Milano Cortina Olympics: women's snowboard cross (13-02-2026)

Clicca qui per la versione italiana

This time my journey begins the night before: I spend the night in Sondrio, as the alternatives were to leave at 5 a.m. or even earlier, or to give up watching the qualifiers. On the train, they remind us that in Tirano we can take the shuttle buses to Bormio and Livigno, even though we arrive at midnight and, obviously, there are no shuttle buses at that time. With every announcement, they repeat that the train is running for the Olympics and conclude with “Happy Olympics”. I think that if I regularly took this train for other reasons, all these references to the Olympics would annoy me greatly.

The next day, the train is still almost empty, mostly with people travelling for different reasons, but the shuttle is packed. We arrive after an hour and a half, quite suddenly: I hadn’t seen a car park, it feels as if we’re stopping by the side of the road. Right after, the slopestyle and aerials slopes come into view, but the snowboard cross course is only visible once inside the area. This time, the distance from the shuttle stop to the entrance, as indicated on the website (400 metres), is actually slightly overestimated. At the entrance, they remind us that if we leave, we can’t re-enter (so during the break you can’t go to the Fan Zone, which I saw as we passed, with lots of food kiosks) and that in the upper seats, no food or drinks are sold. Luckily, this last bit doesn’t concern me because this time I have a category A seat, in what’s called the “terrace”: still standing, but at the bottom of the slope.

I look for the best spot: in the end, I settle on the second step (out of four), a little behind the edge. Most of the crowd are Swiss, then Czechs, French (next to me there’s a large group of Nirani-Pereira fans, recognisable by their bibs), Austrians and Americans. I also spot a group of Australians with their inflatable kangaroos, but only at lunch and especially later in the afternoon do I realise how many there are: during the break I even meet two, father and son, dressed as kangaroos. There’s also a group of Hungarian-speaking Romanians, supporters of Mandel. The Italians seem few and calm. When Moioli starts, she’s welcomed rather tepidly, although later I spot her fan club with their bibs; Groblechner seems to have more support.

When the first athletes set off, I realise I can see roughly half the course: the final straight after the jump, and the penultimate straight, but not the last bend. Earlier, for about 35 seconds of the 1:12 run (for the fastest), you can see partially, often just the top half of the athletes, and before that you see the safety net, but not the course, which is sloped the other way. Compared to alpine skiing, it’s a bit easier to tell who’s doing well and who isn’t, as you can judge from their arm movements if someone is at risk of falling (as well as getting a sense of speed from the length of the jumps). The most serious mistake of this first run, made by a Swiss competitor who has to start again from a standstill, losing 20 seconds, happens in a blind spot.

The Czech athlete whose name I’d rather not write starts with bib number 4 and sets the fastest time, Moioli is fifth (out of 11) by the time she descends and will finish sixth; the other two Italians also make it into the top 20, who are exempt from the second run, which is essentially a repechage. About halfway through the runs, all those left have a significant delay already in the first half, which makes me wonder if it’s a course problem (the commentators mention lighting issues) or they’re simply not as strong: in the end, all 12 who’ll go into the second run started among the last 16. Some end up more than 5 seconds behind without making major mistakes, so I wonder if we’ll see this gap in the elimination rounds as well. The second run starts immediately after the first: the course is clearly faster, as almost everyone improves, many by more than a second (the best time would have been 14th in the first run).

anche sarebbe arrivata 14^).

At the exit from the terrace at the end of the qualifiers, there’s Tina: there’s a queue to take a photo with her and I have one taken too (by a French woman). A bit further on there’s an open space with several refreshment points: there’s also a “typical foods” stall, where I get polenta with sausage. I notice that many of the staff at these kiosks are Roman (you can tell by their accent). While eating, I meet two Canadian girls from Ontario: we talk about hockey, which they’re going to watch the next day. There’s a covered area where I stop to rest and charge my phone: keeping my phone charged is always a problem, since power banks aren’t allowed. The problem isn’t the cold, though: it’s actually quite pleasant, even though they said it was -7°C at the start. I’m still a bit hungry, so I also head to the pasta kiosk: I get some butter and sage ravioli that look more like cream and aren’t so good.

