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.
Shades of Azzurro: A Photographic Journey Through Italy’s Football Soul
From Venice’s campielli to the streets of Palermo: adidas and
The Buenos Aires Dispatch: Belgrano Under the Floodlights: An Unexpected Night with Excursionistas
Words and Images: Joey Corlett A Club Hidden in Plain
Heart of Midlothian: The Fairytale of Tynecastle
All words and images by Guirec Munier Guirec Munier made
Brazil and the Unspoken Language of Football
Words and images: Markus Blumenfeld For Markus Blumenfeld, football is
Something Truly UNIQUE: The Identity of U Cluj
All images by Dana Maria Pop-Oprisan “Football culture in Romania
Salernitana represents that ‘old-school football’ that is slowly disappearing,
All images by Alessandra Francesca Coppola “Fighting and believing in
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
Calcio
From Venice’s campielli to the streets of Palermo: adidas and FIGC launch “Scatti d’Azzurro”
adidas and the Italian Football Federation (FIGC) have launched Scatti d’Azzurro — “Shots of Blue” — a photographic journey across Italy that celebrates the enduring relationship between the country and football.
From the Alps to the islands, from bustling cities to quiet provincial towns, six Italian photographers have documented the game as it lives beyond stadiums and major tournaments. United by the unmistakable blue of the Italian national team, the project explores how football continues to shape everyday life across the country.
The initiative stems from adidas and FIGC’s shared desire to celebrate the deep cultural bond between Italy and football. In Italy, the Azzurri shirt is more than a sporting uniform — it is a symbol that connects generations, regions, and communities. Through Scatti d’Azzurro, the photographers return to their hometowns to capture football in its most authentic settings: neighbourhood squares, improvised pitches, narrow streets, and spaces transformed by imagination.
The journey moves between Palermo and Turin, through Venice and Matera, to Ancona and the valleys of Lombardy. What emerges is a portrait of a country where football thrives far from the spotlight — played on gravel fields, in small village squares, and even on snow-covered ground with makeshift goals.
Each photographer was asked to frame the iconic blue shirt within the landscapes that shaped their relationship with the game. The result is a series of images that speak to football as a shared cultural language.
Below, the photographers reflect on the places and memories behind their work.
Cecilia Palmeri — Venice
“The photos were taken between the Venetian patronati (community centres) and the few fields where it’s still possible to play football like in the old days.
Very few residents remain in Venice today, but those who do still manage to carve out small spaces for themselves amid the constant flow of visitors. After the school bell rings, children gather in the campielli (small squares), transforming them for a few hours into improvised football pitches.”
Francesco Freddo — Matera
“The first thing I did was pick up my camera and return to the places of my childhood: the squares, the dilapidated pitches, those imperfect spaces where friendships were born and thousands of kicks were taken at a ball.
Places I never forgot. To my surprise, years later I still found kids playing there. It’s not something to be taken for granted today, in a time when street football is disappearing. Yet in Matera, something of that spirit remains.”
Paola Massarenti — Turin
“These photographs were taken on provincial pitches between Pavarolo, Chieri, and Riva presso Chieri — the same places where I started playing football myself.
The images tell the story of generations united by their passion for the Azzurri shirt. When you wear it, any field can become a stadium.”
Alessandro Belussi — Brescia / Valle Camonica
“Like a fragmented yet lucid dream, these images attempt to give form to my imagination of football.
It is the game that begins when you don’t yet know who you are, and which accompanies you as you grow. The squares and the oratory fields where we played after middle school, searching for the perfect goal while imagining ourselves as Del Piero.
Behind it all lies the layered history of my territory — from the Roman remains beneath Brescia to the peaks of Valle Camonica.”
Giuseppe Scianna — Palermo
“This work follows football where, in Palermo, it continues to exist in its purest form: the street.
The photographs move through improvised pitches and symbolic places in the city — from the mural of San Benedetto il Moro in the Ballarò district to the pitch in Zen 2, from the alleys of Vucciria to the mural dedicated to Totò Schillaci.”
Lorenzo Bonanni — Jesi (Ancona)
“These photographs were taken in Jesi, my hometown, where my passion for football first began.
In the images, I tried to capture the memories tied to this place: adolescence, friendships formed during those years, and long afternoons spent chasing a ball around the city — from the parks beside the middle schools to gravel pitches with torn nets.”
Together, the six photographers offer a visual tribute to a country where football is woven into daily life. In these images, the blue shirt of Italy becomes a thread connecting landscapes, communities, and memories — a reminder that the spirit of the game often lives far from the stadium lights.
