Whenever anyone asks me that question I go through a labyrinth in my head, thinking of the different ways that made me fall in absolute love with the Giallorossi. I’m transported back to my early childhood, into my teens, and so on. All the people I’ve met along the way show up in frames. It’s an intense and emotional ‘question.’ I think I have to begin by telling you about those first few memorable years.
We moved to New Jersey from Brooklyn when I was almost five. My grandparents stayed following the loss of my father, and my mother looked for a safer place to raise my sister and I. Parts of Brooklyn are now much safer than they’ve ever been, but the early 90’s were an era where the city was more of a hotbed than a hipster haven. I was energetic as hell, and what better sport to use all of that energy up than soccer. Believe it or not, there was no English Premier League, or even La Liga shown at the time. American soccer? Didn’t exist. The only way to watch ball was through RAI - and for the next few years, I would watch without a real understanding, but just a juvenile passion.
By the time I was 11 years old I was a fanatic of the sport. While my other friends followed the New York Giants and the Yankees, I just didn’t care. I had no predispositions to any teams, as even my grandfathers had little time for sport. My uncle - before he was schemed out of millions - used to know some people in high places, and scored some World Series tickets. It could just as well have been a minor league game, let alone the world’s most famous baseball stadium. Indifferent. Later that year, my aunt who I am closest with visited us, and as for our annual trip, we went to Chinatown for some Wonton Soup and ribs, and Little Italy for the cannoli. Walking past one of the gift stores on Canal Street, I flipped through some Calcio shirts on the rack.
The shop owner pointed one out to me - “Totti… This player, he’s very good.” However, my mom noticed a stain on it. “This one here is cleaner, look.” It was an Inter Milan Sebastian Frey shirt. I wanted the maroon one the man suggested, and was a little disappointed it was messed up. Not going as imagined?
My grandparents visited the summer of 2002, just as the World Cup began. As I started to pay attention to the players during late night wake-ups, one player in particular kept being mentioned by the commentators. There he was again, that ‘Totti’ guy. Even the commentators in the special edition World Cup game on Xbox(?) were mentioning him. Ah, he must be something special.
When I was given FIFA 03 for Christmas, I scrolled through teams to pick in the Italian league, given my background and topical knowledge. Roma just seemed like the logical pick - I knew enough to know that my family wasn’t from Northern Italy but from a bunch of different southern cities, and was amazed as a young child by the Colosseum and its gladiators. Wouldn’t you know, there he was - Totti!
The next few years were obsessive, and my adolescent identity belonged to Roma. Every Sunday I prayed that RAI would choose them for the 11 a.m. match, so I could see the king, with Marco Delvecchio, Vincenzo Montella, and a player I immediately loved - Antonio Cassano. He also grew up without his father, and had to fight his way up. The fact that he was from Bari like my family was just the icing on the cake. I could’ve picked better a better role model, as once or twice I even tried to replicate his silly fouls and celebrations. Should’ve did the shorts on the head celebration too. The ultras… No, I had never seen anything like it. There is no equivalent, or even like-minded group in any American sports franchise. These supporters went all out with flares, banners, and even stadium-wide designs. Moonstruck.
My mom got us tickets when Roma played Liverpool at Giants Stadium on August 6th, 2004. She even got me Totti’s kit from that season, and I must’ve worn it every other day - including for my 9th grade photo, where I had an unbelievably obnoxious blister-pimple on my nose. I will not be posting that photo. I even took it to the Stadio Olimpico itself.
Next Christmas, my dream came true as we traveled to Rome - and Europe - for the first time, heading straight to the stadium. I get goosebumps just writing about it. The atmosphere was beyond electric, even as Roma was enduring a difficult time with Cassano drama and a revolving door of managers. They lost, but there right on the pitch, were my heroes.
I think some of you reading already know a bit of the story about how I got into a car accident while wearing that shirt, but this is the whole story, and why that jersey will be forever special to me:
My group of friends and I would go to the mall every Friday night throughout high school. I’d get a Cinnabon and a Red Bull or two, and we would walk around, play jokes, etc. What else should 15-year-olds do? So my buddy broke his leg a few days before while skateboarding, and we figured we would go spend some time with him. After leaving the mall, we headed to a nearby dirt road we would go down. This is actually fun for kids from New Jersey, because there’s a bunch of you in the car, and it’s just one of those time-wasting things you do. “Want to go check out the dirt road by the marina?” And it was always a “Why not.” Since we were going to be doing little once we got to our friend’s, we decided to do it one last time.
An hour later I was being rushed to the intensive care unit of New Jersey’s most prominent hospital. I was somewhere between conscious and unconscious, and was bleeding from my head while vomiting in the ambulance. They looked to pump my stomach thinking I had alcohol poisoning (in reality, we were good kids, and didn’t experiment with drugs or alcohol). I had a skull fracture, and the trauma shook my brain, causing the reaction in what’s called vestibular dysfunction.
A garden stone later fell out the car door where I had been seated. Someone in a backyard by the dirt road had thrown it, likely from afar. It became a cold case and no suspects were ever brought to trial. There was no massive injury payout, no 20 years in prison… nothing. Over time I made my peace with it, that whatever negative energy and sin that person committed would come back to them in some form or another, but I am not God, and that’s not for me to decide.
What I cannot tell you, and still can choke me up to this day, is how that stone hit me in the perfect place. Why didn’t it hit the top of my head, or my temple? It hit the sturdiest part of my skull. I have virtually long term effects. I don’t believe in coincidences, and I do think everything is part of a plan, for better or worse. I did become a bit more religious, but more than anything I became more thankful. I cared more about my family than myself, and I didn’t want them to lose anyone else prematurely.
The shirt itself is in immaculate condition. I don’t know how or why, I’m not sure what it all means. Five years later when the team visited New Jersey for the first time since Liverpool, the team had an open practice. Totti signed that same jersey. “Questo e’ il mio sogno,” I trembled, and he gave the most badass look you can imagine. Freaking incredible.
Roma Club New York is the pillar that made me feel like I was part of something greater… part of a wider family. A mini Curva Sud, Italian and English speaking fans turned up from all parts of the world to meet here, chanting, singing, and cheering on the Lupi for every single match. Venues switched every other year, with the need for bigger and bigger space. Bar Basso turned into the Football Factory, leading to Grey Bar, then McHale's, and now Keste. It’s that type of fraternal feeling that pushes fans into unity, and is such a healthy feeling as a supporter.