See Naples and die

The driver leaned across to open the passenger door, slowing but not quite stopping as I jumped into his taxi, which sped off before I could shut the door.

The metal buckle of his seatbelt was detached from the belt and permanently plugged. With such commitment to avoiding a basic safety measure, I felt obliged to not reach for my belt. I regretted bowing to the pressure within seconds, as he pulled out at the first crossroads and another driver had to swerve to avoid him. Proceeding in parallel, words were exchanged with ferocity through open windows. I seemed to be the only person in either car looking at the road. With the airport terminal still visible in my passenger mirror, it had been quite the first impression.

See Naples and die, as the saying goes.

I had arrived in a city of sore heads. The previous night Napoli had won a third Scudetto with a 1-1 draw at Udinese, their first league title in 33 years. Footage of fireworks and images of beaming smiles had been beamed across the world.

It’s two decades since I was last in Naples, but the promise of a long-awaited title celebration in this football-obsessed city lured me back, together with a reunion with a couple of mates. The following morning, we met in a café, where a Granita e pane was already waiting for me at the bar – an apparently Sicilian contraction of the combination of frozen lemonade and brioscia. To the unaccustomed pallet, spooning slush onto a bread roll seemed an ill-fitting arrangement of textures and an unusual custom, but it set the tone for the cultural immersion which was to define a long weekend.

My accomplices are good friends and good company. One works for a Premier League club currently scaling the heights of its history, the other is a bestselling football author.

Our complimentary perspectives are revealed as we discuss a plan for the coming days. Social media research has provided ideas but will not be permitted to prescribe an itinerary.

From our base in the Old Town, we set off on foot through the labyrinth of streets. The volume of people stifled our progress, allowing us to absorb the city’s football-focused displays, each block of colour as concentrated as the last. Although their title win was only confirmed two days earlier, ‘Napoli Campioni d’Italia’ banners had been colouring and covering the streets of Naples for at least six weeks. With each result taking them closer to the title, further layers of light blue appeared. 

Football permeates this city like few others. It seems no one escapes it or is excluded. You would be hard pressed to find a suitably articulate demographic for whom ‘Forza Napoli’ is not a habitual term.

Every shop had their own exhibition in tribute to the champions. These were not identikit displays of corporate signage purchased as a costly city branding strategy. The authentic designs were far more unique than uniform. In Naples there is no local rival (or customer) to offend through the display of football symbolism – the benefit of being a one-club city with an identity partly constructed on a shared point of cultural convergence.

The more permanent iconography is dedicated to Napoli and particularly their most famous player, Diego Maradona. He arrived from Barcelona in 1984, when Napoli were a midtable club whose list of major honours was confined to two domestic cups. Maradona spent seven seasons in Naples, winning five trophies in the process.

Symbols and references to the Argentine must number in their thousands on these streets alone. One bar contains some strands of Maradona’s hair, ‘liberated’ by the establishment’s owner whilst he sat behind him on a flight home from an away game against Milan.

The lock is locked in a display, encased in a small glass cube, a slowly spinning centrepiece of a shrine to Maradona. Stood in that tiny establishment – which was more a museum that sold drinks than a bar that displayed memorabilia – this was the moment we too truly felt like pilgrims, as converts to the faith.

The city was awash with those already persuaded of the charms of Naples and the pull of its footballing deity. Even those pushing prams in the almost claustrophobia-inducing confines of the narrow cobbled streets did so with no signs of discomfort or impatience.

By the time we reached the famous Maradona mural, signalling the fulfilment of the pilgrimage, the mood of the crowd was celebratory. Unlike some other forms of religiosity, there was no sombre spirituality or silent reflection here – especially this weekend.

Soon after we arrived, the crowd broke into Napoli songs old and new, with the numbers joining in demonstrating how Neapolitan the crowd was. The mural itself was in keeping with the style and standard of street art in many parts of Naples.

While at the 2015 Copa América in Chile I made a documentary on street art in Valparaíso, which is dominated by perhaps the best graffiti collection in the world. Had it appeared there, this Maradona piece would probably have been the worst of the lot. There are some incredible works of street art portraying Maradona in Naples (notably by Mario Farina at Campo Paradiso), but it is telling that the most famous example is one of the most basic. Its authentic simplicity is part of its appeal.

