None of this had any effect on Lo Bello’s style. In his next Serie A game, at Vicenza, he ‘identified’ a spectator who had insulted him ‘repeatedly’ from behind the goal, and had his name taken by a plainclothes policeman. The spectator, Walter Giuliani, a 56-year-old lorry-driver, denied the charge, but Lo Bello sued him for defamation. The referee added that Giuliani was ‘not a football fan, but someone who wanted simply to attack me’. Lo Bello’s style led to a number of incidents similar to the Florence ‘riot’ through his long career. In 1948 he was forced to hide in the dressing room after a minor league game. Struck by a stone on the head, he carried on refereeing a game in 1957, and in 1971 he was saved by police in Turin, and chased in his car later, after sending off two Torino defenders. ‘The Prince’ left his mark on every game, and no referee since has dominated discussion or divided Italians in quite the same way. His authoritarian style was linked by some fans to the fascist era. Once again, the referee was associated – unfavourably – with aspects of the Italian state and its administrators.
White Riot! Naples 1955; Livorno 1967
In the 1950s and 1960s the most dangerous stadium of all for referees was that of Napoli, first in the old Vomero ground and later at the new San Paolo stadium. On three separate occasions (1955, 1956, 1963) there were mass pitch invasions, and referees were forced to flee. In November 1955, Napoli’s opponents were Bologna. The referee was Mario Maurelli, and Napoli were cruising to victory at 3–0 up with fifteen minutes left. Bologna made a great comeback, however, and snatched a draw with a last-minute penalty. Straight after the penalty was taken, Maurelli blew the final whistle. At that point, the crowd invaded, chasing the referee, who locked himself in the dressing room. Later, the Bologna players were also besieged inside their hotel. Bologna’s team doctor was beaten up, and then arrested, before being released. At one point he had been seen brandishing a soda-water siphon on the pitch. He claimed that his actions had been in self-defence.
Napoli’s punishment was relatively light – a two-game home ban. Achille Lauro – ship-building billionaire, Mayor of Naples and honorary president of Napoli football club – backed his own supporters. In a dramatic press conference in Milan, Lauro complained about Bologna’s penalty and waxed lyrical about his city, justifying the riot. ‘Neapolitans are a good and generous people who tend to rise up against injustice and arrogance.’ After a brief survey of Neapolitan history, Lauro also called for professional and/or foreign referees. It later turned out that the Mayor had seen little of this with his own eyes, as he had left fifteen minutes from the end, with Napoli 3–0 up. For this politician, businessman and football entrepreneur – a real Berlusconi before his time – the violence of his fans was entirely the fault of the referee. It was hardly surprising that in Napoli’s next home game – just after serving their ban – similar incidents exploded which led to yet another ban.
Livorno started the 1967 Serie B season with a bang. It looked like their long-suffering supporters might, at last, see them promoted back to the top flight, where they had not played since the 1940s. Then, in November, came a home game with Monza. A similar pattern emerged to that of other violent incidents elsewhere. First, referee Antonio Sbardella ignored Livorno penalty appeals. Then, with Monza 2–1 down, he awarded a free-kick to Monza from the edge of the area. After a first attempt hit the wall, Sbardella ordered it to be re-taken and Monza scored. Monza’s manager then turned to the Livorno crowd and ‘made a significant gesture’, presumably involving an umbrella. The ‘gesture of the umbrella’ is the Italian equivalent of a V-sign, and involves hitting your right arm just below the elbow with the palm of your left hand, which is aimed at someone and thrust into the air. The gesture is often accompanied by an exclamation such as ‘teh!’.24
Soon afterwards, a lone Livorno fan jumped over the fence, ran towards the referee and hit him in the face. Sbardella replied in kind, knocking the fan down. This led to a mass pitch invasion. Monza’s goalkeeper was attacked, as were their reserve keeper and manager. The pitch looked like a ‘scene from a western’. Things seemed to be under control when word spread that a commentator had ‘insulted’ Livorno’s fans. Some tried to attack the broadcaster in question, others set fire to a radio van. Large parts of the stadium were smashed up, as the fans tried to storm the dressing room, where the referee was holed up with his linesmen.
After breaking through a set of outside gates, a group of angry fans arrived at the dressing-room door. The referees’ group escaped to the Monza dressing room, which was still full of players. There, they were joined by the city’s police chief and Livorno’s Mayor. At 8.15 p.m., the referee was finally able to leave (without his luggage) and was driven to a nearby train station. As he left he ‘noted the complete destruction of his dressing room’ (football federation report). He was later stopped for speeding. ‘Clearly he was in a hurry to return to Rome’, wrote La Gazzetta dello Sport. Nobody was arrested.
Much comment followed in the press, some of it concentrating on the supposed rebellious nature of Livorno, with its port, its dockers and its left-wing subversive traditions. The next day, 4,000 Livorno fans demonstrated in their town centre, blocking traffic. The derby with Pisa was coming up and there were fears that things might get out of hand again. About 5,000 Livorno fans travelled to Pisa, but things passed off fairly peacefully. Then the verdict came in from the federation’s disciplinary commission. Livorno would have to play their home games somewhere else for six weeks. In the end, the team stayed in B, and did not reach Serie A again until 2004, 37 years later.
Players have occasionally taken it on themselves to attack referees and linesmen. It is normal in Italy, in any case, for players to surround, push and shove and rush up to the referee. Moreover, such actions do not usually lead to a booking or a sending-off. The Italian press was highly amused by the long ban imposed on Paolo Di Canio in 1998 for pushing over portly English official Paul Alcock. You are far more likely to be booked or sent off for ‘sarcastic applause’ or ‘offensive language’ in the Italian league than for shoving the referee. Sometimes, however, things have gone beyond the limits of these self-imposed ‘macho’ boundaries. In the 1942–3 season a linesman was kicked in the stomach during a cup game. Roma hero Amedeo Amadei was banned for life for the incident and then pardoned by an amnesty. Sweeper Ivano Blason was banned for six months for hitting a referee in 1946. In December 1967 future World Cup star Roberto Boninsegna tried to punch a referee during a game. He was given a nine-match ban. More recently, in a Turin derby in November 1991, Pasquale Bruno tried repeatedly to attack the referee after being sent off in the first half. He was held back with difficulty by a team-mate, and eventually persuaded to leave the pitch. Later, Bruno, known as ‘the Animal’, was banned for five matches.
Trial by Slow-Motion. Italian Referees and the Moviola
‘A key instrument in mass culture, the ultimate but in the last analysis deeply useless authority’
PAUL GINSBORG on the slow-motion replay
Fan paranoia over the corrupt or inept nature of the refereeing in Italy is fuelled by interminable