Been There

Local heroes, landmarks, and a little soccer rivalry in Northern Italy

It is the pink newspaper that changes everything. Until I pull out La Gazzetta dello Sport, the Italian sports daily printed on paper the color of medium-rare steak, Gianluca thinks I’m just another American sipping red wine on a Friday afternoon and wishing I understood what the two women at another table are saying.

The co-owner of La Petite Cave, a tiny wine bar in the Brera neighborhood of Milan, Gianluca is a barrel-chested man with a shaved head, dark eyes, and an iron jaw that I’m guessing has likely withstood a punch or two in its time. He is not unfriendly but not particularly cordial either. But when he sees the pink newspaper, he guesses I’m in Milan not for opera but for Sunday’s soccer game between the city’s top two teams, Internazionale and AC Milan. His eyes light up, and a hint of a smile appears. Suddenly, I am his friend, his comrade in il calcio (literally, “the kick”), as the Italians call soccer.

“The entire city is interested in what happens in this match,” Gianluca says, sniffing the cork of a newly opened bottle of 2005 Brunello. He wrinkles his nose: no good. He pops another bottle, pours, and growls, “It is a very important game.”

Chatting it up with Gianluca at La Petite Cave

A game with the power to lift or break every heart in Milan, depending on which team wins. Soccer is a religion in Italy, every bit as culturally significant as food, wine, and high heels — and Milan is its mecca. Internazionale, or Inter, and AC Milan, known simply as Milan (pronounced MEE-lan), are two of the most celebrated teams on the planet, winners of Italian, European, and world championships. Their rosters bulge with talent, like Inter’s brilliant striker Zlatan Ibrahimovic and Milan’s ageless defender Paolo Maldini, who has long been Italy’s answer to David Beckham. With fan bases stretching from Buenos Aires to Beijing, viewers across the globe tune in when these two teams face off, hoping — no, praying — their team comes out on top.

The Inter-Milan game is called the Derby della Madonnina, in honor of the diminutive golden statue atop the Duomo, the city’s main cathedral. In the days leading up to the game, the Piazza del Duomo becomes a swirl of color-coded allegiances: black and blue for Inter (whose club nickname is the Nerazzurri, the “Black-Blues”), red and black for Milan (the Rossoneri, or “Red-Blacks”). No one seems to be without some tidbit of team merchandise — a hat, a wristband, a keychain. A kiosk in the Piazza does a brisk business selling team scarves, the proprietor punctuating each sale with “Forza Milan!” or “Forza Inter!” depending on the customer’s loyalties. Flags drape across balconies above the artsy cafés in the Navigli neighborhood and the glossy storefronts of the Quadrilatero fashion district. Everywhere, snippets of excited conversation flutter in the air: “Inter must try to...” “The defense for Milan could...” “Oh, if we can get an early goal...”

“What team are you?” I ask Gianluca.

“I am a Milanista, of course,” he replies, touching his heart.

“Why?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Eh. Because I am.”

A typical Italian response, and an unmistakable rebuke of my insinuation that he could possibly be an Inter fan. In truth, Gianluca is a Milanista — as opposed to an Interista — because his father was one. This is how these things go: You either take up your father’s team or exercise your natural right of rebellion by picking its bitterest rival.

The Italian word tifoso, describing an ardent supporter of a team, derives from the same root as typhus, and as writer Elizabeth Gilbert pointed out in her book Eat, Pray, Love, that gives some indication of Italian fans’ feverish devotion. But Milanistas do not despise Interistas, or vice versa, any more than Verdi aficionados despise Rossini admirers. It is not rare in Milan to find best friends and couples who support opposing teams.

Visitors, Meet Rivals

Southern Italians love to debate whether Milan is really part of Italy. They accuse the Milanese of being “Swiss,” and mock their punctuality and their stiff manner. It’s a low blow, considering the city’s economic and cultural significance. Everything from fashion to finance flows through Milan. These days, the cafés and street fairs in the Navigli and Brera neighborhoods and all around the Duomo are crowded with Eastern Europeans testing out their newfound wealth. And at least some of this internationalization can be attributed to the popularity of Milan’s two soccer clubs.

Left to right: One of the trams commonly seen in Milan; an Inter Milan banner hangs from an historic balcony; pedestrians window-shop in the Quadrilatero d'Oro neighborhood.

It also explains why, on Saturday morning, the day before the game, I am not the only foreigner on a tour of San Siro, the imposing stadium shared by Inter and Milan. Along with two Swedes, a Russian grandfather and grandson, and an awestruck Brazilian couple, there is a group of Greek teenagers led by a bearded Orthodox priest. Wearing his black vestments, with his hair in a traditional bun, he snaps photos as giddily as his young disciples. “Just think about this place on Sunday,” the priest says to no one in particular. One of his kids replies, “Yeah, when Milan wins.”

