Genoa – Like Roosevelt’s new deal, 777 Partners’ red and blue one also foresees major reforms and drastic changes to recover from the crisis of the Great Depression that has gripped us since the last years of the Preziosi management. On the nose, and I have more than Pippo Franco, Shevchenko (pronounced Ševčenko, ed) will have to get a decent little ass to bring us to the much-needed welfare of the classification, to that well-being of play and results that lies in the mind of the new owners and bivouac always in our hearts.
As in the best Genoan traditions, this new course begins wet from the rain and with a defeat in the final, a great classic of the deranged repertoire of the Vecchio Balordo. But Genoa, crippling a well-known sentence of the new President, is clinically alive. Against Roma, despite a technical-athletic gap that at times aroused tenderness, the granny version of the team, albeit struggling gaunt, fought supported by what was the real salt of a tasteless match, the overwhelming cheering of the Northern Steps.
Overflowing like the infirmary of Villa Rostan which has clogged all the rehabilitation therapy beds of the Riattiva Center, now collapsing and forced to send the injured del Grifo to physiotherapy centers outside the region. A sickle of recto-femoral elongations and injuries to the triceps that is depriving us of various now essential players, such as Criscito and Destro.
Unfortunately the substitutes, as easily predictable having already seen them at work, are turning out to be one patch worse than the hole. But they are points of view. Mourinho, for example, was terrified of Sabelli and continued to fidget in a trance on the sidelines, frantically calling his attention to our impalpable exterior. I too was terrified of Sabelli during the race but now, with a cold mind even if not lucid, I can only say that the “Special Once”, in addition to being nice like Gino Paoli, locks like an empty tin.
In the second half, still at 0-0, there was also a fleeting moment of illusion, when it seemed that Sturaro, practically on the goal line, could accompany Vasquez’s beautiful cross on the net of foot, shin, thigh, possibly also of the neck. Unfortunately the ungrateful Pharaoh of S’vooona, with an incredible heel advance, thwarted the threat and poor Sturaro, in the momentum, hit the goal and remained entangled like a luasso in the net.
Then the almost ineluctable epilogue with a couple of de luxe Romanist plays that decreed an extremely honorable defeat for the efforts made. Of beauty remains the terrified expression of Mourinho for “Theo Hernandez” Sabelli but above all the final warm hug between the North and the team in the rain and thunderous applause, the hope of a thriving new deal all together.
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