I return to the competition area around 1 p.m., half an hour before the start. This time I position myself further towards the back of the stand, among the Australians (but not too close, as some are very tall): compared to the qualifiers, I manage to see a bit more, even higher up. Only now do I notice that behind the cross track there’s the half-pipe: it’s steeper than I imagined.

In the first eighth-final, the Australians celebrate Baff’s win, who also finishes ahead of the Czech number 1. The first Italian to set off, Francesia Boirai, fights but finishes third. Moioli’s eighth-final ends halfway through the race, with the Swiss competitor’s fall: she and the Australian Clift cruise through. In the last eighth-final, Groblechner also qualifies. All the top eight and 13 of the top 16 go through. The last ones are left behind, but not as much as in the qualifiers.

The quarter-finals follow almost immediately. In the first, the Czech and the Australian qualify again, swapping positions (those who went through in the same heat always end up together in the next round). In the others, Moioli and the French Nirani-Pereira and Casta win easily and seem the strongest. The other Italian is never in contention. Six of the top eight qualify, but the exceptions are numbers 17 and 21. The semi-finals start with just three or four minutes between them. In the first, Baff wins again ahead of the Czech, knocking out Casta. In the second, Moioli falls behind at the start: I think she’s out of  energies, but halfway through she’s back with the group and overtakes them one by one, winning ahead of the Swiss Wiedmer, with Casta eliminated.

There’s a break of about ten minutes before the finals. First comes the small final, then the grand final: when the contenders are introduced, Moioli seems to have the least support, it doesn’t feel like we’re in Italy (of course, it could just be where I’m standing). The Italian is again slow off the mark, then claws her way back, but this time only manages one overtake. Wiedmar takes the lead but makes a mistake on the penultimate bend, and Baff's yellow bib goes ahead, to the delight of the Australians. Silver to the Czech athlete, bronze to Moioli.

I try to get closer to the victory ceremony, but I realise I'll never see it, there's too much of a crowd. Then it doesn't even take place where I thought it would: I can only see it on the screen, but I can see the flags live. The three seem to be applauded more or less equally. The Australian anthem starts, which at first reminds me of  a traditional Italian mountain song: I hear my neighbours singing it.

On the way out, in the Fan Zone, some French people try to use a beer crate as a sledge and there is a band performing. At the exit, the customs officers stop me, asking me if I have made any purchases and even search my toiletries bag. I am amazed that they think I have done anything other than watch the Olympics. I take a shuttle bus that is about to leave. Tomorrow I will transfer to the Cortina area.

Domani trasferimento in area Cortina.

Olimpiadi di Milano Cortina: salto con gli sci (14-02-2026)

 Arrivo alla stazione di Ora intorno alle 16: si vedono in giro finlandesi e anche svedesi (non diretti a Predazzo, scoprirò poi). Aspetto a prendere la navetta (la gara è alle 18,45) per non arrivare troppo presto e restare sotto la pioggia, salgo verso le 16,45 e vedo che sarà piena per un terzo o poco più: spero non aspetti che si riempia per partire e infatti parte poco dopo. C'è traffico, ci mette poco più di un'ora, il tragitto dal parcheggio all'ingresso è un po' più lungo di quanto diceva il sito: 700 metri invece di 400, ma magari l'hanno spostato, hanno fatto dei cambiamenti per via del maltempo. Le procedure ingresso sono un po' più lunghe e caotiche del solito, ma parliamo comunque di una decina di minuti.

