This is ALS

In the Unites States, Lou Gehrig is the face of ALS. It's not even ALS anymore -- it's his disease, imbued with memorability and dignity by that sorrowful, preternaturally composed speech the still-healthy Gehrig gave when he told the world about his illness. In the consciousness of most Americans, ALS is the stuff of old movies: Shot in black and white, poised, impossibly handsome, and shrouded in an air of unreality.

In Italy, Stefano Borgonovo is the face of ALS. He's 44 years old and already confined to a wheelchair, his nervous system ravaged by a disease that's taken every ounce of his external dignity (but none of what he holds inside). When he appeared on television last month to reveal his illness to the nation, the sight of his twisted form was greeted with shock by a country accustomed to strength and control from its sportsmen. Even in a nation where former players of Borgonovo's generation are dying in numbers far too large to be random -- another was lost to leukemia, ALS's companion stalker of former Italian footballers, just last weekend -- their deaths happen in private, coming to the attention of the public only after dignity is assured. After the lives end, then the protests begin; only after death do people ask why so many young men are dying of the same diseases; why ALS and leukemia have chosen to claim Italian footballers as their own.

With a quiet ferocity, Borgonovo has changed all that. In his television appearance, he forced the nation and those who play the game he loves to see the reality of what until now has been an abstract concept. And now, for the first time, players -- young players, players in the prime of their careers -- are admitting something: They're terrified. In interviews conducted at Italy's national team camp the day before a match to benefit Borgonovo's foundation for ALS research, player and after player used the word paura -- fear -- to describe how they feel about the disease, and several suggested they all should donate a percentage of their salaries to research. No longer are these athletes untouchable; no longer will this strange plague hit someone else. Bogonovo has made it tangible. ALS is real.

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On the pitch and benches in Florence are two generations of Fiorentina and Milan players, from youngsters like Matteo Darmian and Manuel Da Costa to legends like Roberto Baggio and Ruud Gullit; from the newly arrived Ronaldinho to Milan lifers Paolo Maldini and Billy Costacurta. But the cameras are concerned with only one man: Borgonovo. After an emotional pre-game ceremony, he sits pitch-side in his wheelchair, often with Roberto Baggio as company, taking it all in. Every time there is a substitution, a goal, or simply a moment of joy, the camera cuts to Bogonovo, seeking his reaction, and TV audiences are confronted over, and over, and over again by his strained face, wide eyes, and unnatural expression. This is ALS.

After the match, he is wheeled by Baggio in a sort of lap of honor, saluted first by the players, and then by the fans. He sits in his chair before the Curva, and Fiorentina supporters sing to him. They look at this man, trapped in a body that has betrayed him, and they sing as if their lives depend on it, full of joy and pride and love. And full, for just a few minutes, of hope.

On (My) Being Naive And/Or Far Too Cynical

A Parma Ultra was run over by a coach full of Juve supporters yesterday at a rest stop, and the Juve-Parma match was called off. A guy got hit by a bus, so a game was called off. I understand that it's (as usual) unclear what exactly happened -- whether there was fighting at the rest stop before the incident, if the bus driver was trying to get out before Parma supporters got close enough to throw things -- and also that, no matter the circumstances surrounding it, any death is a tragic one, particularly a death this unnecessary.

What strikes me as equally tragic, though, is that Juventus essentially had no choice but to postpone the match, such is the degree of power Ultras wield over Italian clubs. And there is no question in my mind that Juve made the right decision, because had the match been played, there would have been almost obligatory violence, presumably similar to that at Atalanta after Gabriele Sandri's death.

The situation is really difficult to fully sort out -- there was an accident that involved football supporters, yes. But there are accidents that involve sports fans on the way to support their teams depressingly often, and they almost never seem to affect the playing of the events those fans were going to attend. And maybe that's a bad thing -- maybe Italy is right in stopping to recognize tragedy when it strikes calcio's extended family. It would be easier to appreciate, though, if the stoppage was a decision motivated by something other than fear.

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Coincidentally, the eternally wise Clarence Seedorf has given a timely interview in which he restates his reasons for refusing to wear a black armband in that match against Atalanta, and questions Italian football's apparent eagerness to salute a fan while refusing to organize mourning for either Kakha Kaladze's brother or Cesare Prandelli's wife, both of whom died tragically.

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UEFA spokesman William Gaillard casually announced today that the 2009 Champions League Final could be moved from Rome if there is trouble tomorrow when Roma hosted Manchester United. Bizarrely (tellingly?) there's no mention of his words on the UEFA website, but the fact remains that when something of that magnitude comes out of Gaillard's mouth, it sounds awfully official.

And his statement is entirely reasonable -- despite the (mostly) peaceful group stages visit United made to Rome last December, it's impossible to shake the memory of those awful scenes last spring, when police tore through the United support leaving injuries and a (further) tattered Italian reputation in their wake.

But why would the statement be made in a press conference, rather than during serious, private conversations with Roma authorities, so they know what's at stake? Why tell everyone about it, and thereby open up the floor to people more interested in violence than football (no matter who they support) to be the ones to determine where the Champions League final is held?

Gaillard's statement indicated that there have been vast improvements in conditions inside the Olimpico, but added, in reference to incidents that took place in December, "We cannot have responsibility for bringing 40,000 people to the final and risk them being knifed in the city." Apart from the incredible insult of making Rome sound like it's teeming with knife-wielding maniacs, he's making an entirely reasonable point.

When the details started to come out about the December stabbings, though, it seemed that the fight happened in a known Ultra gathering place, and that the United supporters involved had broken off from the group being taking to the Olimpico, going in search of conflict. Now, I'm in no way saying they were asking to be stabbed, or that it's not awful that conflict can be found if one goes looking, but the fact is that there are "football supporters" everywhere for whom a match is as much an excuse for violence as it is anything else. Can the clubs be held responsible for those people when they encounter one another away from grounds? I really have no idea, but I don't like the idea of potentially putting the location of the CL Final in their hands.