Forza Italia
Today, Italy won the World Cup. I wasn’t exactly watching the game, although I did catch the head-butt to the chest (arguable the best fight move I’ve ever seen, and one I’d like to employ someday). But the real action wasn’t on the field, it was on 30th Ave. in Astoria.
David has a scent for mayhem, so when the game had ended he grabbed his keys and ordered me to put my pants on, promising me my first riot. While the police presence was about 20 strong when we arrived on the corner of Steinway and 30th, the only thing I noticed was that the entire neighborhood had suddenly become Italian. Every human being in every car was waving an Italian flag and hanging our of their sunroofs. The exception was one elderly man behind the wheel of his 1986 Buick, who instead wore an “oh-shit-what-is-happening-and-why-did-I-leave-the-house-today” look on his face. He didn’t have a flag.
I guess everyone had also been issued a whistle when they had been dubbed Italian, because between the honking of car horns and the “WOOOOOOOOOO” being screamed by every girl in a tube-top, there was a cacophony of whistles like the neighborhood had been overtaken by a convention of middle school gym teachers. Plus, this guy somehow got a tuba.
A group of middle school girls walked by, one girl conspicuously blond and not face-painted. One of her frenemies tapped her on the shoulder, “STOP PRETENDING TO BE ITALIAN, JENNA! YOU’RE A POLE! YOU’RE POLISH!” Whereas I would have slapped someone over that remark, Jenna displayed amazing restraint and maturity, instead opting to flip her hair, cross her arms, and keep on walking, apparently perfectly content to “pretend” to be Italian.
And then it happened.
A wave of red, white and green flowing down the streets. Blue t-shirts. Face paint. Flags. Shouting. A line of policemen. Strong words. Defiance. More shouting. A larger line of policemen. More defiance. And finally, man hugs. The kind where one man grabs the other by the back of the head and plants a solid kiss on the cheek. The kind where both men are saying, “I’m so straight I will embrace you with all my strength, and hold the hug for an uncomfortable length of time.”
What was behind this change of heart?
What else? Wrist bands.
That cop made a good choice. When is the last time a LiveStrong bracelet actually quelled a potential riot? NEVER.
I hope you followed the guy with the tuba because anyone who thinks "better grab my tuba before we go" is probably LOADS of fun. What says "good time" better than a tuba? Maybe an accordion.
I was in Rome for the quarterfinals and Florence for the Semis. INSANE! We walked 5 miles to our hotel in Rome b/c all the public transportation/taxis just decided to stop.
In Florence, I got to watch the locals shake the living shit out of cars that said anything other than "Italia" on them. All while chanting "Throw the French in the River!"
Good times! (Pictures and more commentary on my blog in the near future!)
throw the french in the river?!
throw the jew down the well!
i'm sorry to be a debbie downer, but it's actually a baritone, not a tuba. tuba's are larger in size whereas a baritone is more like a compact tuba with a higher pitch.
First I'd like to say that Dave Gilmore is right, it is a Baritone. Anyway, where I live, the excitement was rather thrilling...But I can imagine what was happening in Italy. If only I would've been in Italy to be among the tremendous crowds.