A Crash Course in History: Back to the Present

Ian is a History teacher at a secondary school for boys (most of whom are obsessed with football!) in Hertford, Hertfordshire, United Kingdom. He is passionate about seeking ways to enrich his understanding of cultural and political history, and has found one productive (and fun!) way to do that is to immerse himself in a culture or location’s connection to history through football.

Earlier, Ian wrote his reflections on the Basque context in the article Can you hear the lions roar? Here, he presents his explorations on how Torino FC attempts to forge a modern identity in the shadows of one of football’s greatest ever tragedies.

This article is the second of a two-part report on the visit and the research.

Table of contents:

Stadio Olimpico Grande Torino
In the Modern World Il Toro
Il Toro Fights: The 90 Minutes
The Determination of the Bull
The Superga
“And so the Kids Will Believe that Torino Has Not Died: It Is Only Away”
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Stadio Olimpico Grande Torino

Back to the present: The attentions of the younger supporters of Torino FC have shifted, but the presence of the Superga-both in the physical distance and the minds of supporters-is never far away. After informing Federico and Gabriele that I did not have my ticket yet for the match that afternoon against Hellas Verona, they guided me to the ticket office, where I stood briefly behind a man whose shirt simply read “4/5/1949-75 Years”. As I presented my passport to the ticket office assistant, Federico explained how supporters of the club had recently been protesting against owner and club president, Urbano Cairo. Dissatisfaction at the on-field product, and especially the seemingly endless cycle of player sales-was growing, he said.

“The fans are on strike. (Cairo) sell the player Buorngiorno for €40m, but he buys another player for only €2m”. The story of the transfer of Buorngiorno does indeed provide an insight into the modern state of the granata. Whilst the club was once a place where players would go to win the Scudetto, Buongiorno would go on to become a Scudetto winner with Napoli after being sold by Il Toro the previous summer for €35m. To make matters worse, Bellanova, a promising, dynamic right-sided player who has cemented a place in the Azzurri set-up, is now plying his trade for Champions League participants Atalanta after being sold in the same summer for €22m.

After purchasing my ticket, I made my way toward the food trucks, where I was introduced to Federico’s cousin, an older man with a warm, relaxed smile whose jovial features seemed more youthful in the glow of the Piemonte sun. I asked him what made Torino unique as a club and why he was proud to support them. He told me he had supported Torino FC for forty years, and that his favourite match was their semi-final victory over Real Madrid in the UEFA Cup (now Europa League) in 1992. “Emiliano Mondonico said it”, he described, referencing the beloved and well-travelled Torino FC manager from 1990 to 1994 and again from 1998-2000. “A Torino supporter is like an Indian. Juventus is like an American. Torino is something special. Something to preserve”. Unlike, the implication went, their commercially focused, more plastic rivals: “We are the soul of Torino”.

In the Modern World Il Toro

My seat was just to the right of the Curva Maratona, where the ultras stand and chant for their beloved Toro. I stood and watched the bull mascot react to the sounds and choreography of the Maratona, where I knew Federico and Gabriele were, before taking notice of the occupants of the seats behind me. They were, undoubtedly, a father and two of his sons, or a father, a son, and the son’s friend. I could not quite be sure, but it reminded me immediately of a shirt I had seen being sold outside the stadium. In the background was the Stadio Olimpico Grande Torino, and in the foreground, a small child is placed upon the shoulders of his father, looking toward the stadium. Surrounding the father and child are the words “Dal 1906. Di Padre in Figlio” (“Since 1906. From Father to Son”). I could not help but think a real example of this dynamic was seated directly behind me. What stories could they offer?

I turned around and introduced myself to the man I took to be the father, and he warmly responded that he was there with his two sons. “You are writing an article”?, the father queried. “Alessandro”, he said, looking at one of his sons. “Talk to him”.

I turned to Alessandro, a slim, fifteen-year-old boy with short hair and a broad, sparkling smile, and asked what supporting Torino meant to him. “History and tradition”, he responded.

