Dreams of Soccer Glory

Last year I watched and chronicled Sergio Ricotta joining the ranks of referees for soccer here in Sicily. Sergio is 17 years old now, in his senior year at the Classical High School in town (a full academic high school, including Greek and Latin for all students) and will be headed to University next year to become a lawyer. He will be a good lawyer. From watching him as a referee, he will be a good judge as well. He is also the son of Fabri Ricotta, Fran’s cousin, and his wife Gabri.

This year, Sergio has moved up from refereeing kids league games to what is called Series Three. Allow me to digress for a moment now and let you know that this will be full of digressions, to help you understand my mind set, and if possible, Italian Soccer. Series Three is the lowest level of league soccer in Italy. Below that there are just pick up games. Each year, the top two teams of any league (there are loads of leagues in Series Three) have an opportunity to move to Series Two, which is called Excellence, and the same deal moving from Excellence to Series One, and then into the truly professional ranks of Series D, Series C, Series B, and finally the big leagues, Series A, which currently has 18 teams in Italy.

As Fabri said, Series Three players are split between older men who have seen better soccer playing days, but are still good enough to play a little soccer (shall we say 35-50 years old) and young players who are just starting out, hoping against hope that Zampirini, the owner of the Palermo Series A squad, will for whatever reason come to a jerk water town and offer them a contract after seeing how well they play. After several lousy seasons, Sciacca is still holding on to its team in the Excellence category.

On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, Sergio, Fabri and I piled into Fabri’s car and drove over to Ribera to see a match, and watch Sergio work as referee. The setting was perfect. The stadium had a pitch that was all brown dirt. We were allowed to enter at the players entrance, just before they closed and locked the gate, thereby securing the cars that the players drove to the game. It was to be a match between Ribera and Jopolo, another nearby town.

There were two bars just outside the stadium, and they were doing a very good business considering it was Sunday afternoon, when most folks would be eating pranzo in Sicily. In the states, I would expect they would be selling a lot of beer, with the occasional shots thrown in. Not here. Here it was coffee. And there were no rules about bringing food or drink into the stadium, but unlike the US, only a few people brought anything in to eat or drink during the game, and then it was only water bottles or soda.

We found seats near a small group of people who had driven down from Jopolo, and we were soon surrounded by folks from Ribera who came to see the match. Of course there was no admission, and the only thing that really separated this from a lot of slow pitch soft ball games I have seen in the states is that the players all had uniforms, all the uniforms (except the goalies, of course) matched, and the fans were made up of girl friends and buddies of the younger players, wifes and children of the older players, and a scattering of old men who had nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon. I sat next to a twenty something guy who I think should have been a poster boy for motor scooter safety. He was wearing a horse collar, and his left arm was braced to keep it away from his body. Two fingers on his left hand were also bandaged.

The friends would call out to the players they knew, who would look up and wave. That not only happened before the game, but occasionally during the game. In fact sometimes a player would be smiling up at his girl friend as the ball zoomed past him.

Within a few minutes of the opening kick, Sergio had to call a foul. Of course the person who had fouled was innocent. Of course the team awarded the kick tried to move the ball ten yards down the field before they kicked it. Fortunately, most of the fouls were not serious (read painful), so the arguing was not that strident. And I did say most of the fouls.

Digression: I really do not know how hard it hurts to be tripped when you are standing still on a soccer field, nor do I know how much it hurts to be kicked in the shin guard. I do know that all soccer players, especially Italian soccer players, make it seem like they have been given a root canal using a black and decker industrial power drill with no pain killers. I also know that usually getting the referee to see things your way and give you a free kick eases the pain tremendously.

So occasionally, there would be a body rolling in the dirt like a dog trying to pick up dead cow smell, and then the player would be able to leap up and play immediately.

I did see one player block a free kick with his face and drop like a stone to the ground, with his hands to his face. I was sure his nose would be broken, as it was the largest part of his face. Sergio called for first aide, and a guy came running on the field with cold water to pour on the injury. Of course his team mates, wanting to be as helpful as possible, stopped the guy and took a drink of the water as it was on its way to the injured player. Fortunately, the ball had hit the side of the man’s head, and he was able to continue playing. Being as it was a player from his team who had kicked the ball, the other team was given the ball to put into play. Of course there were arguments.

Later there was a hand ball in the penalty area by a defender, and Sergio rightly awarded a penalty kick. The defending team, while they did not deny that there had been a hand ball, were furious enough for Sergio to give one of them a yellow card as a warning.

The second half became more serious. Mid field collisions would result in staredowns between the two players. Both coaches started to ride Sergio. Several times Sergio had to step in between two players to keep them from fighting. Usually other players would also intervene, but Sergio had to be there first. After one such incident, a player kept being antagonistic, and Sergio gave him a yellow card. He then proceeded to express all of the thoughts he was capable of in flowery Sicilian Dialect and standard Italian. He was awarded a second yellow card and a red card, which means expulsion from the game (as well as ineligibility for the game after). His team mates took him off the field, and a two liter bottle of water flew over the fence from the stands onto the pitch. A few people started to climb the fence. I was thinking of running in the other direction, but no one got over the fence, and things calmed down.

Later one of the coaches was expelled for his flowery language and failure to heed Sergio’s warnings. He did a perfect perp walk down the side of the field and out of the stadium

There were more scuffles, more penalties, and more complaining, but basically, the game was over with the only goal being on the penalty kick in the first half. After the final whistle, the players shook hands with each other and with Sergio.

It was all in a game in Series Three. An interesting brand of soccer, and I look forward to Fabri calling me for another Series Three excursion.

And by the way, Sergio did do a good job.