Latest
The Hatton Sock has been created by Ivy Ellis, in partnership with CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably) and The Ricky Hatton Foundation. This is part of a body of work that Ivy Ellis continues to build, one that uses sport and culture to open up conversations that are often left unsaid.
With this release, 100% of profits will be donated to CALM and The Ricky Hatton Foundation, supporting their work in mental health awareness and suicide prevention. Three designs: The Hitman, The Pride of Hyde, and The People’s Champion — each carries something of the man they’re inspired by.
Because Ricky Hatton was never just a boxer.
Everything is Earned
There are fighters you admire. And then there are fighters who feel like one of your own. Ricky Hatton has always been the latter. Before the lights, the belts, and the Las Vegas nights, there was a lad from Hyde, working-class, Manchester through and through. Not manufactured, not polished for the spotlight, but built the hard way, in gyms where nothing is given and everything is earned.
That’s why people connected with him. He wasn’t just fighting for titles; he was fighting for something bigger. For his family, his city, and for everyone who saw themselves in him.
When Ricky stepped into the ring, he brought more than skill. He brought energy, noise, and belief. Nights that felt bigger than sport. And for so many, one moment will always stand out, a Manchester lad walking into the lion’s den in America to face Floyd Mayweather Jr.
Thousands made the journey across the Atlantic. Songs filled the streets of Las Vegas. And for a moment, it felt like an entire nation stood behind him. Win or lose, Ricky made people believe that where you come from doesn’t define how far you can go.
I remember that night in Las Vegas as if it were yesterday. With each passing year, it seems to carry a little more weight.
I watched the fight with some of my closest friends, gathered in the house of one of them — a friend who is no longer with us. We were all there, together, in the early hours of the morning, cheering him on. Watching a lad from Manchester, with the whole country behind him, take on Mayweather.
When I think back now, I realise that might have been one of the last times we were all in the same room like that.
And because of that, it’s a memory I’ll always hold onto.
The Strongest People Often Face Battles We Don’t See
They called him The Hitman. But to many, he was always The People’s Champion. Because he never lost that connection. He celebrated as the fans did. Spoke like them. Lived like them. And that authenticity is rare. It’s easy to support greatness; it’s much harder to feel like you’re part of it. With Hatton, people felt exactly that.
But behind the noise, the victories, and the nights under the lights, there were quieter moments too. Ricky spoke openly about his struggles, the pressures, the expectations, the comedown that can follow the highest highs. And that part of the story matters just as much.
The strongest people, the ones who seem unstoppable, can still face battles we don’t see. And that’s why this campaign matters.
It’s about recognising that behind every achievement, every cheer, every moment of greatness, there’s a human being. And sometimes, that person needs support.
If Ricky Hatton’s story tells us anything, it’s this: you can be strong, successful, and inspire millions, and still need help. There’s no weakness in that. Only honesty.
This piece is written in partnership with Ivy Ellis, CALM, and The Ricky Hatton Foundation, organisations working to ensure that no one feels like they have to face things alone.
CALM runs a free, confidential helpline and webchat, open every day from 5 pm to midnight. If you or someone you know is struggling, you can reach them on 0800 58 58 58 or visit thecalmzone.net.
Because the most important message, the one that sits at the heart of everything, is this:
Please talk.
“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” — Henry David Thoreau
In life, they say it’s not about the destination, but the journey. Every now and then, if you’re fortunate, both fall perfectly into place.
We left under clear skies, the kind of blue that feels rare even in a Scottish summer. The journey to Jedburgh should have taken around an hour and a half, but there was no urgency to get there. Not when the coast was calling.
A detour to North Berwick led us to The Drift, perched above the shoreline with sweeping views across the Firth of Forth. Fresh, thoughtful food, strong coffee, and a horizon that seems to go on forever. It set the tone for everything that followed.
From there, the landscape began to shift. The coastline gave way to the quiet grandeur of the Scottish Borders. Roads narrowed, towns appeared and disappeared. Passing through places like Kelso and Melrose, you’re reminded how much of this region remains quietly undiscovered, rolling farmland, historic stone buildings, and a sense of space that feels increasingly rare.
By the time we reached Jedburgh, the light had softened into that golden late-afternoon hue. There was just enough time for a fleeting visit to Mary Queen of Scots’ House, or at least, an attempt. Closing at 3 pm, we managed little more than a glimpse, a promise to return properly next time. Instead, we wandered the town, picked up coffee, and gathered supplies for the evening ahead.
