Zero goals scored, but Lorenzo laughs at the end of the race. And it is a beautiful, beautiful thing for the hopes of this Naples. Team spirit is the best goal on the night of Maradona and it is Luciano Spalletti who scored it. Insigne crouching on the edge of an advertising billboard with the grin of someone who has a joke, Ciro trying to get serious in front of the cameras: they are the same face of a moon that does not seem to have dark sides.
One intervention, but what an intervention, by Ospina who just doesn’t want to concede a goal. Like the mythological Matsugoro of Sampei, he seems motionless on the right at the intersection of Luis Alberto and a moment later he is already flying with his big hand that rejects any pretense of the Spaniard. David is a good wine: since his arrival at Napoli he has become a little stronger every day than the previous day.
Two presidents, side by side. The historical gathering that takes place in front of the cameras of Dazn, with Corrado is beautiful Ferlaino celebrating his Maradona next to De Laurentiis. At 90, the engineer still shows a crazy lucidity, even when he knocks out the reporter from Dazn: “Let’s talk about that Naples of Maradona that made all of Italy dream”. Ferlaino blocks her “All of Italy I would not say. We kept some enemies … “. Game, match, match.
Three points that are worth more than three points. Mathematics cannot explain it well on the night of Maradona, it mortifies the sensations, delimits the emotions, reduces the scents, homologates the contents. Dries scores and sends a kiss towards the sky, a breath of wind that carries that dedication upwards towards infinity. This is how you play in Paradise and perhaps Napoli came by for a greeting. With the spirit of Diego that intoxicates the air, with Mertens who at the minute TEN (and not by chance) is literally possessed by the soul of D10S. Ciro shouting ‘I am here’ and reiterates his will to stay: ADL is back to the wall, this Dries deserves renewal.
Four baby food, be kind: it is an evening of splitting for Sarri, he sees his Naples again and is blown away. But to say that that was Maurizio’s Napoli is a hoax that offends Spalletti: there is the touch of Luciano in the evolution of that football, the cynical and lethal synthesis of those who limit the dribble to a marginal phase, preferring verticality and finalization. “Napoli is the strongest team in the league” says Maurizio, waving a white flag on the bridge. There can be no anger, because there has simply never been contention.
Five goals in a season that now takes the form of a diesel. He left sobbing Zielinski, almost as displaced us as the Fiorello-style pigtail in Elmas’ 1992 Karaoke. With the feet that he finds himself, it is certainly no surprise that he can score a lot (four times in the last month), what was missing are those tugs there, which if he is not careful risks moving the foundations of the stadium. It pisses you off with that face that hides all emotions, but when it is the right evening it is more irrepressible than an elephant in Renato Pozzetto’s studio in ‘Boy in the Country’. Taaaaaac.
You are like a shared breath, a thread we all hold on to. There is life on the planet Maradona, a temporal space that leaves a small door open, the porthole where we all venerate with respect. Mysticism immersed in the rain that washes, purifies, merges with the tears of a night deeply marked by Diego’s spirit. “Every time a child kicks something in the street, the history of football starts over there “, considering that Maradona is football we can easily agree on its immortal nature.
Seven goals conceded that remain seven. After the four goals in the last two, Napoli blocks the principle of defensive bleeding, also accentuated by the slip of Moscow. The sumptuous Koulibaly, the enterprising Rrahmani, the tireless Di Lorenzo, the intrepid Mario Rui seem to merge like gears that always give the right time. The work that ennobles individuals who have chosen to merge into a single body, fragments of brave hearts that rediscover that it’s never over until it’s over. In defense of an idea, more than just a door.
Otto to Lobotka, who this time turns on himself but does not feel dizzy. It looks like Liam Neeson who does not break even in the face of the most terrifying of threats, sends the Biancocelesti pressure over the top with light swerves and wise passages with high reliability. He closes the race with an accuracy of 97.1 and also deserves praise from Spalletti. The policy of small steps applied to a midfielder: Stan dedicates himself to the team with the care of those who are interested exclusively in the collective good, he does not want to overdo it because what interests him is to complete the task he has received.
Nine to Fabiàn’s left-handed homage that comes at the end of a consecutive series of FIFTY consecutive passes in which Napoli only smells the smell of leather to Lazio. It is a prolonged orgasm, which can be experienced in two directions as dreamed by Woody Allen. The beauty of the plot, the wonder of the conclusion have the same genesis: an infinite and widespread quality. After the symphonic performance of the band, the Spanish soloist sets up on his own: he counts the steps and aims at the corner not even if it were Signor Quindicipalle. There is no space, even a tiny one, that Fabiàn cannot reach with that foot he finds himself.
Ten to the tribal dance in the rain of Ciro. Do not leave that body Diego, with Mertens experiencing the phenomenon of metempsychosis, a transmigration of the soul, an echo of enterprises, a faithful cast of the greatness of the D10S. Possessed, inspired, ecstatic as a poet advised by Muses dictating a work that encompasses the eternal magnificence of the divine. It is a night of magic, with the stadium shouting Ciro with his voice, with his eyes he has the sensation of seeing Diego, with his heart he blends these two figures in the immense love for a magic. Synesthesia that mixes all the sensory spheres, also upsets the cognitive abilities in the face of the stunning beauty that leaves only one possibility: the sweet surrender of the senses.