When Mark Twain saw Milan’s Duomo he wrote, “So grand, so solemn, so vast! And yet so delicate, so airy, so graceful!” But he could easily have been describing San Siro. Our guide, Francesca, walks us through a gray stone and steel tunnel into the sun-burnished stadium. I’ve seen it before, but it doesn’t matter; it is breathtaking, as always. The three tiers of red, yellow, green, and blue seats, more than 85,000 in total, stand tall over the field, giving the impression you are standing inside a gigantic multicolored flower. The grass is as green as freshly minted money. As a stadium usher will tell me later, “There are other stadiums in Italy, but San Siro is the one where teams win championships.”

Since 1980, San Siro has officially been named Giuseppe Meazza Stadium, after the legendary forward who played for both Inter and Milan. Because he is best remembered as an Inter player, some Milanistas continue to refer to the stadium by the surrounding neighborhood’s name.

The two teams also share a museum at the stadium. It’s a shrine, really, chromatically divided: Milan red on one side, Inter blue on the other. Here, the histories of the two extraordinary clubs are displayed in stark relief. It turns out they are brothers, of sorts. Milan was founded as the Milan Cricket and Foot-Ball Club in 1899 by a group of Englishmen who preserved the English spelling of the city, as opposed to the Italian “Milano.” Nine years later, a schism occurred when some club members protested the club’s ban on foreign players. A century ago, in a restaurant behind the Duomo, the dissenters founded a new club named, appropriately, Internazionale.

Over the years, Inter and Milan have been crowned champions of Serie A, Italy’s top professional league, more than 30 times combined. Although Milan dominated in the ’90s, Inter has captured the three most recent championships. The museum’s glass cases house more than 100 years of history, including shiny European trophies, mud-stained jerseys, and photos of all the greats who have taken the field at San Siro: the brilliant but injury-prone Dutchman Marco van Basten, the controversial Brazilian striker Ronaldo, the modern-day favorite Maldini.

As I am leaving the museum, I ask Francesca which team she roots for.

“I’m an Interista,” she says. “My whole family is. Well, sort of. My brother’s for Milan. But we still talk to him.”

Fan Culture

Back in the city center, I step into Salsamenteria Verdiana for a plate of salty prosciutto, crumbling chunks of parmesan, and creamy globs of fresh ricotta. A curly-haired young man flawlessly plays a sonata on the tavern’s upright piano.

When I notice the waiter is wearing a Milan wristband, I bring up the game. “Ah, you are fortunate,” he says. “I would give my sister for a ticket. Come back and tell me all about it.”

Left to right: Patrons at the Osteria di Pallone restaurant; Shopping for AC Milan jerseys; A rabid Inter fan shows his allegiance.

He sends me around to the New Milan Point, one of several official AC Milan stores in town. Certainly someone there will have the inside scoop on a pregame party. The racks and display cases overflow with Milan T-shirts, scarves, towels, watches, slippers, ashtrays, action figures, even red wine. If they can give it a red and black color scheme and slap the Milan logo on it, it’s here. I ask the manager what I can expect tomorrow from the fans.

He laughs. “Ha! I can’t tell you that. What if you’re an Interista? Then you go back and tell your friends. You’ll ruin everything. Che disastro!”

An Italian-American friend of mine has often said that what differentiates a European soccer match from any sporting event in the United States is the crowd. In Italy, the fans create the kind of roaring, spine-tingling atmosphere that scantily clad cheerleaders, “YMCA” routines between innings, and T-shirt bazookas can never equal. Tomorrow, the fans will cheer from the opening kickoff to the final whistle. The Milan fans will unfurl a gigantic banner depicting Homer Simpson, inebriated and wearing black and blue diapers, with the words: “Even in the year of your centenary, it is always the same scene.” Being a fan of Inter or Milan is not necessarily an expression of your undying love for the team; it is a cultural signifier, a way of communicating with the tifoso on the other side of the stadium.

The Moment of Truth

Sunday morning, the entire city is awash in red, blue, and black. Nearly everyone wears a jersey bearing the name of their heroes. Ibrahimovic and Maldini outnumber all the others. Fans stroll through the Piazza del Duomo, taking photos in front of the cathedral. The most desperate step inside and ask for a little divine intervention. Only if need be, of course.

Inter fans in front of the Duomo

In the Navigli neighborhood, the Osteria di Pallone is busy. Soccer murals grace the walls like Renaissance frescoes, and the outside tables are full of locals sipping cappuccino and reading La Gazzetta. Today’s headline: “Il momento della verita.” The moment of truth.

