Zero to Mazzarri’s disturbed signal. With his friend watch always on his wrist, he begins a Homer Simpson-style trip after tasting the chili pepper from Quetzlatatateketlambo, grown in the criminal asylums of Guatemala. Dear Walter will have seen the race on Dazn, who in his mind almost believes he has paved Spalletti and deserved the advantage in the first half. Agcom ready to intervene: next time it will be reported in advance that the story is the result of a mere HALLUCINATION.
One is the seasonal knockout that still burns in Spalletti’s head. You beat Cagliari, you are first in the standings, he won them all. What does he do? Relieves the pressure of those who remind him ‘You are still unbeaten’ by explaining that there is instead the defeat with Benevento. Because ‘When you wear the Napoli shirt, you always get serious ”. Touchè Luciano.
Two networks, but do you know what’s really scary? The feeling of absolute domination, a victory that was never in question. Napoli crush Cagliari slowly, like a boa eating an elephant and then digesting it calmly, a lethal injection with gradual release without even shedding a drop of sweat. He does it with awareness, geometry, organization and the physical overwhelming power of that devil in front of him. He does it as a team. And what a team.
Three to Godin’s Peaceful Evening. He finds himself in front of a lava flow and tries to contain it as if to put out a candle on a cake: Osimhen is magma, Diego is a breath that is not even detected by the Nigerian’s nerve center. More in difficulty than a Tronist of Maria De Filippi struggling with the declension of the verb to cook in the remote past tense.
Four on the back and five minutes to get back to feeling important. Spalletti finds again Demme and with him all his intelligence pallonara. Important minutes are back for the median, a sagacity that is another weapon available. He, the one incredibly shelved by Gattuso in the final rush of last year, takes small steps back to a piece of Naples. It will be a fundamental pawn, because it is unthinkable to think that Fabiàn and Anguissa can play them all. Welcome back!
Five races, no flaws, just wonder. It looks like it came from the pen of a stilnovista Anguissa, came from the Premier to miraculously show. It is a bottomless container of resources, solutions, inventions as in the magic bowl that starts the 1-0 action. Erri De Luca writes that ‘Impossible is the definition of an event until the moment before it happens’. Here, Frank is impossible. Or rather, it was until a second before it happened. Right here. And to each race he adds a piece of impossibility, rewrites the boundaries. It shifts its definition. Towards infinity and beyond.
Six is not just a count. A dry resort to statistics, there’s something far hotter about these guys’ perfect streak. There is, first of all, an attitude to narrate, on which to lose your head. These six victories read them in the eye, you don’t even need to have seen them. You know it, because they know it. Like women, when they decided to change the page. It is an epochal moment, a new life that begins and shatters the previous one. With its vices, errors, shortcomings. There is a renewed spirit, a single body that wants to be a new body.
Seven to Peter, who is returning Peter. Because the Peter we had seen up to now was not the real Peter. Zielinski he needs to grind the pitch, to find himself in his football, in his visions, in those tears that belong to a football hemisphere with very few inhabitants. His assist for Osimhen, his some ideas that are the trademark of the Pole. That I have a weakness for Peter is evident, that I wanted to write Peter many times, too. Because maybe someone had forgotten how strong he was. Pietro, of course.
Eight to Mario Rui, who rises again to the level and confirms himself as an essential element in this exciting start to the season. Dedicates the same attention to the two phases, the first reading key to analyze this turning point. Precise, punctual, constant in supporting the maneuver, he does not get lost in excesses, in bizarre attempts, in sudden defensive blackouts. Up to now, one of Spalletti’s masterpieces is the performance of the Portuguese.
Nine true, very true. It crumples, then takes shape again and takes on a different one the next moment: it’s Posimhen, the superhero we all needed. For the opposing defenses there is nothing to laugh about, far from it. It shows a thousand times, facets of an athleticism that is amazing for its still unexpressed potential. Each game adds a puzzle to this incredible freak of nature, already dominant with so much more to learn. He is already the Lion King, he sings I want to be a King soon, yet a portion of the crown is already placed on his head. It disguises itself as many things, a thousand sides of a coin with a value yet to be discovered. Then he looks at you, smiles at you and displaces you: So ‘Victor.
Ten to the Spalletti hammer. That digs and digs and digs into brains, hearts, bodies. Look for gold, Eldorado, the priceless precious metal: will. It cuddles a Badge lucid as ever, in the plays and interventions from captain in rescue from Osimhen, tackled and pushed out of trouble at the time of the reprimand. He works on a skeleton that is pure South, very strongly South, deeply South. Pasolini wondered “What is the real victory, the one that makes hands clap or hearts beat?”. Luciano is making anything beat.