Calcio
Calcio
In-depth conversations with the voices shaping culture, calcio, and society. Explore unique perspectives, personal stories, and inspiring journeys from around the world.
US Pergolettese: Football, Grit and Life on the Edge of Crema
All images by Luca Gaiera There are clubs you follow
Avellino: An Afternoon Among the Green Wolves
All words and images: Imma Rhamely Borrelli They are quieter than
The South American Diaries: Part 12. Inside the Heart of Bahian Football
All words and images by Jonas Zöller “This whole scene,
The South American Diaries: Part 11. Joga Bonito in the Air
All words and images by Jonas Zöller “The thick concrete
Trapani: Matchday and a City That Quietly Surprises You
All words and images by Luca Gaiera Trapani is one
Paganese: Heart, History, and the Blue and White Soul of Pagani
Paganese Calcio 1926 isn’t just a football club — and
The Bohemians of Villa Crespo: The Story of Club Atlético Atlanta
Founded back in 1904, the story of its name alone
Cruz Azul and the Perfect Refuge
All words and images by Revista Rival and Arturo Trujillo
A Night with La U: Football, Fireworks and Pure Passion in Lima
Words and Images: Loïc Bogas. If you ever find yourself
Calcio
All images by: Pincha Analógico
Fresh from lifting the Trofeo de Campeones de la Liga Profesional, Estudiantes de La Plata once again reminded Argentine football — and the wider world — of who they are and what they stand for. A club defined not by convenience or privilege, but by conviction, resilience, and a fiercely protected identity.
To better understand what this latest triumph means and what truly defines Estudiantes beyond the silverware, we spoke with Pincha Analógico, a project dedicated to showcasing the club’s traditions, its people, and its rich history.
Estudiantes is a truly unique football club. More than a team, Estudiantes de La Plata is defined by an identity deeply rooted in values such as family, mystique, hard work, and an unshakeable sense of belonging.
It is the story of a club born in the city of La Plata—often considered small when compared to Argentina’s traditional powerhouses—but one with a huge heart and even greater ambition. Time and again, Estudiantes has stood toe-to-toe with the most powerful teams in Argentina and the wider footballing world, and time and again, it has emerged victorious.
One of the club’s most powerful mottos is “Alone Against Everyone.” It is a phrase that captures the spirit of Estudiantes perfectly. Beyond competing against the so-called “big clubs,” Estudiantes has historically fought against the media narrative, forging its own path with resilience and defiance.
That defiance reshaped Argentine football history in 1967, when Estudiantes became the first club outside the traditional “Big Five” — River Plate, Boca Juniors, Independiente, Racing, and San Lorenzo — to win a championship. Until that moment, those five clubs had monopolised domestic success. Estudiantes broke the mould.
What followed cemented the club’s place among football’s greats. Between 1968 and 1970, Estudiantes won three consecutive Copa Libertadores titles, a remarkable achievement that included an iconic Intercontinental Cup victory over Bobby Charlton’s Manchester United. In 1968, Estudiantes were crowned champions in England — a feat no other club in the world has achieved.
At its core, Estudiantes is a school of football. And like every great school, it has been shaped by exceptional teachers. Figures such as Osvaldo Zubeldía, Carlos Salvador Bilardo — Argentina’s 1986 World Cup–winning coach — Alejandro Sabella, Juan Ramón Verón, and his son Juan Sebastián Verón have all left an indelible mark on the club’s philosophy and identity.
When people speak of Estudiantes, they speak of mystique. They speak of family.
That identity comes alive on matchdays at “UNO,” the Estadio Jorge Luis Hirschi. Matches there are lived with incredible passion, especially on Copa Libertadores nights. The supporters possess a vast repertoire of chants, pushing the players forward and demanding they fight for every ball, just as the club’s history demands.
Reopened in 2019 under the leadership of club president Juan Sebastián Verón, the stadium is one of the most modern in Argentina. From its popular stands to seating areas, VIP boxes, food court, and Bistro Bar, UNO blends tradition with modernity. Its hybrid synthetic–natural grass, 360-degree irrigation system, and LED lighting make it not only functional, but strikingly photogenic.
Yet for Estudiantes, facilities and trophies alone are never enough.
“Winning the championship is not everything — it’s the only thing.”
Those words resonate deeply within the club, and nowhere was that clearer than in the recent title victory against Racing. Falling behind, digging deep, and finding strength where none seemed left, Estudiantes turned the match on its head. It was a performance that perfectly embodied the club’s identity and style of play.
This, supporters say, is Copa mystique.