“When did your father first tell you about the Grande Torino team and the Superga”?

“I was around eight. Now I come to the stadium so often, I feel very engaged with fans. We are like a great family”. He looked over at the section of Torino supporters behind the goal. “Usually we sit in the Maratona”, he explained. “But today we have, eh, papa, what do you call ‘regalo’”?

“Gift”, his father answered.

“Yes, gift. We have these seats as a gift from another supporter”.

“Thank you”, I responded. I asked their father what he remembered about teaching his sons about Torino FC. “I told them when they were five years old”, he said. “We fight every match. We have a passion. Torino has taught them the importance of struggle and passion”.

I asked him about Torino’s status as a selling club. He admitted that selling is a theme of today’s team.

“I don’t think Samuele Ricci will stay”, he stated, referring to the promising defensive midfielder linked almost daily with both Milan clubs, amongst others (Ricci would duly be sold to AC Milan after the season for €23m). “He will leave at the end of the year. We grow players and then we sell them. We are lucky if we keep some players that are good”.

What was his favourite memory of being a Torino supporter?

“The Superga”, he stated immediately. “We have a photo of the Grande Torino team hanging in our house”. I continued to inquire about his opinions of the current squad and what the future might hold. Coming from Britain, Scottish striker Che Adams was always a likely topic of conversation. However, the response regarding Adams reflected the same themes I had heard previously.

“Che Adams fights a lot. He is tenacious. Every player who works hard for the club, in the training, he is liked, because we are like a big family”.

Il Toro Fights: The 90 Minutes

The modern Granata took to the pitch whilst passionately serenaded by fans who sang the club anthem in the form of a rock and roll ballad, waving flags and performing the customary choreography that has so long fascinated fans from every corner of the globe with Italian football. The spectacle appeared to dwindle, however, once the match started, as despite the constant urging of the supporters in the Maratona, the game was bogged down in midfield for much of the first half. A poor free-kick attempt by Torino was followed by some attacks down the left by Verona, leading to shots that went just wide of giant goalkeeper Vanja Milinkovic-Savic’s left post. Torino was clearly off with their passing, and the frustration from Che Adams, who was not getting much of anything as far as service, was becoming more evident.

As half-time arrived, I purchased a paper cup of Pepsi for over €4, then made my way back to my seat. I quickly found that the family behind me shared my views of the first half. “Right now, it’s a very boring match”, the father offered. Both of us looked on in hope that the second half would bring changes, and luckily, they came soon enough. The first glimpse of excitement came in the 60^th minute, when Verona attacker Amin Sarr was adjudged to have used his arm in the penalty box when defending a corner after a VAR check. However, the resulting penalty from Che Adams was far too central-and a very easy height-for Verona keeper Lorenzo Montipo, allowing him to produce a fairly simple save. Disaster then struck in the 64^th minute when Sarr would make amends for his earlier handball by pouncing on Milinkovic-Savic, who took far too much time on the ball after receiving a back pass, to effectively tackle the ball into the net. Whilst Torino fans had long been resigned to mid-table obscurity as the reality of their season, this was a match they expected to win.

Fortunately, Il Toro, in characteristic fashion, would begin the obligatory fightback. Three minutes later, North-Macedonian midfielder Eljif Elmas took a lay-off from Adams to curl a left-footed shot in off the far post, and rushed past the goal to celebrate in front of the Curva Maratona. The game was level. The bull, as always, had continued to successfully fight on.

The Determination of the Bull

Unfortunately, Torino could not produce a winning goal, with a particularly poor through-ball attempt by winger Yann Karamoah-brought on in the 63^rd minute to provide width-drawing muffled groans by the crowd. “Normally it is this way”, Alessandro’s father told me, his relaxed manner indicating minor annoyance but broad acceptance. The game was expected to play out without any further drama until Samuele Ricci decided to plant his studs into the shin of Verona forward Junior Ajayi, and was shown a red card. Whilst the decision was quite understandable when looking at it on video later, the immediate reaction of the crowd suggested the red card was too harsh, which, at the time, was a view I was persuaded to share. I asked Alessandro’s father if Torino FC often had issues with referee’s, perhaps due to the influence of Juventus.