Because the real destination was still waiting.
The House in the Hill
The House in the Hill lies just beyond Jedburgh, on Townfoot Hill, where the road begins to fall away from everything else. As you arrive, the house reveals itself in full, set alone in open countryside, defined by its quiet and its distance from the world below.
Surrounded by vast, undulating hills, it carries a kind of quiet drama, something almost literary in its isolation. You half expect the wind to carry echoes of another time, as if you’ve stepped into a scene from Wuthering Heights. And yet, inside, it’s unmistakably modern.
The house balances rustic charm with contemporary comfort. Two spacious bedrooms offer understated luxury, while open-plan living spaces invite you to slow down completely. There’s a beautifully designed kitchen fitted with modern appliances, a soft, inviting lounge with a smart TV, and thoughtful touches throughout, including an inviting welcome pack filled with delicious local produce, slippers, dressing gowns, and beds you sink into without resistance.
The property is architect-designed and carefully positioned. Large areas of glazing face outward, framing the surrounding hills so that the landscape remains constant, wherever you are in the house. It operates off-grid, powered by renewable energy and supplied by natural spring water, but these elements are integrated quietly into the experience.
Inside, the house is centred around an open-plan living space that brings together the kitchen, dining, and seating areas with ease. The kitchen is fully equipped and intended to be used properly, whether for a quick meal or something more considered.
Two bedrooms sit on either side of the main space, each positioned to take in the surrounding views. The bathrooms deserve their own mention: open, airy showers that feel indulgent without excess, and a bathtub perfectly placed for long, quiet evenings, as well as a selection of carefully chosen body products. Robes, slippers, and soft, well-placed lighting complete the space, giving it a quiet sense of comfort throughout.
A suspended log burner anchors the living space, while outside, the house opens itself fully to its surroundings. A wood-fired hot tub sits low against the hillside, positioned so that nothing interrupts the view, just open land stretching out in every direction. Nearby, a rooftop seating area has been carefully designed for long, unhurried evenings or slow mornings, whether that’s dinner under a clear Borders sky or coffee as the light returns across the hills.
There’s also a barbecue and outdoor dining space, well set up for warmer months. We left it untouched this time, opting instead for something simpler.
We cooked, opened a bottle of wine, and said cheers to an unforgettable evening.
The sense of seclusion deepens as the light fades. Sitting in the warmth of the hot tub, with no sound beyond the immediate landscape, it becomes easy to lose track of time altogether. It’s a rare kind of stillness. I can’t remember the last time I felt as content as I did in that moment. As the old line goes, heaven isn’t somewhere distant; it’s as much beneath our feet as it is above us.
And then, the sky.
The stars appear in sharp detail, scattered densely across the sky in a way that feels almost unfamiliar. It’s the kind of clarity that makes you look up and stay there. On nights like this, the Northern Lights are not out of the question, another reminder of just how removed this place is from the usual pace and noise of everyday life.
The Beauty of the Borders
What makes The House in the Hill so special isn’t just the property itself, but where it sits.
The Scottish Borders have a quiet confidence—less dramatic than the Highlands perhaps, but no less compelling. It’s a region built for those willing to explore slowly. Historic towns, winding roads, open landscapes, and a deep sense of history are layered into the land.
Jedburgh, with its abbey ruins and royal connections, is just the beginning. And as we discovered, even a missed visit can become part of the story, a reason to return. Because places like this aren’t just visited once. They stay with you forever.
Our stay at House in the Hill came recommended by Make It Scotland, a travel platform dedicated entirely to uncovering the best of the country. Designed to simplify trip planning, it brings together places to stay, eat and explore, alongside local guides and seasonal inspiration that offer a more authentic way to experience Scotland.
You can find out more information about The House in the Hill by clicking here. To follow them on Instagram, click here
You can learn more about Make it Scotland by clicking here. You can also follow them on Instagram here.
You can visit Drift Cafe by clicking here. You can follow them on Instagram here.
Words and Images: Joey Corlett
A Club Hidden in Plain Sight
Reading through Chris Hylland’s seminal book Tears At La Bombonera, he dedicates a chapter to this club: “a short excursion to Excursionistas.” It was a passage that first introduced me to the existence of the club and the strange contrast in which it sits within Buenos Aires.