Estudiantes continues to grow — not just as a football club, but as a community. Proudly family-oriented, the club embraces sharing its history, values, and achievements with those beyond its walls.
That spirit is at the heart of Pincha Analógico: a project dedicated to showcasing the club’s traditions, its people, and its rich history. It is a celebration of what Estudiantes has always been — a club that stands alone when it must, fights against everyone when required, and remains fiercely loyal to who it is.
All images by: Pincha Analógico
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“While the city may not wear its football culture openly on its streets, inside the stadium, the passion is undeniable.“
Football in the City: A Quiet Presence
Madrid is a city synonymous with footballing success, home to some of Europe’s most decorated clubs. Yet, for all its silverware and global reputation, the city’s relationship with football on the street level feels surprisingly muted.
Spending time in Madrid, it’s hard not to notice the absence of a visible football culture woven into daily life. Even around the city’s major stadiums, there is little to signal that football plays a defining role in the urban fabric. There are no murals celebrating club legends, no neighbourhood shrines, no sense that matchday spills organically into the streets.
The one notable exception is the area surrounding Rayo Vallecano’s stadium, where football can be felt — but only within a tight radius of the ground itself. Beyond that, the presence of the game fades quickly. As a result, it’s difficult to speak meaningfully about Madrid’s football culture as a citywide experience; it often feels almost entirely absent.
Inside the Stadium: Where Madrid Comes Alive
That perception shifts, however, when approaching Atlético Madrid’s stadium. Located slightly on the outskirts of the city, the journey there already sets it apart. A 40-minute walk from the hotel provided an opportunity to observe how supporters moved toward the ground. Along the way, a small pub hosted a handful of Atlético fans deep in conversation. One supporter even broke into song, though the moment felt fleeting rather than contagious. Somewhat surprisingly, it was the passing Valencia fans who generated more noise and presence.
One of the more striking observations was how supporters of both clubs freely mingled on matchday, walking the same streets without tension. For someone used to sharper divides and heightened anticipation, this calm coexistence felt unusual. There was no edge, no friction — instead, a sense of indifference hung in the air. While peaceful, it didn’t add much to the sense of occasion.
Inside the stadium, though, the experience was entirely different. Here, Atlético Madrid’s supporters came alive. The atmosphere was vibrant and energetic, far exceeding expectations. Behind one of the goals, the ultras sang and jumped relentlessly for the entire match, reacting passionately to every moment on the pitch. Their commitment was unwavering, and a specially prepared tifo added colour and drama to the occasion. On the opposite side of the stadium, the visiting supporters made themselves heard too, contributing to a balanced and engaging atmosphere.
Beyond the fans, the stadium itself leaves a lasting impression. Architecturally, it is striking — from its sweeping roof to the layout of the grandstands, everything feels considered and imposing without being overwhelming. It’s a venue that enhances the matchday experience rather than overshadowing it.
For anyone considering a football trip to Madrid, an Atlético match is well worth attending. While the city may not wear its football culture openly on its streets, inside the stadium, the passion is undeniable. The combination of impressive architecture and tireless support from the ultras ensures that, once the game begins, the sense of occasion finally arrives — and stays for the full 90 minutes.
Words and Images Mike Carranza
Heart of this town, only great love. Yellow like the sun. Red like my heart.
Being pitchside for a Serie A match at the Stadio Olimpico felt surreal. I had spent the week working on pitches across Roma, moving from one field to another, yet seeing very little of the city itself. Rome, in many ways, had remained just out of reach.
The match between Roma and Napoli marked my third visit to the Stadio Olimpico in just five days. The first came as a tourist, led through the cavernous bowl by a guide, the stands empty as ground staff meticulously prepared the pitch. The second was a Europa League night against Midtjylland, where beers were shared and an espresso followed — as tradition demands.
It was then that I first heard it.
“Roma Roma Roma.”
The chant poured from the stands and reverberated through the concrete, echoing long after the final note. The words struck instantly: Heart of this town, only great love. Yellow like the sun. Red like my heart. It felt less like a song and more like a declaration.
My relationship with football has always been layered — built on love, pain, struggle, and fleeting moments of triumph. It is the longest relationship of my life, one that began when I was three years old. Football became a constant: a place of comfort through heartbreak and failure, success and sadness, joy and disappointment. Long after childhood dreams faded, football remained.
During my time in Rome, bad news arrived from home. The kind that settles quietly but heavily. Yet even then, I knew there was something I needed to fulfil — something owed to that three-year-old boy who dreamed only of football.
I arrived at the Stadio Olimpico for Napoli v Roma exhausted, overworked, and emotionally drained. But the moment I stepped onto the pitch, it returned.