“Not in the usual match, but in the derby, yes. It’s easier for Juventus to get a foul”.

I looked around the stadium, at the supporters who were doing their utmost to will their team to a second goal, but were already preparing themselves for the feelings of resignation if it did not arrive. It almost seemed fitting that derby matches were uphill battles in every respect for the club. After all, the bull is never the favourite in a prominent bull fight. Still, however, although the odds are perpetually against it, the determination never wavers. Such was the attitude of those sitting around me, and the voices of the never silent Curva Maratona. In the past thirty-five years, the club had experienced European competition, bankruptcy, and demotion, but whatever happened on or off the pitch, it was their presence that would somehow forever pay tribute to the club’s past, and, in some form, ensure the club’s future.

When the match eventually finished, the 1-1 draw was more of a relief than a frustration to the supporters wearing the granata colours. It was time to put that match-an uneventful spectacle for the most part-behind them, and to focus on the next fight the bull had to prepare for. Torino already had a mid-table finish assured for the season. Now it was time to focus on the next commitment of the weekend, which for me had become quite clear as well over the last three hours. After being able to hear the story of Il Toro directly from the Torino supporters, there was only one way I was going to spend my Sunday.

The Superga

What you first notice are the birds. The constant chirping of those that still soar through the air provides an oddly fitting soundtrack as one walks around the hill of the Superga, which will always be defined by the one flight that ended so tragically on its peak. The basilica, a sort of yellow-orange colour mixture with an imposing dark dome, is impressive, but in Italy, it is not a terribly unique construction. Neither is its history, dating from the early 18^th century, enough to make it particularly notable in the minds of the surrounding people. The funicular which provides the last leg of the journey to the site offers phenomenal views over the city of Torino, but again, this is Italy. Finding a gorgeous view here is like finding a pizzeria-it’s not terribly difficult. Upon locating a posted map of the site on the opposite side of the car park in front of the basilica entrance, I was quickly able to identify my intended destination, as well as the destination of most who had joined me on that funicular: “Lapide del Grande Torino”-headstone of the Grande Torino. I made my way around the right side of the basilica, serenaded by continual chirping and the ironic presence of constant flight.

As the coloured walls give way to the greenery that covers much of the hillside, the names and pictures of those who once made up Italy’s greatest club team appear suddenly and out of nowhere-much like they often did to their opponents over seventy-five years ago. Upon a wall of flat stones, their painted faces and names are assembled at an elevated height, allowing them to look down upon the city and the people they once represented with their play, and still represent with their presence.

Valerio Bacigalupo. Aldo Ballarin. Dino Ballarin. Emilio Bongiorni. I look quickly in front of me to make sure I can still proceed forward on the path before turning back to their faces, the birds continuing their perpetual song. Eusebio Castigliano. Rubens Fadini. Guglielmo Gabetto. Their faces do not smile at you, but rather give you a grimace, as they appear to find it far more important to prepare for the inevitable next battle they will face on the pitch. In their expressions you can see the determination they had as players. Inherent in their eternal demeanour is the desire to fight and win, and the understanding that each of them was only as good as the team’s last result. Had they lost to Inter Milan four days earlier, it is possible they would not have made the journey to the Portuguese capital-but they did, and so their names and faces will forever be literally painted on that hillside.