Kickoff is at three in the afternoon, but the rush to the stadium begins hours earlier. The subway to San Siro feels more like a pressurized aerosol can, with fans from both sides forced in together, agitating to burst out. The crowd gushes out at Piazza Lotto then starts walking along the lovely, tree-lined Viale Federico Caprilli. Every hundred yards or so there’s a panini stand selling grilled salami sandwiches and Beck’s beer.

The grounds outside the stadium are chaotic. This is what the Circus Maximus must have been like, I imagine. Fans of both teams huddle together, discussing the game. Families walk hand-in-hand toward the ticket gates. Four Inter fans from Saudi Arabia smoke Kent cigarettes and ask when they should go into the stadium. They are as excited as clubbers at the front of the velvet rope line.

Anytime will do now, I tell them. The real fans are already in there, two hours before kickoff. You can hear them, their voices resounding up and out of the stadium like a volcano. It’s something between a chant and a song, and it raises goosebumps. Soon the fans will unfurl the banners and break out the slogans and good-natured taunts they have been diligently, and furtively, working on. Then the whistle will blow and the game will kick off, and every heart in Milan will pause for a little while.

I nod to the Saudis, wish them luck, and walk into the stadium.

Game Time

Six minutes after halftime, Kaka, Milan’s Brazilian genius, dances around defender Marco Materazzi and drives toward the endline. This is it. It has to be. Tens of thousands of Rossoneri fans suck in their collective breath. They see the goal before it even happens, see Filippo Inzaghi — their beloved “SuperPippo” — waiting in front of the goal. “Pippo,” they whisper to themselves when Kaka sends in the pass. Then a little louder, as the ball floats closer: “Pippo!” Then, a volcanic roar as Inzaghi slams the ball into the goal with his head: “SuperPippo!” 1-0 Milan.

The stadium shakes with noise, color, and motion. Italian TV announcer Tiziano Crudeli, an unabashed Milan fan, convulses and clutches at his heart. “Il Milan in vantaggio!” Milan has the lead! His reaction will make him a YouTube star for days.

Four minutes later, Kaka takes advantage of a mistake by Inter midfielder Patrick Vieira and scores one of his own: 2-0 Milan.

Julio Cruz strikes a late consolation goal for Inter, but it isn’t enough. Final score: 2-1 Milan.

Getting There: Continental offers daily nonstop service to Milan from its hub in New York/Newark.

Eat It Up

Il Teatro, the restaurant inside the Four Seasons Hotel Milano, will always be a nice option, but it recently added a touch of flair. A total overhaul of its kitchen has added a chef’s table in the back corner where a dozen guests can dine with maestro Sergio Mei and get spot-on wine recommendations from the sommelier. Via Gesù 6/8, 39.02.77088; fourseasons.com/milan

Wildly popular Obika takes mozzarella out of the side-dish category and puts it front and center — right where it should be. The shiny, cool “mozzarella bar” (think sushi bar with cheese instead of hamachi) serves up several kinds of Italy’s favorite formaggio, but the classic, handmade bufala campana is the best. Rumor has it an Obika will open in New York soon. Via Mercato (at Via dei Fiori Chiari), 39.02.8645.0568; obika.it

Salsamenteria Verdiana seems to surprise passersby who are confronted with its window filled with luscious salami and prosciutto. This country tavern with a classical twist is named for the composer Giuseppe Verdi and boasts walls decorated with opera playbills. At night, there’s live classical music. Via San Pietro all’Orto 9, 39.02.7980.20; salsamenteriaverdiana.it

Tucked off the main thoroughfare in the lively Brera neighborhood, the simple hostaria Rosso di Brera, with its airy alfresco tables, is a prime spot for watching the Milanese and everyone else on their evening stroll. Via Formentini, 39.02.8050.9363; rossodibrera.com

Rest Up

The Four Seasons Hotel Milano doesn’t look like a grand hotel from the outside, but behind the walls guests will find everything they could want or need. A converted 15th-century convent, it offers all the expected five-star goodies, but the centerpiece is a quiet grassy courtyard that provides a serene escape from the madding crowd of sightseers, shoppers, and, well, exuberant soccer fans. The hotel is on the verge of a massive renovation and expansion, part of a trend in the city that will see a W Hotel and a Mandarin Oriental open within the next two years. Via Gesù 6/8, 39.02.77088; fourseasons.com/milan

The Park Hyatt Milan, just off the famous covered galleria, is a modern take on old-style luxury. The rooms, true to Italian design, have a sleek, contemporary feel, but with a dash of sexiness and touches like the handblown Murano glass light fixtures and Bang & Olufsen entertainment system. Bonus: the concierge is a rabid soccer fan who can help with tickets and tips on where the players hang out postgame. Via Tommaso Grossi 1, 39.02.8821.1234; milan.park.hyatt.com