Few things can deliver such an intense aura like a sporting event. Thousands of people all united by one goal marching to the same spot to watch a battle unfold contains equal levels of excitement, anxiety, and passion. I’ve been fortunate to experience this thrill across multiple sporting events. For me very little can match the hair raising buzz of getting off the subway in the Bronx to march towards Yankee Stadium (even though I hate the team in Pinstripes!), or the camaraderie of setting up shop in a parking lot and digging into grilled meats at a Big 10 football tailgate. But somehow in tiny Bergamo, in a town that’s population nearly fit inside of the University of Michigan’s Big House, a random Monday night league match can produce a spine tingling shivers that really should only be reserved for the biggest of matches.
But as a provincial club where each match carries weight, and negative results can evoke ugly thoughts of ‘all good things must come to an end,’ it feels like a prerequisite that fanatic passion must be spilled onto the pitch every match. As an American, it is difficult to appreciate the latent doom of relegation that naturally lives in the back of the minds of the tifosi of historical yo-yo clubs. No one knows when the gravy train ends, but skepticism – I guess – makes us think it eventually must. So in the meantime why not wear our hearts on our sleeve?
I get the sentiment, but I never really felt it, until last Monday. Why was I walking down the street with ten thousand other Atalantini in a seemingly meaningless match against an opponent barely staving off relegation on a worknight. But that’s the beauty of football! No game is meaningless, and the Bergamaschi vivaciously let you know it.
Gewiss Stadium is not big. Barely holding twenty thousand spectators, the size of the stadium gives off the vibe of a high school stadium nestled neatly inside a city block. But that’s where the high school comparisons end. Once you punch your ticket and head into the Curva Nord (or wherever your seat is), its all brothers in arms. Not being a Bergamasco, and sticking out even more by donning my new hot salmon alternate kit!, I definitely felt more like an observer of the spectacle rather than a member. Which is fine! It made for a supremely interesting study of provincial fandom, and the roots that tie Bergamo and Atalanta together.
Oddly enough when walking around Bergamo, there are hardly any hints that the city is home to a football club that is held in such high esteem by its population. The stadium is tucked away in the northeast part of the city, and there are minimal Atalanta flags and banners dressing people’s balconies. One would not be reprimanded after spending a day or two in Bergamo for not knowing that the city was home to a club competing in the Champion’s League. Unless you’re there on game night! Our lodging was fortunately on the route to the stadium (maybe a 10 minute walk away), and the city takes off its mask once the sun goes down like a speakeasy reopening the bar once the detectives get back in the squad car. Cops line the street three hours before gameday controlling traffic, and a medley of pedestrians, vespas, and cars all gravitate to the Gewiss like a magnet.
And the party doesn’t stop. The Ultras and the tifosi don’t stop singing and chanting until the match ends. I lost count, but there must have been at least 10 unique songs that the ultras led from behind the goal. And everyone knows them! Even the fan behind me who barely made a peep at anything that occurred on the pitch, immediately joined every jingle as if he was singing along to the Beatles on the radio. The fans turn the game into a spectacle, and one with strong staying power.
The beauty of football is the constant flowing nature of the sport. At first its overwhelming to try and keep up with what’s happening on the pitch. From trying to balance the Curva’s orchestration to the actions on the field; it’s sensory overload. But once you get your bearings after ten or fifteen minutes, watching the moving chess pieces in action is a sight to behold. Everything is amplified. Every pass seems more intricate, spaces to dribble between look smaller, and aerial duels are more about leverage on the ground than jumping ability.
Not to mention the beauty of good positioning. On TV it is easy to praise Atalanta’s press, automatically assuming it is good because La Dea always have the ball and we’re told that it is good. Standing behind the goal takes it to another level and makes it much easier to appreciate the years of excellent service brought by Marten de Roon and Remo Freuler. Atalanta’s opponent Sampdoria may not have had its best game, but the positioning of Atalanta’s double pivot made it clear why proceedings were so difficult for them. Being able to witness a match unfold, and not being constricted by what the camera shows, illustrates why off the ball movement is the key to winning football games. The number of times that one of Atalanta’s three midfielders seemingly was in the right place to intercept a pass or stymie a clearance was remarkable. But none of it was by chance, and I sincerely appreciate being able to see the work that goes into occupying the right space – and it confirmed that the press is all about positioning rather than lung capacity.
Atalanta cruised to a 4-0 win, with each subsequent goal increasing in its impressiveness. Watching Pessina’s nutmegs, Miranchuk’s perfectly weighted passes, Koopmeiner’s weak footed finishes, and Palomino’s nonchalant handling of aerial duels with Quagliarella were a sight to behold in person. The combination of a near perfect sporting performance plus the atmosphere in the crowd set up nearly impassable expectations for any future match.
But with this club, you never know what you’re going to get. Match that unpredictability with a city that fervently lives for its club, that every outing – win, lose, or draw – will deserve its own scrapbook page. I’m thankful I got to cross this one off my bucket list, and I hope all Atalantini all over the globe get to do so as well at one point in there life. As always, Forza Dea!!!