Excursionistas are based in the leafy barrio of Belgrano in the north of the capital, about a 20-minute walk from River Plate’s El Monumental. Just one block away, you’ll find Starbucks and McDonald’s, with beautiful bakeries and restaurants even closer.
Their home ground, Estadio Excursionistas, sits in surroundings that feel worlds away from the typical image of a third-division Argentine club. A golf course lies to the east, while multi-storey apartment blocks loom over the north and west sides of the stadium.
It wasn’t quite what I imagined when first reading about the club.
An Unexpected Fixture
I had hoped to visit the stadium, but the time of year I had chosen to travel to Buenos Aires meant that the lower-division seasons had already finished. I resigned myself to missing the ground.
What I had overlooked, however, was that Excursionistas had qualified for the Primera B promotion playoffs.
Earlier that day I had been touring La Bombonera. Later, while waiting for a bus back towards the centre of town, I realised I had no plans for the evening. On a whim, I opened the Futbology app to see if anything might be happening.
Refresh.
Excursionistas vs. Argentino de Merlo. Kick-off in two hours.
Suddenly, I was on my own excursion to Excursionistas.
A Slight Wardrobe Problem
On the bus journey north across Buenos Aires, there was one detail I had completely overlooked.
Argentino de Merlo plays in sky blue and white.
Thanks to my visit to Boca Juniors’ stadium earlier that day, I was wearing a blue coat with light blue shorts.
Arriving in Belgrano, the contrast with La Boca was immediate. Towering apartment blocks lined wide streets filled with cafés and storefronts. It felt like a completely different city.
Walking a few blocks towards the stadium, I spotted the queue for the ticket windows. The process was simple: tap the card, collect the physical ticket, and head through the turnstiles after a quick pat-down.
Game number eight of the trip awaited.
A Proper Argentine Ground
Despite its upscale surroundings, once inside the stadium, everything felt reassuringly familiar.
The pitch was ringed by fencing topped with coils of barbed wire. The stands were simple, functional and intimate. Whatever Belgrano might look like outside, this was still unmistakably Argentine football.
I found a seat in the tribune among a mix of supporters — young and old, men and women, and even the occasional fellow gringo groundhopper.
There were a few curious glances from nearby fans, which I initially dismissed as the usual “what’s a foreigner doing here?” look you sometimes get at lower-league matches.
Then the teams walked out.
Argentino de Merlo were wearing blue from head to toe.
The stares suddenly made more sense.
Internally I was apologising to everyone around me: “I swear I’m not an infiltrado.”
The Noise of the Popular
The popular stand was in full voice from the start.
Through the fencing, it looked like the entire barra brava had squeezed into a single terrace. Umbrellas bounced above the crowd while trompetas and bombos blasted out their relentless rhythms.
Even from the tribune, you could feel the energy rolling around the ground.
The crowd near me added their own theatre. Despite my limited Spanish, I could follow most of the jokes and jibes being exchanged.
One supporter arrived late after kick-off and was immediately greeted with a chorus of mock outrage:
“¿Dónde has estado?!” — Where have you been?
The star of the section was an older man in a flat cap who seemed to know everyone. He drifted between conversations and wasn’t shy about shouting at opposition players when they wandered too close to the fence.
The Mystery of the “Allegados”
Within minutes, Argentino de Merlo had struck the post, prompting a surprising reaction from one corner of the ground.
Normally, there are no away fans at most Argentine stadiums. But further down the pyramid, there is the curious phenomenon of the Allegados.
Roughly translated as “friends and family”, these are small sections reserved for relatives, staff and associates of the visiting team.
In theory.
In practice, as my Argentine friend and photographer Dani (@chicagoanalogico) later confirmed, it’s not uncommon for a few braver away supporters to slip in among them.
On this night, it appeared more than a few cousins and brothers had made the journey to Belgrano.
The result was a constant back-and-forth of chants and insults across the stadium — a running dialogue that the witty group around me enthusiastically joined.
A Goal Out of Nowhere
Sadly for the home fans near me, the breakthrough went the other way.
After a loose pass in midfield, Merlo’s Lucas Scarnato noticed the Excursionistas goalkeeper off his line and launched a hopeful looping effort toward goal.
The ball sailed high into the Buenos Aires night sky. As it dropped, the goalkeeper scrambled desperately back toward his line.
He failed to reach it.
For good measure, he collided with the post as the ball bounced into the net.
The reaction around me was immediate and colourful, with far stronger language than the ever-present “La concha de tu madre.”
A Long Night for the Goalkeeper
The second half brought little relief.
