Ab urbe condita

For the past few days to have been scripted any better, some truly extraordinary events would have to take place. That is, even more extraordinary events than the ones that actually did take place. For the derby to come within days of Rome's birthday is a funny coincidence in and of itself, but for a derby to come at this point, in the particular context(s) this one did makes for easy bombastic, hyperbolic proclamations and comparisons should one be so inclined (why are you looking at me like that?).

To be perfectly honest I'm the last person capable of saying what happened. I seem to recall the game starting, Rocchi scoring (he's insufferable in derbies) and the sky falling on top of Roma, at least the general sensation was something akin to it. Then half time, the dejected self becoming even more pessimistic for having talked to even more miserable souls than myself beside me. Totti off, De Rossi off. It was weird, but it wasn't. No one could see it coming, and if they say they did they're lying, but once it did it didn't feel illogical or very much out of place. It wasn't even that anyone even tried to offer alternatives of injuries; derby fever was in the mid forties for both captains, for both Romulus and Remus. The second half became a blaze of intensity, and I was only half aware of an improved Roma before the penalty. Oh that penalty. If a football season has ever hung in the balance, this was the definition of it. Roma wasn't good enough to come back from two goals down, the pressure on Julio Sergio couldn't have been greater. The save he proceeded to make galvanized Roma, and changed the dynamics of the game.

Taddei went down, and Mirko converted with precision. Ménez went down, and all that was audible in earshot were calls for a red-haired Norwegian. Riise! Riise! Riise! And then Mirko stepped up instead and executed; the free kick, Lazio, and perhaps even Inter too. The situation illustrates better than anything the complete disconnection between me and what actually happened on the grass. The rest of the game was prolonged torture, and my nails took more of a beating than Curva Nord's plans to reveal prepared ironic banners about Totti's thumbs down from December. Last laugh, and all that. But it happened in the end, Roma resisted and completed an unlikely comeback won on hard work and toil, if not champagne football. But this cup of pure joy earned by hard, hard work tastes better than any champagne ever could.

We're living the moment. La storia siamo noi.