Entro verso le 18,15: il salto di prova è già finito, stanno sistemando la pista. La pioggia aumenta. Poco dopo l'ingresso c'è il bivio tra posti di categoria A e categoria B: per la categoria A c'è una tribuna in fondo alla pista, per la categoria B uno spazio a bordo pista (comunque in piano) e una terrazza a tre livelli. Provo i vari livelli della terrazza, ma alla fine decido di andare a bordo pista. In ogni caso qui non è un problema avere qualcuno davanti dovendo guardare in alto e (dalla terrazza) a sinistra. Alla fine comunque mi farà un po' male il collo. Prima avevo considerato di prendermi da mangiare, ma c'è troppa coda, anche se temo che nell'intervallo sarà peggio. Avevo anche notato che, una volta tanto, per i bagni c'era più coda per gli uomini che per le donne.

Quando mi trovo a bordo pista, in mezzo ai tifosi, penso che non c'è nessun altro posto al mondo dove vorrei essere in questo momento, nemmeno a San Siro a vedere Inter-Juve, anche se la prospettiva è di stare due ore abbondanti in piedi, sotto la pioggia e magari digiuno. Il gruppo più numeroso sembrano decisamente i tedeschi, seguiti da sloveni e polacchi. Ci sono poi finlandesi, tra cui un gruppo con pettorali storici del campione di Cortina 1956, americani, giapponesi e romeni. Sembrano pochi gli austriaci, considerate tradizione e vicinanza geografica, ma quando arriveranno i loro saltatori si noteranno. C'è anche un cartello in italiano per Kobayashi, "il morso del Koba".

Fanno il karaoke con "Nel blu dipinto di blu" (ok, lo speaker la chiama "Volare", ma io da vecchio campione di Sarabanda sono tenuto a dire il titolo esatto) e lo cantano in tanti, anche non italiani. Poco dopo si parte: salta per primo l'italiano Cecon e arriva lontano dal punto K (115 metri contro 128) per cui si capisce subito che non ha possibilità di qualificarsi per la seconda manche, infatti arriverà terzultimo, precedendo solo i numeri 3 e 4. Gli americani davanti a me si esaltano per Frantz, sceso col 13, che fa 133 metri e va nettamente in testa. Bresadola col 16 si inserisce al terzo posto, il che vuol dire che ha discrete probabilità di qualificarsi: serve che altri 7 facciano peggio di lui. Uno di questi è Insam, sceso col 18, che avrebbe bisogno di 8 che facciano peggio e si capisce subito che è dura. Un kazako col 20 arriva a 140,5, mezzo metro dal punto HS, e oltre a passare nettamente in testa e restarci fino al n. 38 (il polacco Tomasiak) convince la giuria ad abbassare la partenza di due stanghe.

Arrivati al n. 24 a Bresadola servono altri tre che rimangano dietro per qualificarsi (o almeno così credo): gufo quindi su tutti i salti. Un estone gli rimane davanti di un decimo, rimangono dietro un americano e uno sloveno, quindi mi risulta che manca uno e penso sarà difficile, visto che adesso arrivano i migliori. Invece lo speaker annuncia che si è qualificato e controllo che è vero, ma poi gli rimarranno dietro anche big come Lindvik, Kraft e Lanisek (quest'ultimo rimarrà comunque nei 30). La squalifica dell'austriaco Tschofenig gli farà guadagnare un'altra posizione: chiuderà 26°. I tedeschi accompagnano ogni salto dei loro con un brusio, ma non gli porta molto bene: il migliore chiude 10°. Molto più rumoroso il tifo dei polacchi. Il giapponese Nikaido, saltando per terzultimo, fa 140 metri e passa in testa di 9 punti: rimangono solo Kobayashi, che rimane indietro (11°) e Prevc, che fa 138,5 metri, ma anche per via di una minore compensazione per il vento rimane secondo a 7 punti.