Excursionistas briefly pulled themselves back into the game at 2–1, but moments later disaster struck again.
A simple backpass was misjudged completely by the same unfortunate goalkeeper. Slipping as he made contact, he effectively presented the ball to the Merlo striker, who calmly rolled it into an empty net.
The scorer celebrated by gesturing to the home crowd to calm down.
A braver man than me.
Even after Merlo were reduced to ten men, the match finished 3–1 with Excursionistas clearly second best.
Authentic Fútbol
The popular stand, however, never stopped singing.
At one point the chants turned into a demand for the team to show more courage — expressed, of course, in language far less polite than that.
Despite the defeat, the evening had delivered exactly what I had hoped for: a wonderfully raw and authentic football experience in one of Buenos Aires’ most unlikely neighbourhoods.
The tie would end badly for Excursionistas. They lost the second leg 4–0, crashing out of the playoffs 7–1 on aggregate.
Hopefully, only a few Allegados were present to witness that.
There was no fairytale comeback, but there was something just as memorable: a small stadium, a passionate crowd, and a reminder that the soul of Argentine football lives far beyond the famous grounds.
Words and Images: tonpotdemoutarde
In Saint-Étienne, football is rarely a solitary love. It is handed down.
For photographer tonpotdemoutarde, supporting AS Saint-Étienne was never a decision to be made — it was part of the fabric of family life. His grandfather stood on the terraces. His father followed. At six years old, he was taken to the stadium for the first time, walking into what locals don’t simply call a ground, but Le Chaudron, the cauldron.
My grandfather was a fan, my father was a fan, and he took me to the stadium when I was six years old. It was only natural for me to support Saint-Étienne. I lived in an apartment where you could hear the chants on matchdays. Every time, it amazed me. I didn’t care about the results — I just wanted to see Les Verts.
More than just a stadium, it’s Le Chaudron. You have to come and hear the two ends singing, to feel the fervour, to feel a city in unison — to truly feel a wave pushing the players from start to finish.
One of my favourite memories is ASSE vs Châteauroux in 2004. If we won, we would be Division 2 champions. The stadium was full, with a tifo stretching across the entire ground. We won thanks to a goal from Bridonneau, a defender, who scored with a scissor kick right at the end of the match. I have never heard such a deafening noise in a stadium.
I would also mention the first European matches I attended, the 100th derby victory in Lyon, and the last promotion back to Ligue 1. But more than anything, the matches spent with friends remain my greatest memories.
What makes the club special is that, despite the passing years and the results, the passion has never changed. The loyalty remains. Personally, I haven’t seen many trophies or European nights, and yet the passion is still intact.
It is also a club people can identify with — a club that has remained popular and proud of its city’s past.
And in Sainté, no one cares where you come from, how much you earn, or who you are. If you’re a fan, you’re family.
Words and Images: tonpotdemoutarde
All words and images by Guirec Munier
Guirec Munier made his way to Tynecastle Stadium, home of Heart of Midlothian, to witness a club who are in the midst of a dreamlike campaign, which could see them break the Old Firm monopoloy which has existed in Scotland for over 40 years.
Usually, we don’t choose our family — but we do choose our friends. In the case of Hearts, the two are one: inseparable, intertwined, beating with the same pulse beneath maroon scarves and winter skies.
As I stepped off Lothian Bus number 25 and walked up Gorgie Road towards Tynecastle Park, something unspeakable — almost unfathomable — hung in the air, as though the bricks themselves carried memory. A quiet sense of fraternity was palpable — not loud or ostentatious, but steady and enveloping, like a familiar embrace. The warmth of the Scottish people isn’t an empty phrase or a tired cliché for visitors; it reveals itself in passing words and knowing smiles — and goes beyond politeness to become something closer to communion.
To be honest, I hadn’t done my homework before heading to Hearts v Livingston. I had no idea that Heart of Midlothian is the largest fan-owned club in the UK. The atmosphere around the stadium suddenly made perfect sense, as if the stands themselves were breathing with collective ownership and pride. Hearts is a family affair — not metaphorically, but structurally, spiritually, almost genetically. And family is sacred.
Transgenerational, and with a strong feminine presence, the crowd of the Gorgie Boys resembles a photograph taken at a family reunion — slightly chaotic, deeply affectionate, wonderfully ordinary. Men, women, and children gather not merely to watch a match, but to share a slice of life, to pass down traditions, to stitch memory into the fabric of a Saturday afternoon.
All words and images by Guirec Munier