With so much to see we did not stop to eat. Instead, we shared street food and exchanged stories from experiences since we last met.

I recalled a conversation with a well-travelled Mexican who shared an observation of what perplexed him about the British: that they walk and eat at the same time. Reducing culinary consumption to the functional saved time in Naples, but it seemed out of syncopation with the present surroundings and local culture, and in light of a Mexican’s reflection, we vowed to eat a proper meal sat by the sea before the day’s end.

Grateful for the shift in trajectory, we then headed downhill towards the coastline. Turning a corner, the Bay of Naples suddenly came into view, dominated by the sight of Vesuvius in its hazy silhouette – a moment that instantly became a memory. It was a true Ocean Colour Scene, a thought which inspired a caption to the mental picture I had just taken: ‘…Looking at the trees at the roadside, feeling it’s a holiday.’

Locals were more noticeable than tourists at the waterside. Their communication was as much art as conversation, such is the theatricality of Neapolitan gesticulation. Old ladies turned cooked cobs of corn with their half-baked hands. A man of a similar age and with the same sun-kissed complexion offered us a boat trip. His softly spoken demeanour and characterful face drew me in.

Moments later we were helped onto a small boat by a middle-aged man with hands like shovels. He was to be our pilot and guide, and to us he seemed to represent the essence of Neapolitanism. Carrying silk Napoli Campioni scarves in one hand and a beer in the other seemed to endear us to him, despite our respective primary football allegiances, which we opted to share in the safe confines of his boat but had otherwise decided to conceal this weekend. The boat meandered through traffic and then briefly entered the open waters of the Bay of Naples.

On its return it passed under a narrow bridge, the other side of which a large group of football fans were gathered, unveiling a banner in Arabic. Flares filled the sky with green smoke. They were fans of Raja Casablanca, a prominent example of North Africa’s vibrant ultra scene. Their presence was a reminder that this is a game and club which attracts fans from all over the world. It also inspired ideas for our next reunion. 

The following morning was match day, when Napoli fans would finally get to welcome their team as champions. We had booked our trip two months earlier, after a careful consideration of the fixtures and some thankfully accurate predictions. When the Serie A season paused for the World Cup in November, league leaders Napoli were unbeaten, having taken 41 points from 45. After losing at Inter in the first match after the restart, any concerns that Napoli had lost their momentum were dispelled as the team responded by winning their next eight league games. 

But when did they know the title was won? The 5-1 demolition of Juventus in January saw Napoli move 10 points clear. ‘That was the moment’, a fan told me in my hotel.

Home defeats to Lazio and Milan were absorbed by Napoli’s unassailable advantage. Nothing could stop them winning this Scudetto. Beating Juventus in Turin in April provided further evidence of Napoli’s credentials as worthy winners of the coveted title. Raspadori scored the game’s only goal in the 93rd minute, perhaps the most dramatic moment in a league campaign defined by Napoli’s dominance. The number ‘3’ is displayed across the city – signifying the number of Scudettos Napoli have won. This may pale into insignificance compared to Juventus’ 34, but Neapolitans will tell you that one title in Naples is worth 10 in Turin. Winning machines know nothing of the glory and story of a long-anticipated title. 

Maradona’s death in 2020 was greeted by intense mourning, notably in his hometown of Buenos Aires and adopted home of Naples. The iconic Stadio San Paolo was renamed in his honour, further endorsing his cult status.

After a memorable metro ride, we arrived at the ground four hours before kick-off to find the skies full of pyro smoke and firecrackers. It was an assault to the senses in every sense.

Unlike my accomplices, I am old enough to remember Maradona at Napoli. My 1990 VHS video of The Maradona Story was well worn when I was an impressionable 10-year-old. The goals against England at the 1986 World Cup and his infamous involvement in Barcelona’s riotous 1984 Copa del Rey final against Bilbao are often used to both celebrate and expose Maradona’s range of unique talents and mercurial tendencies. But the section I watched most often was Maradona warming up before a Napoli match, effortlessly exhibiting his incredible array of skills to the sound of Life is Life playing through the stadium speakers.