Ci sono poco più di 20 minuti d'intervallo, e penso che passandoli tutti in coda potrei riuscire a prendermi da mangiare. Ci sono due chioschi: "prodotti tipici" e "hamburger e hot dog", ma il primo comprende la pizza (assieme a due piatti di polenta) e il secondo l'hot dog con crauti, che ha origini un po' più vicine a qui. Scelgo i prodotti tipici perché a meno coda, anche se le due code si confondono. A 7 minuti dalla ripresa capisco che non farò in tempo e penso di andarmene, ma visto che la coda è andata un bel po' avanti e che comunque da lì si vede il trampolino, decido di rimanere. Infatti la seconda manche comincia che sono ancora in coda e non tra i primissimi: vedo Lanisek che fa ancora peggio della prima manche, chiudendo ultimo, e Bresaola che chiude penultimo.

Riesco a tornare a bordo pista nella pausa dopo i primi 10 salti: quando vedo gli americani capisco di essere arrivato dov'ero prima. Nessuno di quelli che avevano deluso nel primo salto si riscatta, fino a Kobayashi, che fa 138,5 e va in testa di 13 punti. A 5 salti dalla fine sarà ancora in testa, ma gli ultimi 5 gli passeranno tutti davanti. I polacchi festeggiano il bel salto (138,5) di Tomasiak, che era quarto, ma ancora di più festeggiano quando il salto dopo, quello di Sundal non è eccezionale (erano comunque 135,5 metri, quindi mi ero chiesto se non fossero stati precipitosi) e quindi è medaglia. La scena si ripete, amplificata, con gli sloveni negli ultimi due salti: boato per Prevc che fa oltre il punto HS (141,5), ma boato ancora più forte per Nikkaido che non arriva a quel livello. Sono pur sempre 136,5, ma vedendo anche la bassa compensazione si capisce che è fatta, infatti rimane indietro di 6 punti.

Mentre parte la festa degli sloveni, con le congratulazioni degli altri, avvisano gli spettatori di categoria B di uscire solo 5 minuti dopo la premiazione, come fossimo tifosi in trasferta di calcio, "per favorire il deflusso ordinato". Ero in dubbio se fermarmi alla premiazione, adeso so che devo farlo. Capisco che da bordo pista non la vedrò mai e mi sposto sulla terrazza: da lì si vede. Premia la Coventry in persona (e non la figlia di Mattarella...). Gli sloveni cantano l'inno prima a bassa voce, ma verso la fine si fanno sentire.

Non c'è molta gente in coda per la navetta per Ora, sono di più quelli per le navette per i parcheggi. il problema è che non si vede la navetta. Presto ne arriva una, ma capisco che non basta, e infatti sono tra i primi a rimanere fuori (qui almeno la coda è ordinata). C'è da aspettare un po' per la seconda. Accanto a me si siede un polacco col berretto di Vancouver: scopro quindi che anche lui era stato a quelle Olimpiadi. Domani lui va a vedere il biathlon, io il fondo

Milano Cortina Olympics: men's hockey, Canada-Czechia (12-02-2026)

Clicca qui per la versione italiana

 Getting off the underground, and also in the Rogoredo area, I meet spectators from the previous match, many more Swiss than French. There is practically no queue for the shuttle bus: I get on straight away and even find a seat. The queue for security checks is also quick: I see that they have confiscated several long umbrellas. I usually carry a folding one in my rucksack and have never had any problems, but this time I didn't have my rucksack with me.

You see many more Czechs than Canadians, but also Finns, Slovaks, Americans and Germans. Or better: people wearing the jerseys of their respective teams—some of whom, I later heard, were actually Italian. The most common jersey is Cosby’s, but there are also classic ones, from Gretsky to (especially) Jagr. In the stands, there are a few more Canadians than it seemed from outside, but the Czechs clearly outnumber them. You can tell by the cheering: as the Canadian team enters, they receive more boos than applause, and at least for the first two periods, whenever the Canadians try to start a chant, they are overwhelmed by the Czechs.