“Roma, Roma, Roma — heart of this town, only great love.”
In that instant, the weight lifted. What remained was joy — pure, grounding, unmistakable. I felt at home. Not alone, but surrounded by something familiar and eternal. Football, in the Eternal City. My feet on the grass. Everything exactly where it was meant to be.
The day before my flight back to the United States, standing alone on my balcony, I realised something was ending — and something else was beginning. A closing chapter, followed by an uncertain next step. There was no time for fear or anxiety. No room for doubt.
The next day, I would be back on a football pitch. And there, as it has always been, everything would be okay.
Words and Images Mike Carranza
High up in the hills of Rio de Janeiro state lies Petrópolis, a city better known for its palaces, imperial history and leafy streets than for its football. But tucked into this picture is Serrano Football Club, founded in 1915 and still playing an important role in the city today.
“Serrano is a very traditional club in the state of Rio de Janeiro,” the club says. “It is located in Petrópolis, a very important city in the state and has many notable buildings from the monarchical period in Brazil. Founded in 1915, Serrano was well known in the city as a popular club that attracted all types of people to its parties and social events. We started in amateurism and won two regional tournaments in 1925 and 1945. What makes Serrano so special is the fact that it is very close to the local community, and it is a club that lives in the hearts of every resident of Petrópolis.”
That closeness is perhaps what has kept Serrano relevant for more than a century. While other clubs chase television rights and global attention, Serrano remains firmly anchored in place: a team that still matters because it belongs to the people around it.
The Garrincha Connection
The club’s most famous contribution to the wider football world is impossible to ignore.
“Regarding Garrincha, we are immensely proud,” they say. “He is one of the greatest players of all time, and his career began at our beloved club. We are very happy to be able to help in the emergence of this mythical figure for the sport.”
For a club like Serrano, this link is priceless. Garrincha’s genius belonged to the world, but for Petrópolis, his first steps belong to them.
The Joy of Football in Rio
Football in Rio carries its own atmosphere, a blend of ritual, noise and pleasure. The club describe it simply:
“The football culture in Rio is very special. We love our clubs and our stadiums very much. The thing we love most is being able to experience a day of joy and happiness in the stadiums. We are deeply rooted in the idea that the experience should be joyful.
“Another notable feature is always having a beer in the stadium, and there always has to be music coming from the fans, especially samba.”
It’s a reminder that matchdays are about more than just results. They are about moments that last, habits that repeat, and the comfort of knowing that the same voices, the same songs, the same beers will be there next time too.
Nights at Atílio
Every club has its ground, and for Serrano, it is Estádio Atílio Marotti.
“About Atílio, he is a magical stadium. It was there that we beat Flamengo, one of the biggest clubs in Brazil and the world. It was a very special night, we won 1-0 against the team led by Zico, who would go on to become world champions.
“Atílio is our home, it is a very cosy stadium that welcomes everyone equally. We always have a loyal audience of different ages.”
The story of that night against Flamengo, when Serrano beat one of Brazil’s giants, still lingers in the stands. It is these moments—a famous win, a shared celebration, a memory passed down—that sustain smaller clubs and keep them alive.
26 Years Later
This was one of those seasons. The kind you don’t forget, the kind that gets retold in bars, on terraces, and one day to kids wearing shirts a few sizes too big. After 26 long years, Serrano are champions again, lifting the Campeonato Carioca Série B1 and bringing silverware back to Petrópolis at last.
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t easy. But it was relentless. Serrano closed the season with a nine-game unbeaten run, finding a way when it mattered most. That stretch included two tight, hard-fought 1–0 wins in the semifinals against São Cristóvão, a club woven into Brazilian football folklore as the starting point of Ronaldo Fenômeno’s career.
The final followed the same script: composed, disciplined, and full of belief. A 2–1 victory in the first leg against Bonsucesso — another historic name, where Leônidas da Silva first kicked a ball and later gave football the bicycle kick — set the tone. A goalless draw away from home in the return leg did the rest. No drama, no chaos. Just control. The trophy was theirs.
The weight of it all made the moment heavier. Serrano’s last official title came back in 1999, also in the third tier of the Rio state league. A quarter of a century later, history finally caught up.
The numbers tell part of the story:
15 matches
8 wins, 4 draws, 3 defeats
18 goals scored, 12 conceded
And the best average attendance in the division
But this season was never just about statistics. Serrano isn’t chasing global headlines or algorithm-friendly fame. They’re chasing something closer to home — the loyalty of their city, the noise in the stands, the pride that comes with being part of Rio’s football fabric. A club that lives in memory, culture, and community. A club that once gave Garrincha his start.