As queues formed prior to Sunday’s match, two fans in Maradona wigs performed tricks with a ball as the same song played from the speakers of a nearby burger van. I could not resist joining in briefly to honour that childhood recollection. Another moment forming an instant memory.

Two of us had match tickets, one affording VIP access complimentarily issued through club contacts, with the other secured at considerable expense situated close to Napoli’s Curva A ultras. With no away fans present and the locals in relaxed and celebratory mood, my firm intention was to remain inconspicuous in the queue, which was mostly populated by black-shirted ultras.

An Argentine in a Maradona Boca Juniors shirt approached me to ask for directions. Thankfully he did so in Spanish – the only foreign language I can speak, and he asked for directions to the only local landmark I could locate – the metro station we had just come from. Those around me did not seem particularly multilingual and most probably assumed I was Spanish as a result of that exchange, but at least they did not suspect I was Scouse. 

Liverpool have had some fiercely contested fixtures against Napoli. Exchanges off the pitch have not been cordial. My club arguably inspires and divides opinion in Italian football culture more than any other foreign team. The legacy of antagonism in Rome, the understandable notoriety in Turin, the momentous finals against Milan. Even minor matches in Genoa and Udine have been consequential. Enemies of enemies have attempted to befriend Liverpool fans, none more so than Fiorentina, the weekend’s opponents for Napoli, and one of Juve’s many rivals.

On the surface Liverpool and Naples have much in common, as maligned republican port cities who are often out of step with the national narrative, and whose citizens exhibit an idolatrous passion for football that fans of other teams find easy to hate but impossible to ignore. North Liverpool has not always been hospitable to outsiders, and Napoli’s first visit in 2010 saw the worst violence I have witnessed in four decades of going to Anfield. Seeing the faces of terrified Neapolitans that night told me that Liverpool’s uneasy relationship with Italian clubs was writing its latest chapter. Despite being a veteran of 70 European away matches with Liverpool, I could not make any of our four fixtures in Naples between 2010 and 2022. The local reception for those who did proved enough to inspire the banner on the Kop ‘Napoli merda’. Not to undermine that perception formed by those with personal experience, but such expressions may not always represent the collective.

Envisaging large crowds and potential technology problems with my electronic ticket, I joined the queue early, having changed my phone’s wallpaper and lock screen to pictures of Maradona lifting the 1989 UEFA Cup and a doctored image of Kvaratskhelia holding the 2023 Scudetto. If not a local, I would at least be taken for a committed Napoli fan by those around me. The tactic seemed to succeed.

The queue split as we neared the gate and I was relieved to see the ultras head into the upper tier, with my seat situated in the lower. The stadium was full an hour before kick-off, save for the disappointingly desolate away section.

With the three friends now separated, photos began to flood into our Napoli Campioni d’Italia WhatsApp group, signifying our respective safety. One pictured Diego Simeone in the VIP section, with the Atletico Madrid manager in attendance to watch a cameo appearance from his son Giovanni. Mine captured the unveiling of a banner by the ultras at the opposite end that seemed to spark the interest of those around me – one of a number that I photographed to be translated later. 

The pre- and post-match atmosphere was electrifying but the game itself was strangely subdued.

After a disagreement with the club’s authorities over ticket prices, Napoli ultras had apparently boycotted matches for certain periods and stayed silent when in the ground as an additional form of protest. It was unclear from the atmosphere at the Fiorentina match whether the recently reported reconciliation had taken full effect.

The game itself was similarly disappointing. Fiorentina are safely nestled in midtable mediocrity but have a European Conference League semi-final in the week ahead and their players certainly did not overexert themselves.

Had Napoli not succumbed to AC Milan in their recent European quarter-final they would be favourites in their first ever Champions League semi-final against Inter this week. With the league title secured, the Fiorentina match seemed to be something of an inconvenience, a disruption to the party that everyone associated with Napoli seemed more concerned with.

Serie A’s Nigerian top scorer Osimhen missed a penalty, before half-time substitute Kvaratskhelia won a second spot kick. The Georgian’s first touch in the preceding move was the highlight of an otherwise forgettable contest. Osimhen duly dispatched the secondly penalty, securing Napoli’s 26th league win of the season.