I’m on the same side as yesterday, just in the opposite corner and two rows higher. Around me, there are a few more Canadians than Czechs. Behind me, there’s an American and a Finn, who will talk almost the whole time, even about Italy-Sweden: they’ll say that Italy’s strength is in the coach. The match starts, and in the first period, Czechs attack from my side. The play is very, very physical (really hard hits), definitely more so than yesterday. In the 8th minute, Canada scores on a fastbreak, but the goal is disallowed for an earlier foul, which results in a penalty. The Czechs gain confidence and, after an initial Canadian dominance, the match becomes more balanced. However, with five seconds left in the period, Canada takes the lead with a shot from outside, angled into the net.

During the first intermission, I think I’ll only be out for a short while, but I step outside into the courtyard (where I even see Qatari police officers—who knows what they’re doing at the Olympics) and make the ill-fated decision to get myself a coffee, which turns out not even to be that good: the wait is long, so I return to my seat when the second period has already been going for 53 seconds (but at least there haven’t been any goals yet). Canada attacks a bit more, even though the shots on goal will remain even, and after six minutes they score a scrappy goal, which I don’t see clearly because I’m busy following the speed skating results, where just seconds later Lollobrigida would win gold. With 2 minutes 30 seconds to go in the period, the Canadian Horvat picks up the puck in his own half, goes the length of the ice and scores, yet two assists are awarded: for a layman like me, that seems odd, even though I know that in hockey, the concept of an assist is broader than in soccer or basketball.

In the second intermission, I visit the section where I’ll be watching the women’s final (and later I’ll also see a men’s semi-final, exactly one row above my seat today): I discover that it’s exactly on the opposite side. This time, though, I manage to get back well before play resumes. In the third period, Canada runs away with it: they score twice more (and I can’t even tell where the last goal went in, not even on the replay), while the Czechs are never dangerous. From 4-0 onwards, you can only hear the Canadian supporters; only in the last few minutes do the Czechs try to rally, but there are only a few of them left. With three or four minutes to go, the arena starts to empty.

It ends 5-0, but unlike the other matches I’d seen so far, the count of shots on goal is more balanced than the scoreline: 36-26, and for much of the third period it was almost even. As soon as I leave, I connect to Discovery to catch the end of the luge relay, where we win bronze. The queue for the shuttles is shorter than usual. I already have to head for Livigno for tomorrow’s snowboard cross.

Milano Cortina Olympics: alpine skiing and hockey (11-02-2026)

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I catch the train in Monza at 7:02 a.m. I was afraid it would be full, but instead it's almost empty, and what's more, those who look like they're going to the Olympics are a minority. I wonder if everyone else left earlier or if there are just a few people leaving from Milan. I arrive in Tirano shortly after 9:30 a.m. (the race is at 11:30 a.m.): I see that there are lots of shuttle buses and not many of us are taking them. They check our race tickets, and someone says they will pick theirs up in Bormio (but aren't they all virtual?). There are also some people interested in the shuttle to Livigno: there is a race there at 11 a.m., which they will see once it has started.

In the end, the shuttle bus fills up almost completely, but it takes a while. After about 45 minutes you can see the slope, the incline is impressive, and shortly afterwards we stop. Walking towards the slope, you start to see a bit of a crowd, who were obviously already here. The thermometer reads +6°C and after a bit of walking I start to feel warm, I fear I might have overdressed, like comedian Totò in Milan, in a famous 1950s movie. I’ll keep my windbreaker open until the sun goes away towards the end of the race: this also gives me the chance to show off my Inter jumper (worn only because it was the warmest I had) and someone will compliment me on it.

At a certain point, there’s a fork between entrance A and entrance B: it’s the first time the entrance marked on the ticket actually matters. I have to stop and check, but later I’ll notice that the sign explains what each one corresponds to, so I could have figured it out on my own. According to the website, the walk should take 20 minutes, but it’s about half an hour: according to my smartwatch, it’s 2.1 km. Maybe they were referring to the other entrance, the one for the grandstand at the end of the slope, but I don’t think there’s much difference.