This year, Serrano reminded everyone who they are.
Images by Jônatas Vieira and Hugo Lage
All words and images by Pedro J Caffa
“In Murphy, football is something more: it’s identity.“
Entering the town, a sign makes it unmistakably clear: you’re crossing the gateway to the heart of football. More than fifteen professional footballers were born in Murphy. It’s no myth, no exaggeration. It might be ordinary somewhere else, sure, but here there’s a twist: the town has fewer than five thousand people. And in this province that gave the world Messi and Di María, the “Cradle of the Santafesino Footballer” —by Law 14.172— is, fittingly, Murphy.
Murphy, named after an Irish landowner in the middle of the Argentine countryside, has only one football club. Just one, for everyone. Centro Recreativo Unión y Cultura is a pitch, a meeting point, and an inheritance. Mauricio Pochettino, Paulo Gazzaniga, and a long list of players came from here, carrying the town’s name farther than any map ever could.
The year 2025 was special. The Centenary, and a perfect storm: a new leadership committee led by local idols; a squad and coaching staff made up almost entirely by homegrown players; and a fan base that doesn’t do things halfway, with “Los Pingüinos” leading the noise. All of them pushing together on a path that took Unión y Cultura back to the regional Liga Venadense final after eighteen long years.
It wasn’t enough to claim the title, but that’s another story. Sometimes epic feats have nothing to do with trophies, and sometimes trophies don’t look like cups. Is there anything more powerful than watching an entire town lift a club that is its people… or a town that becomes its club?
In Argentina, football is lived in a special way, we already know that. But in Murphy, football is something more: it’s identity. To say “Murphy” is to say “Unión y Cultura.” And it’s to feel the heart swell with hope, once again.
SPANISH
Entrando al pueblo, un cartel marca a fuego que estamos cruzando la puerta del corazón del fútbol. En Murphy nacieron más de quince futbolistas profesionales. No es mito ni exageración. Podría ser algo común en otros lugares, sí, pero acá hay un detalle: el pueblo tiene menos de cinco mil habitantes. Y en esta provincia que vio nacer a Messi y a Di María, la “Cuna del Futbolista Santafesino” —por ley 14.172— es, justamente, Murphy.
Murphy, nombrado así por un terrateniente irlandés en medio de la llanura pampeana, tiene un solo club de fútbol. Uno solo para todos. El Centro Recreativo Unión y Cultura es cancha, punto de encuentro y herencia. De aquí salieron Mauricio Pochettino, Paulo Gazzaniga y una larga lista de jugadores que llevaron el nombre del pueblo más lejos de lo que lo llevaría cualquier mapa.
El 2025 fue un año especial. El Centenario y una tormenta perfecta: una nueva comisión encabezada por ídolos locales; un plantel y cuerpo técnico con un noventa por ciento de jugadores del propio pueblo; y una hinchada que no entiende de medias tintas, con “Los Pingüinos” al frente. Todos empujando un camino que devolvió a Unión y Cultura a la final de la Liga Venadense después de dieciocho años.
No alcanzó para el título, pero esa es otra historia. A veces las gestas no saben de trofeos, y a veces los trofeos no tienen forma de copa. ¿Hay algo más poderoso que la ilusión de ver a un pueblo entero sosteniendo a un club que es pueblo… o a un pueblo que es club?
En Argentina el fútbol se vive de una manera especial, eso ya lo sabemos. Pero en Murphy, el fútbol es aún más: es identidad. Decir Murphy es decir Unión y Cultura. Y es sentir cómo el corazón se llena de ilusión, una vez más.
All words and images by Pedro J Caffa.
You can visit Pedro on Instagram here.
All words and images by Jonas Zöller
“Catching the last glimpses of the fading floodlights in the distance.“
It began, as so many journeys do, with football — but quickly became something else entirely.
Across South America, the game became Jonas’s entry point: a reason to wander, to ask questions, to follow floodlights into unfamiliar neighbourhoods and cities. Stadiums turned into landmarks, fixtures into excuses, and matchdays into moments of connection. What unfolded, slowly and unexpectedly, was not just a record of football grounds visited, but a diary of places, people, and passing feelings.
From vast concrete bowls to hillside stadiums carved into neighbourhoods, each stop revealed its own identity — from Chile to Argentina, and finally Brazil, where the journey draws to a close. There were nights when the noise felt endless, afternoons when the sun baked the stands into stillness, and countless conversations shared with strangers who needed no common language beyond the game. Football, in all its contradictions, opened doors — to generosity, to history, to joy, and sometimes to discomfort.
