like a kid crying in the car and the father yells, "we'll never nun! But who made me do de venitte at the foot! But if one should see anna catechism when there ar er derby! "were missing three hours. 20:03
my house, chaos. Ilaria D'Amico joked about Rome and earned a "Whore" collective, we are ... in stereo audio, Caressa epic sbeffeggianti the words sung by the choirs seem to be possessed ottantaduemilaquattrocentocinquantasei stacked in my bathroom with the door open. Beautiful and incomprehensible our choreography, with the yellow duck, perhaps should there be a red one next to it, but it is beautiful, dream-like, straight out of a Tim Burton film and it's done really well, that also has a facial expression, to say everything is a bit 'disturbing because ... ...
Sticazzi Tim Burton, has Rocchi scored. Behold, I knew: a goal after 10 minutes, we split, that sucks. There is little to do, they are the first team in the capital.
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