There’s a bit of a queue at the security checks, but it clears quickly. After the checks, the hardest part begins: the steep climb on the snow to reach the areas beside the slope. They’ve put in steps, but I’m still afraid of slipping, especially when the handrail stops. By halfway I’m already struggling, also because of the altitude, and I wonder how it will be in Livigno, which is much higher up. When I start to see a fine stretch of the slope above, I’d like to stop, but I’d block the flow of people. At the first spot where I could stop without getting in the way, I notice I can see a stretch of slope above, but not the bit right in front of me and, crucially, I can’t see a screen, so I wouldn’t know what’s happening elsewhere. I move closer to the slope and find a spot where, through the crowd, I can just make out the screen.

On the way I’d seen Americans, Canadians, and Finns; along the slope, the Swiss are by far the most numerous (after the Italians, but not by much), followed by the French, who are also in front of me. The race starts, and I discover that the section from the start to where I begin to see is much longer than I’d thought (with racer n.2 , when the announcer gives the time, I’ll find out it’s about 55 seconds), as is the section between when the skier disappears from my view and when they reappear in front of me with a small jump. The stretch between when they disappear definitively and the finish is very short, almost instantaneous: it seems odd that they do that part so quickly when it took me ages to climb it, only towards the end, when the slope clears, I’ll discover that the finish wasn’t at the bottom, but right after the section in front of me. In total, out of 1 minute 25 seconds of the race, I see live about 25 seconds, maybe a bit less.

I start watching the skiers on the screen, then after the second split (I’ll realise this after a few runs) I follow the action live, then return to the screen for the finish. I can’t see the time on the scoreboard and the announcer doesn’t always say it, or if he does I can’t catch it, so I have to keep checking the leaderboard on the app. Nearby, there’s also someone watching the TV broadcast on their phone. The biggest problem is balance: we’re still on a steep, snowy surface, so constantly switching from looking down at the scoreboard to looking up at the slope, I’m always afraid I’ll tumble down. Even worse if I tried to take photos: this time my motto “you either live or film” had a more literal meaning than usual.

In the upper section that I can see, I can’t tell who’s skiing better or worse: among the top names, only Innerhofer seems to have some trouble (no one will fall in that part, all the crashes happen earlier). The last ones, though, are noticeably slower. Von Allmen goes down with bib number 7, makes a few mistakes (which I don’t see) and finishes in the lead by just 13 hundredths: all the other favourites are still to come, so few believe he’ll actually win, I hear someone say that also the Italian TV commentator thinks as much. Franzoni goes next with number 9: I barely see him at all due to balance issues, I hear from the announcer that he’s always behind and finishes fifth. Immediately after it’s Odermatt, who the Swiss cheer much more than Von Allmen: at an intermediate he’s leading, but then he finishes third.

So Italian hopes rest on Paris, but they don’t last long as he loses a ski early, well before entering the section I can see (but I see it clearly on the screen). There’s still a chance for a miracle from Casse, but from the first split it’s clear it won’t happen: when he passes in front of me I notice he barely jumps, so he was slow. The announcer says he arrives sixteenth, without specifying that it means last. Of the others who have gone down in the meantime, none has done better than seventh place, so now we can say we’ve witnessed a historic moment: for the first time since 1968, an alpine skier wins three golds in one Olympiad.

The slope begins to empty: I move slightly higher up, where I find a more stable spot with less view of the upper section, but more of the part in front and, after a while, the finish. I can also see the grandstand at the bottom of the slope and notice there are lots of empty seats: I don’t know if they were always there or if it’s already cleared out. As I said, you can clearly see the last ones are slower, even if it’s not obvious who’s the slowest: the Monaco skier seemed the slowest of all, but he leaves five behind, plus the two who start after him. The Portuguese leaves four behind and celebrates as if he’d won a medal.

