Me, my Dad and the Azzurri
By Frank Risorto
It’s early in the morning of Friday 6th June 1986 around 4:30am, and although I’m due to attend primary school that day, I can feel my Dad standing over me calling my name and trying to wake me from my deep sleep.
Once I’m awake I quickly come to my senses realising what day it is and why my Dad is waking me up.
He’d promised the night before he would wake me up much to the protest of my Mum and the ramifications later that day, who says an afternoon siesta is a bad thing?!
“It’s time Frank, wake up, the game’s about to start.” words I’d hear time and time again as a child.
The 1986 World Cup and it’s Italy vs Argentina.
I’m now 42 years-old and this match, and that day is the earliest football memory I can recall.
Along with attending Wollongong Wolves National Soccer League games at Wollongong Showground and playing in goal for my local side the Corrimal Rangers.
In our lounge room my older brother awaits, already half-awake and lined up front and centre directly in front of the television.
If it wasn’t my Dad that would wake us during a World Cup it was the all-too familiar sound of the machinetta slowly brewing away, the scent of coffee, filling the house in preparation for any visitors due to arrive at any moment.
Most guests would arrive as a shadow in the night, quietly tapping on the lounge room windows or front door to announce their arrival.
It’s remarkable I didn’t suffer from nightmares as a child the amount of times I saw a dark shadowy silhouette at our front or back door.
If family, friends and neighbours were willing to make their way to our place of an early morning during a World Cup or European Championship Tournament you were always welcome.
This version of the Azzurri in 1986, much like the 2010 version in South Africa, was still carrying the burden, weight and expectations of their predecessors and glories four years earlier.
Both teams seemed as though they were caught in transition, not quite ready to move forward and let go of the past.
Ultimately the match ended 1–1 as Napoli’s own Diego Maradona, approaching the peak of his World Cup winning powers, scored late in the first half in response to Italy’s Alessandro Altobelli’s sixth minute penalty.
Even as a young child I was asked if Italy was to play Australia who would you support.
My answer, much to the mockery and amusement of others, was Italy.
A month before Italia 90’ my Mum and siblings had returned from Italy, I’d stayed at home with my Dad to attend the Formula One race in Adelaide, kitted up with Inter Milan and Italia 90’ ‘Ciao the mascot’ gear my excitement levels as a twelve-year-old were through the roof.
The roles had now reversed, it was my now my task as a 10-year-old to sneak into my parents’ room prior to kick off and wake up my Dad before Italy matches.
“It’s time Dad, the game’s about to start, wake up.” I’d say.
I’m sure, much to the delight of my Mum, who’d invariably wake up as well if Italy was playing.
In recent years it’s stayed that way, in World Cup years when Italy qualify, it involves an early drive to my parents house, me getting the coffee on and me still waking my Dad.
My relationship, respect and admiration for my Dad has been one of the great blessings of my life and I’m eternally grateful.
Our relationship has always revolved around football (and family), whether Serie A, A-League football here in Australia or watching Italy play.
We agree on some matters of Calcio, others not so much but there’s always something to talk about.
My Dad for example hates the over-complication of football, playing out from the back and teams’ unwillingness to shoot on sight.
I cherish and appreciate every moment we talk football, no matter how big or small the subject, topic or team discussed, and it’s always been my dream to attend an Italy match with my Dad.
I don’t know if it will ever happen but one thing’s for sure whenever I watch Italy, and whether he’s with me or not, now and always he will be on my mind.
And as we all know supporting the Azzurri never leads to a dull moment.
There’s been tears, tantrums and days off school and there’s been moments of sheer surprise, happiness and unbridled joy.
I was fortunate enough to attend Euro 2016 and my first match was Italy vs Belgium.
Standing in that stadium, thousands of miles away from home and thousands of dollars spent all for that moment.
Once the introduction to the Italian national anthem begun (we all know that piece of music — those opening twelve bars) I held my mobile phone in the air, my Dad on the other end of the phone and once he answered I had tears rolling down my cheeks, and loudly and proudly called.
“It’s time Dad, the game’s about to start, wake up”.