The journey was never just about romance. It carried the weight of South America’s past and present: colonial legacies etched into city centres, inequality visible long before kick-off, and the uneasy presence of modern football creeping into places that once felt untouchable. Somewhere between beauty and brutality, the game reflected the continent itself — emotional, communal, chaotic, and deeply human.
And then, almost without warning, it was coming to an end.
The final chapter unfolds in Salvador, on the last night before returning home. A day of hesitation and doubt, of resisting the pull of football altogether — before giving in one final time. One last stadium. One last set of floodlights. One last reminder of why the journey mattered in the first place.
This is not a conclusion, but a quiet landing. A moment of reflection beneath fading lights, where the journey’s many threads — football, trust, unease, connection, and belonging- briefly come together. The South American Diaries end not with a grand statement, but with a familiar feeling: standing in a stadium far from home, feeling exactly where you’re meant to be
A Final Day in Salvador
Wednesday. It’s our last day in Salvador before we head back to cold Germany.
The day before, we experienced the brutal beauty of Brazil’s north one final time on Ilha de Itaparica. The island, with its white beaches and blue water, felt almost like a postcard version of everything we’d seen over the past weeks.
Maybe that trip left me a little too relaxed. Maybe it’s the many colourful colonial buildings and former mansions in Salvador that keep reminding me of the role white Europeans once played here, and how strongly that past still shapes the city today. But somehow, today, I don’t really feel like football. The match I had in mind is a bit outside the city, and once again, buying a ticket in advance isn’t possible.
Doubts, Decisions, and Modern Football
I argue with myself, weigh the pros and cons, and probably take out my phone twenty times to Google the stadium and the club. The decision finally falls in one of the souvenir shops, when I spot yet another Manchester City logo hidden among the EC Bahia merchandise. A quick search confirms what I already fear: the club is 99% owned by the City Group.
Thankfully, during my visit to Arena Fonte Nova, I didn’t notice any signs of the takeover yet — but I immediately felt connected to their city rivals, Vitória. My dislike for modern football and its multi-club ownership runs too deep.
So I decided to visit Barradão. One last match on this journey under Brazil’s floodlights. The thought is too tempting.
On the Way to Barradão
On the drive there, I feel uneasy at first. The stadium seems to sit right in the middle of a favela. At the same time, I’m annoyed at myself for this inner unrest. If South America has taught me anything over these weeks of football, it’s friendliness and helpfulness from complete strangers. I have no reason to feel unsafe, and I owe the people here my trust.
A little later, that trust is confirmed again at the ticket counter. As before, the process for foreigners seems absurdly complicated, but the guys and girls working there take care of me with almost touching dedication. Soon after, I’m holding my (digital) ticket.
When the Stadium Reveals Itself
I take one last lap around the stadium, shoot a few photos of the street vendors, and pass through the turnstiles just as the sun begins to set. What I see when I step inside hits me within a fraction of a second — that same rush of happiness I’ve felt so many times in South American stadiums.
The pitch lies a hundred metres below me in a deep basin. Three stands are flanked by picture-book floodlights and look as if they’ve been carved directly into the surrounding hills. The stadium is still empty, so I wander around.
When I stop to take a few photos, someone approaches me quickly. Within minutes, I’m nerding out with a Vitória fan about football. I’ve had this thought a few times on this trip, but here it hits particularly hard: being 12,000 kilometres from home and sharing a passion with someone I’d never met before.
Unease in the Stands
The stadium fills slowly, but even after kick-off, the stream of people moving down the steep stairways doesn’t seem to stop. It must be the 20th or 30th minute before the stands finally reach full capacity. Even then, the place feels like it refuses to settle.
There’s constant movement between the stands and the endless food stalls, and I start to realise that the sporting situation plays a role too. Vitória are sitting in the relegation zone and playing poorly, despite desperately needing a win. The crowd grumbles and murmurs, waving arms and shaking heads with every misplaced pass.
Ecstasy Under the Floodlights
The unease carries deep into the second half, until the redeeming 1–0 finally arrives. The sky above the torcida seems to explode as hundreds of flying beer cups catch the floodlights, and suddenly the tense atmosphere bursts into pure ecstasy.
I catch myself sharing the crowd’s collective relief as the referee blows the final whistle, and I make my way out.
The Long Way Back
Caught in the thick traffic around the stadium, I retreat into my own thoughts. The visit to Vitória hits me with the full force of South American football romanticism. My mind jumps between memories from the past months, and a warm sense of contentment rises as I step into the final stadium Uber of my journey — catching the last glimpses of the fading floodlights in the distance.
You can follow Jonas on social media by clicking here