Ruggero Grava. Giuseppe Grezar. Enzo Loik. Virgilio Maroso. Danilo Martelli. Just when the experience seems to suggest the impossibility of understanding how much talent the football world lost on that plane, you are then confronted with a central painting of Valentino Mazzola, who is given the special heading “Il Capitano”. There are creases in the right side of his face, and he appears about to smile-devilishly, almost. Above his face is a widow’s peak of blonde hair that Giampiero Boniperti described as being so noticeable as he terrorised opponents on both ends of the pitch. You almost feel forced to stop and look him in the eye, but then realise you are unable to do so. His gaze is directed above you toward the sky, which seemed to dispose of his earthly talents with such indifference. The birds, as always, bring you out of any deep thought, and prompt you to acknowledge the other names that follow. Romeo Menti, Piero Operto, Franco Ossola, Mario Rigamonti, and finally, Giulio Schubert. As I turned away from the last painting, a church bell rang to signify it was 11:30. For once, the sound of flying birds no longer dominated the experience.

The bell had, in both a literal and poetic sense, tolled.

“And so the Kids Will Believe that Torino Has Not Died: It Is Only Away”

The headstone which represents the squad of the Grande Torino is simply designed and brilliantly decorated. As I peer at it, first from a distance of roughly ten feet, then about five, then no more than two, I see not simply club paraphernalia from across the world-but also tributes to lost loved ones who departed too soon, and mini-memorials to devoted fans of the club that have joined the squad in the afterlife. A Fiorentina scarf is placed next to a picture of a Shamrock over which the words “Irish Clan” are printed. The insignia of Il Grande Torino’s last opponents, Benfica, is placed alongside that of Calabrian club Cosenza. Wherever you look, however, are reminders of Il Toro, none more notable than when you finally step back and realise all of these stickers and items have been placed on a wooden board in the shape of a bull.

The bull’s head points in the direction of an innumerable amount of club scarves on an extended, horizontal pole. Palermo, Como, and Athletic Club San Martin from Argentina join the ever-present Benfica in an impressive collection. As you come to the end of the pole, just below and to the right of an Athletic Club San Martin flag, there is another, larger flag of Torino FC. Others are welcome to visit, it reminds you, but the Superga will only ever be home to one squad of players, and one group of supporters.

As I descended the hill of the Superga on that same funicular, I was confident that I now had at least some understanding of the significance of the events of 4 May, 1949. The foolishness of this thinking was made clear to me on the anniversary of that day, when I received a message from Alessandro, whose articulation and positive energy had so impressed me when I had visited the Stadio Olimpico Grande Torino in the previous month. He, like thousands of others who support Il Toro, was making his way to the Superga that day through the streets of the city, as they do every year. He found time, however, to write the following:

Shutting down the club… or not!

Hi Ian,

How are you?

Today it’s 4 may, a special day for Toro fans.

Today it’s the 76^th anniversary of Superga crash that killed Grande Torino.

We are still waiting for them to come back from their away in Lisbon.

I hope you can enjoy this day like us, we are going to Superga to celebrate this day and remember our champions.

Have a good day.

His message was followed by a picture of the photograph on the wall in their home that his father had told me about at the match. It became clear that the players who perished on 4 May likely looked down upon thousands of Il Toro supporters every day in the most literal sense, with such power that even an adolescent could understand that their presence brought something metaphysical and eternal to their family and personal identity. It is that link, more so than any result on a given weekend in the modern day, that makes the locals of Piemonte’s capital adore their beloved Torino FC so eternally.

The bull does not need to defeat the matador. It lives, therefore it wins. As the bull persists on the ground-often having lost, but never dead-the souls of the men who took flight on 4 May continue to soar through the air, unable to respond to the pleas of the club’s supporters to return to earth and breathe their inimitable life into the club again. Their deaths gave Torino FC a memory, but their lives gave them a legacy, which today, and for all the tomorrows in the future, will be what the supporters value most about their football club. Time has proven Montanelli correct. The young supporters who wear the granata colours on match days do indeed believe that Torino has not died. Rather, they remain waiting, clinging on to a past that they will forever, no matter how much time passes, refuse to release.

“Here, there is a story”, Federico’s cousin told me before the match against Verona, a smile easing across his face as he reminded himself of his club’s past.

“I think you know the story”.

– Ian Wolff