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My last day at the Olympics begins in the afternoon: I visit the splendid exhibition ‘L'Italia sulla neve’ (Italy on Snow), dedicated to posters and illustrations of winter sports from the first half of the twentieth century (mostly), then the houses of Brazil, Switzerland and Korea. I also stop by the Fan Zone, where I watch Lollobrigida's race. I decide not to go to a store, as the queue is too long.
As I go around, I linger and start to worry that I won't make it in time for
the start: when I take the underground, around 8:25 PM (the start is at 9:10 PM), I
see few people who seem to be heading to the game, a sign that most are already
there. At Rogoredo, some people get off, mostly Americans, but after a shuttle
leaves right in front of me, only a few of us are left waiting for the next
one, which waits a bit to fill up before departing. On the shuttle, there are
also some Slovaks in traditional costume. When I reach the gate, I open my
ticket on the app and notice with some sadness that it’s the last one. There is
no line, but the security check is very thorough; they make me empty my pockets
completely (usually they say to empty them, but they don’t actually require you
to take everything out) and move things around in my backpack (though only in
one pocket, anyway).
In the end,
picking up the pace a bit (my knee has improved), I get to my seat about five
minutes before the start. I see a lot of empty seats: in the next few minutes
some will fill up, but many will remain; just in the row in front of me, there
are six consecutive empty seats. This is another case where they went overboard
with prices: in fact, this was the event I paid the most for, 480 euros for a
category B seat (by the way, I never understood which were category A seats in
this arena). In the upper deck, where the category C seats are, you don’t see
any empty spots except in the corner section, where I’ve seen quite a few in
every game. I’m curious to see what will happen for the closing ceremony, where
prices were even more outrageous (category C was 950 euros, and as I write,
they are still available). Among those present, besides Americans and Slovaks,
there are a good number of Canadians, then Swiss, Swedes, and Finns (always
intended as people wearing the jerseys of their respective national teams—I
can’t guarantee they were really from those countries). Many Americans are
wearing jerseys dedicated to the “miracle on ice” of 1980: number 80 with the
name “Miracle” or the star of that time, Mike Eruzione. There’s even someone
with a jersey hoping for the annexation of Canada: number 51 with “Canada”
written on it (that too should probably count as “political content”). Next to
me, there’s an American in ordinary clothes and three Italians.
The game
begins: from my side, the USA are attacking. The teams have the same
colors—white, red, and blue—of course, arranged differently, but in the faster
plays, they can be hard to tell apart. The initial phase is confused, with lots
of turnovers from both sides. The first chant comes from the Slovak fans; the
Americans respond only after a while. Just over four minutes in, during a line
change with both teams incomplete, the Americans gain possession at the start
of the offensive third and score with a cross-shot. It’s a tense game: the
checks don’t seem as hard as in Canada–Czechia, but in the two minutes after
the goal, there are two hints of scuffles, one in front of each goal. Both
sides keep attacking, but only the USA are truly threatening (though it could
be because I’m closer to their attacks). With 40 seconds left in the period,
after a few seconds of power play, they go up 2–0. At the end of the first
period, the shot tally, 13–10 for the USA, makes it look like an even match,
but it hasn’t really been.
During the
first intermission, I try to charge my phone, but all the charging stations are
taken. At least I don’t have my underground ticket on my phone anymore, so if it
dies, the only consequence is I won’t be able to use it. I get back with a few
minutes to spare before play resumes. The second period starts much like the
first: both sides attack, but the USA are more dangerous, until, just after the
halfway point, they score two goals in 19 seconds—first on a solo run, then by
stealing the puck right in front of the net. Slovakia changes goalies, and the
outgoing one doesn’t take it well: now I realize that the player I saw sitting
off by himself, away from the bench, was the backup goalie. The game becomes
more and more one-sided, and you wonder how Slovakia made it this far. In the
final minutes, the score becomes 5–0.
The second
intermission is a repeat of the first: I try in vain to charge my phone. Near
the end, I find a free outlet (an actual outlet, not a charging station), but
there’s too little time before the game resumes. I return with just over a
minute left. In the third period, the game becomes more balanced: the Slovaks
score, the loudspeaker plays a Slavic song (I can’t say if it was actually
Slovak), and the fans dance. They come close to 5–2 several times but then
concede another goal. Three minutes later, they score to make it 6–2, and the
fans celebrate as if they had at least tied the game. With two to three minutes
left, the arena starts to empty out: I stay, because it’s still an Olympic
event—and, besides, it’s my last one. Before the end, there’s a bigger brawl
than the earlier ones, ending with a 10-minute penalty for each side and a
two-minute penalty for an American.
Once
outside, I reach the shuttle fairly quickly. There, I meet a lady from Texas
and another from San Diego, and I comment on how, in the USA, hockey is popular
even in warm places, while in Rome we don’t even have an ice rink.
My Olympic
experience ends here, and it can’t be said it ended on a high note, with this
not-so-great, one-sided game. Still, it was a wonderful experience, and I hope
to be there in the French Alps.
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