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This is a very long read, but it's worth it.
Mario Balotelli is the main reason why I got into soccer 2 years ago. I knew he was subjected to abuse, but not nearly to the effect of what I read in the article. Jokingly, I thought maybe he should apply for citizenship in the US. At least then he could play for a country that would actually respect him as a person. I know he's Italian, but that country doesn't show him a lot of love. To get repeatedly heckled in your place of work due to your skin color is taxing. I just wonder when he eventually says "enough is enough?"
Obviously the MLS can't hold a candle to these leagues in Europe due to player skill and lack of funds, but it would be something if they get a frustrated castoff, who is in their prime, from Serie A, etc. to play here in the States. You'd have to think that our crowds (and overall way of life) here would be a little more welcoming. All it takes is one...
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Mario Balotelli is the main reason why I got into soccer 2 years ago. I knew he was subjected to abuse, but not nearly to the effect of what I read in the article. Jokingly, I thought maybe he should apply for citizenship in the US. At least then he could play for a country that would actually respect him as a person. I know he's Italian, but that country doesn't show him a lot of love. To get repeatedly heckled in your place of work due to your skin color is taxing. I just wonder when he eventually says "enough is enough?"
Obviously the MLS can't hold a candle to these leagues in Europe due to player skill and lack of funds, but it would be something if they get a frustrated castoff, who is in their prime, from Serie A, etc. to play here in the States. You'd have to think that our crowds (and overall way of life) here would be a little more welcoming. All it takes is one...
When The Beautiful Game Turns Ugly
A journey into the world of Italy's racist soccer thugs.
ESPNFC &
ESPN The Magazine
by Wright ThompsonILLUSTRATION BY ROBERTO PARADA
06/05/13
VERONA, Italy -- Right up until he started quoting Hitler and dropping N-bombs, my new friend was a great dude. I'll call him The Hooligan. A more generous host would be hard to find. Soon after we met, he made sure we stopped at the one place in town that served Campari correctly. He speaks eight languages, and seemed nothing like the Hellas Verona fans I'd read about, the neo-fascist, neo-Nazi, racist thugs. The Hooligan insisted the Veronese just have a dark sense of humor and refuse to wear the yoke of modern political correctness.
Now we are headed toward the terraces of the stadium. Soon I'll be packed in with the hard-core fans, three people for every seat, chest to back, eyes burning from smoke bombs. Near the entrance to the stands, I ask The Hooligan to translate any chants hurled down at the players. He is an old-school soccer thug, not on a first-name basis with impulse control. His eyes are slate blue, and his face has darkened with intensity as kickoff approaches. His voice is a sharp blade.
"How about, 'You're a f***ing n*****'?" he says, and we walk inside.
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