Once the race is over, there’s the problem of getting down. Of course, there’s still the medal ceremony, but I’m not sure where it will be so I don’t know where to watch from. Some people slide down seated, a group of Swiss even on a flag: when they reach the path with steps, the volunteers tell them to stand up. I try a bit of walking, a bit of sliding. A volunteer offers to help me, I tell her everything’s under control, but immediately after I nearly fall and accept the help. We reach a terrace where you’re supposed to see the medal ceremony, but it’s too crowded, especially with Swiss fans: I shift a bit to the side and manage to find a gap to peek through.

Heading back to the shuttle, at a certain point I’m afraid I’ve got lost: there are no more signs, in fact the fact there are signs for the accreditation centre would suggest the shuttle pick-up is somewhere else. I ask a group of volunteers, who don’t give me a clear answer, then I ask another who confirms I’m on the right way and actually I find them soon after.

I see that there are more people taking the shuttle to the car park than to Tirano station. Even on the train, those returning from the Olympics seem to be in the minority. Ultimately, the reason why the train was half-empty on the way there was that there were few people in general, many were not coming from Milan and many others had come by car.

I only have time for a quick rest—less than an hour—and then I'm off again for the Italy-Sweden men's ice hockey match. On the metro and around Santa Giulia, you can still see spectators from the previous game, more Slovaks than Finns. One Slovak is even singing an Inter Milan supporters’ chant. Compared to Monday, surprisingly, there’s less queuing both for the shuttle and at the entrances. This time, I’m in the upper half of the first tier: I have a very good view, not only of the scoreboard but also of the action on my side, even the more chaotic moments, though I can see less on the far side—but it’s only in the third period that I’ll finally decide to use the binoculars. There are many sections filled with Swedish fans wearing the national team shirts, one group larger than the others (the sections aren’t phisically separated, of course). Many Italians are wearing historic Milan team shirts, which makes me think back to the evening in 1991 at the Assago Forum when I saw the championship return to the city after 31 years.

It begins: straight away, you can tell the pace is much faster than the women’s game. The hits are also much more noticeable; I’m not sure if it’s just because they’re men or also because I’m closer (and I wonder what it would be like to watch an NFL game from this close). Sweden is attacking from my side and after only 30 seconds, they hit the post, but after four minutes, a long clearance from the Italians, a short rebound from the goalie, Frigo pounces and scores: Italy takes the lead! Sweden attacks relentlessly (by the end of the first period, shots will be 22-3), but they make lots of mistakes and only manage to equalise in the ninth minute, with a long-range shot right at the end of a power play (which will be the only one in the whole match). They’ll then take the lead two minutes before the end of the period.

During the first intermission, I grab something to eat: I first queue at the future market, where I hear the person behind me say he expected a warmer arena, but I suspect there won’t be anything I like and so I switch to the “traditional” bar. I get a hamburger, fries and a drink, which they hand over without the cap, so I have the problem of carrying it: I’m always worried about spilling everything, whether I get jostled or even just on my own.

I get back just 37 seconds after play has restarted and Italy has just equalised! I curse like a Swedish fan—the disappointment of missing it outweighs the joy of the goal itself. This time, Italy responds a bit more to the attacks, even though they have a power play and come closer to conceding a goal than to scoring one. Sweden regains the lead three minutes from the end, in a chaotic action I can’t see very well. At one point, there’s a hint of a scuffle: the “scemo, scemo” (idiot) chant goes up and even the Swedish fans join in with the gesture. In the second interval, I step out, come back six minutes before play restarts, and find the mascot Tina at the entrance to my section. I join in a dance with her (but there’s no one to take pictures).

In the third period, Italy looks more dangerous and has at least one chance to equalise: this time, you can really hear the fans. Hope fades five minutes from the end, with a 4-2 from a long shot into the top corner. Two minutes from time, the Azzurri try a last attack with an empty net, but Sweden scores: it ends 5-2.

The queue for the shuttles is shorter than last time. They open all at once and I even manage to get a seat. Tomorrow: Canada–Czechia.