Along with Korean defender Kim, the attacking duo are the most celebrated members of Napoli’s current squad. These are the players whose images will adorn the walls of Naples for years to come – not nearly to the extent of Maradona, but they too have earned their place in Neapolitan history. They would do well to remember that when they consider their next destinations. 

Ultras at both ends organised strategically timed exhibitions of banners in between the many pyrotechnic displays which coloured and clouded the atmosphere. I was directly below the Curva A ultras so could not see many of their banners, but the most notable example was unfurled in the centre of Curva B. A huge shield featuring the Italian flag (which Serie A champions display on their kits the following season) was unveiled but upside down, akin to the exhibition of flags stolen from opposing fans. The caption read ‘Spoils of war – Champions in Italy’ (as opposed to of Italy).

At that moment I thought of the ‘Scouse not English’ sentiment which underpins elements of LFC’s local identity, whilst also recalling the various graffiti I had seen declaring ‘Napoli is not Italy’. With such expressions reflecting romantic isolationism more than political movements, the cities have more in common than some might admit.

As soon as the match ended the singing resumed. The players were in celebration mode and performed a lap of honour, dominated by Kim and Osimhen. A member of the backroom staff had entered ‘3’ into the fourth official’s electronic board and ran across the pitch holding it aloft.

The stadium screens showed the scenes outside, where packed streets saw firework displays that were also visible from inside the ground. Outside the stadium celebrations were led by fans on scooters, floats and other open vehicles. I didn’t see a single lone rider. One scooter somehow stayed upright and in motion with five people hanging on, whilst some were precariously positioned on the bonnets of moving cars. A huge procession that seemed to have no end or destination continued throughout the night.

The acoustics were especially audible on the deafening walk through the mile-long tunnel back towards the city centre. A passing ambulance with sirens on and lights flashing was the quietest vehicle on that road. It was not a good night to need medical transport. 

For those who have never been to Naples, their impression will likely be shaped by what they have heard or read about the city – representations which may well have emphasised negative stereotypes of criminality and poverty.

For those who have been, especially as away fans in football contexts, they may dismiss this generally positive reflection of Naples. Had I encountered the wrath of Napoli ultras this might have altered my overall perspective. My first visit to Naples was on a five-week train journey from Beijing to Liverpool (via Rovaniemi and Naples, amongst other places) on the way home from the 2002 World Cup. I did not particularly enjoy my short stay in the Bay of Naples.

This recent experience has balanced my views of the city and its people. Those we encountered over the course of a memorable weekend were friendly and funny, in the way I often associate with Liverpudlians. Although as a friend of mine once said: ‘Liverpool is the friendliest city in the world – if you meet the right people’.

I offer no neat description of this curiously chaotic city that defies definition, but I do consider Naples a uniquely fascinating civic centre. As the three of us sat for a pre-match meal, we shared some reflections of our memorable weekend, which I attempted to capture through photographs and videos, as well as this article. My fellow Scouse writer declared: ‘I’ll defend this city – because I know what it’s like to have stereotypes thrown at you.’

The complex networks of friendships in European football fandom (the mapping of which would make for a great research project) is something English clubs have generally remained on the periphery of. Collective encounters and circumstantial developments often shape degrees of hostility, and in the case of Napoli, there are many football fans who will hold negative impressions. Personally, I consider it a shame that Liverpool’s fixtures against Napoli have not been conducive to more mutual understandings, although Napoli have also played their part in that. 

The streets of this city are littered with sentiment opposing their domestic rivals, notably Juventus.

In one recent example, a sign conveying a collection of mock graves was dedicated to Roma, Juventus, Milan, Inter and Lazio respectively, with each declaring: ‘RIP – for the joy of the Neapolitan’. However, the majority of footballing expressions are overwhelmingly pro-Napoli.

Fans who are generally more concerned with expressing their own stories rather than merely opposing those of their rivals often have stronger identities. Football spectacles can give us unique windows into the cities and souls who partake in them.

We left Naples with our perspectives challenged and attitudes changed by our experiences and encounters with the people we met. Is that not the beauty of football, and the value of travel?