St. Paul, St. Anthony Park. Officials of the big events for the second day. In addition to a pair of unidentified characters, 3 new arrivals to follow the league. Frida is a known homeless person in the place, lie down in the meadow and a half bundled in a blanket. The other two are the janitor and the janitor Tim retired Hank. The whole world is country, even the janitors here they are called by name only and never by surname, after all, are not professors. But now I know what the janitors are retired, since I have lost track of the janitor Silvano and once I met the caretaker Anna municipal market square Fusina. You watch football poor. The presence of Tim and Hank is motivated by the comeback of Captain Emil K. for the opposing team, the Romanian student apparently renowned for its spectacular play. The night before, Saturday, Emil and other friends had left at 4 and a half in that same park intent on spending time with some cane acid and with a strange self they had brought from the laboratory directly into a test tube. I do not think they are back home, because the parity was played at eleven in the morning. My team has the players counted. No reservations, I think a boycott against the rules of the bogus links, but two professors have asked their students home for a lunch early autumn. Emil is fresh as a daisy with the same shorts and the same shoes the night before. It only changes the mesh. One minute before the starting whistle amarcord and great nostalgia. He asks me in Italian football to make him happy and I reeled off all the Romanian players of Brescia I know, by Sabau in Hagi, not to mention Raducioiu, Lupu, Petrescu (ha giocato anche nel Brescia?) e lui, contento, ribatte con Walterone Zenga e Nicola Caricola attualmente alla guida di due club rumeni. Ma finisce a tarallucci e vino quando mi rivela di avere lui stesso dei parenti a Brescia (e sfido a trovare un rumeno senza parenti a Brescia) e di essere stato a Milano, di cui apprezza parecchio la stazione centrale. Non gli dico invece che il mio amico Federico *ongelli voleva organizzare un viaggio di turismo sessuale in Romania, giusto per non scaldare gli animi nel pregara. Il pubblico si aspettava il Maradona dei Carpazi e invece Emìl è stonato più di N****o il giorno delle olimpiadi di matematica a Cesena o di V***o a Spotorno quando cerca di rifilare pasticche di ecstasy dicendo che fanno perdere due kili a pop. The game itself is disappointing and we win with an overwhelming 1 to 0 initialed by our goalkeeper. I'm the only one not to celebrate because I refuse to accept that my opponents on the edge of waste goalkeeper and shoots like a attancate. But they are a silent minority. I distinguish only for a bad foul and senseless against the wing opponent, guilty of not having the ball and that I happened to pull just as I needed to vent the anger and bitterness that I have matured in the week. The mention of the brawl is appeased by Emil. I am grateful, if the port goes to Milan to see the two air runs next to the station and bathrooms with frequent misunderstandings. Well. We are still in the race for the playoffs.
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