Page 30 of My Italian Love Affair
Players, coaches, and yes,journalists.
So why did she take it so personally?
“She needs to relax,” I mutter.
Luca barks out a laugh. “Oh, you’remadmad.”
“Matteo Rossi does not get mad.”
“Matteo Rossi doesn’t explain himself, either,” he grins. “Oh, wait - but youdid.You had to, becauseshemade you. In front of a room full of… well,us.”
I scoff. “That’s not -”
“- and now, because you have the emotional maturity of a breadstick, you can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Go to hell.”
Luca smirks triumphantly.
“See? You’re mad.”
I exhale sharply, trying to ignore him as the ball flies through the air.
Trying to ignoreher.
It doesn’t matter.
None of it matters.
I have a game to win, not a journalist to obsess over.
Simple.
Chapter Eleven
Daphne
Tonight marks a few firsts for me.
Not only is it my first time attending a professional football match, but it’s also my first real opportunity to meet players one-on-one for post-match interviews.
The thought alone is enough to make my stomach twist with nerves.
I know the routine now. At least in theory, anyway.
Watch the game, take notes, and then head down to the mixed zone, where journalists get a few rushed minutes to grab quick quotes from the players as they leave the pitch.
It all seems simple enough.
And yet as I step into the stadium, surrounded by thousands of fans who live and breathe this sport, I can’t help but feel like an outsider.
I arrive just as the sun begins to dip below the skyline. I’ve now hired a car so that I’m not having to rely on public transport into the late hours, and the culture shock of driving on the right-side of the road is almost enough to send me packing.
I don’t quit that easily, of course - although the sight of thestadium is equally as daunting as the driving.
The sheer scale of it is staggering: towering stands, massive floodlights and thousands upon thousands of fans streaming through. Even from outside, I can hear the hum of the crowd, the occasional burst of chanting echoing off the concrete walls.
I tighten my grip on my press pass, feeling an odd sense of displacement as I lock my car and make my way through the throngs of supporters.
